In the course of history there sometimes arises a man who has a marvelous power of attaching others to himself. He commands a measure of devotion and enthusiasm which it is impossible fully to understand. Such a man was Henry Clay. Under the fascination of his qualities Lincoln lived. From childhood to maturity Clay had been his idol, and Clay's party, the whig, nearly synonymous with all that was desirable in American politics. It was therefore no easy matter for Lincoln to leave the whig party. Nothing could accomplish this but the overmastering power of a noble emotion.
From childhood Lincoln had hated slavery. The fact that Kentucky was a slave state had its influence in his father's removal to Indiana. His personal observations upon his journeys down the Mississippi River had given him a keener feeling on the subject. The persistent and ever- increasing outrages of the slave power had intensified his hatred. The time had come when he, and such as he, felt that other party questions were of minor importance, and that everything else should for the time be subordinated to the supreme question of slavery.
There were certain reasons why the whig party could not accomplish the desired end. Its history had identified it with a different class of subjects. Though Clay himself and a majority of his party were opposed to the extension of slavery, there were still pro-slavery men in its ranks in sufficient numbers to prevent any real efficiency on the slavery question.
On the other hand, while the democratic party was overwhelmingly pro- slavery, there were anti-slavery democrats who, from their numbers, ability, and character, were not to be overlooked. The election to the senate of Lyman Trumbull as an anti-Douglas democrat had crystalized this wing of the party. The fiasco of Lincoln's defeat when the whigs were in a good plurality caused much discontent in that party. If the anti-slavery men were to be united for efficiency in opposing Douglas, it must be under another organization—a new party must be formed.
In this the newspapers took the initiative. A number of papers editorially called for a convention, which was really a mass meeting, for there were no accredited delegates, and could be none. This met in Decatur on Washington's birthday, 1856. It was a motley assembly, from a political standpoint. It included whigs, democrats, free-soilers, abolitionists, and know-nothings. Said Lincoln: "Of strange, discordant, even hostile elements, we gathered from the four winds." Politicians were conspicuously absent, for it would imperil their political orthodoxy to be seen there. Lincoln was the principal one who had anything to lose. He was consulted on all measures, and gave freely of his counsel. The proceedings ended with a dinner, at which he made a speech.
He was the most prominent man in the new movement, was popular throughout the state, and was the logical candidate for governor. He would have been highly gratified with the candidacy. But again he put personal desires one side that the general good might not be endangered. He therefore proposed, in his after-dinner speech, for nomination a democrat who had a record of earnest opposition to the slave power. Refusing the use of his own name, he added: "But I can suggest a name that will secure not only the old whig vote, but enough anti-Nebraska democrats to give us the victory. That man is Colonel William H. Bissell." Bissell was afterwards regularly nominated and triumphantly elected. The meeting at Decatur called for a convention to be held at Bloomington on the 29th of May.
About the same thing had been going on in some other free states. On the very day of the Decatur meeting there was a notable meeting for the same purpose in Pittsburg. This was attended by E. D. Morgan, governor of New York, Horace Greeley, O. P. Morton, Zach. Chandler, Joshua R. Giddings, and other prominent men. They issued the call for the first national convention of the republican party to be held in Philadelphia in June.
In May the Illinois convention assembled in Bloomington, and the most conspicuous person there was Lincoln. It was there that he made the amazing speech already described. It was the speech which held even the reporters in such a spell that they could not report it. It is known in history as the "lost speech," but the fame of it endures to this day.
The democratic convention met in Cincinnati early in June and nominated James Buchanan to succeed Franklin Pierce. Thus Douglas was for a second time defeated for the nomination.
The republican convention met a few days later in Philadelphia. At that time John C. Fremont was at the height of his fame. His character was romantic, and the record of his adventures was as fascinating as a novel by Dumas. He had earned the name of "pathfinder" by crossing the continent. Although unauthorized, he had in California raised a military company which was of material assistance to the naval forces of the United States against a Mexican insurrection. He was an ardent hater of slavery. He was precisely the man, as standard-bearer, to infuse enthusiasm into the new party and to give it a good start in its career. He did this and did it well. The large vote which he polled augured well for the future.
All this we may claim without denying the fact that it was fortunate for the party and for the country that he was not elected. There was no doubt of his sincerity or his patriotism. But he lacked self-control, wariness, patience. He was hot-headed, extreme, egotistical. He never could have carried the burdens of the first administration of the republican party.
When the election was over, it was found that Buchanan had carried every slave state except Maryland, which went to Fillmore. Fremont had carried every New England state and five other northern states. Buchanan received 174 electoral votes; Fremont, 114; Fillmore, 8. The popular vote was, for Buchanan, 1,838,169; for Fremont, 1,341,264; for Fillmore, 874,534. That was an excellent showing for the new party. It showed that it had come to stay, and gave a reasonable hope of victory at the next presidential election.
