There
something happened that made a lasting impression upon his soul: he
witnessed a slave auction. "His heart bled," wrote one of his
companions; "said nothing much; was silent; looked bad. I can say,
knowing it, that it was on this trip that he formed his opinion on
slavery. It run its iron in him then and there, May, 1831. I have heard
him say so often." Then he lived several years at New Salem, in
Illinois, a small mushroom village, with a mill, some "stores" and
whiskey shops, that rose quickly, and soon disappeared again. It was a
desolate, disjointed, half-working and half-loitering life, without any
other aim than to gain food and shelter from day to day. He served as
pilot on a steamboat trip, then as clerk in a store and a mill; business
failing, he was adrift for some time. Being compelled to measure his
strength with the chief bully of the neighborhood, and overcoming him, he
became a noted person in that muscular community, and won the esteem and
friendship of the ruling gang of ruffians to such a degree that, when the
Black Hawk war broke out, they elected him, a young man of twenty-three,
captain of a volunteer company, composed mainly of roughs of their kind.
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