The year 1840 finds Mr. Lincoln entering his thirty-second year and
still unmarried. "I have come to the conclusion," he suggests in a
facetious letter, two years before, "never again to think of marrying."
But meanwhile he had seen more of the world. The State Capital had been
removed to Springfield, and he soon observed the power and influence
one can exert with high family and social surroundings to draw upon. The
sober truth is that Lincoln was inordinately ambitious. He had already
succeeded in obtaining no inconsiderable political recognition, and
numbered among his party friends men of wealth and reputation; but
he himself was poor, besides lacking the graces and ease of bearing
obtained through mingling in polite society--in fact, to use the
expressive language of Mary Owens, he was "deficient in those little
links which make up the chain of woman's happiness." Conscious,
therefore, of his humble rank in the social scale, how natural that he
should seek by marriage in an influential family to establish strong
connections and at the same time foster his political fortunes! This
may seem an audacious thing to insinuate, but on no other basis can
we reconcile the strange course of his courtship and the tempestuous
chapters in his married life. It is a curious history, and the facts,
long chained down, are gradually coming to the surface. When all is at
last known, the world I believe will divide its censure between Lincoln
and his wife.
Mary Todd, who afterwards became the wife of Mr. Lincoln, was born
in Lexington, Kentucky, December 13, 1818. "My mother," related Mrs.
Lincoln to me in 1865, "died when I was still young. I was educated by
Madame Mantelli, a lady who lived opposite Mr. Clay's, and who was an
accomplished French scholar. Our conversation at school was carried on
entirely in French--in fact we were allowed to speak nothing else. I
finished my education at Mrs. Ward's Academy, an institution to which
many people from the North sent their daughters. In 1837 I visited
Springfield, Illinois, remaining three months. I returned to Kentucky,
remaining till 1839, when I again set out for Illinois, which State
finally became my home."
The paternal grandfather of Mary Todd, General Levi Todd, was born in
1756, was educated in Virginia, and studied law in the office of General
Lewis of that State. He emigrated to Kentucky, was a lieutenant in the
campaigns conducted by General George Rogers Clark against the Indians,
and commanded a battalion in the battle of Blue Licks, August 18, 1782,
where his brother, John Todd, was killed. He succeeded Daniel Boone in
command of the militia, ranking as major-general, and was one of the
first settlers in Lexington, Ky. February 25, 1779, he married Miss Jane
Briggs. The seventh child of this union, born February 25, 1791, was
Robert S. Todd, the father of Mrs. Lincoln. On her maternal side Mrs.
Lincoln was highly connected. Her great-grandfather, General Andrew
Porter, was in the war of the Revolution. He succeeded Peter Muhlenberg
as major-general of the Pennsylvania militia. Her great uncles, George
B. Porter, who was governor of Michigan, James Madison Porter, secretary
of the navy under President Tyler, and David R. Porter, governor of
Pennsylvania, were men of ability and distinction. Her mother, Anne
Eliza Parker, was a cousin of her father, Robert S. Todd. The latter had
served in both houses of the Kentucky Legislature, and for over twenty
years was president of the Bank of Kentucky at Lexington. He died July
16, 1849.
To a young lady in whose veins coursed the blood that had come down from
this long and distinguished ancestral line, who could even go back in
the genealogical chart to the sixth century, Lincoln, the child of Nancy
Hanks, whose descent was dimmed by the shadow of tradition, was finally
united in marriage.
When Mary Todd came to her sister's house in Springfield in 1839,
she was in her twenty-first year. She was a young woman of strong,
passionate nature and quick temper, and had "left her home in Kentucky
to avoid living under the same roof with a stepmother."* She came to
live with her oldest sister, Elizabeth, who was the wife of Lincoln's
colleague in the Legislature, Ninian W. Edwards. She had two other
sisters, Frances, married to Dr. William Wallace, and Anne, who
afterwards became the wife of C. M. Smith, a prominent and wealthy
merchant. They all resided in Springfield. She was of the average
height, weighing when I first saw her about a hundred and thirty pounds.
She was rather compactly built, had a well rounded face, rich dark-brown
hair, and bluish-gray eyes. In her bearing she was proud, but handsome
and vivacious. Her education had been in no wise defective; she was a
good conversationalist, using with equal fluency the French and English
languages. When she used a pen, its point was sure to be sharp, and she
wrote with wit and ability. She not only had a quick intellect but an
intuitive judgment of men and their motives. Ordinarily she was affable
and even charming in her manners; but when offended or antagonized, her
agreeable qualities instantly disappeared beneath a wave of stinging
satire or sarcastic bitterness, and her entire better nature was
submerged. In her figure and physical proportions, in education,
bearing, temperament, history--in everything she was the exact reverse
of Lincoln.
