The Dred Scott decision, in connection with the Democratic triumph in the national election, had a marked effect upon the struggle for Kansas. The pro-slavery men felt fresh courage for the work, as they found themselves assured of support from the administration, and upheld by the dogmas of the Supreme Court. The Territory thus far had been one continued scene of disorder and violence. For obvious reasons, the administration of President Pierce had selected its governors from the North, and each, in succession, failed to placate the men who were bent on making Kansas a slave State. Andrew H. Reeder, Wilson Shannon, John W. Geary, had, each in turn, tried, and each in turn failed. Mr. Buchanan now selected Robert J. Walker for the difficult task. Mr. Walker was a Southern man in all his relations, though by birth a Pennsylvanian. He had held high stations, and possessed great ability. It was believed that he, if any one, could govern the Territory in the interest of the South, and, at the same time, retain a decent degree of respect and confidence in the North. As an effective aid to this policy, Frederick P. Stanton, who had acquired an honorable reputation as representative in Congress from Tennessee, was sent out as secretary of the Territory.
Governor Walker failed. He could do much, but he could not placate an element that was implacable. Contrary to his desires, and against his authority, a convention, called by the fraudulent Legislature, and meeting at Lecompton, submitted a pro-slavery constitution to the people, preparatory to asking the admission of Kansas as a State. The people were not permitted to vote for or against the constitution, but were narrowed to the choice of taking the constitution with slavery or the constitution without slavery. If the decision should be adverse to slavery, there were still some provisions in the constitution, not submitted to popular decision, which would postpone the operation of the free clause. The whole contrivance was fraudulent, wicked, and in retrospect incredible. Naturally the Free-state men refused to have any thing to do with the scandalous device, intended to deceive and betray them. The constitution with slavery was, therefore, adopted by an almost unanimous vote of those who were not citizens of Kansas. Many thousands of votes were returned which were never cast at all, either by citizens of Kansas or marauders from Missouri. It is not possible, without using language that would seem immoderate, to describe the enormity of the whole transaction. The constitution no more represented the will or the wishes of the people of Kansas than of the people of Ohio or Vermont.
Shameful and shameless as was the entire procedure, it was approved by Mr. Buchanan. The Lecompton Constitution was transmitted to Congress, accompanied by a message from the President recommending the prompt admission of the State. He treated the anti-slavery population of Kansas as in rebellion against lawful authority, recognized the invaders from Missouri as rightfully entitled to form a constitution for the State, and declared that "Kansas is at this moment (Feb. 2, 1858) as much a slave State as Georgia or South Carolina." The Dred Scott decision occupied a prominent place in this extraordinary message and received the most liberal interpretation in favor of slavery. The President declared that "it has been solemnly adjudged by the highest judicial tribunal known to our laws that slavery exists in Kansas by virtue of the Constitution of the United States." This was giving the fullest scope to the extreme and revolting doctrine put forward by the advocates of slavery, and, had it been made effective respecting the Territories, there are many reasons for believing that a still more offensive step might have been taken respecting the anti- slavery action of the States.
The attempt to admit Kansas, under the Lecompton Constitution, proved disastrous to the Democratic party. The first decided break was that of Senator Douglas. He refused to sustain the iniquity. He had gone far with the pro-slavery men, but he refused to take this step. He had borne great burdens in their interest, but this was the additional pound that broke the back of his endurance. When the Dred Scott decision was delivered, Mr. Douglas had applauded it, and, as Mr. Lincoln charged, had assented to it before it was pronounced. With his talent for political device, he had doubtless contrived some argument or fallacy by which he could reconcile that judicial edict with his doctrine of "popular sovereignty," and thus maintain his standing with the Northern Democracy without losing his hold on the South. But events traveled too rapidly for him. The pro-slavery men were so eager for the possession of Kansas that they could not adjust their measures to the needs of Mr. Douglas's political situation. They looked at the question from one point, Mr. Douglas from another. They saw that if Kansas could be forced into the Union with the Lecompton Constitution they would gain a slave State. Mr. Douglas saw that if he should aid in that political crime he would lose Illinois. It was more important to the South to secure Kansas as a slave State than to carry Illinois for Mr. Douglas. It was more important for Mr. Douglas to hold Illinois for himself than to give the control of Kansas to the South. Indeed, his Northern friends had been for some time persuaded that his only escape from the dangerous embarrassments surrounding him was in the admission of Kansas as a free State. If the Missouri Compromise had not been repealed, a free State was assured. If Kansas should become a slave State in consequence of that repeal, it would, in the excited condition of the popular mind, crush Douglas in the North, and bring his political career to a discreditable end.
Mr. Douglas had come, therefore, to the parting of the ways. He realized that he was rushing on political destruction, and that, if he supported the vulgar swindle perpetrated at Lecompton, he would be repudiated by the great State which had exalted him and almost idolized him as a political leader. He determined, therefore, to take a bold stand against the administration on this issue. It was an important event, not only to himself, but to his party; not only to his party, but to the country. Rarely, in our history, has the action of a single person been attended by a public interest as universal; by applause so hearty in the North, by denunciation so bitter in the South. In the debate which followed, Douglas exhibited great power. He had a tortuous record to defend, but he defended it with extraordinary ability and adroitness. From time to time, during the progress of the contest, he was on the point of yielding to some compromise which would have destroyed the heroism and value of his position. But he was sustained by the strong will of others when he himself wavered—appalled, as he often was, by the sacrifice he was making of the Southern support, for which he had labored so long, and endured so much.
Senator Broderick of California imparted largely of his own courage and enthusiasm to Douglas at the critical juncture, and perhaps saved him from a surrender of his proud position. Throughout the entire contest Broderick showed remarkable vigor and determination. Considering the defects of his intellectual training in early life, he displayed unusual power as a political leader and public speaker. He was a native of Washington, born of Irish parents, and was brought up to the trade of a stone-mason. He went to California among the pioneers of 1849, and soon after took part in the fierce political contests of the Pacific coast. Though a Democrat, he instinctively took the Northern side against the arrogant domination of the Southern wing of the party, led by William H. Gwin. Broderick was elected to the United States Senate as Gwin's colleague in 1856, and at once joined Douglas in opposition to the Lecompton policy of the administration. His position aroused fierce hostility on the part of the Democratic leaders of California. The contest grew so bitter in the autumn of 1859, when Broderick was canvassing his State, as to lead to a duel with Judge Terry, a prominent Democrat of Southern birth. Broderick was killed at the first fire. The excitement was greater in the country than ever attended a duel, except when Hamilton fell at the hands of Burr in 1804. The Graves and Cilley duel of 1838, with its fatal ending, affected the whole nation, but not so profoundly as did the death of Broderick. The oration of Senator Baker, delivered in San Francisco at the funeral, so stirred the people that violence was feared. The bloody tragedy influenced political parties, and contributed in no small degree to Lincoln's triumph in California the ensuing year.
In the peculiar position in which Douglas was placed, still maintaining his membership of the Democratic party while opposing the administration on the Lecompton question, he naturally resorted to arguments which were not always of a character to enlist the approval of men conscientiously opposed to slavery. The effect of the arguments, however, was invaluable to those who were resisting the imposition of slavery upon Kansas against the wish of a majority of her people, and Republicans could be content with the end without justifying the means. Douglas frankly avowed that he did not care whether slavery was voted up or voted down, but he demanded that an honest, untrammeled ballot should be secured to the citizens of the Territory. Without the aid of Douglas, the "Crime against Kansas," so eloquently depicted by Mr. Sumner, would have been complete. With his aid, it was prevented.
