Alger Horatio Jr.
The Backwoods Boy

CHAPTER X
A CASE IN COURT

We are told by Mr. Lamon, that Mr. Lincoln got his license as an attorney early in 1837, and commenced practice regularly as a lawyer in the town of Springfield, in March of that year. It is with this place that his name was associated for the remainder of his life. Though it contained at that time less than two thousand inhabitants, it was a town of considerable importance. The list of the local bar contained the names of several men of ability and reputation. Stephen A. Douglas, already referred to, was public prosecutor in 1836. Judge Stephen T. Logan was on the bench of the Circuit Court. There was John T. Stuart also, who had recommended young Lincoln to become a lawyer, and was now his partner.

The law office of Stuart and Lincoln was in the second story above the court-room, in Hoffman’s Row. It was small and poorly furnished. Lincoln slept in the office, and boarded with Hon. William Butler, who appears to have been a politician and wire-puller.

At last, then, after a youth of penury, a long hand-to-hand struggle with privations in half a dozen different kinds of business, we find our hero embarked in the profession which, for the remainder of his life, he owned as mistress. He is twenty-eight years of age, with some legislative experience, but a mere novice in law. But he was ambitious, and in spite of his scanty equipment as regards book-knowledge, he made up his mind to succeed, and he did succeed.

Though I am thereby anticipating matters, I propose to relate an incident of his law practice which I find quoted in “Raymond’s History” of Lincoln’s Administrations, from the Cleveland Leader. It illustrates not merely Mr. Lincoln’s methods and shrewdness as a lawyer, but also his fidelity to friends.

This is the story:

“Some four years since, the eldest son of Mr. Lincoln’s old friend, the chief supporter of his widowed mother – the good old man having some time previously passed from earth – was arrested on a charge of murder. A young man had been killed during a riotous mélée in the night time at a camp-meeting, and one of his associates stated that the death-wound was inflicted by young Armstrong. A preliminary examination was gone into, at which the accuser testified so positively, that there seemed no doubt of the guilt of the prisoner, and therefore he was held for trial.

“As is too often the case, the bloody act caused an undue degree of excitement in the public mind. Every improper incident in the life of the prisoner – each act which bore the least semblance of rowdyism – each school-boy quarrel – was suddenly remembered and magnified, until they pictured him as a fiend of the most horrible hue. As these rumors spread abroad they were received as gospel truth, and a feverish desire for vengeance seized upon the infatuated populace, whilst only prison bars prevented a horrible death at the hands of the populace. The events were heralded in the county papers, painted in the highest colors, accompanied by rejoicing over the certainty punishment being meted out to the guilty party. The prisoner, overwhelmed by the circumstances in which he found himself placed, fell into a melancholy condition bordering on despair, and the widowed mother, looking through her tears, saw no cause for hope from earthly aid.

“At this juncture the widow received a letter from Mr. Lincoln, volunteering his services in an effort to save the youth from the impending stroke. Gladly was his aid accepted, although it seemed impossible for even his sagacity to prevail in such a desperate case; but the heart of the attorney was in his work, and he set about it with a will which knew no such word as fail. Feeling that the poisoned condition of the public mind was such as to preclude the possibility of impanelling an impartial jury in the court having jurisdiction, he procured a change of venue and a postponement of the trial. He then went studiously to work, unravelling the history of the case, and satisfied himself that his client was the victim of malice, and that the statements of the accuser were a tissue of falsehoods.

“When the trial was called on, the prisoner, pale and emaciated, with hopelessness written on every feature, and accompanied by his half-hoping, half-despairing mother – whose only hope was in a mother’s belief of her son’s innocence, in the justice of the God she worshipped, and in the noble counsel, who, without hope of fee or reward upon earth, had undertaken the cause – took his seat in the prisoners’ box, and, with a ‘stony firmness,’ listened to the reading of the indictment.

“Lincoln sat quietly by, whilst the large body of auditors looked on him as though wondering what he could say in defence of one whose guilt they looked upon as certain. The examination of the witnesses for the State was begun, and a well-arranged mass of evidence, circumstantial and positive, was introduced, which seemed to impale the prisoner beyond the possibility of extrication.

“The counsel for the defense propounded but few questions, and those of a character which excited no uneasiness on the part of the prosecutor – merely, in most cases, requiring the main witnesses to be definite as to time and place. When the evidence of the prosecution was ended, Lincoln introduced a few witnesses, to remove some erroneous impressions in regard to the previous character of his client, who, though somewhat rowdyish, had never been known to commit a vicious act; and to show that a greater degree of ill-feeling existed between the accuser and the accused than between the accused and the deceased.

