The committee on resolutions at the convention found themselves, after
hours of discussion, unable to agree; and at last they sent for Lincoln.
He suggested that all could unite on the principles of the Declaration
of Independence and hostility to the extension of slavery. "Let us,"
said he, "in building our new party make our cornerstone the
Declaration of Independence; let us build on this rock, and the gates of
hell shall not prevail against us." The problem was mastered, and the
convention adopted the following:
_Resolved_, That we hold, in accordance with the opinions and
practices of all the great statesmen of all parties for the first
sixty years of the administration of the government, that under the
Constitution Congress possesses full power to prohibit slavery in
the territories; and that while we will maintain all constitutional
rights of the South, we also hold that justice, humanity, the
principles of freedom, as expressed in our Declaration of
Independence and our National Constitution, and the purity and
perpetuity of our government, require that that power should be
exerted to prevent the extension of slavery into territories
heretofore free.
The Bloomington convention concluded its work by choosing delegates to
the National Republican convention to be held at Philadelphia the
following month, for the nomination of candidates for the Presidency and
Vice-presidency of the United States. And thus was organized the
Republican party in Illinois, which revolutionized the politics of the
State and elected Lincoln to the Presidency.
The people of Bloomington seem to have had but little sympathy with this
convention. A few days later, Herndon and Lincoln tried to hold a
ratification meeting; but only three persons were present--Lincoln,
Herndon, and John Pain. "When Lincoln came into the court-room where the
meeting was to be held," says Herndon, "there was an expression of
sadness and amusement on his face. He walked to the stand, mounted it in
a kind of mockery--mirth and sadness all combined--and said, 'Gentlemen,
this meeting is larger than I thought it would be. I knew that Herndon
and myself would come, but I did not know that anyone else would be
here; and yet another has come--you, John Pain. These are sad times,
and seem out of joint. All seems dead; but the age is not yet dead; it
liveth as sure as our Maker liveth. Under all this seeming want of life
and motion, the world does move nevertheless. Be hopeful. And now let us
adjourn and appeal to the people.'"
The National convention of the Republican party met at Philadelphia in
June, 1856, and adopted a declaration of principles substantially based
upon those of the Bloomington convention. John C. Fremont was nominated
as candidate for President. Among the names presented for Vice-president
was that of Abraham Lincoln, who received 110 votes. William L. Dayton
received 259 votes and was unanimously declared the nominee. Fremont and
Dayton thus became the standard-bearers of the new national party. When
the news reached Lincoln, in Illinois, that he had received 110 votes as
nominee for the Vice-presidency, he could not at first believe that he
was the man voted for, and said, "No, it could not be; it must have been
the great Lincoln of Massachusetts!" He was then in one of his
melancholy moods, full of depression and despondency.
In the stirring presidential campaign of 1856, Lincoln was particularly
active, and rendered most efficient service to the Republican party. He
spoke constantly, discussing the great question of "slavery in the
territories" in a manner at once original and masterly. A graphic
picture of one of these campaign gatherings is furnished by Hon. William
Bross, afterwards Lieutenant-Governor of Illinois. "I first met Mr.
Lincoln, to know him," says Governor Bross, "at Vandalia, the old
capital of the State, in October, 1856. There was to be a political
meeting in front of the old State House, in the center of the square, at
2 o'clock. Soon after that hour the sonorous voice of Dr. Curdy rang
through the town: 'O, yes! O, yes! All ye who want to hear public
speaking, draw near!' The crowd at once began to gather from all sides
of the square. The Doctor then introduced the first speaker, and he
proceeded to make the best presentation he could of the principles of
the newly-formed Republican party, and the reasons why Fremont, 'the
gallant pathfinder of the West,' should be elected President. About the
time the first speaker closed his remarks, Hon. Ebenezer Peck and
Abraham Lincoln arrived and took the stand; and both made able and
effective speeches. After that, Lincoln and I frequently met during the
canvass, and often afterwards I spoke with him from the same platform.
The probable result of an election was often canvassed, and a noticeable
fact was that in most cases he would mark the probable result below
rather than above the actual majority."
Some lively reminiscences of Lincoln's appearance and efforts in this
campaign are given by Mr. Noah Brooks, the well-known journalist and
author, who at that time lived in Northern Illinois and attended many of
the great Republican mass-meetings. "At one of these great assemblies in
Ogle County," says Mr. Brooks, "to which the country people came on
horseback, in farm wagons, or afoot, from far and near, there were
several speakers of local celebrity. Dr. Egan of Chicago, famous for his
racy stories, was one; and Joe Knox of Bureau County, a stump speaker of
renown, was another attraction. Several other orators were 'on the
bills' for this long-advertised 'Fremont and Dayton rally,' among them
being a Springfield lawyer who had won some reputation as a close
reasoner, and a capital speaker on the stump. This was Abraham Lincoln,
popularly known as 'Honest Abe Lincoln.' In those days he was not so
famous in our part of the State as the two speakers whom I have named.