The Lecompton Bill passed the Senate by a vote of 33 to 25. Besides Broderick, Douglas carried with him only two Democratic senators, —Stuart of Michigan, and Pugh of Ohio. The two remaining members of the old Whig party from the South, who had been wandering as political orphans since the disastrous defeat of 1852,—Bell of Tennessee, and Crittenden of Kentucky,—honored themselves and the ancient Whig traditions by voting against the bill. In view of the events of the preceding four years, it was a significant spectacle in the Senate when Douglas voted steadily with Seward and Sumner and Fessenden and Wade against the political associations of a lifetime. It meant, to the far-seeing, more than a temporary estrangement, and it foretold results in the political field more important than any which had been developed since the foundation of the Republican party.
The resistance to the Lecompton Bill in the House was unconquerable. The Administration could not, with all its power and patronage, enforce its passage. Anxious to avert the mortification of an absolute and unqualified defeat, the supporters of the scheme changed their ground, and offered a new measure, moved by Mr. William H. English of Indiana, submitting the entire constitution to a vote of the people. If adopted, the constitution carried with it a generous land grant to the new State. If rejected, the alternative was not only the withdrawal of the land grant, but indefinite postponement of the whole question of admission. It was simply a bribe, cunningly and unscrupulously contrived, to induce the people of Kansas to accept a pro-slavery constitution. It was not so outrageous as it would have been to force the constitution upon the people without allowing them to vote upon it at all, and it gave a shadow of excuse to certain Democrats, who did not wish to separate from their party, for returning to the ranks. The bill was at last forced through the House by 112 votes to 103. Twelve Democrats, to their honor be it said, refused to yield. Douglas held all his political associates from Illinois, while the President failed to consolidate the Democrats from Pennsylvania. John Hickman and Henry Chapman honorably and tenaciously held their ground to the last against every phase of the outrage. In New York, John B. Haskin and Horace F. Clarke refused to yield, though great efforts were made to induce them to support the administration. The Senate promptly concurred in the English proposition.
But Kansas would not sell her birthright for a mess of pottage. She had fought too long for freedom to be bribed to the support of slavery. She had at last a free vote, and rejected the Lecompton Constitution, land grant and all, by a majority of more than ten thousand. The struggle was over. The pro-slavery men were defeated. The North was victorious. The repeal of the Missouri Compromise had not brought profit or honor to those who planned it. It had only produced strife, anger, heart-burning, hatred. It had added many drops to the cup of bitterness between North and South, and had filled it to overflowing. It produced evil only, and that continually. The repeal, in the judgment of the North, was a great conspiracy against human freedom. In the Southern States it was viewed as an honest effort to recover rights of which they had been unjustly deprived. Each section held with firmness to its own belief, and the four years of agitation had separated them so widely that a return to fraternal feeling seemed impossible. Confidence, the plant of slowest growth, had been destroyed. Who could restore it to life and strength?
Douglas had, in large degree, redeemed himself in the North from the obloquy to which he had been subjected since the repeal of the Missouri Compromise. The victory for free Kansas was perhaps to an undue extent ascribed to him. The completeness of that victory was everywhere recognized, and the lawless intruders who had worked so hard to inflict slavery on the new Territory gradually withdrew. In the South, Douglas was covered with maledictions. But for his influence, Southern men felt that Kansas would have been admitted with a pro-slavery constitution, and the senatorial equality of the South firmly re-established. Northern Republicans, outside of Illinois, were in a forgiving frame of mind toward Douglas; and he had undoubtedly regained a very large share of his old popularity. But Illinois Republicans were less amiable towards him. They would not forget that he had broken down an anti-slavery barrier which had been reared with toil and sanctified by time. He had not, as they alleged, turned back from any test exacted by the South, until he had reached the point where another step forward involved political death to himself. They would not credit his hostility to the Lecompton Constitution to any nobler motive than the instinct of self-preservation. This was a harsh judgment, and yet a most natural one. It inspired the Republicans of Illinois, and they prepared to contest the return of Douglas to the Senate by formally nominating Abraham Lincoln as an opposing candidate.
The contest that ensued was memorable. Douglas had an herculean task before him. The Republican party was young, strong, united, conscious of its power, popular, growing. The Democratic party was rent with faction, and the Administration was irrevocably opposed to the return of Douglas to the Senate. He entered the field, therefore, with a powerful opponent in front, and with defection and betrayal in the rear. He was everywhere known as a debater of singular skill. His mind was fertile in resources. He was master of logic. No man perceived more quickly than he the strength or the weakness of an argument, and no one excelled him in the use of sophistry and fallacy. Where he could not elucidate a point to his own advantage, he would fatally becloud it for his opponent. In that peculiar style of debate, which, in its intensity, resembles a physical contest, he had no equal. He spoke with extraordinary readiness. There was no halting in his phrase. He used good English, terse, vigorous, pointed. He disregarded the adornments of rhetoric,—rarely used a simile. He was utterly destitute of humor, and had slight appreciation of wit. He never cited historical precedents except from the domain of American politics. Inside that field his knowledge was comprehensive, minute, critical. Beyond it his learning was limited. He was not a reader. His recreations were not in literature. In the whole range of his voluminous speaking it would be difficult to find either a line of poetry or a classical allusion. But he was by nature an orator; and by long practice a debater. He could lead a crowd almost irresistibly to his own conclusions. He could, if he wished, incite a mob to desperate deeds. He was, in short, an able, audacious, almost unconquerable opponent in public discussion.
It would have been impossible to find any man of the same type able to meet him before the people of Illinois. Whoever attempted it would probably have been destroyed in the first encounter. But the man who was chosen to meet him, who challenged him to the combat, was radically different in every phase of character. Scarcely could two men be more unlike, in mental and moral constitutions, than Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A. Douglas. Mr. Lincoln was calm and philosophic. He loved the truth for the truth's sake. He would not argue from a false premise, or be deceived himself or deceive others by a false conclusion. He had pondered deeply on the issues which aroused him to action. He had given anxious thought to the problems of free government, and to the destiny of the Republic. He had for himself marked out a path of duty, and he walked in it fearlessly. His mental processes were slower but more profound than those of Douglas. He did not seek to say merely the thing which was best for that day's debate, but the thing which would stand the test of time and square itself with eternal justice. He wished nothing to appear white unless it was white. His logic was severe and faultless. He did not resort to fallacy, and could detect it in his opponent, and expose it with merciless directness. He had an abounding sense of humor, and always employed it in illustration of his argument,—never for the mere sake of provoking merriment. In this respect he had the wonderful aptness of Franklin. He often taught a great truth with the felicitous brevity of an AEsop fable. His words did not flow in an impetuous torrent as did those of Douglas, but they were always well chosen, deliberate, and conclusive.
Thus fitted for the contest, these men proceeded to a discussion which at the time was so interesting so as to enchain the attention of the nation,—in its immediate effect so striking as to affect the organization of parties, in its subsequent effect so powerful as to change the fate of millions. Mr. Lincoln had opened his own canvass by a carefully prepared speech in which, after quoting the maxim that a house divided against itself cannot stand, he uttered these weighty words: "I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave, 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 farther 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."
