Books: The Life of Abraham Lincoln
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Henry Ketcham >> The Life of Abraham Lincoln
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When he reached New York he found that there had been a change of plan,
and he was to speak in Cooper Institute, New York, instead of Beecher's
church. He took the utmost care in revising his speech, for he felt
that he was on new ground and must not do less than his best.
But though he made the most perfect intellectual preparation, the
esthetic element of his personal appearance was sadly neglected. He was
angular and loose-jointed,--he could not help that. He had provided
himself, or had been provided, with a brand-new suit of clothes,
whether of good material or poor we cannot say, whether well-fitting or
ill-fitting we do not know, though we may easily guess. But we do know
that it had been crowded into a small carpet-bag and came out a mass of
wrinkles. And during the speech the collar or lappel annoyed both
speaker and audience by persisting in rising up unbidden.
These details are mentioned to show the difficulty of the task before
the orator. In the audience and on the platform were many of the most
brilliant and scholarly men of the metropolis. There were also large
numbers who had come chiefly to hear the westerner tell a lot of funny
stories. The orator was introduced by Bryant.
The speech was strictly intellectual from beginning to end. Though
Lincoln was not known in New York, Douglas was. So he fittingly took
his start from a quotation of Douglas. The speech cannot be epitomized,
but its general drift may be divined from its opening and closing
sentences.
The quotation from Douglas was that which had been uttered at Columbus
a few months before: "Our fathers, when they framed the government
under which we live, understood this question (the question of slavery)
just as well, and even better, than we do now." To this proposition the
orator assented. That raised the inquiry, What was their understanding
of the question? This was a historical question, and could be answered
only by honest and painstaking research.
Continuing, the speaker said: "Does the proper division of local from
Federal authority, or anything in the Constitution, forbid our Federal
government to control as to slavery in our Federal territories? Upon
this Senator Douglas holds the affirmative and the republicans the
negative. This affirmation and denial form an issue, and this issue--
this question--is precisely what the text declares our fathers
understood 'better than we.'
"I defy any one to show that any living man in the whole world ever
did, prior to the beginning of the present century (and I might almost
say prior to the beginning of the last half of the present century),
declare that in his understanding any proper division of local from
Federal authority, or any part of the Constitution, forbade the Federal
government to control as to slavery in the Federal territories. To
those who now so declare, I give, not only 'our fathers who framed the
government under which we live,' but with them all other living men
within the century in which it was framed, among whom to search, and
they shall not be able to find the evidence of a single man agreeing
with them."
One paragraph is quoted for the aptness of its illustration: "But you
will not abide the election of a republican President! In that supposed
event, you say you will destroy the Union; and then you say, the great
crime of having destroyed it will be upon us! That is cool. A
highwayman holds a pistol to my ear, and mutters through his teeth,
'Stand and deliver, or I shall kill you, and then you will be a
murderer!' To be sure, what the robber demanded of me--my money--was my
own, and I had a clear right to keep it; but it was no more my own than
my vote is my own; and the threat of death to me to extort my money,
and the threat of destruction to the Union to extort my vote, can
scarcely be distinguished in principle."
The speech reached its climax in its closing paragraph: "Wrong as we
think slavery is, we can yet afford to let it alone where it is,
because that so much is due to the necessity arising from its actual
presence in the nation; but can we, while our votes will prevent it,
allow it to spread into the national territories, and to overrun us
here in the free states? If our sense of duty forbids this, then let us
stand by our duty, fearlessly and effectively. Let us be diverted by
none of those sophistical contrivances wherewith we are so
industriously plied and belabored--contrivances such as groping for
some middle ground between the right and the wrong, vain as the search
for a man who would be neither a living man nor a dead man; such as a
policy of 'don't care' on a question about which all true men do care;
such as Union appeals to beseech all true Union men to yield to
Disunionists; reversing the divine rule, and calling, not the sinners,
but the righteous, to repentance; such as invocations to Washington,
imploring men to unsay what Washington said, and undo what Washington
did.
"Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against
us, nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction to the government,
nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that right makes might,
and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we
understand it."