Lincoln was at the head of the electoral ticket of the state of Illinois. He usually was on the ticket. He playfully called himself one of the electors that seldom elected anybody. In Illinois the honors of the election were evenly divided between the two parties. Buchanan carried the state by a handsome majority, but Bissell was elected governor by a good majority. Lincoln had faithfully canvassed the state and made nearly fifty speeches. One paragraph from a speech made in Galena should be quoted. The slave party had raised the cry of sectionalism, and had charged that the republicans purposed to destroy the Union. Lincoln said:
"But the Union, in any event, will not be dissolved. We don't want to dissolve it, and if you attempt it we won't let you. With the purse and sword, the army, the navy, and the treasury in our hands and at our command, you could not do it. This government would be very weak indeed if a majority with a disciplined army and navy and a well-filled treasury could not preserve itself, when attacked by an unarmed, undisciplined minority. All this talk about the dissolution of the Union is humbug, nothing but folly. We do not want to dissolve the Union; you shall not."
These words were prophetic of the condition of the country and of his own policy four or five years later. But he apparently did not apprehend that an unscrupulous administration might steal the army and the munitions of war, scatter the navy, and empty the treasury.
On the 10th of December Lincoln spoke at a republican banquet in Chicago. It was after the election, after Buchanan's supercilious message to congress. The purpose of the speech was to forecast the future of the young party. The following quotations may be read with interest:
"He [Buchanan, in his message to congress] says the people did it. He forgets that the 'people,' as he complacently calls only those who voted for Buchanan, are in a minority of the whole people by about four hundred thousand votes…. All of us who did not vote for Mr. Buchanan, taken together, are a majority of four hundred thousand. But in the late contest we were divided between Fremont and Fillmore. Can we not come together for the future? Let every one who really believes, and is resolved, that free society is not and shall not be a failure, and who can conscientiously declare that in the past contest he has done only what he thought best, let every such one have charity to believe that every other one can say as much. Let bygones be bygones; let past differences as nothing be; and with steady eye on the real issue, let us re-inaugurate the good old 'central ideas' of the republic. We can do it. The human heart is with us; God is with us. We shall again be able to declare, not that 'all states as states are equal,' nor yet that 'all citizens as citizens are equal,' but to renew the broader, better declaration, including these and much more, that 'all men are created equal.'"
It was upon the wisdom of this plan that, four years later, he held the foes of slavery united, while the foes of freedom were divided among themselves. It was this that carried the party to its first victory and made him president.
The admiring friends of Douglas had given him the nickname of "the little giant." To this he was fairly entitled. Physically he was very little. Intellectually he was a giant. He was in 1858 perhaps the most prominent man in the United States. He was the unquestioned leader of the dominant party. He had been so long in public life that he was familiar with every public question, while upon the burning question of slavery he was the leader.
Lincoln was a giant physically, and it soon became evident that he was no less intellectually. These two men soon were to come together in a series of joint debates. It was manifest that this would be a battle of intellectual giants. No other such debates have ever occurred in the history of the country.
Events led up to this rapidly and with the certainty of fate. In 1854 Lincoln had been candidate for the senate to succeed Shields, but his party had been outwitted and he was compelled to substitute Trumbull. In 1856 he was the logical candidate for governor, but he was of opinion that the cause would be better served permanently by placing an anti-slavery democrat in nomination. This was done and Bissell was elected. Now in 1858 the senatorial term of Douglas was about to expire and a successor would be chosen. Douglas was the candidate of his own party. The republicans turned naturally and spontaneously to Lincoln, for it would be no light task to defeat so strong an opponent.
The republican convention met in Springfield on the 16th of June. Lincoln was by acclamation nominated "as the first and only choice" of the republican party for United States senator. The above time-honored phrase was used sincerely on that occasion. There was great enthusiasm, absolute unanimity.
On the evening of the following day he addressed the convention in a speech which has become historic. His opening words were:
"If we could first know where we are and whither we are tending, we could better judge what to do and how to do it. We are now far into the fifth year since a policy was initiated, with the avowed object and confident promise of putting an end to the slavery agitation. Under the operation of that policy, that agitation has not only not ceased, but has constantly augmented. In my opinion it will not cease until a crisis shall have been reached and passed. 'A house divided against itself cannot stand.' I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved—I do not expect the house to fall—but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other. Either the opponents of slavery will arrest the further spread of it, and place it where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in the course of ultimate extinction; or its advocates will push it forward till it shall become alike lawful in all the states, old as well as new, North as well as South."