Possibly he was not so popular among the masses of the people; but his
ready wit, his unfailing good humor, and the candor which gave him his
character for honesty, won for him the admiration and respect of all
who heard him. I remember once meeting a choleric old Democrat striding
away from an open-air meeting where Lincoln was speaking, striking the
earth with his cane as he stumped along, and exclaiming, 'He's a
dangerous man, sir! A d----d dangerous man! He makes you _believe_ what
he says, in spite of yourself!' It was Lincoln's manner. He admitted
away his whole case apparently--and yet, as his political opponents
complained, he usually carried conviction with him. As he reasoned with
his audience, he bent his long form over the railing of the platform,
stooping lower and lower as he pursued his argument, until, having
reached his point, he clinched it, usually with a question, and then
suddenly sprang upright, reminding one of the springing open of a
jack-knife blade. At the Ogle County meeting to which I refer, Lincoln
led off, the raciest speakers being reserved for the latter part of the
political entertainment. I am bound to say that Lincoln did not awaken
the boisterous applause which some of those who followed him did, but
his speech made a more lasting impression. It was talked about for weeks
afterward in the neighborhood, and it probably changed many votes; for
that was the time when Free-soil votes were being made in Northern
Illinois."
Mr. Brooks had made Lincoln's acquaintance early in the day referred to;
and after Lincoln had spoken, and while some of the other orators were
entertaining the audience, the two drew a little off from the crowd and
fell into a discussion over the political situation and prospects. "We
crawled under the pendulous branches of a tree," says Mr. Brooks, "and
Lincoln, lying flat on the ground, with his chin in his hands, talked
on, rather gloomily as to the present but absolutely confident as to the
future. I was dismayed to find that he did not believe it possible that
Fremont could be elected. As if half pitying my youthful ignorance, but
admiring my enthusiasm, he said, 'Don't be discouraged if we don't
carry the day this year. We can't do it, that's certain. We can't carry
Pennsylvania; those old Whigs down there are too strong for us. But we
shall sooner or later elect our President. I feel confident of that.'
'Do you think we shall elect a Free-soil President in 1860?' I asked.
'Well, I don't know. Everything depends on the course of the Democracy.
There's a big anti-slavery element in the Democratic party, and if we
could get hold of that we might possibly elect our man in 1860. But it's
doubtful, very doubtful. Perhaps we shall be able to fetch it by 1864;
perhaps not. As I said before, the Free-soil party is bound to win in
the long run. It may not be in my day; but it will be in yours, I do
really believe.'" The defeat of Fremont soon verified Lincoln's
prediction on that score.
A peculiarly interesting episode of Lincoln's life belongs to this
period, though unrelated to political events. This was the meeting, in a
professional way, with Edwin M. Stanton, at that time a prominent lawyer
of Pittsburgh, afterwards the great War Secretary of President Lincoln's
cabinet. The circumstances were briefly these: Among Lincoln's law cases
was one connected with the patent of the McCormick Reaper; and in the
summer of 1857 he visited Cincinnati to argue the case before Judge
McLean of the United States Circuit Court. It was a case of great
importance, involving the foundation patent of the machine which was
destined to revolutionize the harvesting of grain. Reverdy Johnson was
on one side of the case, and E.M. Stanton and George Harding on the
other. It became necessary, in addition, to have a lawyer who was a
resident of Illinois; and inquiry was made of Hon. E.B. Washburne, then
in Congress, as to whether he knew a suitable man. The latter replied
that "there was a man named Lincoln at Springfield, who had considerable
reputation in the State." Lincoln was retained in the case, and came on
to Cincinnati with a brief. Stanton and Harding saw in their associate
counsel "a tall, dark, uncouth man, who did not strike them as of any
account, and, indeed, they gave him hardly any chance." An interesting
account of this visit, and of various incidents connected with it, has
been prepared by the Hon. W.M. Dickson of Cincinnati. "Mr. Lincoln came
to the city," says Mr. Dickson, "a few days before the argument took
place, and remained during his stay at the house of a friend. The case
was one of large importance pecuniarily, and in the law questions
involved. Reverdy Johnson represented the plaintiff. Mr. Lincoln had
prepared himself with the greatest care; his ambition was to speak in
the case, and to measure swords with the renowned lawyer from Baltimore.
It was understood between his client and himself, before his coming,
that Mr. Harding of Philadelphia was to be associated with him in the
case, and was to make the 'mechanical argument.' Mr. Lincoln was a
little surprised and annoyed after reaching Cincinnati, to learn that
his client had also associated with him Mr. Edwin M. Stanton, of
Pittsburgh, and a lawyer of our own bar; the reason assigned being that
the importance of the case required a man of the experience and power of
Mr. Stanton to meet Mr. Johnson. The reasons given did not remove the
slight conveyed in the employment, without consultation with Lincoln, of
this additional counsel. He keenly felt it, but acquiesced. The trial of
the case came on; the counsel for defense met each morning for
consultation. On one of these occasions one of the counsel moved that
only two of them should speak in the case. This motion was also
acquiesced in. It had always been understood that Mr. Harding was to
speak to explain the mechanism of the reapers. So this motion excluded
either Mr. Lincoln or Mr. Stanton. By the custom of the bar, as between
counsel of equal standing and in the absence of any action of the
client, the original counsel speaks. By this rule Mr. Lincoln had
precedence. Mr. Stanton suggested to Mr. Lincoln to make the speech. Mr.
