it was the eloquence also of _thought_. With something of the
imaginative, he united rare dialectic power. He felt the truth before he
expounded it; but when once it was felt by him, then his logical power
came into remarkably effective play. Step by step he led his hearers
onward, till at last he placed them on the summit whence they could see
all the landscape of his subject in harmonious and connected order. Of
these two contrasted pictures of Lincoln, it is only the last which
shows him as he was in his real and essential greatness. And not this
fully; for it was in his character that he was greatest. He was not
merely a thinker, but a thinker for man, directing his thought to the
ends of justice, freedom, and humanity. If he desired and sought high
position, it was only that he might thus better serve the cause of
freedom to which he was devoted. From the time when he withdrew, in a
spirit of magnanimity that was never appreciated, in favor of a rival
candidate for the United States Senate, it was evident that the _cause_
was more to him than any personal advantage or advancement."
Another graphic description of Lincoln's appearance and manner on the
stump is given by Mr. Jeriah Bonham, whose account of the famous
"house-divided-against-itself" speech has already found a place in this
narrative. "When Mr. Lincoln took the stand," says Mr. Bonham, "he did
not, on rising, show his full height, but stood in a stooping posture,
his long-tailed coat hanging loosely around his body, and descending
over an ill-fitting pair of pantaloons that covered his not very
symmetrical legs. He began his speech in a rather diffident manner,
seeming for awhile at a loss for words; his voice was irregular, even a
little tremulous, as he began his argument. As he proceeded he seemed to
gain more confidence, his form straightened up, his face brightened, his
language became free and animated. Soon he had drawn the attention of
the crowd by two or three well-told stories that illustrated his
argument; and then he became eloquent, carrying his audience at will, as
tumultuous applause greeted every telling point he made."
Mrs. John A. Logan, in her "Recollections of a Soldier's Wife," says: "I
always like to think of Mr. Lincoln as he was when I saw him with the
eyes of an opponent. His awkwardness has not been exaggerated, but it
gave no effect of self-consciousness. There was something about his
ungainliness and his homely face which would have made anyone who simply
passed him in the street remember him. His very awkwardness was an asset
in public life, in that it attracted attention to him. Douglas, on the
other hand, won by the magnetism of his personality. Lincoln did not
_seem_ to have any magnetism, though of course he actually did have the
rarest and most precious kind. Give Mr. Lincoln five minutes and Mr.
Douglas five minutes before an audience which knew neither, and Mr.
Douglas would make the greater impression. But give them each an hour,
and the contrary would be true."
In the party that attended Lincoln in the Senatorial campaign was the
Hon. Andrew Shuman, afterwards Lieutenant-Governor of Illinois and one
of the veteran journalists of Chicago. Mr. Shuman was detailed to report
the joint debates for his paper; and he accompanied Lincoln through
nearly all of the campaign, travelling with him by night--sometimes
occupying the same room, and when in crowded quarters the same bed. He
thus saw much of Lincoln, and had the best of opportunities for studying
his character; not only hearing all his public speeches, but having long
conversations with him in private, and listening to the stories,
anecdotes, and gay or grave discourse by which the journeys and the
frequent "waits" were enlivened. The group consisted of several
gentlemen, including Norman B. Judd of Chicago, afterwards a member of
Congress; Robert R. Hitt, who was Lincoln's shorthand reporter,
afterwards member of Congress from Illinois; Mr. Villard, later the
President of the Northern Pacific Railroad, then a newspaper
correspondent; Mr. Shuman; and, at various times, other politicians and
journalists. Of this party Lincoln was always the leading spirit in
conversation. He would tell stories himself, and draw out stories from
others; and his laugh, though not the loudest, was always the heartiest.
Then he would pass to soberer themes, and discuss them with a tinge of
that melancholy which, however he might be surrounded, never seemed far
distant from him. At night, stopping at the country tavern or at some
friend's house, the evenings would be spent in discussion and
story-telling, or perhaps in a humorous review of the events of the
day; and after retiring, Lincoln would entertain his companion, often
far into the night, discoursing on many varied subjects,--politics,
literature, views of human life and character, or the prominent men and
measures then before the country.
One day, according to Governor Shuman, Lincoln had been announced to
speak in a town in the extreme southern part of Illinois, in the very
heart of "Egypt," where there was a strong pro-slavery sentiment; and
it was feared there might be trouble, as Lincoln's anti-slavery
tendencies were well known. To make matters worse, a party of
Kentuckians and Missourians had come over to attend the meeting, and
it was noised about that they would not allow Lincoln to speak. He
heard of it, and both he and his friends were somewhat apprehensive of
trouble. The place of the meeting was a grove in the edge of the town,
the speakers occupying an improvised stand. The gathering was a large
one, and it had every appearance of a Southern crowd. It was customary
in those times for the men in that section of the country to carry
pistols and ugly-looking knives strapped to their persons, on public
occasions. It was a semi-barbarous community, and their hatred of the
Abolitionists, as they called all anti-slavery men, was as intense as
was their love of bad whiskey. Lincoln privately told his friends, who
in that locality were very few in number, that "if only they will give
me a fair chance to say a few opening words, I'll fix them all right."
Before mounting the speaker's stand he was introduced to many of the
crowd, and shook their hands in the usual Western way. Getting a small
company of the rough-looking fellows around him, he opened on them.
