Following an incredible visit at the Mount Pulaski Courthouse on Friday July 26, 2024, my photographer, his wife, and I headed westward for 37 miles through the heart of Abraham Lincoln country. As a matter of fact, at one point during the drive, we were just over ten miles North of Lincoln’s home in Springfield.
But our sights were set on a different Lincoln homestead that afternoon – we were on a mission to visit Lincoln’s New Salem State Historic Site, which was located roughly three miles south of Petersburg, Illinois.
Shortly after the future 16th President’s dad moved the family from Indiana to a new homestead near Decatur, Illinois, 22-year-old Abraham Lincoln decided it was time to leave the nest and venture out on his own. In April 1831, young Abe piloted a flatboat filled with supplies as he headed out on the Sangamon River bound for New Orleans. Along the way, the boat got stuck on a mill dam near the tiny frontier town of New Salem where Lincoln spent several hours freeing his vessel. After his trip to the Big Easy had finished, Abe returned to New Salem to live.
At the time, New Salem was home to roughly 20 families and Lincoln found the new, two-year old settlement to be the perfect place to live. The funny thing was, Abe never owned his own home in New Salem, which wasn’t uncommon for single men of the time. Instead, the young rail-splitter slept in the tavern, or in his general store, and would take his meals with a nearby family.
During the six years Lincoln lived in New Salem, he made a living as a shop keeper, a soldier in the Black Hawk War, general store owner, postmaster, land surveyor, and rail splitter; not to mention all the odd jobs he did around the community. To me, it appeared Abraham Lincoln had a hard time keeping a steady job. But the fact was, those six years in New Salem helped mold the hard-working future President into the man and legend he became.
On August 1, 1831, Abraham Lincoln cast his first vote. One year later, after his service in the Black Hawk War had ended, Abe lost his first election for the Illinois House of Representatives. In January 1833, Lincoln and William Berry purchased a store in the village – and four months later, Abraham was appointed postmaster of New Salem by President Andrew Jackson. With his momentum and popularity on the rise, Lincoln was elected to the Illinois House of Representatives on August 4, 1834, and was re-elected two years later.
While all of that was going on in the life of Abraham Lincoln, during his spare time, he read law books with the intentions of becoming a lawyer. And it worked – on September 9, 1836, Abe was given a license to practice law in the State of Illinois. Less than a year later, on April 15, 1837 (which was 28 years to the day of his death), Lincoln moved to Springfield and became the law partner to John Todd Stuart.
From the outside, it appeared as though everything Abraham Lincoln touched in New Salem turned to gold, but that wasn’t the case. During his time in the small community, Abe met and fell in love with Ann Rutledge, whose father John owned the tavern where the young Lincoln spent time. Ann was a petite, blue-eyed, auburn-haired beauty, who according to law partner William Herndon, was the only girl Lincoln ever truly loved – and not just because of her looks, but because she was intelligent as well. While there is speculation by some historians that Abraham planned to marry Rutledge, she suddenly passed away on August 25, 1835 at the age of 22. Lincoln was devastated by Ann’s death, and allegedly fell into a deep depression. He was so heartbroken that Lincoln confided in his friend, Mentor Graham, that he felt like committing suicide, but Graham reassured him that “God has another purpose for you.” For countless weeks after Rutledge’s burial in Old Concord Cemetery outside of town, as autumn turned to winter, Lincoln knelt beside her modest tombstone and openly wept over the loss of his first love. It’s been said the grieving future President laid on her grave because he couldn’t bear the thoughts of it raining or snowing on his love’s mortal remains.
At roughly 2:45pm, Vicki parked our Jeep in the parking lot of the historic site and the three of us went into the Visitor Center where our entry tickets were purchased for a modest donation. For the next 90 minutes, my companions and I braved the scorching temperatures of the afternoon as we explored the reconstructed historic village of New Salem. While only one of the buildings, the Onstot Cooper Shop, was original to the time when Lincoln lived in the community, over twenty structures have been erected on or near their original foundations. The tranquil setting replicated what Abraham Lincoln saw during the six years he lived, learned, loved, and lost in New Salem.
