Jasper taught for a time near New Salem, then made again his usual circuit, after which he made his home for a time at Springfield, Illinois. When Jasper was returning from this last circuit of his self-appointed mission the Black Hawk war had begun again. He came one day, after long wanderings, to Bushville, in Schuyler County, Illinois, and found the place in a state of great excitement. The town was filling with armed men, and among them were many faces that he had seen at New Salem, when Waubeno was his companion.

He recognized a Mr. Green, whom he had known in New Salem, and said to him:

"My friend, what does this armed gathering mean?"

"Black Hawk has crossed the Mississippi and is making war on the settlers. The Governor has called for volunteers to defend the State."

"What has led to this new outbreak?" said Jasper, although few knew the cause better than he.

"Oh, sentiment—Indian sentiment. Black Hawk wants the old Indian town on the bluff again. He says it is sacred to his race; that his ancestors are buried there, and that there is no place like it on earth, or none that can take its place in his soul. He claims that the chiefs had been made drunk by the white men when they signed the treaty that gave up the town; that he never sold his fathers' graves. His heart is full of revenge, and he and all his tribe cling to that old Sac village with the grasp of death."

"The trouble has been gathering long?"

"Yes. The settlers came up, under the treaty, to occupy the best lands around the Sac town and compel the Indians to live west of the Mississippi. Then the Indians and settlers began to dispute and quarrel. The settlers brought whisky, and Black Hawk demanded that it should not be sold to his people. He violently entered a settler's claim, and stove in a barrel of whisky before the man's eyes. Then the Indians went over the Mississippi sullenly, and left their cabins and corn-fields. But hard weather came, and the women would come back to the old corn-fields, which they had planted the year before, to steal corn. They said that the corn was theirs, and that they were starving for their own food. Some of them were killed by the settlers. Black Hawk had become enraged again. He has been trying to get the Indian tribes to unite and kill all of the whites. He has violated the old Indian treaty, and is murdering people on every hand, and the Governor has asked for volunteers to protect the lives and property of the settlers. He had to do it. Either the whites or the Indians must perish. The settlers came here under a legal treaty; they must be protected. It is no time for sentiment now."

"Are nearly all of the men of New Salem here?" said Jasper.

"Yes; Abraham Lincoln was the first to enlist, and he is our leader. He ought to be a good Indian fighter. His grandfather was killed by the Indians."

"So I have heard."

"But Lincoln himself is not a hard man; there's nothing revengeful about him. He would be more likely to do a good act to an Indian than a harmful one, if he could. His purpose is not to kill Indians, but to protect the State and save the lives of peaceful, inoffensive people."

The men from the several towns in the vicinity gathered in the open space, and proceeded to elect their officers.

The manner of the election was curious. There were the two candidates for captain of the company. They were Abraham Lincoln and a man by the name of Fitzpatrick. Each volunteer was asked to put himself in the line by the side of the man of his choice.

One by one they stepped forward and arranged themselves by the side of Lincoln, until Lincoln stood at the head of a larger part of the men.

"Captain Lincoln!" said one, when he saw how the election was going. "Three cheers for Honest Abe! He is our man."

There arose a great shout of "Captain Lincoln!"

Jasper marked the delight which the election had given his old New Salem friends. Lincoln himself once said that that election was the proudest event of his life.

The New Salem Company went into camp at Beardstown, and was disbanded at Ottawa thirty days after, not having met the enemy. Lincoln, feeling that he should be true to his country and the public safety at the hour of peril, enlisted again as a common private, served another thirty days, and then, the war not being over, he enlisted again. The war terminated with the battle of Bad Axe and the capture of Black Hawk, who became a prisoner of state.

One day, when the volunteers were greatly excited by the tales of Indian murders, and were beset by foes lurking in ambush and pirogue, a remarkable scene occurred in Lincoln's camp.

The men, who had been talking over a recent massacre by the Indians, were thirsting to avenge the barbarities, when suddenly the withered form of an Indian appeared before them.

They started, and an officer demanded:

"Who are you?"

"Main-Pogue."

"How came you here?"

"I am a friend to the white man. I'm going to meet my son, a boy whom I have made my own."

"You are a spy!"

"I am not a spy. I am Main-Pogue. I am hungry; I am old. I am no spy. Give an old Indian food, and I will serve you while you need. Then let me go and find my boy."

"Food!" said one. "You are a spy, a plotter. There is murder in your heart. We will make short work with you. That is what we are sent out to do."

"I never did the white man harm," said the old man, drawing his blanket around him.

"You shall pay for this, you old hypocrite!" said another officer. "Men, what shall we do with this spy?"

"Kill him!" said one.

"Shoot him!" said another.

"Torture him, and make him confess!" said a third.

The old Indian stood bent and trembling.

"I am a wandering beggar, looking for my boy," said the Indian. "I never did the white man harm. Hear me."

"You belong to Black Hawk's devils," said an officer, "and you are plotting our death. You shall be shot. Seize him!"

The old Indian trembled as the men surrounded him bent on his destruction.

There came toward the excited company a tall young officer. All eyes were bent upon him. He peered into the face of the old Indian. The men rushed forward to obey the officer.

"Halt!" said the tall captain. "This Indian must not be killed by us."

That speaker was Abraham Lincoln. The men jeered at him, but he stood between the Indian and them, like a form of iron.

The Indian gave his protector a grateful look, and there dropped from his hand a passport, which in his confusion he had failed to give the officer. It was a certificate saying that he had rendered good service to the Government, and it was signed by General Cass.

"Why should you wish to save him?" asked a volunteer of young Lincoln. "Your grandfather was killed by an Indian. You are a coward!"

"I would do what is right by any man," said Lincoln, fiercely. "Who says I am a coward? I will meet him here in an open contest. Now, let the man who says I am a coward meet me face to face and hand to hand."

He stood over the cowering Indian, dark, self-confident and defiant.

"I stand for justice. Let him come on. I stand alone for right. Let him come on.—Main-Pogue, go!"

Out of the camp hobbled the Indian, with the long, strong arm of Abraham Lincoln lifted over him. The eyes of the men followed him in anger, disappointment, and scorn. Hard words passed from one to the other. He felt for the first time in his life that he stood in this matter utterly alone.

"Jeer on," he said. "I would shield this Indian at the cost of my life. I would not be a true soldier if I failed in my duty to this old man. In every event of life it is right that makes might; and the rights of an Indian are as sacred as those of any other man, and I would defend them, at whatever cost, as those of a white man.—Main-Pogue, go hence! Here will I stand between you and death."

"Heaven bless you for protecting a poor old man! I have been a runner for the whites for many years, but I have never met a man like you. I will tell my boy of this. Your name is Lincoln?"

"Yes—Abraham Lincoln, though the name matters nothing."