This speech placed Lincoln in the line of the presidency. Not only was
it received with unbounded enthusiasm by the mass of the people, but it
was a revelation to the more intellectual and cultivated. Lincoln
afterwards told of a professor of rhetoric at Yale College who was
present. He made an abstract of the speech and the next day presented
it to the class as a model of cogency and finish. This professor
followed Lincoln to Meriden to hear him again. The _Tribune_ gave
to the speech unstinted praise, declaring that "no man ever before made
such an impression on his first appeal to a New York audience."
The greatest compliment, because the most deliberate, was that of the
committee who prepared the speech for general distribution. Their
preface is sufficiently explicit:
"No one who has not actually attempted to verify its details can
understand the patient research and historical labors which it
embodies. The history of our earlier politics is scattered through
numerous journals, statutes, pamphlets, and letters; and these are
defective in completeness and accuracy of statement, and in indices and
tables of contents. Neither can any one who has not traveled over this
precise ground appreciate the accuracy of every trivial detail, or the
self-denying impartiality with which Mr. Lincoln has turned from the
testimony of 'the fathers' on the general question of slavery, to
present the single question which he discusses. From the first line to
the last, from his premises to his conclusion, he travels with a swift,
unerring directness which no logician ever excelled, an argument
complete and full, without the affectation of learning, and without the
stiffness which usually accompanies dates and details. A single, easy,
simple sentence of plain Anglo-Saxon words, contains a chapter of
history that, in some instances, has taken days of labor to verify, and
which must have cost the author months of investigation to acquire."
Surely Mr. Bryant and Mr. Beecher and the rest had every reason for
gratification that they had introduced this man of humble beginnings to
so brilliant a New York audience.
Lincoln went to Exeter, N.H., to visit his son who was in Phillips
Academy preparing for Harvard College. Both going and returning he made
several speeches, all of which were received with more than ordinary
favor. By the time he returned home he was no longer an unknown man. He
was looked on with marked favor in all that portion of the country
which lies north of Mason and Dixon's line.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE NOMINATION OF 1860.
The subject of this chapter is the republican convention that nominated
Lincoln for the presidency. But for an intelligent narration of this,
it is necessary to give a brief account of at least one of the three
other important political conventions that were held that year. That
one was the regular democratic convention at Charleston. And certain
other facts also must be narrated.
Leaven was working in two respects. The first is that the plan of
secession and of setting up a Southern nation founded upon slavery, was
not a sudden or impromptu thought. The evidence is conclusive that the
plan had been maturing for years. Recent events had shown that slavery
had reached the limit of its development so far as concerned the
territory of the United States. The plan to annex Cuba as a garden for
the culture of slavery, had failed. California had been admitted as a
free state. Slavery had been excluded from Kansas, although that
territory had for two years been denied admission to the sisterhood of
states.
As the slave power was not content with any limitation whatever, its
leaders now looked for an opportunity to break up this present
government and start a new one. At the time (December, 1860) South
Carolina passed the ordinance of secession, to be narrated later,
certain things were said which may be quoted here. These utterances
exposed the spirit that animated the slave power long before Lincoln's
election, long before he was even known in politics.
Parker said that the movement of secession had been "gradually
culminating for _a long series of years_."
Inglis endorsed the remark and added, "Most of us have had this matter
under consideration for the last twenty years."
Keitt said, "I have been engaged in this movement _ever since I
entered political life_."
Rhett said, "The secession of South Carolina was not the event of a
day. It is not anything produced by Mr. Lincoln's election, or by the
non-execution of the fugitive slave law. It is a matter which has been
gathering head _for thirty years_. The election of Lincoln and
Hamlin was the last straw on the back of the camel. But it was not the
only one. The back was nearly broken before.
The other important fact was the result of Lincoln's Freeport question.
The answer of Douglas was: "I answer _emphatically_ ... that in my
opinion the people of a territory can, by lawful means, exclude slavery
from its limits prior to the formation of a state constitution." This
answer satisfied the democrats of Illinois and secured his election to
the senate, as Lincoln predicted that it would. But it angered the
southern leaders beyond all reason--as Lincoln knew it would.