This speech came quickly to be known as "the house-divided-against- itself speech." By that name it is still known. Concluding he said: "Our cause, then, must be entrusted to and conducted by its own undoubted friends, those whose hands are free, whose hearts are in the work, who do care for the result…. The result is not doubtful. We shall not fail. If we stand firm we shall not fail. Wise counsels may accelerate or mistakes delay it, but sooner or later the victory is sure to come." This was a strong speech, delivered before an audience of men of unusual ability, delegates who represented all parts of the state. It was in no wise a harangue. It was entirely thoughtful and strictly logical. The effect of it was to intensify the enthusiasm, and to spread it all through the state. It was a speech that Douglas could not ignore, though he might misrepresent it. This he did by raising the charge of sectionalism against his adversary.
About three weeks later, on the 9th of July, Douglas made an elaborate speech in Chicago. Lincoln was in the audience. It was unofficially arranged that he should reply. He did so the following evening. A week later a similar thing occurred in Springfield. Douglas made a speech in the afternoon to which Lincoln replied in the evening. Shortly after this Lincoln wrote Douglas a letter proposing a series of joint discussions, or challenging him to a series of joint debates. Douglas replied in a patronizing and irritating tone, asked for a slight advantage in his own favor, but he accepted the proposal. He did not do it in a very gracious manner, but he did it. They arranged for seven discussions in towns, the locations being scattered fairly over the entire territory of the state.
If Illinois had before been "the cynosure of neighboring eyes," much more was it so now. Lincoln was by no means the most prominent anti- slavery man, but he was the only man in a position to beard his rival. The proposed debates excited not only the interest of the state and the neighboring states, but from the East and the South all minds were turned to this tournament. It was not a local discussion; it was a national and critical question that was at issue. The interest was no less eager in New York, Washington, and Charleston than in Indianapolis, Milwaukee, and St. Louis.
The two men had been neighbors for many years. They were together members of the legislature, first in Vandalia and then in Springfield. They had frequently met socially in Springfield. Both paid marked attentions to the same young lady. Both had served in Washington City. Douglas was for most of his life an officeholder, so that in one way or another Lincoln would be brought into association with him. But though they met so frequently it is not probable that, before this time, either recognized in the other his supreme antagonist. After the repeal of the Missouri Compromise Lincoln had, as already related, discussed Douglas with great plainness of speech. This had been twice repeated in this year. But these were, comparatively speaking, mere incidents. The great contest was to be in the debates.
In the outset, Douglas had the advantage of prestige. Nothing succeeds like success. Douglas had all his life had nothing but success. He twice had missed the nomination for presidency, but he was still the most formidable man in the senate. He was very popular in his own state. He was everywhere greeted by large crowds, with bands of music and other demonstrations. He always traveled in a special car and often in a special train, which was freely placed at his disposal by the Illinois Central Railway. Lincoln traveled by accommodation train, freight train, or wagon, as best he could. As both the men were everyday speaking independently between the debates, this question of transportation was serious. The inconveniences of travel made a great drain upon the nervous force and the health. One day when the freight train bearing Lincoln was side-tracked to let his rival's special train roll by, he good-humoredly remarked that Douglas "did not smell any royalty in this car."
Another fact which gave Douglas the advantage was the friendship and sympathy of Horace Greeley and others, who had much influence with the party of Lincoln. Douglas had broken with Buchanan's administration on a question relating to Kansas. The iniquity of the powers at Washington went so far that even Douglas rebelled. This led Greeley and others to think that Douglas had in him the making of a good republican if he was only treated with sufficient consideration. Accordingly, all of that influence was bitterly thrown in opposition to Lincoln.
The methods of the two men were as diverse as their bodily appearance. Douglas was a master of what the ancient Greeks would have called "making the worse appear the better reason." He was able to misstate his antagonist's position so shrewdly as to deceive the very elect. And with equal skill he could escape from the real meaning of his own statements. Lincoln's characterization is apt: "Judge Douglas is playing cuttlefish—a small species of fish that has no mode of defending himself when pursued except by throwing out a black fluid which makes the water so dark the enemy cannot see it, and thus it escapes."
Lincoln's method was to hold the discussion down to the point at issue with clear and forcible statement. He arraigned the iniquity of slavery as an offense against God. He made the phrase "all men" of the Declaration of Independence include the black as well as the white. Said he: "There is no reason in the world why the negro is not entitled to all the natural rights enumerated in the Declaration of Independence—the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…. In the right to eat the bread, without the leave of anybody else, which his own hand earns, he is my equal, and the equal of Judge Douglas, and the equal of every living man." He quoted Jefferson's remark, "I tremble for my country when I remember that God is just." Mercilessly he analyzed Douglas's speeches and exposed his sophistry.