“The prosecutor felt that the case was a clear one, and his opening speech was brief and formal. Lincoln arose, while a deathly silence pervaded the vast audience, and, in a clear and moderate tone, began his argument. Slowly and carefully he reviewed the testimony, pointing out the hitherto unobserved discrepancies in the statements of the principal witness. That which had seemed plain and plausible he made to appear crooked as a serpent’s path. The witness had stated that the affair took place at a certain hour in the evening, and that, by the brightly shining moon, he saw the prisoner inflict the death-blow with a slung-shot. Mr. Lincoln showed that at the hour referred to, the moon had not yet appeared above the horizon, and, consequently, the whole tale was a fabrication.

“An almost instantaneous change seemed to have been wrought in the minds of his auditors, and the verdict of ‘not guilty’ was at the end of every tongue. But the advocate was not content with this intellectual achievement. His whole being had for months been bound up in this work of gratitude and mercy, and as the lava of the overcharged crater bursts from its imprisonment, so great thoughts and burning words leaped forth from the soul of the eloquent Lincoln. He drew a picture of the perjurer so horrid and ghastly, that the accuser could sit under it no longer, but reeled and staggered from the court-room, whilst the audience fancied they could see the brand upon his brow. Then in words of thrilling pathos, Lincoln appealed to the jurors as fathers of some who might become fatherless, and as husbands of wives who might be widowed, to yield to no previous impressions, no ill-founded prejudice, but to do his client justice; and as he alluded to the debt of gratitude which he owed the boy’s sire, tears were seen to fall from many eyes unused to weeping.

“It was near night when he concluded by saying that if justice were done, as he believed it would be, – before the sun should set, – it would shine upon his client a free man.

“The jury retired, and the court adjourned for the day. Half an hour had not elapsed, when, as the officers of the court and the volunteer attorney sat at the tea-table of their hotel, a messenger announced that the jury had returned to their seats. All repaired immediately to the court-house, and whilst the prisoner was being brought from the jail, the court-room was filled to overflowing with citizens from the town.

“When the prisoner and his mother entered, silence reigned as completely as though the house were empty. The foreman of the jury, in answer to the usual inquiry from the court, delivered the verdict of ‘Not Guilty!’ The widow dropped into the arms of her son, who lifted her up, and told her to look upon him as before, free and innocent. Then with the words, ‘Where is Mr. Lincoln?’ he rushed across the room, and grasped the hand of his deliverer, whilst his heart was too full for utterance. Lincoln turned his eyes toward the west, where the sun still lingered in view, and then, turning to the youth, said: ‘It is not yet sundown, and you are free.’ I confess that my cheeks were not wholly unwet by tears, and I turned from the affecting scene. As I cast a glance behind, I saw Abraham Lincoln obeying the Divine injunction by comforting the widowed and fatherless.”

When a lawyer can so bravely and affectionately rescue the innocent from the machinations of the wicked, we feel that he is indeed the exponent and representative of a noble profession. It is unfortunate that lawyers so often lend themselves to help iniquity, and oppress the weak. Mr. Lincoln always did his best when he felt that Right and Justice were on his side. When he had any doubts on this point, he lost all his enthusiasm and his courage, and labored mechanically. He believed in justice, and would not willingly act on the wrong side. On one occasion he discovered that he had been deceived by his client, and informed his associate lawyer that he (Lincoln) would not make the plea. His associate, therefore, did so, and to Lincoln’s surprise gained a verdict. Convinced, nevertheless, that his client was wrong, he would not accept any part of the handsome fee of nine hundred dollars, which he paid. Only an honest and high-minded lawyer would have acted thus.

CHAPTER XI
MR. LINCOLN FORMS TWO PARTNERSHIPS

Practicing law in those days, and in that region, had some peculiar features. It was the custom for lawyers to “ride the circuit,” that is, to accompany the judges from one country-town to another, attending to such business as might offer, in different sections of the State. Railroads had not yet found their way out so far West, and the lawyer was wont to travel on horseback, stopping at cabins on the way to eat and sleep, and, in brief, to “rough it.” One brought up like Lincoln was not likely to shrink from any hardships which this might entail. Indeed, it is likely that, upon the whole, he enjoyed it, and that these journeys increased his natural shrewdness and knowledge of human nature, and furnished him with no inconsiderable part of the apposite stories which he was wont to quote in later years.