When, therefore, the democratic convention met in Charleston, the first
purpose of the southern leaders was to defeat Douglas. In their
judgment he was not orthodox on slavery. He was far the strongest
candidate before the convention, but he was not strong enough to secure
the two-thirds vote which under the rules of that party were necessary
to a choice. After fifty-seven ballots, and a corresponding amount of
debating, the feeling of antagonism rising, continually higher, the
crisis came. The southern delegates withdrew from the convention and
appointed a convention of their own to be held in Richmond. This was
done with the full knowledge that, if it accomplished anything, it
would accomplish the defeat of the party. It was probably done for this
very purpose,--to defeat the party,--so as to give an excuse, more or
less plausible, for carrying out the matured plan of secession,
claiming to be injured or alarmed at the ascendancy of the republican
party.
Up to this point, at least, Lincoln had no aspirations for the
presidency. But he did aspire to the United States senate. He accepted
his defeat by Douglas in 1858 as only temporary. He knew there would be
another senatorial election in four years. When asked how he felt about
this defeat, he turned it into a joke, and said that he felt "like the
boy who had stubbed his toe, too badly to laugh, and he was too big to
cry."
He had thought of being nominated as vice-president with Seward as
President, which would have given him, if elected, a place in the
senate. He was glad of any possible prominence in the Chicago
convention, which was still in the future. For that would help his
senatorial aspirations when the time came. But as to anything higher,
he declared, "I must in all candor say that I do not think myself fit
for the presidency." And he was an honest man. With the senate still in
view, he added, "I am not in a position where it would hurt me much not
to be nominated [for president] on the national ticket; but I am where
it would hurt some for me not to get the Illinois delegates."
Thus, at the beginning of the year 1860, Lincoln was in no sense in the
race for the presidential nomination. About that time a list of twenty-
one names of possible candidates was published in New York; Lincoln's
name was not on the list. A list of thirty-five was published in
Philadelphia. Lincoln's name was not on that list. After the speech at
Cooper Institute the Evening Post mentioned Lincoln's name along with
others. That was the only case in the East.
In Illinois his candidacy developed in February and came to ahead at
the republican state convention at Decatur. Lincoln's name had been
prominent in the preceding local conventions, and the enthusiasm was
growing. Decatur was very near to the place where Thomas Lincoln had
first settled when he came into the state. When Abraham Lincoln came
into this convention he was greeted with an outburst of enthusiasm.
After order had been restored, the chairman, Governor Oglesby,
announced that an old-time Macon County democrat desired to make a
contribution to the convention. The offer being accepted, a banner was
borne up the hall upon two old fence rails. The whole was gaily
decorated and the inscription was:
ABRAHAM LINCOLN,
THE RAIL CANDIDATE
FOR PRESIDENT IN 1860.
Two rails from a lot of 3,000 made in 1830 by
Thos. Hanks and Abe Lincoln-whose
father was the first pioneer of
Macon County.
This incident was the means of enlarging the soubriquet "Honest Abe" to
"Honest Old Abe, the Rail-splitter." The enthusiasm over the rails
spread far and wide. That he had split rails, and that he even had done
it well, was no test of his statesmanship. But it was a reminder of his
humble origin, and it attached him to the common people, between whom
and himself there had always been a warm feeling of mutual sympathy.
The democratic convention had, after the bolt of the extreme
southerners, adjourned to Baltimore, where they duly nominated Douglas.
What any one could have done for the purpose of restoring harmony in
the party, he did. But the breach was too wide for even that astute
politician to bridge over. Lincoln grasped the situation. It was what
he had planned two years before, and he confidently expected just this
breach. "Douglas never can be President," he had said. He fully
understood the relentless bitterness of the slave power, and he well
knew that whatever Douglas might do for the northern democrats, he had
lost all influence with the southern branch of that party. So Lincoln
told his "little story" and serenely awaited the result.
The second republican national convention met in Chicago, May 16, 1860.