The forensic ability of the two men is suggestively indicated by the remark of a lady who heard them speak, and afterward said: "I can recall only one fact of the debates, that I felt so sorry for Lincoln while Douglas was speaking, and thensosorry for Douglas while Lincoln was speaking."
These debates occupied seven different evenings of three hours each. The speeches were afterwards published in book form and had a wide circulation. These speeches, numbering twenty-one in all, filled a large volume. It is not the purpose of this chapter to give an outline of the debates, it is only to give a general idea of their result. But out of them came one prominent fact, which so influenced the careers of the two men that it must be briefly recorded. This went by the name of "the Freeport doctrine."
In the first debate Douglas had asked Lincoln a series of questions. The villainy of these questions was in the innuendo. They began, "I desire to know whether Lincoln stands to-day, as he did in 1854, in favor of," etc. Douglas then quoted from the platform of a convention which Lincoln had not attended, and with which he had nothing to do. Lincoln denied these insinuations, and said that he had never favored those doctrines; but the trick succeeded, and the impression was made that Douglas had cornered him. The questions, to all intents and purposes, were a forgery. This forgery was quickly exposed by a Chicago paper, and the result was not helpful to Douglas. It was made manifest that he was not conducting the debates in a fair and manly way.
Further than this, the fact that these questions had been asked gave Lincoln, in turn, the right to ask questions of Douglas. This right he used. For the next debate, which was to be at Freeport, he prepared, among others, the following question: "Can the people of a United States territory, in any lawful way, against the wish of any citizen of the United States, exclude slavery from its limits prior to the formation of a state constitution?" If this were answered "No," it would alienate the citizens of Illinois. If it were answered "Yes," it would alienate the democrats of the South.
On the way to Freeport he met a number of friends and took counsel of them. When he read question number two, the one above quoted, his friends earnestly and unanimously advised him not to put that question. "If you do," said they, "you never can be senator." To which Lincoln replied: "Gentlemen, I am killing larger game. If Douglas answers, he can never be President, and the battle of 1860 is worth a hundred of this."
It is not probable that Lincoln expected to be in 1860 the nominee of the republican party. But he did see the danger of the election of Douglas to the presidency. He was willing to surrender the senatorial election to save the country from a Douglas administration. The sacrifice was made. The prediction proved true. Lincoln lost the senatorship, Douglas lost the presidency.
The popular verdict, as shown in the election, was in favor of Lincoln. The republicans polled 125,430 votes; the Douglas democrats, 121,609, and the Buchanan democrats, 5,071. But the apportionment of the legislative districts was such that Douglas had a majority on the joint ballot of the legislature. He received 54 votes to 46 for Lincoln. This secured his reelection to the senate.
The popular verdict outside the state of Illinois was in favor of Lincoln. The republican party circulated the volume containing the full report of the speeches. It does not appear that the democrats did so. This forces the conclusion that the intellectual and moral victory was on the side of Lincoln.
There is a pathetic sequel to this. The campaign had been very arduous on Lincoln. Douglas had made 130 speeches in 100 days, not counting Sundays. Lincoln had made probably about the same number. These were not brief addresses from a railway car, but fully elaborated speeches. The labors commenced early in July and continued through the heat of the summer. With Lincoln the inadequate means of travel added to the draft upon his strength. At the end of all came the triumphant election of his rival. Add to this the fact that the next day he received a letter from the republican committee saying that their funds would not meet the bills, and asking for an additional contribution. The rest is best told in Lincoln's own words:
"Yours of the 15th is just received. I wrote you the same day. As to the pecuniary matter, I am willing to pay according to my ability, but I am the poorest hand living to get others to pay. I have been on expense so long without earning anything that I am absolutely without money now for even household purposes. Still, if you can put up $250 for me towards discharging the debt of the committee, I will allow it when you and I settle the private matter between us. This, with what I have already paid, and with an outstanding note of mine, will exceed my subscription of $500. This, too, is exclusive of my ordinary expenses during the campaign, all which, being added to my loss of time and business, bears pretty heavily on one no better off in world's goods than I; but as I had the post of honor, it is not for me to be over- nice. You are feeling badly—'And this, too, shall pass away.' Never fear."
So closely is the life of Lincoln intertwined with the growth of the slave power that it will be necessary at this point to give a brief space to the latter. It was the persistent, the ever-increasing, the imperious demands of this power that called Lincoln to his post of duty. The feeling upon the subject had reached a high degree of tension at the period we are now considering. To understand this fully, we must go back and come once again down through the period already treated. There are three salient points of development.