"Fellow-citizens of Southern Illinois--fellow-citizens of the State of
Kentucky--fellow-citizens of Missouri," he said, in a tone more of
conversation than of oratory, looking them straight in the eye, "I am
told that there are some of you here present who would like to make
trouble for me. I don't understand why they should. I am a plain,
common man, like the rest of you; and why should not I have as good a
right to speak my sentiments as the rest of you? Why, good friends, I
am one of you; I am not an interloper here! I was born in Kentucky,
raised in Illinois, just like the most of you, and worked my way right
along by hard scratching. I know the people of Kentucky, and I know
the people of Southern Illinois, and I think I know the Missourians. I
am one of them, and therefore ought to know them, and they ought to
know me better, and if they did know me better they would know that I
am not disposed to make them trouble; then why should they, or any one
of them, want to make trouble for me? Don't do any such foolish thing,
fellow-citizens. Let us be friends, and treat each other like friends.
I am one of the humblest and most peaceable men in the world--would
wrong no man, would interfere with no man's rights; and all I ask is
that, having something to say, you will give me a decent hearing. And,
being Illinoisans, Kentuckians, and Missourians--brave and gallant
people--I feel sure that you will do that. And now let us reason
together, like the honest fellows we are." Having uttered these words,
his face the very picture of good-nature and his voice full of
sympathetic earnestness, he mounted the speaker's stand and proceeded
to make one of the most impressive speeches against the further
extension of slavery that he ever made in his life. He was listened to
attentively; was applauded when he indulged in flashes of humor, and
once or twice his eloquent passages were lustily cheered. His little
opening remarks had calmed the threatening storm, had conquered his
enemies, and he had smooth sailing. From that day to the time of his
death, Abraham Lincoln held a warm place in the respect of very many
of those rough and rude "Egyptians," and he had no warmer supporters
for the Presidency, or while he was President, than they were.
Mr. Leonard Volk, the sculptor who afterwards made an excellent bust of
Lincoln, says: "My first meeting with Abraham Lincoln was in 1858, when
the celebrated Senatorial contest opened between him and Stephen A.
Douglas. I was invited by the latter to accompany him and his party by a
special train to Springfield, to which train was attached a platform-car
having on board a cannon, which made considerable noise on the journey.
At Bloomington we all stopped over night, as Douglas had a speech to
make there in the evening. The party went to the Landon House--the only
hotel, I believe, in the place at that time. While we were sitting in
the hotel office after supper, Mr. Lincoln entered, carrying an old
carpet-bag in his hand, and wearing a weather-beaten silk hat--too
large, apparently, for his head--a long, loosely-fitting frock-coat of
black alpaca, and vest and trousers of the same material. He walked up
to the counter, and, saluting the clerk pleasantly, passed the bag over
to him, and inquired if he was too late for supper. The clerk replied
that supper was over, but perhaps enough could be 'scraped up' for him.
'All right,' said Mr. Lincoln; 'I don't want much.' Meanwhile, he said,
he would wash the dust off. He was certainly very dusty; it was the
month of June, and quite warm. While he was so engaged, several old
friends, who had learned of his arrival, rushed in to see him, some of
them shouting, 'How are you, Old Abe?' Mr. Lincoln grasped them by the
hand in his cordial manner, with the broadest and pleasantest smile on
his rugged face. This was the first good view I had of the 'coming man.'
The next day we all stopped at the town of Lincoln, where short speeches
were made by the contestants, and dinner was served at the hotel; after
which, as Mr. Lincoln came out on the plank-walk in front, I was
formally presented to him. He saluted me with his natural cordiality,
grasping my hand in both his large hands with a vice-like grip, and
looking down into my face with his beaming, dark, full eyes, said: 'How
do you do? I am glad to meet you. I have read of you in the papers. You
are making a statue of Judge Douglas for Governor Matteson's new house.'
'Yes, sir,' I answered; 'and sometime when you are in Chicago, and can
spare the time, I would like to have you sit to me for a bust.' 'Yes, I
will, Mr. Volk; I shall be glad to, the first opportunity I have.' All
were soon on board the long train, crowded with people, going to hear
the speeches at Springfield. The train stopped on the track, near
Edward's Grove, in the northern outskirts of the town, where staging was
erected and a vast crowd waited under the shade of the trees. On leaving
the train, most of the passengers climbed over the fences and crossed
the stubble-field, taking a short-cut to the grove,--among them Mr.
Lincoln, who stalked forward alone, taking immense strides, the
before-mentioned carpet-bag and an umbrella in his hands, and his coat
skirts flying in the breeze. I managed to keep pretty close in the rear
of the tall, gaunt figure, with the head craned forward, apparently much
over the balance, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, that was moving
something like a hurricane across that rough stubble-field."
The contest between Lincoln and Douglas seemed to be, as expressed by
Dr. Newton Bateman, "one between sharpness and greatness." Lincoln
seemed to Dr. Bateman, "a man strongly possessed by a belief to which he
was earnestly striving to win the people over; while the aim of Mr.
Douglas seemed rather to be simply to defeat Mr. Lincoln." Yet, although
Lincoln was usually earnest and considerate of his opponent, he could,
when occasion required, bring his powers of humor and sarcasm into play
in a very effective manner. A few pointed illustrations may be given. In
his speech at Galesburg, Douglas sneeringly informed the citizens that
"Honest Abe" had been a liquor-seller. Lincoln met this with the candid
admission that once in early life he had, under the pressure of poverty,
accepted and for a few months held a position in a store where it was
necessary for him to retail liquor. "But the difference between Judge
Douglas and myself is just this," he added, "that while I was _behind_
the bar, he was _in front_ of it."