Lincoln answered, 'No; you speak,' Mr. Stanton replied, 'I will,' and
taking up his hat, said he would go and make preparation. Mr. Lincoln
acquiesced in this, but was deeply grieved and mortified; he took but
little more interest in the case, though remaining until the conclusion
of the trial. He seemed to be greatly depressed, and gave evidence of
that tendency to melancholy which so marked his character. His parting
on leaving the city cannot be forgotten. Cordially shaking the hand of
his hostess, he said: 'You have made my stay here most agreeable, and I
am a thousand times obliged to you; but as for repeating my visit, I
must say to you I never expect to be in Cincinnati again. I have nothing
against the city, but things have so happened here as to make it
undesirable for me ever to return.' Thus untowardly met for the first
time, Lincoln and Stanton. Little did either then suspect that they were
to meet again on a larger theatre, to become the chief actors in a great
historical epoch."
If Lincoln was "surprised and annoyed" at the treatment he received from
Stanton, the latter was no less surprised, and a good deal more
disgusted, on seeing Lincoln and learning of his connection with the
case. He made no secret of his contempt for the "long, lank creature
from Illinois," as he afterwards described him, "wearing a dirty linen
duster for a coat, on the back of which the perspiration had splotched
wide stains that resembled a dirty map of the continent." He blurted out
his wrath and indignation to his associate counsel, declaring that if
"that giraffe" was permitted to appear in the case he would throw up his
brief and leave it. Lincoln keenly felt the affront, but his great
nature forgave it so entirely that, recognizing the singular abilities
of Stanton beneath his brusque exterior, he afterwards, for the public
good, appointed him to a seat in his cabinet.
Lincoln, says Mr. Dickson, "remained in Cincinnati about a week, moving
freely about. Yet not twenty men in the city knew him personally, or
knew he was here; not a hundred would have known who he was had his name
been given to them. He came with the fond hope of making fame in a
forensic contest with Reverdy Johnson. He was pushed aside, humiliated
and mortified. He attached to the innocent city the displeasure that
filled his bosom, and shook its dust from his feet."
In his Autobiography, Moncure D. Conway records a glimpse of Lincoln
during his Cincinnati visit that seems worth transcribing. "One warm
evening in 1859, passing through the market-place in Cincinnati, I found
there a crowd listening to a political speech in the open air. The
speaker stood on the balcony of a small brick house, some lamps
assisting the moonlight. Something about the speaker, and some words
that reached me, led me to press nearer. I asked the speaker's name, and
learned that it was Abraham Lincoln. Browning's description of the
German professor, 'Three parts sublime to one grotesque,' was applicable
to this man. The face had a battered and bronzed look, without being
hard. His nose was prominent, and buttressed a strong and high forehead.
His eyes were high-vaulted, and had an expression of sadness; his mouth
and chin were too close together, the cheeks hollow. On the whole,
Lincoln's appearance was not attractive until one heard his voice, which
possessed variety of expression, earnestness, and shrewdness in every
tone. The charm of his manner was that he had no manner; he was simple,
direct, humorous. He pleasantly repeated a mannerism of his
opponent,--'This is what Douglas calls his '_gur-reat per-rinciple.'_
But the next words I remember were these: '_Slavery is wrong_.'"
CHAPTER XI
The Great Lincoln-Douglas Debate--Rivals for the U.S.
Senate--Lincoln's "House-Divided-against-Itself" Speech--An
Inspired Oration--Alarming His Friends--Challenges Douglas to a
Joint Discussion--The Champions Contrasted--Their Opinions of Each
Other--Lincoln and Douglas on the Stump--Slavery the Leading
Issue--Scenes and Anecdotes of the Great Debate--Pen-Picture of
Lincoln on the Stump--Humors of the Campaign--Some Sharp
Rejoinders--Words of Soberness--Close of the Conflict.
The year 1858 is memorable alike in the career of Lincoln and in the
political history of the country. It was distinguished by the joint
discussions between the two great political leaders of Illinois, which
rank among the ablest forensic debates that have taken place since the
foundation of the republic. The occasion was one to call out the
greatest powers of the two remarkable men who there contested for
political supremacy. It was not alone that Lincoln and Douglas were
opposing candidates for a high office--that of Senator of the United
States: they were the champions and spokesmen of their parties at a
critical period when great issues were to be discussed and great
movements outlined and directed. It was naturally expected that the
winner in the contest would become the political leader of his State.
Little was it imagined that the loser would become the leader and savior
of the Nation.