Throughout our visit, I posed for numerous photos with some of the reconstructed buildings that were associated with Lincoln. But when we arrived at the Rutledge Tavern, however, my upbeat demeanor turned to sorrow as I thought about the brief romance between Abraham Lincoln and Ann Rutledge. Although the affair had been the subject of debate since Lincoln’s death in 1865, it seemed to have the ambiance of an American Romeo and Juliet love story – and that’s nothing to shake a spear at.
Now, please allow me to take you on a journey where we will walk together in the footsteps of Abraham Lincoln through the streets of New Salem, Illinois, all thanks to the images captured by my photographer.
Our entire hike out to the Rutledge Tavern and back to the Visitor Center was about a mile, and thanks to Tom’s walking sticks and the many breaks he took in the shade along the way, we made it out of New Salem unscathed – even though the afternoon temperature was over 95 degrees with no breeze. As soon as the three of us returned to the Jeep, I watched as my companions sat in the air-conditioned vehicle and guzzled bottles of water in an attempt to cool down. When they were finished rehydrating their weary bodies, I figured we’d begin the twenty-mile journey to our hotel on the north side of Springfield. After all, it was after four o’clock and most of the Lincoln sites in his hometown would be closed by the time we got there anyways.
But Tom had a surprise up his sleeve. As a matter of fact, he had two surprises left up his sleeve; and both involved Ann Rutledge.
Two and half miles after Vicki pulled out of the parking lot at the New Salem State Historic Site, we arrived at a small burial ground known as Oakland Cemetery, which was located just south of downtown Petersburg. Within a minute or two after we passed through the opened gates, I was in Tom’s hand as we made our way to the final resting place of Ann Rutledge. Finding the grave of Lincoln’s soulmate was easy – the cemetery wasn’t large, plus there were signs directing visitors to the most famous grave on the grounds.
Upon first glance, it seemed as though my photographer might have an issue setting me on the actual gravesite because a three-and-a-half-foot tall iron fence surrounded the Rutledge burial plot. But with a little perseverance, Tom managed to open the stubborn gate, which had been swallowed by years of growth, and he placed me between the large monument and the small tombstone that marked Ann’s original resting place. And although the gravesite where I stood had been her final resting place since May 15, 1890, it wasn’t her first.
After her death on August 25, 1835, Ann Rutledge was laid to rest in a very small pioneer cemetery located about five miles northwest of downtown Petersburg. But when some enterprising citizens figured the grave of Lincoln’s love interest could put their town on the map, undertaker Samual Montgomery and Oakland Cemetery promoter D.M. Bone went to work. Following fifty-five years of lying in peace, the remains of Ann Rutledge were disinterred from her grave in Old Concord Cemetery and moved to Oakland Cemetery, where they were buried near the same small stone marker from her original gravesite. In January 1921, a larger monument was erected on the gravesite, which featured a poem written by Edgar Lee Masters.
“Out of me unworthy and unknown
The vibrations of deathless music;
“With malice toward none, with charity for all.”
Out of me the forgiveness of millions toward millions,
And the beneficent face of a nation
Shining with justice and truth.
I am Anne Rutledge who sleep beneath these weeds,
Beloved in life of Abraham Lincoln,
Wedded to him, not through union,
But through separation.
Bloom forever, O Republic,
From the dust of my bosom!”
Our visit at the gravesite of Ann Rutledge lasted only fifteen minutes when Tom slid me back into the camera case for the trip to the final site of the day. That last stop, which was the second surprise up my photographer’s sleeve, was to pay a visit to the original grave of Miss Rutledge. After my camera guy typed the information into his GPS, the five-mile jaunt to Old Concord Cemetery seemed like it would uneventful. Or as Maverick once said, “Just a walk in the park, Kazansky.”
Fifteen minutes and a series of zigzag turns later, I heard Siri say, “You have reached your destination.” When I took a peek out from an opening in the camera case, I saw a large, well-kept farmhouse sitting directly in front of our vehicle. I also saw a barn and a handful of outbuildings as well. The only thing missing was a cemetery, and thankfully the armed owners of the farmland we had just invaded.