Here is an incident which will amuse my readers. It is told by Mr. Francis E. Willard: “In one of my temperance pilgrimages through Illinois, I met a gentleman who was the companion in a dreary ride which Lincoln made in a light wagon, going the rounds of a Circuit Court where he had clients to look after. The weather was rainy, the road heavy with mud of the Southern Illinois pottery, never to be imagined as to its blackness and profundity by him who has not seen it, and assuredly needing no description to jostle the memory of one who has. Lincoln enlivened the way with anecdote and recital, for few indeed were the incidents that relieved the tedium of the trip.

“At last, in wallowing through a ‘slough’ of the most approved Western manufacture, they came upon a poor shark of a hog, who had succumbed to gravitation, and was literally fast in the mud. The lawyers commented on the poor creature’s pitiful condition, and drove on. About half a mile was laboriously gone over, when Lincoln suddenly exclaimed: ‘I don’t know how you feel about it, but I’ve got to go back and pull that hog out of the slough.’

“His comrade laughed, thinking it merely a joke; but what was his surprise when Lincoln dismounted, left him to his reflections, and, striding slowly back, like a man on stilts, picking his way as his long walking implements permitted, he grappled with the drowning hog, dragged him out of the ditch, left him on its edge to recover his strength, slowly measured off the distance back to his buggy, and the two men drove off as if nothing had happened.”

This little incident is given to show that Mr. Lincoln did not confine his benevolence to his own race, but could put himself to inconvenience to relieve the sufferings of an inferior animal. In fact, his heart seemed to be animated by the spirit of kindness, and this is one of the most important respects in which I am glad to hold him out as an example to the young. Emulate that tenderness of heart which led him to sympathize with “the meanest thing that breathes,” and, like him, you will win the respect and attachment of the best men and women!

The young lawyer, successful as he was in court, did not make money as fast as some of his professional associates. One reason I have already given – he would not willingly exert his power on the wrong side. Moreover, he was modest, and refrained from exorbitant charges, and he was known at times to remit fees justly due when his client was unfortunate. One day he met a client who had given him a note, nearly due, for professional services.

“Mr. Lincoln,” he said, “I have been thinking of that note I owe you. I don’t see how I am to meet it. I have been disabled by an explosion, and that has affected my income.”

“I heard of your accident,” said Lincoln, “and I sympathize with you deeply. As to the note, here it is.”

“But I can not meet it at present.”

“I don’t want you to. Take it, and destroy it. I consider it paid.”

No doubt many lawyers would have done the same, but it so happened that Lincoln was at that moment greatly in need of money, and was obliged to defer a journey on that account. It was not out of his abundance, but out of his poverty, that he gave.

As to his professional methods, they were peculiar. He was always generous to an opponent. Instead of contesting point by point, he often yielded more than was claimed, and excited alarm in the breast of his client. But when this was done, he set to work and stated his own view of the case so urgently that the strength of his opponent’s position was undermined, his arguments torn to pieces, and the verdict secured. He was remarkably fair, and stated his case so clearly that no juror of fair intelligence could fail to understand him.

It has already been said that Mr. Lincoln had a partner. It is a proof of his scrupulous honesty that when upon his circuits he tried any cases that were never entered at the office, he carefully set aside a part of the remuneration for the absent partner, who otherwise would never have known of them, and might be supposed hardly entitled to a share of the fees.

For the following anecdote, in further illustration of Mr. Lincoln’s conscientiousness in money matters, I am indebted to Mr. Frank B. Carpenter’s very interesting little volume, entitled “Six Months at the White House”: “About the time Mr. Lincoln came to be known as a successful lawyer, he was waited upon by a lady who held a real-estate claim which she desired to have him prosecute, – putting into his hands, with the necessary papers, a check for two hundred and fifty dollars as a retaining fee. Mr. Lincoln said he would look the case over, and asked her to call again the next day. Upon presenting herself, Mr. Lincoln told her that he had gone through the papers very carefully, and he must tell her frankly that there was not a ‘peg’ to hang her claim upon, and he could not conscientiously advise her to bring an action. The lady was satisfied, and, thanking him, rose to go. ‘Wait,’ said Mr. Lincoln, fumbling in his vest pocket; ‘here is the check you left with me.’ ‘But, Mr. Lincoln,’ returned the lady, ‘I think you have earned that.’ ‘No, no,’ he responded, handing it back to her, ‘that would not be right. I can’t take pay for doing my duty.’ ”

I must find a place here for one of Mr. Lincoln’s own stories, relating to a professional adventure, which must have amused him. Mr. Carpenter is my authority here also:

“When I took to the law I was going to court one morning, with some ten or twelve miles of bad road before me, when – overtook me in his wagon.