The first of these is the fugitive slave law. At the adoption of the Constitution it was arranged that there should be no specific approval of slavery. For this reason the word "slave" does not appear in that document. But the idea is there, and the phrase, "person held to service or labor," fully covers the subject. Slaves were a valuable property. The public opinion approved of the institution. To set up one part of the territory as a refuge for escaped slaves would be an infringement of this right of property, and would cause unceasing friction between the various parts of the country.
In 1793, which happens to be the year of the invention of the cotton gin, the fugitive slave law was passed. This was for the purpose of enacting measures by which escaped slaves might be recaptured. This law continued in force to 1850. As the years passed, the operation of this law produced results not dreamed of in the outset. There came to be free states, communities in which the very toleration of slavery was an abomination. The conscience of these communities abhorred the institution. Though these people were content to leave slavery unmolested in the slave states, they were angered at having the horrors of slave-hunting thrust upon them. In other words, they were unable to reside in any locality, no matter how stringent the laws were in behalf of freedom, where they were not liable to be invaded, their very homes entered, by the institution of slavery in its most cruel forms.
This aroused a bitter antagonism in the North. Societies were formed to assist fugitive slaves to escape to Canada. Men living at convenient distances along the route were in communication with one another. The fugitives were passed secretly and with great skill along this line. These societies were known as the Underground Railway. The appropriateness of this name is obvious. The men themselves who secreted the fugitive slaves were said to keep stations on that railway.
This organized endeavor to assist the fugitives was met by an increased imperiousness on the part of the slave power. Slavery is imperious in its nature. It almost inevitably cultivates that disposition in those who wield the power. So that the case was rendered more exasperating by the passage, in 1850, of another fugitive slave law. Nothing could have been devised more surely adapted to inflame the moral sense of those communities that were, in feeling or conscience, opposed to slavery, than this law of 1850. This was a reenactment of the law of 1793, but with more stringent and cruel regulations. The concealment or assisting of a fugitive was highly penal. Any home might be invaded and searched. No hearth was safe from intrusion. The negro could not testify in his own behalf. It was practically impossible to counteract the oath or affidavit of the pretended master, and a premium was practically put upon perjury. The pursuit of slaves became a regular business, and its operation was often indescribably horrible. These cruelties were emphasized chiefly in the presence of those who were known to be averse to slavery in any form, and they could not escape from the revolting scenes.
The culmination of this was in what is known as the Dred Scott decision. Dred Scott was a slave in Missouri. He was by his master taken to Fort Snelling, now in the state of Minnesota, then in the territory of Wisconsin. This was free soil, and the slave was, at least while there, free. With the consent of his former master he married a free woman who had formerly been a slave. Two children were born to them. The master returned to Missouri, bringing the negroes. He here claimed that they, being on slave soil, were restored to the condition of slavery.
Scott sued for his freedom and won his case. It was, however, appealed to the Supreme Court of the United States. The first opinion of the court was written by Judge Nelson. This treated of this specific case only. Had this opinion issued as the finding of the court, it would not have aroused general attention.
But the court was then dominated by the slave sentiment, and the opportunity of laying down general principles on the subject of slavery could not be resisted. The decision was written by Chief Justice Taney, and reaches its climax in the declaration that the negro "had no rights which the white man was bound to respect." Professor T. W. Dwight says that much injustice was done to Chief Justice Taney by the erroneous statement that he had himself affirmed that the negro "had no rights which the white man was bound to respect." But while this may be satisfactory to the legal mind, to the lay mind, to the average citizen, it is a distinction without a difference, or, at best, with a very slight difference. The Judge was giving what, in his opinion, was the law of the land. It was his opinion, nay, it was his decision. Nor was it the unanimous ruling of the court. Two justices dissented. The words quoted are picturesque, and are well suited to a battle-cry. On every side, with ominous emphasis in the North, one heard that the negro had no rights which the white man was bound to respect. This was, until 1860, the last and greatest exhibition of audacity on the part of the slave power.
There was another exhibition of the spirit of slavery which deserves special mention. This is the history of the settlement of Kansas. That remarkable episode, lasting from 1854 to 1861, requires a volume, not a paragraph, for its narration. It is almost impossible for the imagination of those who live in an orderly, law-abiding community, to conceive that such a condition of affairs ever existed in any portion of the United States. The story of "bleeding Kansas" will long remain an example of the proverb that truth is stranger than fiction.
The repeal of the Missouri Compromise, in 1854, opened up to this free territory the possibility of coming into the Union as a slave state. It was to be left to the actual settlers to decide this question. This principle was condensed into the phrase "squatter sovereignty." The only resource left to those who wished Kansas to come in as a free state was to settle it with an anti-slavery population.