On the 21st of April the Democratic convention of Illinois met at
Springfield and announced Stephen A. Douglas, then United States
Senator, as its choice for another term. June 16 the Republican
convention met at the same place and declared unanimously that "Abraham
Lincoln is our first and only choice for United States Senator to fill
the vacancy about to be created by the expiration of Mr. Douglas's term
of office." For a number of days previous to the meeting of the
Republican convention Lincoln had been engaged in preparing a speech for
the occasion. It was composed after his usual method--the separate
thoughts jotted down as they came to him, on scraps of paper at hand at
the moment, and these notes were arranged in order and elaborated into a
finished essay, copied on large sheets of paper in a plain and legible
handwriting. This was the speech which afterwards came to be so
celebrated as the "house-divided-against-itself" speech. Lincoln was
gravely conscious of its unusual importance, and gave great care and
deliberation to its composition. The evening of June 16--the day of his
nomination by the convention--Lincoln went to his office, accompanied by
his friend Herndon, and having locked the door proceeded to read his
speech. Slowly and distinctly he read the first paragraph, and then
turned to Herndon with, "What do you think of that?" Mr. Herndon was
startled at its boldness. "I think," said he, "it is all true. But is it
entirely politic to read or speak it as it is written?" "That makes no
difference," said Lincoln. "That expression is a truth of all human
experience,--'a house divided against itself cannot stand.' The
proposition is indisputably true, and has been true for more than six
thousand years; I want to use some universally known figure, expressed
in simple language, that may strike home to the minds of men in order to
rouse them to the peril of the times." Mr. Herndon was convinced by
Lincoln's language, and advised him to deliver the speech just as it was
written. Lincoln was satisfied, but thought it would be prudent to
consult a few other friends in the matter, and about a dozen were called
in. "After seating them at the round table," says John Armstrong, one of
the number, "he read that clause or section of his speech which reads,
'a house divided against itself cannot stand,' etc. He read it slowly
and cautiously, so as to let each man fully understand it. After he had
finished the reading, he asked the opinions of his friends as to the
wisdom or policy of it. Every man among them condemned the speech in
substance and spirit, especially that section quoted above, as unwise
and impolitic if not untrue. They unanimously declared that the whole
speech was too far in advance of the times. Herndon sat still while they
were giving their respective opinions of its unwisdom and impolicy; then
he sprang to his feet and said, 'Lincoln, deliver it _just as it reads_.
If it is in advance of the times, let us lift the people to its level.
The speech is true, wise, and politic, and will succeed now or in the
future. Nay, it will aid you, if it will not make you President of the
United States.' Mr. Lincoln sat still a moment, then rose from his
chair, walked backwards and forwards in the hall, stopped, and said:
'Friends, I have thought about this matter a great deal, have weighed
the questions from all corners, and am thoroughly convinced the time has
come when this speech should be uttered; and if it be that I must go
down because of it, then let me go down linked to truth--die in the
advocacy of what is right and just. This nation cannot live on
injustice; "a house divided against itself cannot stand," I say again
and again.' This was spoken with emotion--the effects of his love of
truth, and sorrow from the disagreement of his friends."
On the next evening the speech was delivered to an immense audience in
the hall of the House of Representatives at Springfield. "The hall and
lobbies and galleries were even more densely crowded and packed than at
any time during the day," says the official report; and as Lincoln
"approached the speaker's stand, he was greeted with shouts and hurrahs,
and prolonged cheers." The prophetic sentences which dropped first from
the lips of the speaker were freighted with a solemn import which even
he could scarcely have divined in full. The seers of old were not more
inspired than he who now, out of the irresistible conviction of his
heart, said to his surprised and unbelieving listeners:
If we could first know where we are and whither we are tending, we
could then better judge what to do and how to do it. We are now far
on in the fifth year since a policy was initiated with the avowed
object and confident promise of putting an end to 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 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. Jeriah Bonham, an old citizen of Illinois, relates that he was
present as a delegate at the Springfield convention and heard the famous
speech of Lincoln. According to Mr. Bonham, "The speech was prepared
with unusual care, every paragraph and sentence carefully weighed. The
firm bedrock of principles, the issues of the campaign on which he
proposed to stand and fight his battles, were all well considered, and
his arguments were incontrovertible. In that memorable speech culminated
all the grand thoughts he had ever uttered, embodying divinity,
statesmanship, law, and morals, and even fraught with prophecy. As he
advanced in this argument he towered to his full height, forgetting
himself entirely as he grew warm in his work. Men and women who heard
that speech well remember the wonderful transformation wrought in
Lincoln's appearance. The plain, homely man towered up majestically; his
face lit as with angelic light; the long, bent, angular figure, like the
strong oak of the forest, stood erect, and his eyes flashed with the
fire of inspiration."
The party that had nominated Lincoln for the Senate was not prepared to
endorse his restriction of the coming struggle to the single issue of
the slavery question. His friends dreaded the result of his
uncompromising frankness, while politicians quite generally condemned
it. Even so stanch a friend as Leonard Swett, whose devotion to Lincoln
never wavered throughout his whole career, shared these apprehensions.
Says Mr. Swett: "The first ten lines of that speech defeated him. The
sentiment of the 'house divided against itself' seemed wholly
inappropriate. It was a speech made at the commencement of a campaign,
and apparently made for the campaign. Viewing it in this light alone,
nothing could have been more unfortunate or inappropriate. It was saying
the wrong thing first; yet he felt that it was an abstract truth, and
that standing by the speech would ultimately find him in the right
place. I was inclined at the time to believe these words were hastily
and inconsiderately uttered; but subsequent facts have convinced me they
were deliberate and had been well matured."
A few days after the delivery of this speech, a gentleman named Dr. Long
called on Lincoln and gave him a foretaste of the remarks he was to hear
during the next few months. "Well, Lincoln," said he, "that foolish
speech of yours will kill you--will defeat you in this contest, and
probably for all offices for all time to come. I am sorry, sorry, very
sorry. I wish it was wiped out of existence. Don't you wish so too?"
Laying down the pen with which he had been writing, and slowly raising
his head and adjusting his spectacles, Lincoln replied: "Well, Doctor,
if I had to draw a pen across and erase my whole life from existence,
and I had one poor gift or choice left as to what I should save from the
wreck, _I should choose that speech_, and leave it to the world
unerased."
