Books: The Life of Abraham Lincoln

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And in the second place, even the lovers do not see things alike. If
both really understood, there could be no _mis_understanding. It
is, then, presumptive for even the confidants, and much more for the
general public, to claim to know too much of a lovers' quarrel.

We would gladly pass over this event were it not that certain salient
facts are a matter of public record. It is certain that Lincoln became
engaged to Miss Todd in the year 1840. It is certain that he broke the
engagement on January 1, 1841. It is certain that about that time he
had a horrible attack of melancholy. And we have seen that he never
outgrew his attachment to his early love, Ann Rutledge. Whether this
melancholy was the cause of his breaking the engagement, or was caused
by it, we cannot say. Whether the memory of Ann Rutledge had any
influence in the matter, we do not know.

Whatever the mental cause of this melancholy, there is no doubt that it
had also a physical cause. This was his most violent attack, but by no
means his only one. It recurred, with greater or less severity, all
through his life. He had been born and had grown up in a climate noted
for its malaria. Excepting for the facts that he spent much time in the
open air, had abundant exercise, and ate plain food, the laws of
sanitation were not thought of. It would be strange if his system were
not full of malaria, or, what is only slightly less abominable, of the
medicines used to counteract it. In either case he would be subject to
depression. An unfortunate occurrence in a love affair, coming at the
time of an attack of melancholy, would doubtless bear abundant and
bitter fruit.

Certain it is that the engagement was broken, not a little to the
chagrin of both parties. But a kind neighbor, Mrs. Francis, whose
husband was editor of the Springfield _Journal_, interposed with her
friendly offices. She invited the two lovers to her house, and they
went, each without the knowledge that the other was to be there. Their
social converse was thus renewed, and, in the company of a third
person, Miss Jayne, they continued to meet at frequent intervals. Among
the admirers of Miss Todd were two young men who came to be widely
known. These were Douglas and Shields. With the latter only we are
concerned now. He was a red-headed little Irishman, with a peppery
temper, the whole being set off with an inordinate vanity. He must have
had genuine ability in some directions, or else he was wonderfully
lucky, for he was an officeholder of some kind or other, in different
states of the Union, nearly all his life. It is doubtful if another
person can be named who held as many different offices as he; certainly
no other man has ever represented so many different states in the
senate.

At this particular time, Shields was auditor of the state of Illinois.
The finances of the state were in a shocking condition. The state banks
were not a success, and the currency was nearly worthless. At the same
time, it was the only money current, and it was the money of the state.
These being the circumstances, the governor, auditor, and treasurer,
issued a circular forbidding the payment of state taxes in this paper
currency of the state. This was clearly an outrage upon the taxpayers.

Against this Lincoln protested. Not by serious argument, but by the
merciless satire which he knew so well how to use upon occasion. Under
the pseudonym of Aunt Rebecca, he wrote a letter to the Springfield
_Journal_. The letter was written in the style of Josh Billings,
and purported to come from a widow residing in the "Lost Townships." It
was an attempt to laugh down the unjust measure, and in pursuance of
this the writer plied Shields with ridicule. The town was convulsed
with laughter, and Shields with fury. The wrath of the little Irishman
was funnier than the letter, and the joy of the neighbors increased.

Miss Todd and Miss Jayne entered into the spirit of the fun. Then they
wrote a letter in which Aunt Rebecca proposed to soothe his injured
feelings by accepting Shields as her husband. This was followed by a
doggerel rhyme celebrating the event.

Shields' fury knew no bounds. He went to Francis, the editor of the
_Journal_, and demanded the name of the author of the letters.
Francis consulted with Lincoln. The latter was unwilling to permit any
odium to fall on the ladies, and sent word to Shields that he would
hold himself responsible for those letters.

If Shields had not been precisely the kind of a man he was, the matter
might have been explained and settled amicably. But no, he must have
blood. He sent an insulting and peremptory challenge. When Lincoln
became convinced that a duel was necessary, he exercised his right, as
the challenged party, of choosing the weapons. He selected "broadswords
of the largest size." This was another triumph of humor. The midget of
an Irishman was to be pitted against the giant of six feet four inches,
who possessed the strength of a Hercules, and the weapons were--
"broadswords of the largest size."