A temporary wooden structure, called a wigwam, had been built for the
purpose. It was, for those days, a very large building, and would
accommodate about ten thousand people.
The man who was, far and away, the most prominent candidate for the
nomination, was William H. Seward, of New York. He had the benefit of
thirty years of experience in political life. He was a man of wide
learning, fine culture, unequaled as a diplomatist; he was a patriot, a
statesman, and loyal to the principles of the republican party. He had
a plurality of the delegates by a wide margin, though not a majority.
It seemed a foregone conclusion that he would be nominated. Horace
Greeley, who was determinedly opposed to him, gave up the contest and
telegraphed to his paper that Seward would be nominated. The
opposition, he said, could not unite on any one man.
The next most prominent name was Lincoln. He had the full delegation of
Illinois, who, at Decatur, had been instructed to vote for him as "the
first and only choice" of the state. He had many votes, too, from the
neighboring states.
In addition to these two candidates before the convention, there were
half a dozen others, all "favorite sons" of their own states, but who
at no time developed any great strength.
The only point against Seward was his inability to carry certain
doubtful states. If the split in the democratic party had not occurred,
and if the election were to be carried according to the experience of
1856, it would be necessary for the republicans to carry certain states
which they had at that time failed to carry. The most available states
were Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Indiana, and Illinois. Under favorable
circumstances, these could be carried. Seward's long public career had
inevitably caused antagonisms, and these necessary states he could not
carry. The question with his opponents then was, Who is most likely to
carry these states? Lincoln's popularity in three of the four states
named singled him out as the rival of Seward. It then became only a
question whether the opposition to Seward could or could not unite in
the support of Lincoln.
At this point there came in a political ruse which has been often used
in later years. Seward's friends had taken to Chicago a small army of
claquers, numbering nearly or quite two thousand. These were
distributed through the audience and were apparently under orders to
shout whenever Seward's name was mentioned. This gave the appearance of
spontaneous applause and seemed to arouse great enthusiasm for the
candidate.
Lincoln's friends soon came to understand the situation and planned to
beat their rivals at their own game. They sent out into the country and
secured two men with phenomenal voices. It was said, with playful
exaggeration, that these two men could shout so as to be heard across
Lake Michigan. They were made captains of two stentorian bands of
followers. These were placed on opposite sides of the auditorium and
were instructed to raise the shout at a preconcerted signal and keep it
up as long as desired. The plan worked.
Leonard Swett describes the result: "Caleb B. Smith of Indiana then
seconded the nomination of Lincoln, and the West came to his rescue. No
mortal before ever saw such a scene. The idea of us Hoosiers and
Suckers being out-screamed would have been as bad to them as the loss
of their man. Five thousand people at once leaped to their seats, women
not wanting in the number, and the wild yell made soft vesper
breathings of all that had preceded. No language can describe it. A
thousand steam-whistles, ten acres of hotel gongs, a tribe of Comanches
headed by a choice vanguard from pandemonium, might have mingled in the
scene unnoticed."
A dramatic scene had occurred at the adoption of the platform. When the
first resolution was read, Joshua E. Giddings, an old-time abolitionist
of the extreme type, moved as an amendment to incorporate the words
from the Declaration of Independence which announce the right of all
men to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." The hostility to
this amendment was not so much owing to an objection to the phrase, as
to its being introduced upon the motion of so extreme a partisan as
Giddings. The new party was made up of men of various old parties, and
it was important that the moderate democrats should not be antagonized
by the extreme abolitionists. The motion was lost by a decided vote,
and the old man, almost broken-hearted, left the hall amid the
protestations of his associates.
There then came to his rescue a young man, about thirty-six years of
age, who was then not widely known, but who since has more than once
decidedly influenced republican conventions at a critical stage of the
proceedings. It was George William Curtis. When the second resolution
was under consideration he presented the amendment of Giddings in a
form slightly modified. He then urged it in an impassioned speech, and
by his torrent of eloquence carried the enthusiasm of the convention
with him. "I have to ask this convention," he concluded, "whether they
are prepared to go upon the record before the country as voting down
the words of the Declaration of Independence.... I rise simply to ask
gentlemen to think well before, upon the free prairies of the West, in
the summer of 1860, they dare to wince and quail before the assertion
of the men of Philadelphia in 1776--before they dare to shrink from
repeating the words that these great men enunciated."