The Senatorial campaign was now well begun. Douglas opened it by a
speech at Chicago on the 9th of July. Lincoln was present, and on the
next evening spoke in reply from the same place--the balcony of the
Tremont House. A week later Douglas spoke at Bloomington, with Lincoln
again in the audience. The notion of a joint discussion seems to have
originated with Lincoln, who on the 24th of July addressed a note to
Douglas as follows:
HON. S.A. DOUGLAS--My Dear Sir:--Will it be agreeable to you to
make an arrangement for you and myself to divide time, and
address the same audiences during the present canvass? Mr. Judd,
who will hand you this, is authorized to receive your answer,
and, if agreeable to you, to enter into the terms of such
arrangement. Your obedient servant, A. LINCOLN.
The result of this proposal was an agreement that there should be a
joint discussion between the two candidates in each of the seven
Congressional districts in which they had not both already been heard.
Places were named and dates fixed extending to the middle of October. It
was agreed that the opening speech on each occasion should occupy one
hour; the reply, one hour and a half; the close, half an hour; and that
Mr. Douglas should have the first and last voice in four of the seven
meetings.
The champions who were thus to enter the lists in a decisive trial of
forensic strength and skill are forcibly contrasted by Mr. Speed, who
says: "They were the respective leaders of their parties in the State.
They were as opposite in character as they were unlike in their persons.
Lincoln was long and ungainly; Douglas was short and compact. Douglas,
in all elections, was the moving spirit and manager. He was content
with nothing short of a blind submission to himself. He could not
tolerate opposition to his will within his party organization. He held
the reins and controlled the movements of the Democratic chariot. With a
large State majority, with many able and ambitious men in it, he stepped
to the front in his youth and held his place till his death. Lincoln, on
the other hand, shrank from any controversy with his friends. His party
being in a minority in the State, he was forced to the front because his
friends thought he was the only man with whom they could win. In a
canvass his friends had to do all the management. He knew nothing of how
to reach the people except by addressing their reason. If the situation
had been reversed--Lincoln representing the majority and Douglas the
minority--I think it most likely Lincoln would never have had the place.
He had no heart for a fight with friends."
The Hon. James G. Blaine has given a masterly description and analysis
of the comparative powers of the two illustrious debaters. Douglas, says
Mr. Blaine, "was everywhere known as a debater of singular skill. His
mind was fertile in resources. He was a 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 intensity resembles a physical combat, 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 constitution than Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A.
Douglas. 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 marked out a path of duty for himself, and he walked 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--but 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."
Mr. Arnold, in the course of an extended comparison, says: "At the time
of these discussions, both Lincoln and Douglas were in the full maturity
of their powers. Douglas was forty-five and Lincoln forty-nine years of
age. Physically and mentally, they were as unlike as possible. Douglas
was short, not much more than five feet high, with a large head, massive
brain, broad shoulders, a wide, deep chest, and features strongly
marked. He impressed every one, at first sight, as a strong, sturdy,
resolute, fearless man. Lincoln's herculean stature has already been
described. A stranger who listened to him for five minutes would say:
'This is a kind, genial, sincere, genuine man; a man you can trust,
plain, straightforward, honest, and true.' If this stranger were to hear
him make a speech, he would be impressed with his clear good sense, by
his wit and humor, by his general intelligence, and by the simple,
homely, but pure and accurate language he used. In his long residence at
Washington, Douglas had acquired the bearing and manners of a gentleman
and a man of the world. But he was always a fascinating and attractive
man, and always and everywhere personally popular. He had been for years
carefully and thoroughly trained on the stump, in Congress, and in the
Senate, to meet in debate the ablest speakers in the State and Nation.
For years he had been accustomed to meet on the floor of the Capitol the
leaders of the old Whig and Free-soil parties. Among them were Webster
and Seward, Fessenden and Crittenden, Chase, Trumbull, Hale and others
of nearly equal eminence; and his enthusiastic friends insisted that
never, either in single conflict or when receiving the assault of the
senatorial leaders of a whole party, had he been discomfited. His style
was bold, vigorous, and aggressive; at times even defiant. He was ready,
fluent, fertile in resources, familiar with national and party history,
severe in denunciation, and he handled with skill nearly all the weapons
of debate. His iron will and restless energy, together with great
personal magnetism, made him the idol of his friends and party. His
long, brilliant, and almost universally successful career, gave him
perfect confidence in himself, and at times he was arrogant and
overbearing.... Lincoln also was a thoroughly trained speaker. He had
met successfully, year after year, at the bar and on the stump, the
ablest men of Illinois and the Northwest, including Lamborn, Stephen T.
Logan, John Calhoun, and many others. He had contended, in generous
emulation, with Hardin, Baker, Logan, and Browning; and had very often
met Douglas, a conflict with whom he always courted rather than shunned.
His speeches, as we read them to-day, show a more familiar knowledge of
the slavery question than those of any other statesman of our country.
This is especially true of the Peoria speech and the Cooper Institute
speech. Lincoln was powerful in argument, always seizing the strong
points, and demonstrating his propositions with a clearness and logic
approaching the certainty of mathematics. He had, in wit and humor, a
great advantage over Douglas. Then he had the better temper; he was
always good humored, while Douglas, when hard pressed, was sometimes
irritable. Douglas perhaps carried away the more popular applause;
Lincoln made the deeper and more lasting impression. Douglas did not
disdain an immediate _ad captandum_ triumph; while Lincoln aimed at
permanent conviction. Sometimes, when Lincoln's friends urged him to
raise a storm of applause, which he could always do by his happy
illustrations and amusing stories, he refused, saying, 'The occasion is
too serious; the issues are too grave. I do not seek applause, or to
amuse the people, but to _convince_ them.' It was observed in the
canvass that while Douglas was greeted with the loudest cheers, when
Lincoln closed the people seemed serious and thoughtful, and could be
heard all through the crowd, gravely and anxiously discussing the
subjects on which he had been speaking."