With this purpose in view, societies were formed in anti-slavery communities, extending as far east as the Atlantic coast, to assist emigrants. From Iowa, Illinois, Ohio, Massachusetts, and elsewhere, emigrants poured into Kansas. But the slave party had the advantage of geographical location. The slave state of Missouri was only just across the river. It was able, at short notice and with little expense, to pour out its population in large numbers. This it did. Many went from Missouri as actual settlers. By far the larger part went only temporarily and for the purpose of creating a disturbance. These were popularly called "border ruffians." Their excesses of ruffianism are not easily described. They went into the territory for the purpose of driving out all the settlers who had come in under the emigrant aid societies. Murder was common. At the elections, they practised intimidation and every form of election fraud then known. Every election was contested, and both parties always claimed the victory. The parties elected two separate legislatures, adopted two constitutions, established two capitals. For several years, civil war and anarchy prevailed.
There is no doubt, either reasonable or unreasonable,—there is no doubt whatever that the anti-slavery men had a vast majority of actual settlers. The territorial governors were appointed by Presidents Pierce and Buchanan. These were uniformly pro-slavery and extremely partisan. But every governor quickly came to side with the free-state men, or else resigned to get out of the way.
The pro-slavery men, after the farce of a pretended vote, declared the Lecompton constitution adopted. The governor at that time was Walker, of Mississippi, who had been appointed as a sure friend of the interests of slavery. But even he revolted at so gross an outrage, and made a personal visit to Washington to protest against it. It was at this point, too, that Senator Douglas broke with the administration.
In spite of the overwhelming majority of anti-slavery settlers in the state, Kansas was not admitted to the Union until after the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln.
So unscrupulous, imperious, grasping was the slave power. Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad. The slave power had reached the reckless point of madness and was rushing to its own destruction. These three manifestations,—the fugitive-slave law, the Dred Scott decision, and the anarchy in Kansas,—though they were revolting in the extreme and indescribably painful, hastened the end.
Lincoln's modesty made it impossible for him to be ambitious. He appreciated honors, and he desired them up to a certain point. But they did not, in his way of looking at them, seem to belong to him. He was slow to realize that he was of more than ordinary importance to the community.
At the first republican convention in 1856, when Fremont was nominated for President, 111 votes were cast for Lincoln as the nominee for vice- president. The fact was published in the papers. When he saw the item it did not enter his head that he was the man. He said "there was a celebrated man of that name in Massachusetts; doubtless it was he."
In 1858, when he asked Douglas the fatal question at Freeport, he was simply killing off Douglas's aspirations for the presidency. It was with no thought of being himself the successful rival.
Douglas had twice been a candidate for nomination before the democratic convention. Had it not been for this question he would have been elected at the next following presidential election.
As late as the early part of 1860, Lincoln vaguely desired the nomination for the vice-presidency. He would have been glad to be the running-mate of Seward, nothing more. Even this honor he thought to be beyond his reach, so slowly did he come to realize the growth of his fame.
The reports of the Lincoln-Douglas debates had produced a profound sensation in the West. They were printed in large numbers and scattered broadcast as campaign literature. Some Eastern men, also, had been alert to observe these events. William Cullen Bryant, the scholarly editor of the New YorkEvening Post, had shown keen interest in the debates.
Even after the election Lincoln did not cease the vigor of his criticisms. It will be remembered that before the formal debate Lincoln voluntarily went to Chicago to hear Douglas and to answer him. He followed him to Springfield and did the same thing. He now, after the election of 1858, followed him to Ohio and answered his speeches in Columbus and Cincinnati.
The Reverend Henry Ward Beecher, who was always watchful of the development of the anti-slavery sentiment, now invited Lincoln to lecture in Plymouth Church, Brooklyn. The invitation was accepted with the provision that the lecture might be a political speech.
J. G. Holland, who doubtless knew whereof he wrote, declares that it was a great misfortune that Lincoln was introduced to the country as a rail-splitter. Americans have no prejudice against humble beginnings, they are proud of self-made men, but there is nothing in the ability to split rails which necessarily qualifies one for the demands of statesmanship. Some of his ardent friends, far more zealous than judicious, had expressed so much glory over Abe the rail-splitter, that it left the impression that he was little more than a rail-splitter who could talk volubly and tell funny stories. This naturally alienated the finest culture east of the Alleghanies. "It took years for the country to learn that Mr. Lincoln was not a boor. It took years for them to unlearn what an unwise and boyish introduction of a great man to the public had taught them. It took years for them to comprehend the fact that in Mr. Lincoln the country had the wisest, truest, gentlest, noblest, most sagacious President who had occupied the chair of state since Washington retired from it."
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. TheTribunegave 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.