At the close of the joint discussion at Alton, Douglas led off with a
speech an hour long, in which he showed no little irritability. The
campaign was evidently wearing on him. Lincoln, on the contrary, was in
capital spirits. "He sat taking in the speech of Douglas with seeming
immobility," says Mr. Jeriah Bonham, who was present, "and when it was
ended, he rose to reply. As in the opening of all his speeches, he spoke
slowly, did not rise to his full height, leaning forward in a stooping
posture at first, his person showing all the angularities of limb and
face. For the first five or ten minutes he was both awkward and
diffident, as in almost monotonous tones he began to untangle the meshes
of Douglas's sophistry. Proceeding, he gained confidence gradually; his
voice rang out strong and clear; his tall form towered to its full
height; his face grew radiant with impassioned feeling, as he poured
forth an outburst of crushing argument and inspiring eloquence. The
people became wild with enthusiasm, but his voice rang loud above their
cheers. Frequently in his speech he would turn toward Douglas, and say
with emphasis, 'You _know_ these things are so, Mr. Douglas!' or 'You
know these things are _not_ so, Mr. Douglas!' At one time he bent his
long body over his adversary, pouring in his arguments so sharply, that
Douglas, chafing under the attack, rose to explain; but Lincoln would
not allow it. 'Sit down, Mr. Douglas!' said he peremptorily. 'I did not
interrupt you, and you shall not interrupt me. You will have
opportunity to reply to me--if you can--in your closing speech.'"
A good story is told of the occasion on which Lincoln and Douglas spoke
in Chicago. A well-known citizen who on account of his age was known
familiarly as "Father Brewster"--a man of standing, and a member of the
Board of Education--was one of the listeners on the platform. Lincoln
admired the old gentleman very much, and the admiration was mutual. They
sat together while Douglas made the opening speech. He spoke for more
than an hour, and never more brilliantly. When Lincoln's turn came he
could see that Father Brewster was exceedingly anxious as to the
outcome. Lincoln arose, let out all the joints in his long body, slowly
removed his overcoat and laid it across Mr. Brewster's knees. "Father
Brewster," he said, "will you hold my overcoat _while I stone Stephen?_"
Everybody shouted and cheered, and even Douglas joined in the laugh at
his own expense.
Beneath the humors and excitements of the campaign, the prevailing tone
of Lincoln's thought was deeply serious and reflective. Toward the
close, when indications pointed to his defeat for the Senate, he seemed
somewhat depressed, and occasionally his old habitual melancholy would
steal over him and impart to his words a touching pathos. On such an
occasion, in one of the smaller cities of Illinois, Douglas, having the
first speech, made an unusually brilliant effort. He carried the crowd
with him; and when Lincoln rose to reply, it was evident that he felt
his disadvantage--felt, too, that do what he would final defeat was
probable. He made a good speech, but not one of his best. Concluding his
argument, he stopped and stood silent for a moment, looking around upon
the throng of half-indifferent, half-friendly faces before him, with
those deep-sunken weary eyes that always seemed full of unshed tears.
Folding his hands, as if they too were tired of the hopeless fight, he
said, in his peculiar monotone: "My friends, it makes little
difference, very little difference, whether Judge Douglas or myself is
elected to the United States Senate; but the great issue which we have
submitted to you to-day is far above and beyond any personal interests
or the political fortunes of any man. And, my friends, that issue will
live and breathe and burn when the poor, feeble, stammering tongues of
Judge Douglas and myself are silent in the grave." The crowd swayed as
if smitten by a mighty wind. The simple words, and the manner in which
they were spoken, touched every heart to the core.
Lincoln spoke in all about fifty times during the campaign. At its
close, says Mr. Arnold, "both Douglas and Lincoln visited Chicago.
Douglas was so hoarse that he could hardly articulate, and it was
painful to hear him attempt to speak. Lincoln's voice was clear and
vigorous, and he really seemed in better tone than usual. His dark
complexion was bronzed by the prairie sun and winds; his eye was clear,
his step firm, and he looked like a trained athlete, ready to enter,
rather than one who had closed, a conflict."
Of the speeches in this campaign, Mr. Henry J. Raymond, the
distinguished journalist, pronounced the following well-considered
opinion: "While Douglas fully sustained his previous reputation, and
justified the estimate his friends had placed upon his abilities, he
labored under the comparative disadvantage of being much better known to
the country at large than was his antagonist. During his long public
career, people had become partially accustomed to his manner of
presenting arguments and enforcing them. The novelty and freshness of
Lincoln's addresses, on the other hand, the homeliness and force of his
illustrations, their wonderful pertinence, his exhaustless humor, his
confidence in his own resources, engendered by his firm belief in the
justice of the cause he so ably advocated, never once rising, however,
to the point of arrogance or superciliousness, fastened upon him the
eyes of the people everywhere, friends and opponents alike. It was not
strange that more than once, during the course of the unparalleled
excitement which marked this canvass, Douglas should have been thrown
off his guard by the singular self-possession displayed by his
antagonist, and by the imperturbable firmness with which he maintained
and defended a position once taken. The unassuming confidence which
marked Lincoln's conduct was early imparted to his supporters, and each
succeeding encounter added largely to the number of his friends, until
they began to indulge the hope that a triumph might be secured in spite
of the adverse circumstances under which the struggle was commenced."
Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield (Mass.) "Republican," said that
Lincoln "handled Douglas as he would an eel--by main strength.
Sometimes, perhaps, he handled him so strongly that he _slipped through
his fingers_."
"In this canvass," says Mr. Lamon, "Mr. Lincoln earned a reputation as a
popular debater second to that of no man in America--certainly not
second to that of his famous antagonist. He kept his temper; he was not
prone to personalities; he was fair, frank, and manly; and, if the
contest had shown nothing else, it would have shown at least that 'Old
Abe' could behave like a gentleman under very trying circumstances. His
marked success in these discussions was probably no surprise to the
people of the Springfield district, who knew him as well as they did Mr.
Douglas, or even better. But in the greater part of the State, and
throughout the Union, the series of brilliant victories successively won
by an obscure man over an orator of such wide experience and renown was
received with exclamations of astonishment alike by listeners and
readers."
Caleb Cushing, the distinguished Massachusetts lawyer, was one of those
acute minds whose attention was attracted to Lincoln by his debates
with Douglas. Mr. Cushing said that these debates showed Lincoln to be
the superior of Douglas "in every vital element of power"; and added
that "the world does not yet know how much of a man Lincoln really is."
It was soon to know him much more clearly. In less than two years after
the great debate this lately obscure Illinois lawyer was elected
President of the United States.
CHAPTER XII
A Year of Waiting and Trial--Again Defeated for the
Senate--Depression and Neglect--Lincoln Enlarging His
Boundaries--On the Stump in Ohio--A Speech to Kentuckians--Second
Visit to Cincinnati--A Short Trip to Kansas--Lincoln in New York
City--The Famous Cooper Institute Speech--A Strong and Favorable
Impression--Visits New England--Secret of Lincoln's Success as an
Orator--Back to Springfield--Disposing of a Campaign
Slander--Lincoln's Account of His Visit to a Five Points Sunday
School.
On the 2d of November, 1858, the State election was held in Illinois.
The chief significance of this election was due to the fact that the
Legislature then chosen would decide whether Douglas or Lincoln should
be sent to the Senate at Washington. The result showed that Lincoln had,
by his hard efforts, won a victory for his cause and for his party, but
not for himself. The Republican State ticket was elected by a majority
of about 4,000 votes; but in the Legislature a number of members held
over from the election of two years before, and the Republican gains,
though considerable, were not quite sufficient to overcome this adverse
element. When the Legislature met, Douglas was re-elected to the Senate
by a small majority. It is said that Lincoln was deeply grieved by his
defeat. When some one inquired of him how he felt over the result, he
answered that he felt "like the boy that stubbed his toe,--'it hurt too
bad to laugh, and he was too big to cry!'"
A few days after his return to Springfield, there was pressed on the
attention of the defeated candidate a matter which must have been
peculiarly unwelcome at the time, but which was accepted with habitual
fortitude. What this matter was is revealed in the following letter:
SPRINGFIELD, NOV. 16, 1858.
HON. N.B. JUDD--_My Dear Sir_:--Yours of the 15th is just received.
I wrote you the same day. As to the pecuniary matter, I am willing
to pay according to my ability, but I am the poorest hand living to
get others to pay. I have been on expense so long, without earning
anything, that I am absolutely without money now for even household
expenses. Still, if you can put in two hundred and fifty dollars
for me towards discharging the debt of the committee, I will allow
it when you and I settle the private matter between us. This, with
what I have already paid with an outstanding note of mine, will
exceed my subscription of five hundred dollars. This, too, is
exclusive of my ordinary expenses during the campaign, all of
which, being added to my loss of time and business, bears pretty
heavily upon one no better off than I am. But as I had the post of
honor, it is not for me to be over-nice.
You are feeling badly. _And this, too, shall pass away;_ never
fear.
Yours as ever,
A. LINCOLN.
Hon. E.M. Haines, who was a member of the Legislature of 1858-9, and a
supporter of Lincoln for the Senate, states that Lincoln seemed greatly
depressed by his defeat, and that his friends were also somewhat
disheartened regarding his future prospects, and neglected him to some
extent. "Some time after the Senatorial election," says Mr. Haines,
"Governor Bissell gave a reception at his house, which I attended with
my wife. After we had paid our respects to the Governor and Mrs.
Bissell, we passed on to an adjoining room, where there was quite a
throng of people engaged in conversation. Mr. Lincoln was standing near
the centre of the room, entirely alone, with his usual sad countenance,
and apparently unnoticed by anyone. I said to my wife, 'Here is Mr.
Lincoln; he looks as if he had lost all his friends; come and have an
introduction to him, and cheer him up.' Mr. Lincoln received us very
cordially, and we entered into a general conversation, apparently
unnoticed, and attracting no attention from others as they passed and
repassed around us. Dancing was going on in the adjacent rooms, and Mr.
Lincoln invited my wife to join him in the dancing, which she did, and
he apparently took much pleasure in the recreation. My wife afterwards
related to me much that Mr. Lincoln said in their conversation during
the evening. His despondency became much dispelled after they became
engaged in conversation; indeed, she said that he seemed to be putting
forth an effort to get out of the gloomy condition which had come upon
him from the result of his Senatorial canvass. He had occasion during
their conversation to refer to his age, remarking incidentally that he
was almost fifty years old; whereupon, as if suddenly reflecting that
his age was a good part of a man's life, and as if unwilling to
relinquish his hold upon the future, he suddenly braced himself up, and
said, 'But, Mrs. Haines, I feel that I am good for another fifty years
yet.'"