Mr. Lincoln had been warned by intimate friends to whom he had communicated the contents of his speech, in advance of its delivery, that he was treading on dangerous ground, that he would be misrepresented as a disunionist, and that he might fatally damage the Republican party by making its existence synonymous with a destruction of the government. But he was persistent. It was borne into his mind that he was announcing a great truth, and that he would be wronging his own conscience, and to the extent of his influence injuring his country, by withholding it, or in any degree qualifying its declaration. If there was a disposition to avoid the true significance of the contest with the South, he would not be a party to it. He believed he could discern the scope and read the destiny of the impending sectional controversy. He was sure he could see far beyond the present, and hear the voice of the future. He would not close the book; he would not shut his eyes; he would not stop his ears. He avowed his faith, and stood firmly to his creed.
Mr. Douglas naturally, indeed inevitably, made his first and leading speech against these averments of Mr. Lincoln. He had returned to Illinois, after the adjournment of Congress, with a disturbed and restless mind. He had one great ambition,—to re-instate himself as a leader of the national Democracy, and, as incidental and necessary to that end, to carry Illinois against Mr. Lincoln. The issue embodied in Mr. Lincoln's speech afforded him the occasion which he had coveted. His quick eye discerned an opportunity to exclude from the canvass the disagreeable features in his own political career by arraigning Mr. Lincoln as an enemy of the Union and as an advocate of an internecine conflict in which the free States and the slave States should wrestle in deadly encounter. Douglas presented his indictment artfully and with singular force. The two speeches were in all respects characteristic. Each had made a strong presentation of his case, but the superior candor and directness of Mr. Lincoln had made a deep impression on the popular mind.
In the seven public debates which were held as the result of these preliminary speeches, the questions at issue were elaborately and exhaustively treated. The friends of each naturally claimed the victory for their own champion. The speeches were listened to by tens of thousands of eager auditors; but absorbing, indeed unprecedented, as was the interest, the vast throngs behaved with moderation and decorum. The discussion from beginning to end was an amplification of the position which each had taken at the outset. The arguments were held close to the subject, relating solely to the slavery question, and not even incidentally referring to any other political issue. Protection, free trade, internal improvements, the sub-treasury, all the issues, in short, which had divided parties for a long series of years, and on which both speakers entertained very decided views, were omitted from the discussion. The public mind saw but one issue; every thing else was irrelevant. At the first meeting, Douglas addressed a series of questions to Mr. Lincoln, skillfully prepared and well adapted to entrap him in contradictions, or commit him to such extreme doctrine as would ruin his canvass. Mr. Lincoln's answers at the second meeting, held at Freeport, were both frank and adroit. Douglas had failed to gain a point by his resort to the Socratic mode of argument. He had indeed only given Mr. Lincoln an opportunity to exhibit both his candor and his skill. After he had answered, he assumed the offensive, and addressed a series of questions to Mr. Douglas which were constructed with the design of forcing the latter to an unmistakable declaration of his creed. Douglas had been a party to the duplex construction of the Cincinnati platform of 1856, in which the people of the South had been comforted with the doctrine that slavery was protected in the Territories by the Constitution against the authority of Congress and against the power of the Territorial citizens, until the period should be reached, when, under an enabling act to form a constitution for a State government, the majority might decide the question of slavery. Of this doctrine Mr. Breckinridge was the Southern representative, and he had for that very reason been associated with Mr. Buchanan on the Presidential ticket. On the other hand, the North was consoled, it would not be unfair to say cajoled, with the doctrine of popular sovereignty as defined by Mr. Douglas; and this gave to the people of the Territories the absolute right to settle the question of slavery for themselves at any time. The doctrine had, however, been utterly destroyed by the Dred Scott decision, and, to the confusion of all lines of division and distinction, Mr. Douglas had approved the opinion of the Supreme Court.
Douglas had little trouble in making answer in anad captandummanner to all Mr. Lincoln's questions save one. The crucial test was applied when Mr. Lincoln asked him "if the people of a Territory can, in any lawful way, against the wishes of any citizen of the United States, exclude slavery from their limits prior to the formation of a State constitution?" In the first debate, when Douglas had the opening, he had, in the popular judgment, rather worsted Mr. Lincoln. His greater familiarity with the arts if not the tricks of the stump had given him an advantage. But now Mr. Lincoln had the opening, and he threw Mr. Douglas upon the defensive by the question which reached the very marrow of the controversy. Mr. Lincoln had measured the force of his question, and saw the dilemma in which it would place Douglas. Before the meeting he said, in private, that "Douglas could not answer that question in such way as to be elected both Senator and President. He might so answer it as to carry Illinois, but, in doing so, he would irretrievably injure his standing with the Southern Democracy." Douglas quickly realized his own embarrassment. He could not, in the face of the Supreme-Court decision, declare that the people of the Territory could exclude slavery by direct enactment. To admit, on the other hand, that slavery was fastened upon the Territories, —past all hope of resistance or protest on the part of a majority of the citizens—would be to concede the victory to Mr. Lincoln without further struggle. Between these impossible roads Douglas sought a third. He answered that, regardless of the decision of the Supreme Court, "the people of a Territory have the lawful means to introduce or exclude slavery as they choose, for the reason that slavery cannot exist unless supported by local police regulations. Those police regulations can only be established by the local legislature; and, if the people are opposed to slavery, they will, by unfriendly legislation, effectually prevent the introduction."
This was a lame, illogical, evasive answer; but it was put forth by Douglas with an air of sincerity and urged in a tone of defiant confidence. It gave to his supporters a plausible answer. But Mr. Lincoln's analysis of the position was thorough, his ridicule of it effective. Douglas's invention for destroying a right under the Constitution by a police regulation was admirably exposed, and his new theory that a thing "may be lawfully driven away from a place where it has a lawful right to go" was keenly reviewed by Mr. Lincoln. The debate of that day was the important one of the series. Mr. Lincoln had secured an advantage in the national relations of the contest which he held to the end. At the same time Douglas had escaped a danger which threatened his destruction in the State canvass, and secured his return to the Senate. As to the respective merits of the contestants, it would be idle to expect an agreement among contemporary partisans. But a careful reading of the discussion a quarter of a century after it was held will convince the impartial that in principle, in candor, in the enduring force of logic, Mr. Lincoln had the advantage. It is due to fairness to add that probably not another man in the country, with the disabilities surrounding his position, could have maintained himself so ably, so fearlessly, so effectively, as Douglas.
Douglas was aided in his canvass by the undisguised opposition of the administration. The hostility of President Buchanan and his Southern supporters was the best possible proof to the people of Illinois that Douglas was representing a doctrine which was not relished by the pro-slavery party. The courage with which he fought the administration gave an air of heroism to his canvass and prestige to his position. It secured to him thousands of votes that would otherwise have gone to Mr. Lincoln. For every vote which the administration was able to withhold from Douglas, it added five to his supporters. The result of the contest was, that, while Douglas was enabled to secure a majority of eight in the Legislature in consequence of an apportionment that was favorable to his side, Mr. Lincoln received a plurality of four thousand in the popular vote. In a certain sense, therefore, each had won a victory, and each had incurred defeat. But the victory of Douglas and the means by which it was won proved to be his destruction in the wider field of his ambition. Mr. Lincoln's victory and defeat combined in the end to promote his political fortunes, and to open to him the illustrious career which followed.