“ ‘Hello, Lincoln!’ said he; ‘going to the court-house? Come get in, and I will give you a seat.’

“Well, I got in, and – went on reading his papers. Presently the wagon struck a stump on one side of the road; then it hopped off to the other. I looked out and saw the driver was jerking from side to side in his seat; so said I, ‘Judge, I think your coachman has been taking a drop too much this morning.’

“ ‘Well, I declare, Lincoln,’ said he, ‘I should not much wonder if you are right, for he has nearly upset me half a dozen times since starting.’

“So, putting his head out of the window, he shouted: ‘Why, you infernal scoundrel, you are drunk!’

“Upon which, pulling up his horses, and turning round with great gravity, the coachman said: ‘Bedad! but that’s the first rightful decision your Honor has given for the last twelve months.’ ”

Mr. Lincoln’s law partnership with Mr. Stuart was of brief duration. It was dissolved in 1840, and in the same year he formed a new partnership with Judge S. T. Logan, a lawyer of learning and ability.

In 1842 he formed another partnership, of a still more important character. He married Miss Mary Todd on the 4th of November of that year. Miss Todd belonged to a family of social prominence, and it is a matter of interest that, before marrying Mr. Lincoln, she is said to have had an opportunity of marrying another person, whose name was mentioned for the Presidency years before Mr. Lincoln’s. I refer to Hon. Stephen A. Douglas, who is said to have been an unsuccessful suitor for the hand of Miss Todd.

Six months after marriage, in a private letter written to an intimate friend, Mr. Lincoln refers thus to his domestic arrangements: “We are not keeping house,” he writes, “but boarding at the Globe Tavern, which is very well kept by a widow lady of the name of Beck. Our rooms are the same Dr. Wallace occupied there, and boarding only costs four dollars a week.”

Abraham Lincoln had reached the age of thirty-three years before he ventured to marry. Circumstances had until then proved unfavorable, for his struggle with poverty had been unusually protracted. Now, however, he was settled both matrimonially and professionally, and the most important part of his life, for which he had been so long preparing, may be said to have fairly begun.

CHAPTER XII
THE LAWYER IN HIS OFFICE AND AT HOME

I have already told my readers something of Mr. Lincoln as a lawyer. I may add that he stood high in the estimation of his professional brethren. “For my single self,” says one, “I have for a quarter of a century regarded Mr. Lincoln as one of the finest lawyers I ever knew, and of a professional bearing so high-toned and honorable as justly, and without derogating from the claims of others, entitling him to be presented to the profession as a model well worthy of the closest imitation.”

Now these are general terms, and do not show us how the young lawyer who had risen step by step from the hardest physical labor to an honorable position at the bar, looked and spoke. Fortunately Judge Drummond, of Chicago, gives us a graphic picture of him, – and I am glad to quote it:

“With a voice by no means pleasant, and, indeed, when excited, in its shrill tones almost disagreeable; without any of the personal graces of the orator; without much in the outward man indicating superiority of intellect; without great quickness of perception – still, his mind was so vigorous, his comprehension so exact and clear, and his judgment so sure, that he easily mastered the intricacies of his profession, and became one of the ablest reasoners and most impressive speakers at our bar. With a probity of character known of all, with an intuitive insight into the human heart, with a clearness of statement which was itself an argument, with uncommon power and felicity of illustration, – often, it is true, of a plain and homely kind – and with that sincerity and earnestness of manner which carried conviction, he was, perhaps, one of the most successful jury lawyers we have ever had in the State. He always tried a case fairly and honestly. He never intentionally misrepresented the evidence of a witness or the argument of an opponent. He met both squarely, and if he could not explain the one or answer the other, substantially admitted it. He never misstated the law according to his own intelligent view of it.”

I hope my young readers will not skip this statement, but read it carefully, because it will show them the secret of the young lawyer’s success. He inspired confidence! He was not constantly trying to gain the advantage by fair means if possible, but at any rate to gain it. He wanted justice to triumph, however it affected his own interests. I wish there were more such lawyers. The law would then lose much of the odium which unprincipled practitioners bring upon it.