During the winter following the Senatorial debate Lincoln was occupied
with his private affairs. The love of public speaking had become so
strong with him that he prepared a lecture and delivered it to the
public at several places during the winter. It was somewhat humorous in
character, but was not much of a success, and he soon declined further
invitations to deliver it. To one correspondent he wrote, in March,
1859: "Your note, inviting me to deliver a lecture in Galesburg, is
received. I regret to say that I cannot do so now. I must stick to the
courts for awhile. I read a sort of a lecture to three different
audiences during the last month and this; but I did so under
circumstances which made it a waste of time, of no value whatever."
The following autumn (1859) Senator Douglas visited Ohio and made
speeches for the Democratic party there. From the Republican ranks there
arose a cry for Lincoln, whose superiority to Douglas in the great
debate of the preceding year was still fresh in the public mind. He
promptly answered it, and spoke in that State with marked effect. At
Cincinnati he addressed himself especially to Kentuckians, and said, in
a strain which is now seen to be prophetic:
I should not wonder if there were some Kentuckians in this
audience; we are close to Kentucky; but whether that be so or not,
we are on elevated ground, and by speaking distinctly I should not
wonder if some of the Kentuckians would hear me on the other side
of the river. For that purpose I propose to address a portion of
what I have to say to the Kentuckians. I say, then, in the first
place, to the Kentuckians, that I am what they call, as I
understand it, a 'Black Republican.' I think slavery is wrong,
morally and politically. I desire that it should be no further
spread in these United States, and I should not object if it should
gradually terminate in the whole Union. While I say this for
myself, I say to you Kentuckians, that I understand you differ
radically with me upon this proposition; that you believe slavery
is a good thing; that slavery is right; that it ought to be
extended and perpetuated in this Union. Now, there being this broad
difference between us, I do not pretend, in addressing myself to
you Kentuckians, to attempt proselyting you; that would be a vain
effort. I will tell you, so far as I am authorized to speak for the
opposition, what we mean to do with you. We mean to treat you, as
nearly as we possibly can, as Washington, Jefferson, and Madison
treated you. We mean to leave you alone, and in no way to interfere
with your institution; to abide by all and every compromise of the
Constitution, and, in a word, coming back to the original
proposition, to treat you, so far as degenerated men (if we have
degenerated) may, according to the examples of those noble
fathers--Washington, Jefferson and Madison. We mean to remember
that you are as good as we; that there is no difference between
us, other than the difference of circumstances. We mean to
recognize and bear in mind always, that you have as good hearts in
your bosoms as other people, or as we claim to have, and treat you
accordingly. We mean to marry your girls, when we have a
chance--the white ones, I mean--and I have the honor to inform you
that I once did have a chance in that way. I have told you what we
mean to do. I want to know now what _you_ mean to do. I often hear
it intimated that you mean to divide the Union whenever a
Republican, or anything like it, is elected President of the United
States. [A voice--'That is so.'] 'That is so,' one of them says; I
wonder if he is a Kentuckian? [A voice--'He is a Douglas man.']
Well, then, I want to know what you are going to do with your half
of it? Are you going to split the Ohio down through, and push your
half off a piece? Or are you going to keep it right alongside of us
outrageous fellows? Or are you going to build up a wall some way
between your country and ours, by which that movable property of
yours can't come over here any more, to the danger of your losing
it? Do you think you can better yourselves on that subject by
leaving us here under no obligation whatever to return those
specimens of your movable property that come hither? You have
divided the Union because we would not do right with you, as you
think, upon that subject; when we cease to be under obligations to
do anything for you, how much better off do you think you will be?
Will you make war upon us and kill us all? Why, gentlemen, I think
you are as gallant and as brave men as live; that you can fight as
bravely in a good cause, man for man, as any other people living;
that you have shown yourselves capable of this upon various
occasions; but man for man, you are not better than we are, and
there are not so many of you as there are of us. You will never
make much of a hand at whipping us. If we were fewer in numbers
than you, I think that you could whip us; if we were equal, it
would likely be a drawn battle; but being inferior in numbers, you
will make nothing by attempting to master us.
The Hon. W.M. Dickson, whose interesting account of Lincoln's first
visit to Cincinnati and the disappointments attending it has already
been given in this narrative, says of this second visit as contrasted
with the obscurity of the first: "Lincoln returned to the city with a
fame wide as the continent, with the laurels of the Douglas contest on
his brow, and the Presidency almost in his grasp. He returned, greeted
with the thunder of cannon, the strains of martial music, and the joyous
plaudits of thousands of citizens thronging the streets. He addressed a
vast concourse on Fifth Street Market; was entertained in princely style
at the Burnet House; and there received with courtesy the foremost
citizens, come to greet this Western rising star."