This debate was not a mere incident in American politics. It marked an era. Its influence and effect were co-extensive with the Republic. It introduced a new and distinct phase in the controversy that was engrossing all minds. The position of Douglas separated him from the Southern Democracy, and this, of itself, was a fact of great significance. The South saw that the ablest leader of the Northern Democracy had been compelled, in order to save himself at home, to abjure the very doctrine on which the safety of slave institutions depended. The propositions enunciated by Douglas in answer to the questions of Mr. Lincoln, in the Freeport debate, were as distasteful to the Southern mind as the position of Mr. Lincoln himself. Lincoln advocated a positive inhibition of slavery by the General Government. Mr. Douglas proposed to submit Southern rights under the Constitution to the decision of the first mob or rabble that might get possession of a Territorial legislature, and pass a police regulation hostile to slavery. Against this construction of the Constitution the South protested, and the protest carried with it implacable hostility to Douglas.
The separation of the Democratic party into warring factions was, therefore, inevitable. The line of division was the same on which the Republican party had been founded. It was the North against the South, the South against the North. The great mass of Northern Democrats began to consolidate in support of Douglas as determinedly as the mass of Northern Whigs had followed Seward. The Southern Democrats began, at the same time, to organize their States against Douglas. Until his break from the regular ranks in his opposition to the Lecompton Constitution, Douglas had enjoyed boundless popularity with his party in the South. In every slave State, there was still a small number of his old supporters who remained true to him. But the great host had left him. He could not be trusted. He had failed to stand by the extreme faith; he had refused to respond to its last requirement. Even at the risk of permanently dissevering the Democratic party, the Southern leaders resolved to destroy Douglas.
To this end, in the session of Congress following the debate with Mr. Lincoln, the Democratic senators laid down, in a series of resolutions, the true exposition of the creed of their party. Douglas was not personally referred to, but the resolutions were aimed so pointedly at what they regarded his heretical opinions, that his name might as well have been incorporated. The resolutions were adopted during the absence of Douglas from the Senate, on a health-seeking tour, after his laborious canvass. With only the dissenting vote of Mr. Pugh of Ohio among the Democrats, it was declared that "neither Congress nor a territorial legislature, whether by direct legislation, or legislation of an indirect or unfriendly character, possesses the power to impair the right of any citizen of the United States to take his slave property into the common Territories, and there hold and enjoy the same while the territorial condition exists." Not satisfied with this utter destruction of the whole doctrine of popular sovereignty, the Democratic senators gave one more turn to the wrench, by declaring that if "the territorial government should fail or refuse to provide adequate protection to the rights of the slave-holder, it will be the duty of Congress to supply such deficiency." The doctrine thus laid down by the Democratic senators was, in plain terms, that the territorial legislature might protect slavery, but could not prohibit it; and that even the Congress of the United States could only intervene on the side of bondage, and never on the side of freedom.
Anxious as Douglas was to be re-established in full relations with his party, he had not failed to see the obstacles in his way. He now realized that a desperate fight was to be made against him; that he was to be humiliated and driven from the Democratic ranks. The creed laid down by the Southern senators was such as no man could indorse without forfeiting his political life in free States. Douglas did not propose to rush on self-destruction to oblige the Democracy of the slave States; nor was he of the type of men who, when the right cheek is smitten, will meekly turn the other for a second blow. When his Democratic associates in the Senate proceeded to read him out of the party, they apparently failed to see that they were reading the Northern Democracy out with him. Jefferson Davis and Judah P. Benjamin might construct resolutions adapted to the latitude of the Gulf, and dragoon them through the Senate, with aid and pressure from Buchanan's administration; but Douglas commanded the votes of the Northern Democracy, and to the edict of a pro-slavery caucus he defiantly opposed the solid millions who followed his lead in the free States.
Without wrangling over the resolutions in the Senate, Douglas made answer to the whole series in a public letter of June 22, 1859, in which he said that "if it shall become the policy of the Democratic party to repudiate their time-honored principles, and interpolate such new issues as the revival of the African slave-trade, or the doctrine that the Constitution carries slavery into the Territories beyond the power of the people to legally control it as other property," he would not "accept a nomination for the Presidency if tendered him." The aggressiveness of Southern opinion on the slavery question was thus shown by Douglas in a negative or indirect view. It is a remarkable fact, that, in still another letter, Douglas argued quite elaborately against the revival of the African slave-trade, which he believed to be among the designs of the most advanced class of pro-slavery advocates. So acute a statesman as Douglas could not fail to see, that, at every step of his controversy with Southern Democrats, he was justifying the philosophy of Lincoln when he maintained that the country was to become wholly free, or wholly under the control of the slave power.
The controversy thus precipitated between Douglas and the South threatened the disruption of the Democratic party. That was an event of very serious significance. It would bring the conflict of sections still nearer by sundering a tie which had for so long a period bound together vast numbers from the North and the South in common sympathy and fraternal co-operation. Even those who were most opposed to the Democratic party beheld its peril with a certain feeling of regret not unmixed with apprehension. The Whig party had been destroyed; and its Northern and Southern members, who, but a few years before, had worked harmoniously for Harrison, for Clay, for Taylor, were now enrolled in rival and hostile organizations. A similar dissolution of the Democratic party would sweep away the only common basis of political action still existing for men of the free States and men of the slave States. The separation of the Methodist church into Northern and Southern organizations, a few years before, had been regarded by Mr. Webster as a portent of evil for the Union. The division of the Democratic party would be still more ominous. The possibility of such an event showed how deeply the slavery question had affected all ranks,—social, religious, and political. It showed, too, how the spirit of Calhoun now inspired the party in whose councils the slightest word of Jackson had once been law. This change, beginning with the defeat of Van Buren in 1844, was at first slow; but it had afterwards moved so rapidly and so far, that men in the North, who wished to remain in the ranks of the Democracy, were compelled to trample on the principles, and surrender the prejudices, of a lifetime. Efforts to harmonize proved futile. In Congress the breach was continually widening.
The situation was cause of solicitude, and even grief, with thousands to whom the old party was peculiarly endeared. The traditions of Jefferson, of Madison, of Jackson, were devoutly treasured; and the splendid achievements of the American Democracy were recounted with the pride which attaches to an honorable family inheritance. The fact was recalled that the Republic had grown to its imperial dimensions under Democratic statesmanship. It was remembered that Louisiana had been acquired from France, Florida from Spain, the independent Republic of Texas annexed, and California, with its vast dependencies, and its myriad millions of treasure, ceded by Mexico, all under Democratic administrations, and in spite of the resistance of their opponents. That a party whose history was inwoven with the glory of the Republic should now come to its end in a quarrel over the status of the negro, in a region where his labor was not wanted, was, to many of its members, as incomprehensible as it was sorrowful and exasperating. They protested, but they could not prevent. Anger was aroused, and men refused to listen to reason. They were borne along, they knew not whither or by what force. Time might have restored the party to harmony, but at the very height of the factional contest the representatives of both sections were hurried forward to the National Convention of 1860, with principle subordinated to passion, with judgment displaced by a desire for revenge.
[NOTE.—The following are the questions, referred to on p. 147, which were propounded to Mr. Douglas by Mr. Lincoln in their debate at Freeport. The popular interest was centred in the second question.
First, If the people of Kansas shall, by means entirely unobjectionable in all other respects, adopt a State Constitution, and ask admission into the Union under it before they have the requisite number of inhabitants, according to the English bill— some ninety-three thousand—will you vote to admit them?