* Mrs. Edwards, statement, Aug. 3, 1887.
On her return to Springfield she immediately entered society, and soon
became one of the belles, leading the young men of the town a merry
dance. She was a very shrewd observer, and discreetly and without
apparent effort kept back all the unattractive elements in her
unfortunate organization. Her trenchant wit, affability, and
candor pleased the young men not less than her culture and varied
accomplishments impressed the older ones with whom she came in contact.
The first time I met her was at a dance at the residence of Col. Robert
Allen, a gentleman mentioned in the preceding chapter. I engaged her for
a waltz, and as we glided through it I fancied I never before had danced
with a young lady who moved with such grace and ease. A few moments
later, as we were promenading through the hall, I thought to compliment
her graceful dancing by telling her that while I was conscious of my own
awkward movements, she seemed to glide through the waltz with the
ease of a serpent. The strange comparison was as unfortunate as it was
hideous. I saw it in an instant, but too late to recall it. She halted
for a moment, drew back, and her eyes flashed as she retorted: "Mr.
Herndon, comparison to a serpent is rather severe irony, especially to a
newcomer."
[Illustration: Joshua Speed and Wife 251]
Through the influence of Joshua F. Speed, who was a warm friend of the
Edwardses, Lincoln was led to call on Miss Todd. He was charmed with
her wit and beauty, no less than by her excellent social qualities
and profound knowledge of the strong and weak points in individual
character. One visit succeeded another. It was the old story. Lincoln
had again fallen in love. "I have often happened in the room where they
were sitting," relates Mrs. Edwards, describing this courtship, "and
Mary invariably led the conversation. Mr. Lincoln would sit at her side
and listen. He scarcely said a word, but gazed on her as if irresistibly
drawn towards her by some superior and unseen power. He could not
maintain himself in a continued conversation with a lady reared as Mary
was. He was not educated and equipped mentally to make himself either
interesting or attractive to the ladies. He was a good, honest, and
sincere young man whose rugged, manly qualities I admired; but to me he
somehow seemed ill-constituted by nature and education to please such
a woman as my sister. Mary was quick, gay, and in the social world
somewhat brilliant. She loved show and power, and was the most ambitious
woman I ever knew. She used to contend when a girl, to her friends in
Kentucky, that she was destined to marry a President. I have heard
her say that myself, and after mingling in society in Springfield she
repeated the seemingly absurd and idle boast. Although Mr. Lincoln
seemed to be attached to Mary, and fascinated by her wit and sagacity,
yet I soon began to doubt whether they could always be so congenial. In
a short time I told Mary my impression that they were not suited, or,
as some persons who believe matches are made in heaven would say, not
intended for each other." But Mrs. Edwards' advice was seed, sown on
rocky soil. The courtship ran on smoothly to the point of engagement,
when a new and disturbing element loomed up ahead in their paths. It
was no less than the dashing and handsome Stephen A. Douglas, who now
appeared on the scene in the guise of a rival. As a society man Douglas
was infinitely more accomplished, more attractive and influential than
Lincoln, and that he should supplant the latter in the affections of
the proud and aristocratic Miss Todd is not to be marveled at. He
was unremitting in his attentions to the lady, promenaded the streets
arm-in-arm with her--frequently passing Lincoln--and in every way made
plain his intention to become the latter's rival. There are those who
believe this warm reciprocation of young Douglas' affection was a mere
flirtation on Mary Todd's part, intended to spur Lincoln up, to make
him more demonstrative, and manifest his love more positively and with
greater fervor. But a lady relative who lived with Lincoln and his wife
for two years after their marriage is authority for the statement coming
from Mrs. Lincoln herself that "she loved Douglas, and but for her
promise to marry Lincoln would have accepted him." The unfortunate
attitude she felt bound to maintain between these two young men ended in
a spell of sickness. Douglas, still hopeful, was warm in the race, but
the lady's physician,--her brother-in-law,--Dr. William Wallace, to whom
she confided the real cause of her illness, saw Douglas and induced him
to end his pursuit,* which he did with great reluctance.
* Mrs. Harriett Chapman, statement, Nov. 8, 1887.
If Miss Todd intended by her flirtation with Douglas to test Lincoln's
devotion, she committed a grievous error. If she believed, because he
was ordinarily so undemonstrative, that he was without will-power and
incapable of being aroused, she certainly did not comprehend the man.