The bloody party repaired to Alton, and thence to an island or sand-bar
on the Missouri side of the river. There a reconciliation was effected,
honor was satisfied all around, and they returned home in good spirits.
For some reason Lincoln was always ashamed of this farce. Why, we do
not know. It may have been because he was drawn into a situation in
which there was a possibility of his shedding human blood. And he who
was too tender-hearted to shoot wild game could not make light of that
situation.

The engagement between Lincoln and Miss Todd was renewed, and they were
quietly married at the home of the bride's sister, Mrs. Edwards,
November 4th, 1842. Lincoln made a loyal, true, indulgent husband. Mrs.
Lincoln made a home that was hospitable, cultured, unostentatious. They
lived together until the death of the husband, more than twenty-two
years later.

They had four children, all boys. Only the eldest, Robert Todd Lincoln,
grew to manhood. He has had a career which is, to say the least,
creditable to the name he bears. For a few months at the close of the
war he was on the staff of General Grant. He was Secretary of War
under Garfield and retained the office through the administration of
Arthur. Under President Harrison, from 1889 to 1893, he was minister to
England. He is a lawyer by profession, residing in Chicago--the city
that loved his father--and at the present writing is president of the
Pullman Company. In every position he has occupied he has exercised a
notably wide influence.

CHAPTER XI.

THE ENCROACHMENTS OF SLAVERY.

It is necessary at this point to take a glance at the history of
American slavery, in order to understand Lincoln's career. In 1619, or
one year before the landing of the _Mayflower_ at Plymouth, a Dutch
man-of-war landed a cargo of slaves at Jamestown, Virginia. For nearly
two centuries after this the slave trade was more or less brisk. The
slaves were distributed, though unevenly, over all the colonies. But as
time passed, differences appeared. In the North, the public conscience
was awake to the injustice of the institution, while in the South it
was not. There were many exceptions in both localities, but the public
sentiment, the general feeling, was as stated.

There was another difference. Slave labor was more valuable in the
South than in the North. This was due to the climate. The negro does
not take kindly to the rigors of the North, while in the South the
heat, which is excessive to the white man, is precisely suited to the
negro. In the course of years, therefore, there came to be
comparatively few negroes in the North while large numbers were found
in the South.

It is generally conceded that the founders of our government looked
forward to a gradual extinction of slavery. In the first draft of the
Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson inserted some scathing
remarks about the King's part in the slave traffic. But it was felt
that such remarks would come with ill grace from colonies that abetted
slavery, and the passage was stricken out. It was, however, provided
that the slave trade should cease in the year 1808.

The Ordinance of 1787 recognized the difference in sentiment of the two
portions of the country on the subject, and was enacted as a
compromise. Like several subsequent enactments, it was supposed to set
the agitation of the subject for ever at rest. This ordinance provided
that slavery should be excluded from the northwestern territory. At
that time the Mississippi river formed the western boundary of the
country, and the territory thus ordained to be free was that out of
which the five states of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, and
Wisconsin were subsequently formed. It was not then dreamed that the
future acquisition of new territory, or the sudden appreciation of the
value of the slave, would reopen the question.

But three facts changed the entire complexion of the subject. It was
discovered that the soil and climate of the South were remarkably well
adapted to the growth of cotton. Then the development of steam power
and machinery in the manufacture of cotton goods created a sudden and
enormous demand from Liverpool, Manchester, and other cities in England
for American cotton. There remained an obstacle to the supply of this
demand. This was the difficulty of separating the cotton fiber from the
seed. A negro woman was able to clean about a pound of cotton in a day.

In 1793, Eli Whitney, a graduate of Yale college, was teaching school
in Georgia, and boarding with the widow of General Greene. Certain
planters were complaining, in the hearing of Mrs. Greene, of the
difficulty of cleaning cotton, when she declared that the Yankee school
teacher could solve the difficulty, that he was so ingenious that there
was almost nothing he could not do.