Second, 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?
Third, If the Supreme Court of the United States shall decide that States cannot exclude slavery from their limits, are you in favor or acquiescing in, adopting, and following such decision as a rule of political action?
Fourth, Are you in favor of acquiring additional territory, in disregard of how such acquisition may affect the nation on the slavery question?]
Excited Condition of the South.—The John Brown Raid at Harper'sFerry.—Character of Brown.—Governor Wise.—Hot Temper.—Courseof Republicans in Regard to John Brown.—Misunderstanding of theTwo Sections.—Assembling of the Charleston Convention.—Positionof Douglas and his Friends.—Imperious Demands of Southern Democrats.—Caleb Cushing selected for Chairman of the Convention.—The Southhas Control of the Committee on Resolutions.—Resistance of theDouglas Delegates.—They defeat the Report of the Committee.—Delegates from Seven Southern States withdraw.—Convention unableto make a Nomination.—Adjourns to Baltimore.—Convention divides.—Nomination of both Douglas and Breckinridge.—ConstitutionalUnion Convention.—Nomination of Bell and Everett.—The ChicagoConvention.—Its Membership and Character.—Mr. Seward's Position.—His Disabilities.—Work of his Friends, Thurlow Weed and WilliamM. Evarts.—Opposition of Horace Greeley.—Objections from DoubtfulStates.—Various Candidates.—Nomination of Lincoln and Hamlin.—Four Presidential Tickets in the Field.—Animated Canvass.—TheLong Struggle over.—The South defeated.—Election of Lincoln.—Political Revolution of 1860 complete.
The South was unnaturally and unjustifiably excited. The people of the slave States could not see the situation accurately, but, like a man with disordered nerves, they exaggerated every thing. Their sense of proportion seemed to be destroyed, so that they could no longer perceive the intrinsic relation which one incident had to another. In this condition of mind, when the most ordinary events were misapprehended and mismeasured, they were startled and alarmed by an occurrence of extraordinary and exceptional character. On the quiet morning of October, 1859, with no warning whatever to the inhabitants, the United-States arsenal, at Harper's Ferry, Virginia, was found to be in the possession of an invading mob. The town was besieged, many of its citizens made prisoners, telegraph wires cut, railway-trains stopped by a force which the people, as they were aroused from sleep, had no means of estimating. A resisting body was soon organized, militia came in from the surrounding country, regular troops were hurried up from Washington. By the opening of the second day, a force of fifteen hundred men surrounded the arsenal, and, when the insurgents surrendered, it was found that there had been but twenty-two in all. Four were still alive, including their leader, John Brown.
Brown was a man of singular courage, perseverance, and zeal, but was entirely misguided and misinformed. He had conceived the utterly impracticable scheme of liberating the slaves of the South by calling on them to rise, putting arms in their hands, and aiding them to gain their freedom. He had borne a very conspicuous and courageous part in the Kansas struggles, and had been a terror to the slave-holders on the Missouri border. His bravery was of a rare type. He had no sense of fear. Governor Wise stated that during the fight, while Brown held the arsenal, with one of his sons lying dead beside him, another gasping with a mortal wound, he felt the pulse of the dying boy, used his own musket, and coolly commanded his men, all amid a shower of bullets from the attacking force. While of sound mind on most subjects, Brown had evidently lost his mental balance on the one topic of slavery. His scheme miscarried the moment its execution was attempted, as any one not blinded by fanaticism could have from the first foreseen.
The matter was taken up in hot wrath by the South, with Governor Wise in the lead. The design was not known to or approved by any body of men in the North; but an investigation was moved in the Senate, by Mr. Mason of Virginia, with the evident view of fixing the responsibility on the Northern people, or, at least, upon the Republican party. These men affected to see in John Brown, and his handful of followers, only the advance guard of another irruption of Goths and Vandals from the North, bent on inciting servile insurrection, on plunder, pillage, and devastation. Mr. Mason's committee found no sentiment in the North justifying Brown, but the irritating and offensive course of the Virginia senator called forth a great deal of defiant anti-slavery expression which, in his judgment, was tantamount to treason. Brown was tried and executed. He would not permit the plea of unsound mind to be made on his behalf, and to the end he behaved with that calm courage which always attracts respect and admiration. Much was made of the deliverance of the South, from a great peril, and every thing indicated that the John Brown episode was to be drawn into the political campaign as an indictment against anti-slavery men. It was loudly charged by the South, and by their partisans throughout the North, that such insurrections were the legitimate outgrowth of Republican teaching, and that the national safety demanded the defeat and dissolution of the Republican party. Thus challenged, the Republican party did not stand on the defensive. Many of its members openly expressed their pity for the zealot, whose rashness had led him to indefensible deeds and thence to the scaffold. On the day of his execution, bells were tolled in many Northern towns —not in approval of what Brown had done, but from compassion for the fate of an old man whose mind had become distempered by suffering, and by morbid reflection on the suffering of others; from a feeling that his sentence, in view of this fact, was severe; and lastly, and more markedly, as a Northern rebuke to the attempt on the part of the South to make a political issue from an occurrence which was as unforeseen and exceptional as it was deplorable.
The fear and agitation in the South were not feigned but real. Instead of injuring the Republican party, this very fact increased its strength in the North. The terror of the South at the bare prospect of a negro insurrection led many who had not before studied the slavery question to give serious heed to this phase of it. The least reflection led men to see that a domestic institution must be very undesirable which could keep an entire community of brave men in dread of some indefinable tragedy. Mobs and riots of much greater magnitude than the John Brown uprising had frequently occurred in the free States, and they were put down by the firm authority of law, without the dread hand of a spectre behind which might in a moment light the horizon with the conflagration of homes, and subject wives and daughters to a fate of nameless horror. Instead, therefore, of arresting the spread of Republican principles, the mad scheme of John Brown tended to develop and strengthen them. The conviction grew rapidly that if slavery could produce such alarm and such demoralization in a strong State like Virginia, inhabited by a race of white men whose courage was never surpassed, it was not an institution to be encouraged, but that its growth should be prohibited in the new communities where its weakening and baleful influence was not yet felt.
Sentiment of this kind could not be properly comprehended in the South. It was honestly misrepresented by some, willfully misrepresented by others. All construed it into a belief, on the part of a large proportion of the Northern people, that John Brown was entirely justifiable. His wild invasion of the South, they apprehended, would be repeated as opportunity offered on a larger scale and with more deadly purpose. This opinion was stimulated and developed for political ends by many whose intelligence should have led them to more enlightened views. False charges being constantly repeated and plied with incessant zeal, the most radical misconception became fixed in the Southern mind. It was idle for the Republican party to declare that their aim was only to prevent the extension of slavery to free territory, and that they were pledged not to interfere with its existence in the States. Such distinctions were not accepted by the Southern people. Their leaders had taught them that the one necessarily involved the other, and that a man who was in favor of the Wilmot Proviso was as bitter an enemy to the South as one who incited a servile insurrection. These views were unceasingly pressed upon the South by the Northern Democracy, who, in their zeal to defeat the Republicans at home, did not scruple to misrepresent their aims in the most reckless manner. They were constantly misleading the public opinion of the slave States, until at last the South recognized no difference between the creed of Seward and the creed of Gerrit Smith, and held Lincoln responsible for all the views and expressions of William Lloyd Garrison and Wendell Phillips. The calling of a National Republican Convention was to their disordered imagination a threat of destruction. The success of its candidates would, in their view, be just cause for resistance outside the pale of the Constitution.