I knew my photographer was completely confused, especially when I heard him say to Vicki, “I can see on my phone’s app where the cemetery is located, and we aren’t anywhere close to it. Go back to the main road and I’ll direct you myself. Siri, you’re fired!” One thought crossed my mind – so much for ‘Just a walk in the park, Kazansky.’
Tom directed his wife north along Grosboll Street, which was an extremely narrow paved road out in the middle of nowhere. When that road ended at Concord Cemetery Road, Vicki made the turn, and we were headed west. Suddenly, I heard Tom’s wife say out loud, “There it is – Concord Cemetery. That wasn’t too bad.” In my mind, and I know my photographer was thinking the same thing as well, there was a key word missing – “OLD”. Sure enough, after the three of us made a quick search of every headstone in the small burial ground, the headstone of Ann Rutledge was nowhere to be found. That’s because the original grave of Rutledge was at Old Concord Cemetery, which Tom knew from his phone app was still about a mile south of our location.
The next narrow paved road we traveled on was called Lincoln Trail Road, which brought us closer to where my photographer thought the historic cemetery was located. When Tom said we were directly west of the cemetery, neither he nor Vicki saw any type of road that would take us to the burial ground. As for me, all I saw was corn and soybeans – and those fields seemed endless.
When Lincoln Trail Road ended at Highway 97, Vicki turned left and said, “I’m driving on this highway until we find someone who can help us. There has to be a business on this road that’s still open where you can ask for directions.”
For once, Vicki was right. She pulled the Jeep into a John Deere farm equipment dealership, and I watched as Tom disappeared into the store. Five minutes later, he returned with some news. “I talked to two guys who have lived in Petersburg all of their lives and they had never heard of Old Concord Cemetery. One of the guys looked it up on his phone and I think we found the way to get to it. Are you ready to go off-roading with the Jeep?”
We retraced our route back to Lincoln Trail Road where we headed north. Roughly a half mile later, Vicki stopped at an opening between a corn field and a field filled with soybeans – there appeared to be a distinct path that had been previously beaten down by vehicles. My photographer’s wife whipped the Jeep onto the path and away we went, bouncing along the grass-covered, rough path. I listened as my two companions laughed at where we were, but I knew they’d be laughing out of the other side of their face should we get stuck. After what seemed to be an eternity of Bajaing into the abyss, we came to a crest in the landscape.
Suddenly, Tom shouted out, “There’s the flag, I see the cemetery. We’re almost there. I can’t believe where this damn cemetery is located – it’s out in the middle of B.F. Egypt.”
When Vicki drove up alongside the fenced-in burial ground, I nearly fell out of the camera case when I heard Tom say, “Well, it looks like we’re the first ones here. At least I won’t have to worry about the Moldenhauer One-Person Rule.” But then it dawned on me – when Ann Rutledge died in 1835, Abraham Lincoln found his way out to this cemetery time after time, and he didn’t have a GPS or a Jeep. Perhaps Ol’ Abe relied on his surveying tools we saw inside the museum.
The three of us entered the cemetery through an opening in the fence and we walked past the flagpole, up a steep incline, and when we got to the crest of the hill, we saw Ann Rutledge’s replacement headstone in the distance. I was surprised by how well-maintained the landscaping of the old burial ground was, considering its location.
Our long and exhausting search for the original gravesite of Ann Rutledge came to an end when Tom carefully placed me on the three-foot-tall, light gray granite headstone. Even though the remains of Ann had been exhumed 134 years earlier and reinterred five miles away in Oakland Cemetery, sadness filled my resin heart when I read the words on the marker, “Where Lincoln Wept.” I became sadder when I read the words etched on the opposite side of the marker, which read, “I cannot bear to think of her out there alone in the storm – A. Lincoln.”
