"

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, a