It was at the height of this overwrought condition of the Southern mind, that the National Convention of the Democratic party met at Charleston on the 23d of April, 1860. The convention had been assembled in South Carolina, as the most discontented and extreme of Southern States, in order to signify that the Democracy could harmonize on her soil, and speak peace to the nation through the voice which had so often spoken peace before. But the Northern Democrats failed to comprehend their Southern allies. In their anxiety to impress the slave-holders with the depth and malignity of Northern anti-slavery feeling, they had unwittingly implicated themselves as accessories to the crime they charged on others. If they were, in fact, the friends to the South which they so loudly proclaimed themselves to be, now was the time to show their faith by their works. The Southern delegates had come to the convention in a truculent spirit,—as men who felt that they were enduring wrongs which must then and there be righted. They had a grievance for which they demanded redress, as a preliminary step to further conference. They wanted no evasion, they would accept no delay. The Northern delegates begged for the nomination of Douglas as the certain method of defeating the Republicans, and asked that they might not be borne down by a platform which they could not carry in the North. The Southern delegates demanded a platform which should embody the Constitutional rights of the slave-holder, and they would not qualify or conceal their requirements. If the North would sustain those rights, all would be well. If the North would not sustain them, it was of infinite moment to the South to be promptly and definitely advised of the fact. The Southern delegates were not presenting a particular man as candidate. On that point they would be liberal and conciliatory. But they were fighting for a principle, and would not surrender it or compromise it.
The supporters of Douglas from the North saw that they would be utterly destroyed at home if they consented to the extreme Southern demand. Their destruction would be equally sure even with Douglas as their candidate if the platform should announce principles which he had been controverting ever since his revolt against the Lecompton bill. For the first time in the history of national Democratic conventions the Northern delegates refused to submit to the exactions of the South. Hitherto platforms had been constructed just as Southern men dictated. Candidates had been taken as their preference directed. But now the Northern men, pressed by the rising tide of Republicanism in every free State, demanded some ground on which they could stand and make a contest at home.
Caleb Cushing of Massachusetts was chosen President of the Convention. The political career of Mr. Cushing had not been distinguished for steady adherence to party. He was elected to Congress in 1834, as representative from the Essex district in Massachusetts. He was at that time a zealous member of the Whig party, and was active on the Northern or anti-slavery side in the discussions relating to the "right of petition." He served in the House for eight years. After the triumph of Harrison in 1840, Mr. Cushing evidently aspired to be a party leader. In the quarrel which ensued between President Tyler and Mr. Clay, he saw an opportunity to gratify his ambition by adhering to the administration. This brought him into very close relations with Mr. Webster, who remained in Tyler's Cabinet after his colleagues retired, and threw him at the same time into rank antagonism with Mr. Clay, to whose political fortunes he had previously been devoted. In view of the retirement of Mr. Webster from the State Department in 1843, President Tyler nominated Mr. Cushing for Secretary of the Treasury, but the Whig senators, appreciating his power and influence in that important position, procured his rejection. Some Democratic votes from the South were secured against him because of his course in the House of Representatives. The President then nominated him as Commissioner to China, and he was promptly confirmed. Oriental diplomatists never encountered a minister better fitted to meet them with their own weapons.
Upon his return home, Mr. Cushing found that Mr. Webster had resumed his place as the leader of the Northern Whigs. Mr. Clay had meanwhile been defeated for the Presidency, his followers were discouraged, the administration of Mr. Polk was in power. Mr. Cushing at once joined the Democracy, and was made a Brigadier- General in the army raised for the war with Mexico. From that time onward he became a partisan of the extreme State-rights school of the Southern Democracy, and was appropriately selected for Attorney- General by President Pierce in 1853. In conjunction with Jefferson Davis, he was considered to be the guiding and controlling force in the administration. His thorough education, his remarkable attainments, his eminence in the law, his ability as an advocate, rendered his active co-operation of great value to the pro-slavery Democrats of the South. He was naturally selected for the important and difficult duty of presiding over the convention whose deliberations were to affect the interests of the Government, and possibly the fate of the Union.
It was soon evident that the South would have every advantage in the convention which an intelligent and skillful administration of parliamentary law could afford. Without showing unfairness, the presiding officer, especially in a large and boisterous assembly, can impart confidence and strength to the side with which he may sympathize. But, apart from any power to be derived from having the chairman of the convention, the South had a more palpable advantage from the mode in which the standing committees must, according to precedent, be constituted. As one member must be taken from each State, the Southern men obtained the control of all the committees, from the fact that the delegates from California and Oregon steadily voted with them. There were thirty-three States in the Union in 1860,—eighteen free and fifteen slave-holding. California and Oregon, uniting with the South, gave to that section seventeen, and left to the North but sixteen on all the committees. The Democratic delegates from the Pacific States assumed a weighty responsibility in thus giving to the Disunionists of the South preliminary control of the convention, by permitting them to shape authoritatively all the business to be submitted. It left the real majority of the convention in the attitude of a protesting minority. The Southern majority of one on the committees was fatal to Democratic success. In a still more important aspect its influence was in the highest degree prejudicial to the Union of the States.
Constituted in the manner just indicated, the Committee on Resolutions promptly and unanimously agreed on every article of the Democratic creed, except that relating to slavery. Here they divided, stubbornly and irreconcilably. The fifteen slave States, re-enforced by California and Oregon, gave to the Southern interest a majority of one vote on the committee. The other free States, sixteen in all, were hostile to the extreme Southern demands, and reported a resolution, which they were willing to accept. The South required an explicit assertion of the right of citizens to settle in the Territories with their slaves,—a right not "to be destroyed or impaired by Congressional or Territorial legislation." They required the further declaration that it is the duty of the Federal Government, when necessary, to protect slavery "in the Territories, and wherever else its constitutional authority extends." This was in substance, and almost identically in language, the extreme creed put forth by the Southern Democratic senators in the winter of 1858-59, after the "popular sovereignty" campaign of Douglas against Lincoln. It was the most advanced ground ever taken by the statesmen of the South, and its authorship was generally ascribed to Judah F. Benjamin, senator from Louisiana. Its introduction in the Charleston platform was intended apparently as an insult to Douglas. The evident purpose was to lay down doctrines and prescribe tests which Douglas could not accept, and thus to exclude him, not only from candidacy, but from further participation in the councils of the party.
The courage of the Northern Democrats was more conspicuously shown in their resistance to these demands than in the declarations which they desired to substitute. They quietly abandoned all their assertions in regard to popular sovereignty, refrained from any protest against the doctrine that the Constitution carried slavery as far as its jurisdiction extended, and contented themselves with a resolution that "inasmuch as differences of opinion exist in the Democratic party as to the nature and extent of the powers of a Territorial Legislature, and as to the powers and duties of Congress under the Constitution of the United States over the institution of slavery within the Territories, the Democratic party will abide by the decisions of the Supreme Court of the United States upon questions of Constitutional law." This was perhaps the best device practicable at the time; and had it been adopted with Douglas as the candidate, and a united Democracy supporting him, it is not improbable that a successful campaign might have been made. But it was a makeshift, uncandid, unfair, cunningly contrived to evade the full responsibility of the situation. It was a temporizing expedient, and did not frankly meet the question which was engaging the thoughts of the people. Had it succeeded, nothing would have been settled. Every thing would have been postponed, and the crisis would have inevitably recurred. So far as the Supreme Court could determine the questions at issue, it had already been done in the Dred Scott decision; and that decision, so far from being final, was a part of the current controversy. There was, therefore, neither logic nor principle in the proposition of the Douglas minority. The Southern delegates keenly realized this fact, and refused to accept the compromise. They could not endure the thought of being placed in a position which was not only evasive, but might be deemed cowardly. They were brave men, and wished to meet the question bravely. They knew that the Republicans in their forthcoming convention would explicitly demand the prohibition of slavery in the Territories. To hesitate or falter in making an equally explicit assertion of their own faith would subject them to fatal assault from their slave-holding constituencies.