Soon after the arrangements for the debate had been made, Senator
Douglas visited Alton, Illinois. A delegation of prominent Democrats
there paid their respects to him, and during the conversation one of
them congratulated Douglas on the easy task he would have in defeating
Lincoln; at the same time expressing surprise at the champion whom he
had selected. Douglas replied: "Gentlemen, you do not know Mr. Lincoln.
I have known him long and well, and I know that I shall have anything
but an easy task. I assure you I _would rather meet any other man in the
country than Abraham Lincoln."_ This was Douglas's mature opinion of
the man of whom, years before, he had said, in his characteristic way:
"Of all the d----d Whig rascals about Springfield, Abe Lincoln is the
ablest and honestest." On another occasion, Douglas said: "I have known
Lincoln for nearly twenty-five years. There were many points of sympathy
between us when we first got acquainted. We were both comparatively
boys, and both struggling with poverty in a strange land. I was a
school-teacher in the town of Winchester, and he a flourishing
grocery-keeper in the town of Salem. He was more successful in his
occupation than I was in mine, and hence more fortunate in the world's
goods. Lincoln is one of those peculiar men who perform with admirable
skill everything they undertake. I made as good a school-teacher as I
could, and when a cabinet-maker I made as good bedsteads and tables as I
could--although my old boss says that I succeeded better with _bureaus_
and _secretaries_ than with anything else. But I believe that Lincoln
was always more successful in business than I, for his business enabled
him to get into the Legislature. I met him there, however, and had a
sympathy with him because of the up-hill struggle we both had had in
life. He was then just as good at telling an anecdote as now. He could
beat any of the boys in wrestling or running a foot-race, in pitching
quoits or pitching a copper; and the dignity and impartiality with which
he presided at a horse-race or fist-fight excited the admiration and won
the praise of everybody that was present. I sympathized with him because
he was struggling with difficulties, and so was I. Mr. Lincoln served
with me in the Legislature of 1836; then we both retired, and he
subsided, or became submerged, and was lost sight of as a public man for
some years. In 1846, when Wilmot introduced his celebrated proviso, and
the Abolition tornado swept over the country, Lincoln again turned up as
a Member of Congress from the Sangamon district. I was then in the
Senate of the United States, and was glad to welcome my old friend."
Lincoln, in a speech delivered two years before the joint debate, had
spoken thus of Senator Douglas: "Twenty-two years ago, Judge Douglas and
I first became acquainted; we were both young then--he a trifle younger
than I. Even then, we were both ambitious--I perhaps quite as much as
he. With me, the race of ambition has been a failure--a flat failure;
with him, it has been one of splendid success. His name fills the
nation, and is not unknown even in foreign lands. I affect no contempt
for the high eminence he has reached; so reached that the oppressed of
my species might have shared with me in the elevation, I would rather
stand on that eminence than wear the richest crown that ever pressed a
monarch's brow."
A few days before the first discussion was to take place, Lincoln, who
had become conscious that some of his party friends distrusted his
ability to meet successfully a man who, as the Democrats declared and
believed, had never had his equal on the stump, met an old friend from
Vermilion County, and, shaking hands, inquired the news. His friend
replied, "All looks well; our friends are wide awake, but they are
looking forward with some anxiety to these approaching joint discussions
with Douglas." A shade passed over Lincoln's face, a sad expression came
and instantly passed, and then a blaze of light flashed from his eyes,
and with his lips compressed and in a manner peculiar to him, half
serious and half jocular, he said: "My friend, sit down a minute, and I
will tell you a story. You and I, as we have travelled the circuit
together attending court, have often seen two men about to fight. One of
them, the big or the little giant, as the case may be, is noisy and
boastful; he jumps high in the air, strikes his feet together, smites
his fists, brags about what he is going to do, and tries hard to
'_skeer_' the other man. The other man says not a word; his arms are at
his side, his fists are clenched, his teeth set, his head settled firmly
on his shoulders; he saves his breath and strength for the struggle.
_This man will whip,_ as sure as the fight comes off. Good-bye, and
remember what I say."
The spirit and purpose with which Lincoln went into the contest are
shown also in the following words: "I shall not ask any favors at all.
Judge Douglas asks me if I wish to push this matter to the point of
personal difficulty. I tell him, _No!_ He did not make a mistake, in one
of his early speeches, when he called me an 'amiable' man, though
perhaps he did when he called me an 'intelligent' man. I again tell him,
_No!_ I very much prefer, when this canvass shall be over, however it
may result, that we at least part without any bitter recollections of
personal difficulties."
The speeches in these joint discussions were entirely extemporaneous in
form, yet they were reported and printed in all the prominent papers in
the West, and found eager readers throughout the country. The voice and
manner, which add so much to the effect of a speaker, could not be
reproduced on the printed page; nor could full justice be done, in a
hasty transcript, to the force and fitness of the language employed.