In December of the same year Lincoln visited Kansas and addressed the
people of that troubled State upon the political questions then before
the country. At Leavenworth, Atchison, Elwood, and other places, he was
met by large gatherings of eager listeners who were charmed and
convinced by his fresh and reassuring utterances. His journeys were
complete ovations, and he returned to Illinois leaving a host of new
friends behind him. As several of Lincoln's biographers make no
reference to his Kansas visit, and the entire matter seems more or less
obscured, the following letter, lately written by Mr. Harry W. Stewart,
of Carlsbad, New Mexico, is of much interest: "I have recently seen a
reference to Lincoln's visit to Kansas as if the fact were not clearly
established. In this connection I may offer a personal recollection of
my father, James G. Stewart, who was a physician practicing in the
little town of Elwood, Kansas, from 1856 to 1860. He said that both
Lincoln and Seward came out and spoke in St. Joseph, Mo., just across
the river from Elwood. On each occasion a large following of 'free
state' men went over to St. Jo to hear the speech and incidentally to
support the speaker in case of violence, which had been freely
predicted. According to this reminiscence, Lincoln crossed the Missouri
into Kansas, my father having the honor of taking him in a buggy to a
small town fourteen miles distant from Elwood in Doniphan County. They
drove out to Troy, where Mr. Lincoln made a speech. From here I think he
went on to Lawrence and other places before returning to St. Joseph, but
have no account of his movements beyond Troy. I think it was in the year
1858 and must have been in the summer time, for the party took Mr.
Lincoln over the Missouri on a ferry. It did not make trips oftener than
about once in two hours. When Lincoln came to the bank on the Missouri
side the boat had just gone. There was no waiting-room or benches to sit
on and some of the party were inclined to think they were in hard luck.
When Lincoln found out how it was, he said: 'It's all right. We'll sit
right down on the sand and wait for the boat.' Then they all sat down on
the ground and listened to genuine Lincoln stories till the time was up.
My father often spoke with delight of this incident. I have looked in
vain in Lincoln histories for a more definite account of this Kansas
trip. Of the actual fact there can be no doubt."
Lincoln's fame, as we have seen, had now extended to the East, where he
seems to have been looked upon as a rising man and an interesting figure
in national politics. Invitations to visit the East now began to reach
him. In the following February (1860) he went to Brooklyn, for the
purpose of delivering a lecture in Mr. Beecher's church. The invitation
had given him much pleasure, and he prepared himself thoroughly; indeed,
it is said that no effort of his life cost him so much labor as this. In
the Plymouth congregation of Brooklyn there was an association of young
men which was successful in getting an annual course of six lectures of
the highest order. This association discerned in Lincoln a man worthy of
a place in its course, and invited him to give such a lecture.
Meanwhile, some prominent Republican politicians of New York had heard
of him as a possible candidate for the Presidency, and desired him to
make a speech in that city in order to determine whether he would be the
man to present to the Republican National convention in case Mr. Seward
could not be nominated. Lincoln informed these gentlemen of his Brooklyn
engagement, but said he would speak in New York if the Brooklyn club
gave its consent. That club agreed to this arrangement; and thus it was
decided that Lincoln's speech should be delivered in New York City,
instead of Brooklyn, as had been first intended. Mr. R.C. McCormick, who
was a member of the committee in charge of the arrangements, says: "When
Mr. Lincoln came to New York City, there was some confusion in the
arrangements. He had at first been invited to appear in Brooklyn, but
upon deliberation his friends thought it best that he should be heard in
New York. Reaching the Astor House on Saturday, February 25, he was
surprised to find by announcement in the public prints that he was to
speak at the Cooper Institute. He said he must review his address if it
was to be delivered in New York. What he had prepared for Mr. Beecher's
church-folks might not be altogether appropriate to a miscellaneous
political audience. Saturday was spent in a review of the speech, and on
Sunday morning he went to Plymouth church, where apparently he greatly
enjoyed the service. On Monday morning I waited upon him with several
members of the Young Men's Republican Union, into whose hands the
preparations for the meeting at the Cooper Institute had fallen. We
found him in a suit of black, much wrinkled from its careless packing in
a small valise. He received us cordially, apologizing for the awkward
and uncomfortable appearance he made in his new suit, and expressing
himself surprised at being in New York. His form and manner were indeed
very odd, and we thought him the most unprepossessing public man we had
ever met. I spoke to him of the manuscript of his forthcoming address,
and suggested to him that it should be given to the press at his
earliest convenience, in order that it might be published in full on the
morning following its delivery. He appeared in much doubt as to whether
any of the papers would care to print it; and it was only when I
accompanied a reporter to his room and made a request for it, that he
began to think his words might be of interest to the metropolitan
public. He seemed wholly ignorant of the custom of supplying slips to
the different journals from the office first putting the addresses in
type, and was charmingly innocent of the machinery so generally used,
even by some of our most popular orators, to give success and _eclat_ to
their public efforts. The address was written upon blue foolscap paper,
all in his own hand, and with few interlineations. I was bold enough to
read portions of it, and had no doubt that its delivery would create a
marked sensation throughout the country. Lincoln referred frequently to
Douglas, but always in a generous and kindly manner. It was difficult to
regard them as antagonists. Many stories of the famous Illinois debates
were told us, and in a very short time his frank and sparkling
conversation won our hearts and made his plain face pleasant to us all.