The Douglas men would not yield. They were enraged by the domineering course of the Southern Democrats. They could not comprehend why they should higgle about the language of the platform when they could carry the slave States on the one form of expression as well as the other. In the North it was impossible for the Democrats to succeed with the Southern platform, but in the South it was, in their judgment, entirely easy to carry the Douglas platform. From the committee the contest was transferred to the convention, and there the Douglas men were in a majority. They did not hesitate to use their strength, and by a vote of 165 to 138 they substituted the minority platform for that of the majority. It was skillfully accomplished under the lead of Henry B. Payne of Ohio and Benjamin Samuels of Iowa. The total vote of the convention was 303,—the number of Presidential electors; and every vote had been cast on the test question. The South voted solidly in the negative, and was aided by the vote of California and Oregon, and a few scattering delegates from Pennsylvania and New Jersey. The other fourteen States of the North voted unanimously on the side of Douglas, and gave him a majority of twenty-seven.
The Northern victory brought with it a defeat. A large number of the Southern delegates, though fairly and honorably outvoted, refused to abide by the decision. Seven States—Louisiana, Alabama, South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Texas, and Arkansas—withdrew from the convention, and organized a separate assemblage, presided over by Senator James A. Bayard of Delaware. By this defection the Douglas men were left in absolute control of the convention. But the friends of Douglas fatally obstructed his program by consenting to the two-thirds rule, so worded as to required that proportion of a full convention to secure a nomination. The first vote disclosed the full strength of Douglas to be 152. He required 202 to be declared the nominee. After an indefinite number of ballots, it was found impossible to make a nomination; and on the 3d of May the convention adjourned to meet in Baltimore on the 18th of June. In the intervening weeks it was hoped that a more harmonious spirit would return to the party. But the expectation was vain. The differences were more pronounced than ever when the convention re-assembled, and, all efforts to find a common basis of action having failed, the convention divided. The Southern delegates with California and Oregon, and with some scattering members from other States, among whom were Caleb Cushing and Benjamin F. Butler of Massachusetts, nominated John C. Breckinridge of Kentucky for President, and Joseph Lane of Oregon for Vice-President. The Northern convention, with a few scattering votes from the South, nominated Stephen A. Douglas for President, and Herschel V. Johnson of Georgia for Vice-President. Of the seventeen States that made up the Breckinridge convention, it was deemed probable that he could carry all. Of the sixteen that voted for Douglas, it was difficult to name one in which with a divided party he could be sure of victory. United in support of either candidate, the party could have made a formidable contest, stronger in the North with Douglas, stronger in the South with Breckinridge. Had the Democracy presented Douglas and Breckinridge as their National nominees, they would have combined all the elements of strength in their party. But passion and prejudice prevented. The South was implacable toward Douglas, and deliberately resolved to accept defeat rather than secure a victory under his lead.
The disruption of the Democracy was undoubtedly hastened by the political events which had occurred since the adjournment at Charleston. An organization, styling itself the Constitutional- Union Party, representing the successors of the Old Whigs and Americans, had met in Baltimore, and nominated John Bell of Tennessee for President, and Edward Everett of Massachusetts for Vice-President. The strength of the party was in the South. In the slave States it formed the only opposition to the Democratic party, and was as firm in defense of the rights of the slave-holder as its rival. Its members had not been so ready to repeal the Missouri Compromise as the Democrats, and they were unrelenting in their hostility to Douglas, and severe in their exposure of his dogma of popular sovereignty. They had effectively aided in bringing both the doctrine and its author into disrepute in the South, and, if the Democrats had ventured to nominate Douglas, they had their weapons ready for vigorous warfare against him.
With a Southern slave-holder like Mr. Bell at the head of the ticket, and a Northern man of Mr. Everett's well-known conservatism associated with him, the Constitutional-Union Party was in a position to make a strong canvass against Douglas in the South. It was this fact which, on the re-assembling of the Democratic convention at Baltimore, had increased the hostility of the South to Douglas, and made their leaders firm in their resolution not to accept him. Had the Union party nominated a Northern man instead of Mr. Bell for President, the case might have been different for Douglas; but the Southern Democrats feared that their party would be endangered in half the slave States if they should present Douglas as a candidate against a native Southerner and slave-holder of Bell's character and standing. If they were to be beaten in the contest for the Presidency, they were determined to retain, if possible, the control of their States, and not to risk their seats in the Senate and the House in a desperate struggle for Douglas. It would be poor recompense to them to recover certain Northern States from the Republicans, if at the same time, and by co-ordinate causes, an equal number of Southern States should be carried by Bell, and the destiny of the South be committed to a conservative party, which would abandon threats and cultivate harmony. Bell's nomination had, therefore, proved the final argument against the acceptance of Douglas by the Southern Democracy.
Meanwhile, between the adjournment of the Democratic convention at Charleston, and its re-assembling at Baltimore, the Republicans had held their national convention at Chicago. It was a representative meeting of the active and able men of both the old parties in the North, who had come together on the one overshadowing issue of the hour. Differing widely on many other questions, inheriting their creeds from antagonistic organizations of the past, they thought alike on the one subject of putting a stop to the extension of slavery. Those who wished to go farther were restrained, and an absolute control of opinion and action was commanded on this one line. In the entire history of party conventions, not one can be found so characteristic, so earnest, so determined to do the wisest thing, so little governed by personal consideration, so entirely devoted to one absorbing idea. It was made up in great part of young men, though there were gray-haired veterans in sufficient number to temper action with discretion. A large proportion of the delegates were afterwards prominent in public life. At least sixty of them, till then unknown beyond their districts, were sent to Congress. Many became governors of their States, and in other ways received marks of popular favor. It was essentially a convention of the free States—undisguisedly sectional in the political nomenclature of the day. The invitation was general, but, in the larger portion of the South, no one could be found who would risk his life by attending as a delegate. Nevertheless, there were delegates present from the five slave States which bordered on the free States, besides a partial and irregular representation from Texas.
The anti-slavery character of the assemblage was typified by the selection of David Wilmot for temporary chairman, and its conservative side by the choice of an old Webster Whig, in the person of George Ashmun of Massachusetts, for permanent president. This tendency to interweave the radical and conservative elements, and, where practicable, those of Whig with those of Democratic antecedents, was seen in many delegations. John A. Andrew and George S. Boutwell came from Massachusetts, William M. Evarts and Preston King from New York, Thaddeus Stevens and Andrew H. Reeder from Pennsylvania, Thomas Corwin and Joshua R. Giddings from Ohio, David Davis and N. B. Judd from Illinois. Outside of the regular delegations, there were great crowds of earnest men in Chicago, all from the free States. The number in attendance was reckoned by tens of thousands. Considering the restricted facilities for travel at that time, the multitude was surprising and significant. The whole mass was inspired with energy, and believed, without shadow of doubt, that they had come to witness the nomination of the next President of the United States. Confidence of strength is as potential an element in a political canvass as in a military campaign, and never was a more defiant sense of power exhibited than by the Chicago convention of 1860 and by the vast throng which surrounded its meetings. Such a feeling is contagious, and it spread from that centre until it enveloped the free States.