Still, the impressions of those who heard them at the time, as well as
later and cooler analyses of them, have agreed in pronouncing these
debates among the most able and interesting on record. The scenes
connected with the different meetings were intensely exciting. Vast
throngs were invariably in attendance, while a whole nation was watching
the result. "At Freeport," says an observer, "Mr. Douglas appeared in an
elegant barouche drawn by four white horses, and was received with great
applause. But when Mr. Lincoln came up, in a 'prairie schooner,'--an
old-fashioned canvas-covered pioneer wagon,--the enthusiasm of the vast
throng was unbounded."
At Charleston Lincoln opened and closed the day's debate. It was the
fourth discussion, and there was no more doubt of his ability to sustain
the conflict. According to Mr. Arnold, "Douglas's reply to Lincoln was
mainly a defense. Lincoln's close was intensely interesting and
dramatic. His logic and arguments were crushing, and Douglas's evasions
were exposed with a power and clearness that left him utterly
discomfited. Republicans saw it. Democrats realized it, and a sort of
panic seized them, and ran through the crowd of upturned faces. Douglas
realized his defeat, and, as Lincoln's blows fell fast and heavy, he
lost his temper. He could not keep his seat; he rose and walked rapidly
up and down the platform, behind Lincoln, holding his watch in his hand,
and obviously impatient for the call of _'time.'_ A spectator says: 'He
was greatly agitated, his long grizzled hair waving in the wind, like
the shaggy locks of an enraged lion.' It was while Douglas was thus
exhibiting to the crowd his eager desire to stop Lincoln, that the
latter, holding the audience entranced by his eloquence, was striking
his heaviest blows. The instant the secondhand of his watch reached the
point at which Lincoln's time was up, Douglas, holding up the watch,
called out: 'Sit down, Lincoln, sit down! Your time is up!' Turning to
Douglas, Lincoln said calmly: 'I will. I _will_ quit. I believe my time
_is_ up.' 'Yes,' said a voice from the platform, 'Douglas has had
enough; it is time you let up on him.'"
The institution of slavery was, of course, the topic around which
circled all the arguments in these joint discussions. It was the great
topic of the hour--the important point of division between the
Republican and Democratic parties. Lincoln's exposition of the subject
was profound and masterly. At the meeting in Quincy the issue was
defined and the argument driven home with unsparing logic and
directness. In closing the debate, he said:
I wish to return to Judge Douglas my profound thanks for his
public annunciation here to-day, to be put on record, that his
system of policy in regard to the institution of slavery
contemplates that it shall last _forever_. We are getting a
little nearer the true issue of this controversy, and I am
profoundly grateful for this one sentence. Judge Douglas asks
you, 'Why cannot the institution of slavery, or, rather, why
cannot the nation, part slave and part free, continue as our
fathers made it forever?' In the first place, I insist that our
fathers _did not_ make this nation half slave and half free, or
part slave and part free. I insist that they found the
institution of slavery existing here. They did not make it so,
but they left it so, because they knew of no way to get rid of it
at that time. When Judge Douglas undertakes to say that, as a
matter of choice, the fathers of the Government made this nation
part slave and part free, he assumes what is historically a
_falsehood_. More than that; when the fathers of the Government
cut off the source of slavery by the abolition of the
slave-trade, and adopted a system of restricting it from the new
Territories where it had not existed, I maintain that they placed
it where they understood, and all sensible men understood, it was
in the course of ultimate extinction; and when Judge Douglas asks
me why it cannot continue as our fathers made it, I ask him why
he and his friends could not let it remain as our friends made
it? It is precisely all I ask of him in relation to the
institution of slavery, that it shall be placed upon the basis
that our fathers placed it upon. Mr. Brooks, of South Carolina,
once said, and truly said, that when this Government was
established, no one expected the institution of slavery to last
until this day; and that the men who formed this Government were
wiser and better than the men of these days; but the men of these
days had experience which the fathers had not, and that
experience had taught them the invention of the cotton-gin, and
this had made the perpetuation of the institution of slavery a
necessity in this country. Judge Douglas could not let it stand
upon the basis on which our fathers placed it, but removed it,
and put it upon the cotton-gin basis. It is a question,
therefore, for him and his friends to answer--why they could not
let it remain where the fathers of the Government originally
placed it.
In these debates Lincoln often seemed like one transfigured--carried
away by his own eloquence and the force of his conviction. He said to a
friend during the canvass: "Sometimes, in the excitement of speaking, I
seem to see the end of slavery. I feel that the time is soon coming when
the sun shall shine, the rain shall fall, on no man who shall go forth
to unrequited toil.... How this will come, when it will come, by whom it
will come, I cannot tell;--but that time will surely come." Again, at
the first encounter at Alton, he uttered these pregnant sentences:
On this subject of treating slavery as a wrong, and limiting its
spread, let me say a word. Has anything ever threatened the
existence of this Union save and except this very institution of
slavery? What is it that we hold most dear among us? Our own
liberty and prosperity. What has ever threatened our liberty and
prosperity, save and except this institution of slavery? If this
is true, how do you propose to improve the condition of things by
enlarging slavery?--by spreading it out and making it bigger? You
may have a wen or cancer upon your person, and not be able to cut
it out lest you bleed, to death; but surely it is no way to cure
it to ingraft it and spread it over your whole body--that is no
proper way of treating what you regard a wrong. This peaceful way
of dealing with it as a wrong--restricting the spread of it, and
not allowing it to go into new countries where it has not already
existed--that is the peaceful way, the old-fashioned way, the way
in which the fathers themselves set us the example. Is slavery
wrong? That is the real issue. That is the issue that will
continue in this country when these poor tongues of Judge Douglas
and myself shall be silent. It is the eternal struggle between
these two principles--right and wrong--throughout the world. They
are two principles that have stood face to face from the
beginning of time; and will ever continue to struggle. The one is
the common right of humanity, and the other the divine right of
kings. It is the same principle, in whatever shape it develops
itself. It is the same spirit that says: 'You work, and toil, and
earn bread, and I'll eat it.' No matter in what shape it comes,
whether from the mouth of a king who seeks to bestride the people
of his own nation and live by the fruit of their labor, or from
one race of men as an apology for enslaving another race, it is
the same tyrannical principle.