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 fora 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 movementever 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 headfor 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 answeremphatically… 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:
Two rails from a lot of 3,000 made in 1830 byThos. Hanks and Abe Lincoln-whosefather was the first pioneer ofMacon 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 SangamonJournal. 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.
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.
After the nomination the committee of the convention duly called on Lincoln to give him the formal notification. This committee included some names that were at that time, and still more so later, widely known. Among them were three from Massachusetts: Ashmun, then Governor, and chairman of the Chicago convention, Bowles, editor of the SpringfieldRepublican, and Boutwell. There were also Gideon Welles, Carl Schurz, Francis P. Blair, and W. M. Evarts. The chairman of this committee notified Lincoln in a brief speech, to which he responded with equal brevity. Even these few words impressed his hearers with a sense of dignity and manliness which they were only too glad to perceive. Said Mr. Boutwell: "Why, sir, they told me he was a rough diamond. Nothing could have been in better taste than that speech."
One who had opposed Lincoln in the convention said: "We might have done a more daring thing [than nominate him], but we certainly could not have done a better thing." Carl Schurz evidently shared this feeling.
Judge Kelly of Pennsylvania was a very tall man and was proud of the fact. During the brief ceremony he and Lincoln had been measuring each other with the eye. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the President- elect demanded:
"What's your height?"
"Six feet three. What is yours, Mr. Lincoln?"
"Six feet four."
"Then," said the judge, "Pennsylvania bows to Illinois. My dear man, for many years my heart has been aching for a President I couldlook up to, and I've found him at last in the land where we thought there were none butlittlegiants."
The general feeling of the committee was that the convention had made no mistake. This feeling quickly spread throughout the entire party. Some of Seward's friends wanted him to run on an independent ticket. It is to his credit that he scouted the idea. The democrats, at least the opponents of Lincoln, were divided into three camps, The first was the regular party, headed by Douglas. The second was the bolting party of fire-eaters, who nominated Breckinridge. The third was the party that nominated Bell and Everett. This was wittily called the Kangaroo ticket, because the tail was the most important part. Lincoln's popular vote at the November election was about forty per cent, of the total. It was plain that if his supporters held together and his opponents were divided, he could readily get a plurality. There were attempts on the part of the opponents of Lincoln to run fusion tickets in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, so as to divert the electoral votes from him; but these came to nothing more than that New Jersey diverted three of her seven electoral votes.
A curious feature of the campaign was that all four candidates declared emphatically for the Union. Breckinridge, who was the candidate of the Southern disunionists, wrote; "The Constitution and the equality of the states, these are symbols of everlasting union." Lincoln himself could hardly have used stronger language. Some people were doubtless deceived by these protestations, but not Douglas. He declared: "I do not believe that every Breckinridge man is a disunionist, but I do believe that every disunionist in America is a Breckinridge man." During the period of nearly six months between nomination and election, Lincoln continued simple, patient, wise. He was gratified by the nomination. He was not elated, for he was not an ambitious man. On the contrary, he felt the burden of responsibility. He was a far-seeing statesman, and no man more distinctly realized the coming tragedy. He felt the call of duty, not to triumph but to sacrifice. This was the cause of his seriousness and gravity of demeanor.
There was no unnecessary change in his simple manners and unpretentious method of living. Friends and neighbors came, and he was glad to see them. He answered the door-bell himself and accompanied visitors to the door. Some of his friends, desiring to save his strength in these little matters, procured a negro valet, Thomas by name. But Abraham continued to do most of the duties that by right belonged to Thomas.
Some one sent him a silk hat, that he might go to Washington with head- gear equal to the occasion. A farmer's wife knit him a pair of yarn stockings. Hundreds of such attentions, kind in intent, grotesque in appearance, he received with that kindness which is the soul of courtesy. There was a woman at whose modest farmhouse he had once dined on a bowl of bread and milk, because he had arrived after everything else had been eaten up. She came into Springfield to renew her apologies and to remind him that he had said that that repast was "good enough for the President." While he commanded the respect of Bryant, Schurz, Boutwell, and such, he was at the same time the idol of the plain people, whom he always loved. He once said he thought the Lord particularly loved plain people, for he had made so many of them.
Shortly after his nomination he was present at a party in Chicago. A little girl approached timidly. He asked, encouragingly, if he could do anything for her. She replied that she wanted his name. He looked about and said, "But here are other little girls—they will feel badly if I give my name only to you." She said there were eight of them in all. "Then," said he, "get me eight sheets of paper, and a pen and ink, and I will see what I can do for you." The materials were brought, and in the crowded drawing-room he sat down, wrote a sentence and his name on each sheet of paper. Thus he made eight little girls happy.