The impression in the country, for a year preceding the convention, was that Mr. Seward would be nominated. As the time drew nigh, however, symptoms of dissent appeared in quarters where it had not been expected. New parties are proverbially free from faction and jealousy. Personal antagonisms, which come with years, had not then been developed in the Republican ranks. It was not primarily a desire to promote the cause of other candidates which led to the questioning of Mr. Seward's availability, nor was there any withholding of generous recognition and appreciation of all that he had done for Republican principles. His high character was gladly acknowledged, his eminent ability conceded, the magnitude and unselfishness of his work were everywhere praised. Without his aid, the party could not have been organized. But for his wise leadership, it would have been wrecked in the first years of its existence. He was wholly devoted to its principles. He had staked every thing upon its success.
Mr. Seward had, however, some weak points as a candidate. A large proportion of the Republicans had been connected with the American organization, and still cherished some of its principles. Mr. Seward had been the determined foe of that party. In battling for the rights of the negro, he deemed it unwise and inconsistent to increase the disabilities of the foreign-born citizen. His influence, more than that of any other man, had broken down the proscriptive creed of the American party, and turned its members into the Republican ranks. But many of them came reluctantly, and in a complaining mood against Mr. Seward. This led political managers to fear that Mr. Seward would lose votes which another candidate might secure. Others though that the radicalism of Mr. Seward would make him weak, where a more conservative representative of Republican principles might be strong. He had been at the forefront of the battle for twelve years in the Senate, and every extreme thing he had said was remembered to his injury. He had preached the doctrine of an "irrepressible conflict" between the forces of slavery and the forces of freedom, and timid men dreaded such a trial as his nomination would presage. The South had made continuous assault on this speech, and on the particular phrase which distinguished it, and had impressed many Northern men with the belief that Mr. Seward had gone too far. In short, he had been too conspicuous, and too many men had conceived predilections against him.
When the convention assembled, notwithstanding all adverse influences, Mr. Seward was still the leading and most formidable candidate. His case was in strong and skillful hands. Mr. Thurlow Weed, who had been his lifelong confidential friend, presented his claims, before the formal assembling of the convention, with infinite tact. Mr. Weed, though unable to make a public speech, was the most persuasive of men in private conversation. He was quiet, gentle, and deferential in manner. He grasped a subject with a giant's strength, presented its strong points, and marshaled its details with extraordinary power. Whatever Mr. Weed might lack was more than supplied by the eloquent tongue of William M. Evarts. Seldom if ever in the whole field of political oratory have the speeches of Mr. Evarts at Chicago been equaled. Even those who most decidedly differed from him followed him from one delegation to another allured by the charm of his words. He pleaded for the Republic, for the party that could save it, for the great statesman who had founded the party, and knew where and how to lead it. He spoke as one friend for another, and the great career of Mr. Seward was never so illumined as by the brilliant painting of Mr. Evarts.
With all the potential efforts and influences in his behalf, Mr. Seward was confronted with obstacles which were insuperable. He was seriously injured by the open defection of Horace Greeley. Not able, or even desirous, to appear on the New-York delegation, Mr. Greeley sat in the convention as a representative from Oregon. The old firm of Seward, Weed, and Greeley, according to his own humorous expression, had been dissolved by the withdrawal of the junior partner; and a bitter dissension had in fact existed for six years without public knowledge. With his great influence in the agricultural regions of the country, Mr. Greeley was enabled to turn a strong current of popular feeling against the eminent senator from New York. Mr. Seward sustained further injury by the action of the States which were regarded as politically doubtful. Pennsylvania and Indiana took part against him. Henry S. Lane had just been nominated for governor of Indiana, with Oliver P. Morton —not then known beyond his State—for lieutenant-governor. It was understood that Lane would be sent to the Senate if the Republicans should carry the State, and that Morton, whose strength of character was known and appreciated at home, would become governor. Both candidates, having each a personal stake in the contest, united in declaring that the nomination of Mr. Seward meant a Democratic victory in Indiana. Andrew G. Curtin, who had been nominated for governor of Pennsylvania, gave the same testimony respecting that State; and his judgment was sustained by his faithful friend and adviser, Alexander K. McClure. Delegates from other States, where the contest was close, sympathized with the views of Pennsylvania and Indiana, and there was a rapid and formidable combination against Mr. Seward. The reformer and his creed rarely triumph at the same time, and the fate of Mr. Seward was about to add one more illustration of this truth.
But if not Mr. Seward, who? The Blairs and Horace Greeley answered, "Edward Bates of Missouri,"—an old Whig, a lawyer of ability, a gentleman of character. Though still in vigorous life, he had sat in the convention which framed the constitution of Missouri in 1820. He had revered the Compromise of that year, and had joined the Republicans in resentment of its repeal. Ohio, in a half- hearted manner, presented Salmon P. Chase, who, with great ability and spotless fame, lacked the elements of personal popularity. Pennsylvania, with an imposing delegation, named Simon Cameron; New Jersey desired William L. Dayton; Vermont wanted Jacob Collamer; and delegates here and there suggested Judge McLean or Benjamin F. Wade. The popular candidate of 1856, John C. Frémont, had forbidden the use of his name.
Illinois had a candidate. He was held back with sound discretion, and at the opportune moment presented with great enthusiasm. Ever since the discussion with Douglas, Mr. Lincoln had occupied a prominent place before the public; but there had been little mention of his name for the Presidency. His friends at home had apparently hoped to nominate him for Vice-President on the ticket with Mr. Seward. But as the proofs of hostility to Seward multiplied, speculation was busy as to the man who could be taken in his stead. At the moment when doubts of Seward's success were most prevalent, and when excitement in regard to the nomination was deepest, the Republicans of Illinois met in State convention. It was but a few days in advance of the assembling of the National convention. By a spontaneous movement they nominated Mr. Lincoln for President. It was a surprise to the convention that did it. The man who created the great outburst for Mr. Lincoln in that Illinois assemblage, who interpreted the feelings of delegates to themselves, was Richard J. Oglesby, a speaker of force and eloquence, afterward honorably prominent and popular in military and civil life. He was seconded with unanimity, and with boisterous demonstrations of applause. The whole State was instantly alive and ablaze for Lincoln. A delegation competent for its work was sent to the convention. David Davis, O. H. Browning, Burton C. Cook, Gustavus Koerner, and their associates, met no abler body of men in a convention remarkable for its ability. They succeeded in the difficult task assigned to them. They did not in their canvass present Mr. Lincoln as a rival to Mr. Seward, but rather as an admirer and friend. The votes which were given to Mr. Lincoln on the first ballot were, in large part, from delegations that could not be induced in any event to vote for Mr. Seward. The presentation of Mr. Lincoln's name kept these delegates from going to a candidate less acceptable to the immediate friends of Mr. Seward. No management could have been more skillful, no tact more admirable. The result attested the vigor and wisdom of those who had Mr. Lincoln's fortunes in charge.