Calhoun offered him the post of assistant.In accepting,Lincoln again displayed the honesty that was beginning to be known as his characteristic.He stipulated that he should be perfectly free to express his opinions,that the office should not be in any respect,a bribe.This being conceded,he went to work furiously on a treatise upon surveying,and astonishingly soon,with the generous help of the schoolmaster of New Salem,was able to take up his duties.His first fee was "two buckskins which Hannah Armstrong 'fixed'on his pants so the briers would not wear them out."[8]
Thus time passed until 1834when he staked his only wealth,his popularity,in the gamble of an election.This time he was successful.During the following winter he sat in the Legislature of Illinois;a huge,uncouth,mainly silent member,making apparently no impression whatever,very probably striking the educated members as a nonentity in homespun.[9]
In the spring of 1835,he was back in New Salem,busy again with his surveying.Kind friends had secured him the office of local postmaster.The delivery of letters was now combined with going to and fro as a surveyor.As the mail came but once a week,and as whatever he had to deliver could generally be carried in his hat,and as payment was in proportion to business done,his revenues continued small.Nevertheless,in the view of New Salem,he was getting on.
And then suddenly misfortune overtook him.His great adventure,the first of those spiritual agonies of which he was destined to endure so many,approached.Hitherto,since childhood,women had played no part in his story.All the recollections of his youth are vague in their references to the feminine.As a boy at Pigeon Creek when old Thomas was hiring him out,the women of the settlement liked to have him around,apparently because he was kindly and ever ready to do odd jobs in addition to his regular work.However,until 1835,his story is that of a man's man,possibly because there was so much of the feminine in his own make-up.In 1835came a change.A girl of New Salem,a pretty village maiden,the best the poor place could produce,revealed him to himself.Sweet Ann Rutledge,the daughter of the tavern-keeper,was his first love.But destiny was against them.A brief engagement was terminated by her sudden death late in the summer of 1835.Of this shadowy love-affair very little is known,--though much romantic fancy has been woven about it.Its significance for after-time is in Lincoln's "reaction."There had been much sickness in New Salem the summer in which Ann died.Lincoln had given himself freely as nurse--the depth of his companionableness thus being proved--and was in an overwrought condition when his sorrow struck him.A last interview with the dying girl,at which no one was present,left him quite unmanned.A period of violent agitation followed.For a time he seemed completely transformed.The sunny Lincoln,the delight of Clary's Grove,had vanished.In his place was a desolated soul--a brother to dragons,in the terrible imagery of Job--a dweller in the dark places of affliction.It was his mother reborn in him.It was all the shadowiness of his mother's world;all that frantic reveling in the mysteries of woe to which,hitherto,her son had been an alien.To the simple minds of the villagers with their hard-headed,practical way of keeping all things,especially love and grief,in the outer layer of consciousness,this revelation of an emotional terror was past understanding.Some of them,true to their type,pronounced him insane.He was watched with especial vigilance during storms,fogs,damp gloomy weather,"for fear of an accident."Surely,it was only a crazy man,in New Salem psychology,who was heard to say,"I can never be reconciled to have the snow,rains and storms beat upon her grave."[10]
In this crucial moment when the real base of his character had been suddenly revealed--all the passionateness of the forest shadow,the unfathomable gloom laid so deep at the bottom of his soul--he was carried through his spiritual eclipse by the loving comprehension of two fine friends.New Salem was not all of the sort of Clary's Grove.Near by on a farm,in a lovely,restful landscape,lived two people who deserve to be remembered,Bowlin Green and his wife.They drew Lincoln into the seclusion of their home,and there in the gleaming days of autumn,when everywhere in the near woods flickered downward,slowly,idly,the falling leaves golden and scarlet,Lincoln recovered his equanimity.[11]But the hero of Pigeon Creek,of Clary's Grove,did not quite come hack.In the outward life,to be sure,a day came when the sunny story-teller,the victor of Jack Armstrong,was once more what Jack would have called his real self.In the inner life where alone was his reality,the temper which affliction had revealed to him was established.Ever after,at heart,he was to dwell alone,facing,silent,those inscrutable things which to the primitive mind are things of every day.Always,he was to have for his portion in his real self,the dimness of twilight,or at best,the night with its stars,"never glad,confident morning again."