Abraham Lincoln walked those very grounds each time he visited Ann Rutledge’s gravesite. It was as though I could see Lincoln as he knelt down on the ground right in front of me, wishing he could hold his love one last time. I watched in sadness as tears fell from his sorrowful eyes and dissolved into the soil. It was obvious Lincoln was a broken man who had fallen into a deep depression; a depression that would last for the remainder of his life. Oh, he married Mary Todd seven years after Ann’s tragic death, but some historians believe that Ann Rutledge was the only woman Lincoln ever truly loved. That was a secret that died at Ford’s Theater with the President.
We had spent over twenty minutes inside Old Concord Cemetery when Tom decided to carry me back towards our vehicle. The two of us carefully maneuvered between the 200-some graves that were scattered throughout the burial ground. But as we reached the crest of the hill, I once again felt the presence of Abraham Lincoln as he walked alongside us. Lincoln had made his way out to the original gravesite of Ann Rutledge to visit his love and let her know she will never be forgotten nor left alone in the storm. And those thoughts were etched in stone.
Back behind the wheel, Vicki retraced our path between the corn and soybean fields and finally out to Lincoln Trail Road. It was nearly 5:30pm, my companions were hungry, and we had only a 30-mile drive to get to our hotel.
At 6:15pm, my photographer’s wife pulled into the parking lot of the Ramada by Wyndham Springfield North, which was located only five miles north of Abraham Lincoln’s historic Springfield home and about four miles east of Lincoln’s Tomb. It appeared our hotel was in the perfect location so we could easily visit all of the Lincoln sites the following morning. And the best part of all, especially for Tom, was the fact we were staying two nights at the Ramada, which meant one less day of unloading and repacking the Jeep.
While Vicki registered in the lobby of the hotel, Tom loaded up the luggage cart with all of their belongings and brought the stuff to their first-floor room. Instead of placing me alongside the TV set, like he usually does, my photographer insisted I join him and his wife for dinner. My companions, after listening to advice from the desk clerk, decided to try the Chesapeake Seafood House, which was located less than three miles away.
Shortly after we arrived at the restaurant, which happened to be a mid-1800s mansion first owned by John McGredy, I posed for a few photos near the exterior of the building before we went inside to wait for a table. I knew Tom was hungry because I had heard his stomach growl all the way from Petersburg to Springfield, and everywhere in between.
When the meals arrived at our table, I saw that Tom had ordered fried shrimp, while his wife decided to tantalize her tastebuds with chicken alfredo. Vicki’s choice of Italian cuisine was odd, in my opinion. I thought it would be the same as ordering fish and chips at an International House of Pancakes, it just didn’t make sense to me.
Following dinner, we returned to our hotel at 8:20pm where Tom placed me alongside the TV set. But on that night, we didn’t watch Seinfeld, or The Andy Griffith Show, or a documentary about Sasquatch. Instead, the three of us took in the visual spectacle of the Olympic Opening Ceremonies from Paris, France. From the outset, I could tell NBC had plans to turn the Olympics into the Wokelympics, but by now, I’ve grown immune to that culture. I can’t say the same thing about my photographer.
Shortly after French athletes Marie-Jose’ Perec and Teddy Riner lit the Olympic Cauldron, Tom extinguished the flame in our room. In the darkness, I couldn’t help but think about all of the amazing Abraham Lincoln sites I had visited in the past two days. I started out with the courthouse in Metamora; then the Peoria courthouse site; followed by the Postville Courthouse in Lincoln. I especially loved our ‘Diamond in the Rough’ at the Mount Pulaski Courthouse; and the recreated New Salem settlement where Abe once lived; and finally, the gravesite of Ann Rutledge, the only girl Lincoln ever truly loved.
In reality, we had just scratched the surface when it comes to Lincoln historic sites. After all, in the morning, the three of us will kick-off a full day of sites in Lincoln’s hometown of Springfield. The big question that’s been hanging over my head since we arrived in Springfield was whether or not my photographer will sneak past the barricades to place me on top of Lincoln’s headstone again. Like you, I guess I’ll have to wait and see what opportunities present themselves. I only hope Vicki has enough bail money in her purse. If not, I might need the legal advice of a great lawyer – like Abraham Lincoln.