During the day it was suggested that he should be taken up Broadway and
shown the city, of which he knew but little--stating, I think, that he
had been here but once before. At one place he met an Illinois
acquaintance of former years, to whom he said, in his dry, good-natured
way: 'Well, B., how have you fared since you left Illinois?' To which B.
replied, 'I have made a hundred thousand dollars, and lost all. How is
it with you, Mr. Lincoln?' 'Oh, very well,' said Lincoln. 'I have the
cottage at Springfield, and about eight thousand dollars in money. If
they make me Vice-president with Seward, as some say they will, I hope I
shall be able to increase it to twenty thousand; and that is as much as
any man ought to want.' We visited a photographic establishment upon
the corner of Broadway and Bleeker streets, where he sat for his
picture, the first taken in New York. At the gallery he met and was
introduced to Hon. George Bancroft, and had a brief conversation with
that gentleman, who welcomed him to New York. The contrast in the
appearance of the men was most striking; the one courtly and precise in
his every word and gesture, with the air of a trans-Atlantic statesman;
the other bluff and awkward, his very utterance an apology for his
ignorance of metropolitan manners and customs. 'I am on my way to
Massachusetts,' he said to Mr. Bancroft, 'where I have a son at school,
who, if report be true, already knows much more than his father.'"
On the evening of February 27 a large and brilliant audience gathered at
Cooper Institute, to hear the famous Western orator. The scene was one
never to be forgotten by those who witnessed it. Upon the platform sat
many of the prominent men of the Republican party, and in the body of
the hall were many ladies. The meeting was presided over by the
distinguished citizen and poet William Cullen Bryant, of whom Mr.
Lincoln afterward said, "It was worth a journey to the East merely to
see such a man." The orator of the evening was introduced by Mr. Bryant
with some very complimentary allusions, especially to his controversy
with Douglas. "When Mr. Lincoln came on the platform and was introduced
by Mr. Bryant," says one who was present, "he seemed a giant in contrast
with him. His first sentence was delivered in a peculiarly high-keyed
voice, and disappointed us. In a short time the sharp points of his
address began to come, and he had not been speaking for half an hour
before his audience seemed wild with enthusiasm." Another account says:
"His manner was, to a New York audience, a very strange one, but it was
captivating. He held the vast meeting spell-bound, and as one by one
his oddly expressed but trenchant and convincing arguments confirmed the
soundness of his political conclusions, the house broke out in wild and
prolonged enthusiasm. I think I never saw an audience more thoroughly
carried away by an orator." This speech was full of trenchant passages,
which called forth tumultuous applause. The following is a specimen:
I defy anyone to show that any living man in the whole world ever
did, prior to the beginning of the present century (and I might
almost say prior to the beginning of the last half of the present
century), declare that, in his understanding, any proper division
of local from Federal authority, or any part of the Constitution,
forbade the Federal Government to control slavery in the Federal
territories. To those who now so declare, I give not only our
fathers who framed the government under which we live, but with
them all other living men within the century in which it was
framed, among whom to search, and they shall not be able to find
the evidence of a single man agreeing with them.
Referring to the South, and the growing political discontent in that
quarter, he said:
Let all who believe that our fathers understood this question just
as well as, and even better than, we do now, speak as they spoke
and act as they acted upon it. This is all Republicans ask--all
Republicans desire--in relation to slavery. As those fathers marked
it, so let it be again marked, as an evil not to be extended, but
to be tolerated and protected only because, and so far as, its
actual presence among us makes that toleration and protection a
necessity. Let all the guarantees those fathers gave it be not
grudgingly but fully and fairly maintained.
His counsel to the young Republican party was timely and full of wisdom.
A few words now to Republicans: It is exceedingly desirable that
all parts of this great Confederacy shall be at peace, and in
harmony one with another. Let us Republicans do our part to have it
so. Even though much provoked, let us do nothing through passion
and ill-temper. Even though the Southern people will not so much as
listen to us, let us calmly consider their demands, and yield to
them, if in our deliberate view of our duty we possibly can.
The address closed with the following impressive words:
Wrong as we think slavery is, we can yet afford to let it alone
where it is, because that much is due to the necessity arising from
its actual presence in the nation; but can we, while our votes will
prevent it, allow it to spread into the National Territories, and
to overrun us here in these free States? If our sense of duty
forbids this, then let us stand by our duty, fearlessly and
effectively. Let us be diverted by none of those sophistical
contrivances wherewith we are so industriously plied and
belabored--contrivances such as groping for some middle ground
between the right and the wrong, vain as the search for a man who
should be neither a living man nor a dead man,--such as a policy of
'don't care' on a question about which all true men do care,--such
as Union appeals, beseeching true Union men to yield to
Disunionists, reversing the divine rule, and calling not the
sinners but the righteous to repentance,--such as invocations of
Washington, imploring men to unsay what Washington said and undo
what Washington did. Neither let us be slandered from our duty by
false accusations against us, nor frightened from it by menaces of
destruction to the Government nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us
have faith that right makes might; and in that faith, let us to the
end dare to do our duty as we understand it.
The Cooper Institute speech made a profound impression upon the public.
All who saw and heard Lincoln on that occasion felt the influence of his
strange but powerful personality; and acute minds recognized in the
unsophisticated Western lawyer a new force in American politics. This
speech made Lincoln known throughout the country, and undoubtedly did
more than anything else to secure him the nomination for the Presidency.