The matter was brought to Whitney's attention, who protested that he
knew nothing of the subject,--he hardly knew a cotton seed when he saw
it. Nevertheless he set to work and invented the cotton gin. By this
machine one man, turning a crank; could clean fifty pounds of cotton a
day. The effect of this was to put a new face upon the cotton trade. It
enabled the planters to meet the rapidly-increasing demand for raw
cotton.

It had an equal influence on the slavery question. Only negroes can
work successfully in the cotton fields. There was a phenomenal increase
in the demand for negro labor. And this was fifteen years before the
time limit of the slave trade in 1808.

There soon came to be a decided jealousy between the slave-holding and
the non-slave-holding portion of the country which continually
increased. At the time of the Ordinance of 1787 the two parts of the
country, were about evenly balanced. Each section kept a vigilant watch
of the other section so as to avoid losing the balance of power.

As the country enlarged, this balance was preserved by the admission of
free and slave states in turn. Vermont was paired with Kentucky;
Tennessee with Ohio; Louisiana with Indiana; and Mississippi with
Illinois. In 1836, Michigan and Arkansas were admitted on the same day.
on the same day. This indicates that the jealousy of the two parties
was growing more acute.

Then Texas was admitted December 29, 1845, and was not balanced until
the admission of Wisconsin in 1848.

We must now go back to the admission of Missouri. It came into the
Union as a slave state, but by what is known as the Missouri Compromise
of 1820. By this compromise the concession of slavery to Missouri was
offset by the enactment that all slavery should be forever excluded
from the territory west of that state and north of its southern
boundary: namely, the parallel of 36 degrees 30'.

The mutterings of the conflict were heard at the time of the admission
of Texas in 1848. It was again "set forever at rest" by what was known
as the Wilmot proviso. A year or two later, the discovery of gold in
California and the acquisition of New Mexico reopened the whole
question. Henry Clay of Kentucky, a slaveholder but opposed to the
extension of slavery, was then a member of the House. By a series of
compromises--he had a brilliant talent for compromise--he once more set
the whole question "forever at rest." This rest lasted for four years.
But in 1852 Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe published "Uncle Tom's Cabin,"
an event of national importance. To a degree unprecedented, it roused
the conscience of those who were opposed to slavery and inflamed the
wrath of those who favored it.

The sudden and rude awakening from this rest came in 1854 with the
repeal of the Missouri Compromise. The overland travel to California
after the year 1848 had given to the intervening territory an
importance far in excess of its actual population. It early became
desirable to admit into the Union both Kansas and Nebraska; and the
question arose whether slavery should be excluded according to the act
of 1820. The slave-holding residents of Missouri were hostile to the
exclusion of slavery. It was situated just beyond their border, and
there is no wonder that they were unable to see any good reason why
they could not settle there with their slaves. They had the sympathy of
the slave states generally.

On the other hand, the free states were bitterly opposed to extending
the slave power. To them it seemed that the slaveholders were planning
for a vast empire of slavery, an empire which should include not only
the southern half of the United States, but also Mexico, Central
America, and possibly a portion of South America. The advocates of
slavery certainly presented and maintained an imperious and despotic
temper. Feeling was running high on both sides in the early fifties.

A leading cyclopedia concludes a brief article on the Missouri
Compromise with the parenthetical reference,--"see DOUGLAS, STEPHEN A."
The implication contained in these words is fully warranted. The chief
event in the life of Douglas is the repeal of the Missouri Compromise.
And the history of the Missouri Compromise cannot be written without
giving large place to the activity of Douglas. His previous utterances
had not led observers, however watchful, to suspect this. In the
compromise of 1850 he had spoken with great emphasis: "In taking leave
of this subject, I wish to state that I have determined never to make
another speech upon the slavery question.... We claim that the
compromise is a final settlement.... Those who preach peace should not
be the first to commence and reopen an old quarrel."

This was the man who four years later recommenced and reopened this old
quarrel of slavery. In the meantime something had occurred. In 1852 he
had been the unsuccessful candidate for the democratic nomination for
President, and he had aspirations for the nomination in 1856, when a
nomination would have been equivalent to an election. It thus seemed
politic for him to make some decided move which would secure to him the
loyalty of the slave power.