The amendment was adopted in a storm of applause. Giddings, overjoyed
at the result, returned to the hall. He threw his arms about Curtis
and, with deep emotion, exclaimed,--"God bless you, my boy! You have
saved the republican party. God bless you!"
The candidates in those days were simply announced without speeches of
glorification, Mr. Evarts of New York named Seward, and Mr. Judd of
Illinois named Lincoln. The names of half a dozen "favorite sons" were
offered by their states, the most important being Bates of Missouri.
After the seconding of the nominations the convention proceeded to the
ballot. There were 465 votes, and 233 were necessary for a choice.
On the first ballot Seward received 173-1/2, and Lincoln, 102. The rest
were scattering. On the second ballot Seward received 184-1/2, and
Lincoln, 181. Seward was still ahead, but Lincoln had made by far the
greater gain. On the third ballot Seward received 180, and Lincoln 231-
1/2. But this ballot was not announced. The delegates kept tally during
the progress of the vote. When it became evident that Lincoln was about
elected, while the feeling of expectancy was at the highest degree of
tension, an Ohio delegate mounted his chair and announced a change of
four Ohio votes from Chase to Lincoln. There was instantly a break. On
every side delegates announced a change of vote to Lincoln. The result
was evident to every one, and after a moment's pause, the crowd went
mad with joy. One spectator has recorded the event:
"The scene which followed baffles all human description. After an
instant's silence, which seemed to be required to enable the assembly
to take in the full force of the announcement, the wildest and
mightiest yell (for it can be called by no other name) burst forth from
ten thousand voices which were ever heard from mortal throats. This
strange and tremendous demonstration, accompanied with leaping up and
down, tossing hats, handkerchiefs, and canes recklessly into the air,
with the waving of flags, and with every other conceivable mode of
exultant and unbridled joy, continued steadily and without pause for
perhaps ten minutes."
"It then began to rise and fall in slow and billowing bursts, and for
perhaps the next five minutes, these stupendous waves of uncontrollable
excitement, now rising into the deepest and fiercest shouts, and then
sinking, like the ground swell of the ocean, into hoarse and lessening
murmurs, rolled through the multitude. Every now and then it would seem
as though the physical power of the assembly was exhausted, when all at
once a new hurricane would break out, more prolonged and terrific than
anything before. If sheer exhaustion had not prevented, we don't know
but the applause would have continued to this hour."
During all this time Lincoln remained at Springfield, where he was in
telegraphic communication with his friends at Chicago, though not by
private wire. At the time of his nomination he had gone from his office
to that of the Sangamon _Journal_. A messenger boy came rushing up
to him, carrying a telegram and exclaiming, "You are nominated." The
friends who were present joyously shook his hands and uttered their
eager congratulations. Lincoln thanked them for their good wishes, and
said "There is a little woman on Eighth Street who will be glad to hear
this, and I guess I'll go up and carry her the news." Pocketing the
telegram he walked home.
At the wigwam, the news spread quickly. A man had been stationed on the
roof as picket. He shouted, "Hallelujah! Abe Lincoln is nominated. Fire
the cannon!" The frenzy of joy spread to the immense throng of citizens
outside the wigwam, then through the city, then through the state, then
through the neighboring states. At Washington that night some one
asked, "Who is this man Lincoln, anyhow?" Douglas replied, "There won't
be a tar barrel left in Illinois' tonight." With unprecedented
enthusiasm the republican party started on this campaign which led to
its first victory in the election of Abraham Lincoln of Illinois, and
Hannibal Hamlin of Maine.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE ELECTION.
There are two things which made the campaign of 1860 paradoxical, so to
speak. One was that the nomination was equivalent to an election,
unless unforeseen difficulties should arise. The other was that this
election might be used by the extreme Southern democrats as an excuse
for precipitating war. They threatened this.
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