On still another occasion he used these unmistakable words:
My declarations upon this subject of negro slavery may be
misrepresented, but cannot be misunderstood. I have said that I
do not understand the Declaration to mean that all men were
created equal in all respects. They are not our equal in color.
But I suppose that it does mean to declare that all men are
created equal in some respects; they are equal in their right to
'life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.' Certainly the
negro is not our equal in color, perhaps not in many other
respects; still, _in the right to put into his mouth the bread
that his own hands have earned, he is the equal of every other
man, white or black_.
It is not in the scope of this narrative to print extended quotations
from the speeches made in this memorable contest, but rather to give
such reminiscences and anecdotes, and description by eye-witnesses, as
will best serve to bring the scenes and actors vividly to mind.
Fortunately, many such records are still in existence, and from them
some most entertaining personal accounts have been obtained. Among these
is an impressive pen-picture of Lincoln on the stump, as admirably
sketched by the Rev. Dr. George C. Noyes, of Chicago. "Mr. Lincoln in
repose," says Dr. Noyes, "was a very different man in personal
appearance from Mr. Lincoln on the platform or on the stump, when his
whole nature was roused by his masterful interest in the subject of his
discourse. In the former case he was, as has often been described, a man
of awkward and ungainly appearance and exceedingly homely countenance.
In the latter case, he was a man of magnificent presence and remarkably
impressive manner. The writer retains to this day a very vivid
impression of his appearance in both these characters, and both on the
same day. It was in Jacksonville, in the summer of 1858, and during the
great contest with Douglas, when the prize contended for was a seat in
the United States Senate. The day was warm; the streets were dusty, and
filled with great crowds of people. When Lincoln arrived on the train
from Springfield, he was met by an immense procession of people on
horseback, in carriages, in wagons and vehicles of every description,
and on foot, who escorted him through the principal streets to his
hotel. The enthusiasm of the multitude was great; but Lincoln's
extremely homely face wore an expression of sadness. He rode in a
carriage near the head of the procession, looking dust-begrimed and worn
and weary; and though he frequently lifted his hat in recognition of the
cheers of the crowds lining the streets, I saw no smile on his face, and
he seemed to take no pleasure in the demonstrations of enthusiasm which
his presence called forth. His clothes were very ill-fitting, and his
long arms and hands protruded far through his coat sleeves, giving him a
peculiarly uncouth appearance. Though I had often seen him before, and
had heard him in court--always with delight in his clearness and cogency
of statement, his illuminating humor, and his conspicuous fairness and
candor--yet I had never before seen him when he appeared so homely; and
I thought him about the ugliest man I had ever seen. There was nothing
in his looks or manner that was prepossessing. Such he appeared as he
rode in the procession on the forenoon of that warm summer day. His
appearance was not different in the afternoon of that day, when, in the
public square, he first stood before the great multitude who had
assembled there to hear him. His powers were aroused gradually as he
went on with his speech. There was much play of humor. 'Judge Douglas
has,' he said, 'one great advantage of me in this contest. When he
stands before his admiring friends, who gather in great numbers to hear
him, they can easily see, with half an eye, all kinds of _fat offices_
sprouting out of his fat and jocund face, and, indeed, from every part
of his plump and well-rounded body. His appearance is therefore
irresistibly attractive. His friends expect him to be President, and
they expect their reward. But when I stand before the people, not the
sharpest vision is able to detect in my lean and lank person, or in my
sunken and hollow cheeks, _the faintest sign or promise_ of an office. I
am not a candidate for the Presidency, and hence there is no beauty in
me that men should desire me.' The crowd was convulsed with laughter at
this sally. As the speech went on, the speaker, though often impressing
his points with apposite and laughter-provoking stories, grew more and
more earnest. He showed that the government was founded in the interest
of freedom, not slavery. He traced the steady aggressions of the slave
power step by step, until he came to declare and to dwell upon the fact
of the irrepressible conflict between the two. Then, as he went on to
show, with wonderful eloquence of speech and of manner, that the country
must and would ultimately become, not all slave, but all free, he was
transfigured before his audience. His homely countenance fairly glowed
with the splendor of his prophetic speech; and his body, no longer
awkward and ungainly, but mastered and swayed by his thought, became an
obedient and graceful instrument of eloquent expression. The whole man
seemed to speak. He seemed like some grand Hebrew prophet, whose face was glorified by the bright visions of a better day which he saw and declared. His eloquence was not merely that of clear and luminous statement, felicitous illustration, or excited yet restrained feeling; |
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