Upon Stephen A. Douglas rested the responsibility of the repeal of the
Missouri Compromise. He was at that time chairman of the Senate
committee on Territories. His personal friend and political manager for
Illinois, William A. Richardson, held a similar position in the House.
The control of the legislation upon this subject was then absolutely in
the hands of Senator Douglas, the man who had "determined never to make
another speech on the slavery question."

It is not within the scope of this book to go into the details of this
iniquitous plot, for plot it was. But the following passage may be
quoted as exhibiting the method of the bill: "It being the true intent
and meaning of this act not to legislate slavery into any territory or
state, nor to exclude it therefrom, but to leave the people thereof
perfectly free to form and regulate their domestic institutions in
their own way, subject only to the Constitution." In other words, no
state or territory could be surely safe from the intrusion of slavery.

Lincoln had been practising law and had been out of politics for six
years. It was this bill which called him back to politics, "like a
fire-bell in the night."

CHAPTER XII.

THE AWAKENING OF THE LION.

The repeal of the Missouri Compromise caused great excitement
throughout the land. The conscience of the anti-slavery portion of the
community was shocked, as was also that of the large numbers of people
who, though not opposed to slavery in itself, were opposed to its
extension. It showed that this institution had a deadening effect upon
the moral nature of the people who cherished it. There was no
compromise so generous that it would satisfy their greed, there were no
promises so solemn that they could be depended on to keep them. They
were not content with maintaining slavery in their own territory. It
was not enough that they should be allowed to take slaves into a
territory consecrated to freedom, nor that all the powers of the law
were devoted to recapturing a runaway slave and returning him to
renewed horrors. They wanted all the territories which they had
promised to let alone. It was a logical, and an altogether probable
conclusion that they only waited for the opportunity to invade the
northern states and turn them from free-soil into slave territory.

The indignation over this outrage not only flamed from thousands of
pulpits, but newspapers and political clubs of all kinds took up the
subject on one side or the other. Every moralist became a politician,
and every politician discussed the moral bearings of his tenets.

In no locality was this excitement more intense than in Illinois. There
were special reasons for this. It is a very long state, stretching
nearly five hundred miles from north to south. Now, it is a general law
among Americans that migration follows very nearly the parallels of
latitude from East to West. For this reason the northern portion of the
state was mostly settled by northern people whose sympathies were
against slavery; while the southern portion of the state was mostly
settled by southern people, whose sympathies were in favor of slavery.
The state was nearly evenly divided, and the presence of these two
parties kept up a continual friction and intensified the feeling on
both sides.

To this general condition must be added the fact that Illinois was the
home of Douglas, who was personally and almost solely responsible for
the repeal of the Missouri Compromise. In that state he had risen from
obscurity to be the most conspicuous man in the United States. His
party had a decided majority in the state, and over it he had absolute
control. He was their idol. Imperious by nature, shrewd, unscrupulous,
a debater of marvelous skill, a master of assemblies, a man who knew
not the meaning of the word fail--this was Douglas. But his home was in
Chicago, a city in which the anti-slavery sentiment predominated.

When Douglas returned to his state, _his_ in more than one sense, it
was not as a conquering hero. He did not return direct from Washington,
but delayed, visiting various portions of the country. Possibly this
was due to the urgency of business, probably it was in order to give
time for the excitement to wear itself out. But this did not result,
and his approach was the occasion of a fresh outbreak of feeling in
Chicago; the demonstrations of the residents of that city were not a
flattering welcome home. Bells were tolled as for public mourning,
flags were hung at half mast. Nothing was omitted that might emphasize
the general aversion to the man who had done that infamous deed.

A public meeting was planned, at which he was to speak in defense of
his course. A large crowd, about five thousand people, gathered.
Douglas was surrounded by his own friends, but the major portion of the
crowd was intensely hostile to him. When he began to speak the
opposition broke out. He was interrupted by questions and comments.
These so exasperated him that he completely lost control of himself. He
stormed, he shook his fist, he railed. The meeting broke up in
confusion. Then came a reaction which greatly profited him. The papers
published that he had attempted to speak and had not been allowed to do
so, but had been hooted by a turbulent mob. All of which was true. By
the time he spoke again the sympathy of the public had swung to his
side, and he was sure of a favorable hearing.

