of filial work remained for Abraham before assuming
his virile independence. With the assistance
of John Hanks he plowed fifteen acres, and split,
from the tall walnut-trees of the primeval forest,
enough rails to surround them with a fence. Little
did either dream, while engaged in this work, that
the day would come when the appearance of John Hanks
in a public meeting, with two of these rails on his
shoulder, would electrify a State convention, and kindle
throughout the country a contagious and passionate
enthusiasm, whose results would reach to endless generations.
ILLINOIS IN 1830
[Sidenote: Roy. J. M. Sturtevant, “Address
to Old Settlers of Morgan County.”]
[Sidenote: Thomas Buckles, of McLean County.]
[Sidenote: J.C. Power, “Early Settlers
of Sangamon County,” p. 62.]
[Sidenote: “Old Times in McLean County,”
p. 414.]
[Illustration: Goose-Nest prairie,
near Farmington Illinois, where
Thomas Lincoln lived and died.]
The Lincolns arrived in Illinois just in time to entitle
themselves to be called pioneers. When, in after
years, associations of “Old Settlers”
began to be formed in Central Illinois, the qualification
for membership agreed upon by common consent was a
residence in the country before “the winter
of the deep snow.” This was in 1830-31,
a season of such extraordinary severity that it has
formed for half a century a recognized date in the
middle counties of Illinois, among those to whom in
those days diaries and journals were unknown.
The snowfall began in the Christmas holidays and continued
until the snow was three feet deep on level ground.
Then came a cold rain, freezing as it fell, until
a thick crust of ice gathered over the snow. The
weather became intensely cold, the mercury sinking
to twelve degrees below zero, Fahrenheit, and remaining
there for two weeks. The storm came on with such
suddenness that all who were abroad had great trouble
in reaching their homes, and many perished. One
man relates that he and a friend or two were out in
a hunting party with an ox-team. They had collected
a wagon-load of game and were on their way home when
the storm struck them. After they had gone four
miles they were compelled to abandon their wagon;
the snow fell in heavy masses “as if thrown
from a scoop-shovel”; arriving within two miles
of their habitation, they were forced to trust to
the instinct of their animals, and reached home hanging
to the tails of their steers. Not all were so
fortunate. Some were found weeks afterwards in
the snow-drifts, their flesh gnawed by famished wolves;
and the fate of others was unknown until the late
spring sunshine revealed their resting-places.
To those who escaped, the winter was tedious and terrible.
It is hard for us to understand the isolation to which