The campaign was one of great excitement. His letter of acceptance was of the briefest description and simply announced his adherence to the platform. For the rest, his previous utterances in the debates with Douglas, the Cooper Institute speech, and other addresses, were in print, and he was content to stand by the record. He showed his wisdom in his refusing to be diverted, or to allow his party to be diverted, from the one important question of preventing the further extension of slavery. The public were not permitted to lose sight of the fact that this was the real issue. The Chicago wigwam was copied in many cities: temporary wooden structures were erected for republican meetings. These did good service as rallying centers.
Then the campaign biographers began to appear. It was said that by June he had had no less than fifty-two applications to write his biography. One such book was written by W. D. Howells, not so famous in literature then as now. Lincoln furnished a sketch of his life, an "autobiography" so called. This contains only about five hundred words. Its brevity is an indication of its modesty.
Nor was there any lack of eulogistic music. Among the writers of campaign songs were J. G. Whittier and E. C. Stedman.
The parading contingent of the party was represented by the "Wide- Awakes." The uniform was as effective as simple. It consisted of a cadet cap and a cape, both made of oil-cloth, and a torch. The first company was organized in Hartford. It had escorted Lincoln from the hotel to the hall and back again when he spoke in that city in February after his Cooper Institute speech. The idea of this uniformed company of cadets captivated the public fancy. Bands of Wide-Awakes were organized in every community in the North. At the frequent political rallies they poured in by thousands and tens of thousands, a very picturesque sight. The original band in Hartford obtained the identical maul with which Lincoln had split those rails in 1830. It is now in the collection of the Connecticut Historical Society, in Hartford.
Though Lincoln had much to cheer him, he had also his share of annoyances. One of his discouragements was so serious, and at this day it appears so amazing, that it is given nearly in full. A careful canvas had been made of the voters of Springfield, and the intention of each voter had been recorded. Lincoln had the book containing this record. He asked his friend Mr. Bateman, the State Superintendent of Public Instruction, to look through the book with him. They noted particularly those who might be considered leaders of public morals: clergymen, officers, or prominent members of the churches.
When the memorandum was tabulated, after some minutes of silence, he turned a sad face to Mr. Bateman, and said: "Here are twenty-three ministers, of different denominations, and all of them are against me but three; and here are a great many prominent members of the churches, a very large majority of whom are against me. Mr. Bateman, I am not a Christian—God knows I would be one—but I have carefully read the Bible, and I do not so understand this book." He drew from his pocket a New Testament. "These men well know that I am for freedom in the territories, freedom everywhere as far as the Constitution and laws will permit, and that my opponents are for slavery. They know this, and yet, with this book in their hands, in the light of which human bondage cannot live a moment, they are going to vote against me. I do not understand it at all."
After a long pause, he added with tears: "I know there is a God, and that He hates injustice and slavery. I see the storm coming, and I know that His hand is in it. If He has a place and work for me—and I think He has—I believe I am ready. I am nothing, but truth is everything. I know I am right because I know that liberty is right, for Christ teaches it, and Christ is God. I have told them that a house divided against itself cannot stand, and Christ and reason say the same; and they will find it so. Douglas doesn't care whether slavery is voted up or voted down, but God cares, and humanity cares, and I care; and with God's help I shall not fail. I may not see the end; but it will come and I shall be vindicated; and these men will find that they have not read their Bibles aright."
After another pause: "Doesn't it appear strange that men can ignore the moral aspects of this contest? A revelation could not make it plainer to me that slavery or the government must be destroyed. The future would be something awful, as I look at it, but for this rock [the Testament which he was holding] on which I stand,—especially with the knowledge of how these ministers are going to vote. It seems as if God had borne with this thing [slavery] until the very teachers of religion had come to defend it from the Bible, and to claim for it a divine character and sanction; and now the cup of iniquity is full, and the vials of wrath will be poured out."
Lincoln did not wear his heart upon his sleeve. On the subject of religion, he was reticent to a degree. Peter Cartwright had called him an atheist. There was a wide, if not general, impression, that he was not a religious man. This did him great injustice. It is for this reason that his remarks to Mr. Bateman are here quoted at length. From his early boyhood, from before the time when he was at great pains to have a memorial sermon for his mother, he was profoundly, intensely religious. He did no injustice to any other man, he did not do justice to himself.
The election occurred on the sixth day of November. The vote was as follows: Lincoln received 1,866,452 popular votes, and one hundred and eighty electoral votes. Douglas received 1,375,157 popular votes, and twelve electoral votes. Breckinridge received 847,953 popular votes, and seventy-two electoral votes. Bell received 590,631 popular votes, and thirty-nine electoral votes.