Let us look in upon Mr. Lincoln as he sits in his plain office, some morning. He is writing busily, when a timid knock is heard at his door.

“Come in!” he says, his pen still moving rapidly over the paper before him.

The door opens slowly, and an old woman, bending under the burden of seventy-five years, enters, and stands irresolutely at the entrance.

“Mr. Lincoln!” she says in a quivering voice.

As these accents reach him, Mr. Lincoln woke up hastily, and seeing the old lady hastily undoubles himself, and draws forward a chair.

“Sit down, my good lady!” he says. “Do you wish to see me on business?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me what I can do for you?” and he fixes his eyes on the frail old woman, showing a respect and consideration for her, poor as she evidently is, which a rich client might not so readily receive.

Encouraged by the kindness of her reception she told her story. She was entitled to a pension, as it appeared, on account of her husband, who had fought in the Revolutionary war. This pension she had secured through the agency of a certain pension agent, but he had charged her the exorbitant sum of two hundred dollars for collecting her claim. This was a heavy tax upon the poor old woman with her limited means, and she was likely to be little better off for her pension if she should be compelled to pay this money.

“Two hundred dollars! That is shameful!” said the sympathetic lawyer. “Who is this agent?”

She told him.

“Do you live in Springfield?”

“No sir.”

“Are you in need of money?” he inquired delicately.

“Yes, sir, The agent has kept back what he has collected, and – ”

“I see. We will try to bring him to terms.”

“Oh, sir if you can help me – ” said the old lady, hopefully.

“I will do my best. Here is some money for your immediate wants. Now I will ask you a few questions, and we will see what we can do for you.”

Mr. Lincoln immediately commenced suit against the agent to recover a portion of the money which he had withheld. In his address to the jury he did not omit to allude to the patriotism of the dead husband, and the poverty of his widow, and no doubt castigated in fitting terms the unfeeling rapacity of the claim agent. He gained the suit, and compelled the fellow to disgorge one hundred dollars, which he had the pleasure of paying over to his aged client.

Meanwhile he was pleasantly situated. His income would now allow him to live in comfortable style. He established himself in a pleasant two-story house, built after a fashion quite common in New England, with a room on each side of the front door, and an extension in the rear. It was situated at the corner of two streets, and though neither costly nor sumptuous, might be considered a palace when contrasted with the rude cabins in which his earlier years were passed.

Four children were born to him, and their childish ways were a source of constant enjoyment, when he returned to his home, weary or perplexed. One of these, Willie, died after his father became President; the youngest, best known as Tad, who was the pet of the White House, is also dead, and only the eldest, Robert Todd, now Secretary of War, survives. It is said that he was a most indulgent father, and governed by Love alone. His own father had often been stern and rough, but Abraham Lincoln’s nature was full of a deep tenderness for all things weak, small, or in distress, and he could not find it in his heart to be harsh or stern at home.

On pleasant summer mornings the young lawyer, with his tall figure, might have been seen drawing one of his children to and fro along the sidewalk in a child’s wagon. “Without hat or coat, and wearing a pair of rough shoes, his hands behind him holding to the tongue of the wagon, and his tall form bent forward to accommodate himself to the service, he paced up and down the walk, forgetful of everything around him, and intent only on some subject that absorbed his mind.” A young man, who as a boy used to see him thus occupied, admits that he used to wonder “how so rough and plain a man could live in so respectable a house.”

I once asked a lady who for a considerable time lived opposite Mr. Lincoln, at Springfield, whether he was really as plain as his pictures all represented him.

“I never saw one of his pictures that did not flatter him,” she answered.

“My oldest son was a companion and playfellow of Mr. Lincoln’s younger boys,” she continued, “and was in and out of his house a dozen times a day. He was a very quiet man. He used to stay at home in the evening, and read or meditate, but Mrs. Lincoln was of a gayer temperament, and cared more for company.”

Mr. Lincoln was always a thoughtful man, and though amid social surroundings he could tell a droll story with a humorous twinkle of the eye, his features in repose were grave and even melancholy. As he walked along the street, he often seemed abstracted, and would pass his best friends without recognizing them. Even at the table he was often self-absorbed, and ate his food mechanically, but there was nothing in his silence to dull or make uncomfortable those around him. After a time he would arise from his silence, and make himself companionable as he was always able to do, and lead conversation into some channel in which members of his family could take part.