This second speech was on the occasion of the state fair at
Springfield. Men of all kinds and of every political complexion were
present from even the remotest localities in the state. The speech was
to be an address to a large audience fairly representative of the
entire state.

Lincoln was there. Not merely because Springfield was his home. He
doubtless would have been there anyhow. His ability as a politician,
his growing fame as a lawyer and a public speaker, his well-known
antipathy to slavery, singled him out as the one man who was
preeminently fitted to answer the speech of Douglas, and he was by a
tacit agreement selected for this purpose.

Lincoln himself felt the stirring impulse. It is not uncommon for the
call of duty, or opportunity, to come once in a lifetime to the heart
of a man with over-mastering power, so that his purposes and powers are
roused to an unwonted and transforming degree of activity. It is the
flight of the eaglet, the awakening of the lion, the transfiguration of
the human spirit. To Lincoln this call now came. He was the same man,
but he had reached another stage of development, entered a new
experience, exhibiting new powers,--or the old powers to such a degree
that they were virtually new. It is the purpose of this chapter to note
three of his speeches which attest this awakening.

The first of these was delivered at the state Fair at Springfield.
Douglas had spoken October 3d, 1854. Lincoln was present, and it was
mentioned by Douglas, and was by all understood, that he would reply
the following day, October 4th. Douglas was, up to that time, not only
the shrewdest politician in the country, but he was acknowledged to be
the ablest debater. He was particularly well prepared upon this
subject, for to it he had given almost his entire time for nearly a
year, and had discussed it in congress and out, and knew thoroughly the
current objections. The occasion was unusual, and this was to be, and
doubtless it was, his greatest effort.

The following day came Lincoln's reply. As a matter of fairness, he
said at the outset that he did not want to present anything but the
truth. If he said anything that was not true, he would be glad to have
Douglas correct him at once. Douglas, with customary shrewdness, took
advantage of this offer by making frequent interruptions, so as to
break the effect of the logic and destroy the flow of thought. Finally
Lincoln's patience was exhausted, and he paused in his argument to say:
"Gentlemen, I cannot afford to spend my time in quibbles. I take the
responsibility of asserting the truth myself, relieving Judge Douglas
from the necessity of his impertinent corrections." This silenced his
opponent, and he spoke without further interruption to the end, his
speech being three hours and ten minutes long.

The effect of the speech was wonderful. The scene, as described next
day in the Springfield _Journal_, is worth quoting:

"Lincoln quivered with feeling and emotion. The whole house was as
still as death. He attacked the bill with unusual warmth and energy,
and all felt that a man of strength was its enemy, and that he meant to
blast it if he could by strong and manly efforts. He was most
successful; and the house approved the glorious triumph of truth by
loud and long-continued huzzas.... Mr. Lincoln exhibited Douglas in all
the attitudes he could be placed in a friendly debate. He exhibited
the bill in all its aspects to show its humbuggery and falsehoods, and
when thus torn to rags, cut into slips, held up to the gaze of the vast
crowd, a kind of scorn was visible upon the face of the crowd, and upon
the lips of the most eloquent speaker.... At the conclusion of the
speech, every man felt that it was unanswerable--that no human power
could overthrow it or trample it under foot. The long and repeated
applause evinced the feelings of the crowd, and gave token, too, of the
universal assent to Lincoln's whole argument; and every mind present
did homage to the man who took captive the heart and broke like a sun
over the understanding."

The speech itself, and the manner of its reception, could not other
than rouse Douglas to a tempest of wrath. It was a far more severe
punishment than to be hooted from the stage, as he had been in Chicago.
He was handled as he had never been handled in his life. He took the
platform, angrily claimed that he had been abused, and started to
reply. But he did not get far. He had no case. He became confused, lost
his self-control, hesitated, finally said that he would reply in the
evening, and left the stage. That was the end of the incident so far as
Douglas was concerned. When the evening came he had disappeared, and
there was no reply.

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