Aside from its extensive publication in the newspapers, various editions
of it appeared in pamphlet form, one of the best of which was issued by
Messrs. C.C. Nott and Cephas Brainard, who appended to their edition an
estimate of the speech that is well worth reprinting here: "No one who
has not actually attempted to verify its details can understand the
patient research and historical labor which it embodies. The history of
our earlier politics is scattered through numerous journals, statutes,
pamphlets, and letters; and these are defective in completeness and
accuracy of statement, and in indexes and tables of contents. Neither
can any one who has not travelled over this precise ground appreciate
the accuracy of every trivial detail, or the self-denying impartiality
with which Mr. Lincoln has turned from the testimony of 'the fathers' on
the general question of slavery to present the single question which he
discusses. From the first line to the last, from his premises to his
conclusion, he travels with a swift, unerring directness which no
logician ever excelled,--an argument complete and full, without the
affectation of learning, and without the stiffness which usually
accompanies dates and details. A single easy, simple sentence of plain
Anglo-Saxon words contains a chapter of history that, in some instances,
has taken days of labor to verify, and must have cost the author months
of investigation to acquire; and though the public should justly
estimate the labor bestowed on the facts which are stated, they cannot
estimate the greater labor involved on those which are omitted--how many
pages have been read--how many works examined--what numerous statutes,
resolutions, speeches, letters, and biographies have been looked
through. Commencing with this address as a political pamphlet, the
reader will leave it as an historical work--brief, complete, profound,
impartial, truthful,--which will survive the time and the occasion that
called it forth, and be esteemed hereafter no less for its intrinsic
worth than for its unpretending modesty."
Lincoln's oldest son, Robert, was at this time a student in Harvard
University, and, chiefly to visit him, Lincoln made a brief trip to New
England. While there he spoke at Concord and Manchester in New
Hampshire; at Woonsocket in Rhode Island; and at Hartford, New Haven,
Norwich, Meriden, and Bridgeport in Connecticut. These speeches were
heard with delight by large audiences, and received hearty praise from
the press. At Manchester, "The Mirror," a neutral paper, published the
following remarks on Lincoln's style of oratory: "He spoke an hour and a
half, with great fairness, great apparent candor, and with wonderful
interest. He did not abuse the South, the administration, or the
Democrats, nor indulge in any personalities, with the exception of a few
hits at 'Douglas's notions.' He is far from prepossessing in personal
appearance, and his voice is disagreeable; and yet he wins attention and
good-will from the start. He indulges in no flowers of rhetoric, no
eloquent passages. He is not a wit, a humorist, or a clown; yet so fine
a vein of pleasantry and good-nature pervades what he says, gliding over
a deep current of poetical arguments, that he keeps his hearers in a
smiling mood, ready to swallow all he says. His sense of the ludicrous
is very keen; and an exhibition of that is the clincher of all his
arguments--not the ludicrous acts of persons, but ludicrous ideas. For
the first half-hour his opponents would agree with every word he
uttered; and from that point he began to lead them off little by little,
until it seemed as if he had got them all into his fold."
The Rev. John. P. Gulliver, of Norwich, Connecticut, has given a most
interesting reminiscence of Lincoln's speech in that city while on his
tour through New England. On the morning following the speech he met
Lincoln on a railroad train, and entered into conversation with him. In
speaking of his speech, Mr. Gulliver remarked to Lincoln that he thought
it the most remarkable one he ever heard. "Are you sincere in what you
say?" inquired Lincoln. "I mean every word of it," replied the minister;
"indeed, I learned more of the art of public speaking last evening than
I could from a whole course of lectures on rhetoric." Then Lincoln
informed him of a "most extraordinary circumstance" that had occurred at
New Haven a few days previous. A professor of rhetoric in Yale College,
he had been told, came to hear him, took notes of his speech, and gave a
lecture on it to his class the following day, and, not satisfied with
that, followed him to Meriden the next evening and heard him again for
the same purpose. All this seemed to Lincoln to be "very extraordinary."
He had been sufficiently astonished by his success in the West, but he
had no expectation of any marked success in the East, particularly among
literary and learned men. "Now," said Lincoln, "I should like very much
to know what it is in my speech which you thought so remarkable, and
which interested my friend the professor so much." Mr. Gulliver's answer
was: "The clearness of your statements, the unanswerable style of your
reasoning, and especially your illustrations, which were romance and
pathos and fun and logic all welded together." After Mr. Gulliver had
fully satisfied his curiosity by a further exposition of the
politician's peculiar power, Lincoln said: "I am much obliged to you for
this. I have been wishing for a long time to find someone who would make
this analysis for me. It throws light on a subject which has been dark
to me. I can understand very readily how such a power as you have
ascribed to me will account for the effect which seems to be produced
by my speeches. I hope you have not been too flattering in your
estimate. Certainly I have had a most wonderful success for a man of my
limited education." Mr. Gulliver then inquired into the processes by
which he had acquired his education, and was rewarded with many
interesting details. When they were about to part, the minister said:
"Mr. Lincoln, may I say one thing to you before we separate?"
"Certainly; anything you please," was the response. "You have just
spoken," said Mr. Gulliver, "of the tendency of political life in
Washington to debase the moral convictions of our representatives there,
by the admixture of considerations of mere political expediency. You
have become, by the controversy with Mr. Douglas, one of our leaders in
this great struggle with slavery, which is undoubtedly the struggle of
the nation and the age. What I would like to say is this, and I say it
with a full heart: Be true to your principles, and we will be true to
you, and God will be true to us all." Mr. Lincoln, touched by the
earnestness of his interlocutor, took his hand in both his own, and,
with his face full of sympathetic light, exclaimed: "I say _amen_ to that! _amen to that_!" |
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