Lincoln began now to feel the sting. Miss Todd's spur had certainly
operated and with awakening effect. One evening Lincoln came into our
store and called for his warm friend Speed. Together they walked back
to the fireplace, where Lincoln, drawing from his pocket a letter, asked
Speed to read it. "The letter," relates Speed, "was addressed to Mary
Todd, and in it he made a plain statement of his feelings, telling her
that he had thought the matter over calmly and with great deliberation,
and now felt that he did not love her sufficiently to warrant her in
marrying him. This letter he desired me to deliver. Upon my declining
to do so he threatened to intrust it to some other person's hand. I
reminded him that the moment he placed the letter in Miss Todd's hand,
she would have the advantage over him. 'Words are forgotten,' I said,
'misunderstood, unnoticed in a private conversation, but once put your
words in writing and they stand a living and eternal monument against
you.' Thereupon I threw the unfortunate letter in the fire. 'Now,' I
continued, 'if you have the courage of manhood, go see Mary yourself;
tell her, if you do not love her, the facts, and that you will not marry
her. Be careful not to say too much, and then leave at your earliest
opportunity.' Thus admonished, he buttoned his coat, and with a rather
determined look started out to perform the serious duty for which I had
just given him explicit directions."
That night Speed did not go upstairs to bed with us, but under pretense
of wanting to read, remained in the store below. He was waiting for
Lincoln's return. Ten o'clock passed, and still the interview with Miss
Todd had not ended. At length, shortly after eleven, he came stalking
in. Speed was satisfied, from the length of Lincoln's stay, that his
directions had not been followed.
"Well, old fellow, did you do as I told you and as you promised?" were
Speed's first words.
"Yes, I did," responded Lincoln, thoughtfully, "and when I told Mary
I did not love her, she burst into tears and almost springing from her
chair and wringing her hands as if in agony, said something about the
deceiver being himself deceived." Then he stopped.
"What else did you say?" inquired Speed, drawing the facts from him.
"To tell you the truth, Speed, it was too much for me. I found the tears
trickling down my own cheeks. I caught her in my arms and kissed her,"
"And that's how you broke the engagement," sneered Speed. "You not only
acted the fool, but your conduct was tantamount to a renewal of the
engagement, and in decency you cannot back down now."
* Statement, Joshua F. Speed, Sep. 17, 1866, MS.
"Well," drawled Lincoln, "if I am in again, so be it. It's done, and
I shall abide by it." Convinced now that Miss Todd regarded the
engagement ratified,--instead of broken, as her tall suitor had at first
intended,--Lincoln continued his visits, and things moved on smoothly as
before. Douglas had dropped out of the race, and everything pointed to
an early marriage. It was probably at this time that Mr. and Mrs.
Edwards began to doubt the wisdom of the marriage, and now and then to
intimate the same to the lady; but they went no farther in their
opposition and placed no obstacle in their paths.
The time fixed for the marriage was the first day in January, 1841.
Careful preparations for the happy occasion were made at the Edwards
mansion. The house underwent the customary renovation; the furniture was
properly arranged, the rooms neatly decorated, the supper prepared, and
the guests invited. The latter assembled on the evening in question, and
awaited in expectant pleasure the interesting ceremony of marriage. The
bride, bedecked in veil and silken gown, and nervously toying with the
flowers in her hair, sat in the adjoin-ing room. Nothing was lacking but
the groom. For some strange reason he had been delayed. An hour passed,
and the guests as well as the bride were becoming restless. But they
were all doomed to disappointment. Another hour passed; messengers were
sent out over town, and each returning with the same report, it became
apparent that Lincoln, the principal in this little drama, had purposely
failed to appear! The bride, in grief, disappeared to her room; the
wedding supper was left untouched; the guests quietly and wonderingly
withdrew; the lights in the Edwards mansion were blown out, and
darkness settled over all for the night. What the feelings of a lady
as sensitive, passionate, and proud as Miss Todd were we can only
imagine--no one can ever describe them. By daybreak, after persistent
search, Lincoln's friends found him. Restless, gloomy, miserable,
desperate, he seemed an object of pity. His friends, Speed among the
number, fearing a tragic termination, watched him closely in their rooms
day and night. "Knives and razors, and every instrument that could be
used for self-destruction were removed from his reach."* Mrs. Edwards
did not hesitate to regard him as insane, and of course her sister Mary
shared in that view. But the case was hardly so desperate. His condition
began to improve after a few weeks, and a letter written to his partner
Stuart, on the 23d of January; 1841, three weeks after the scene at
Edwards' house, reveals more perfectly how he felt. He says: "I am now
the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed
to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on
earth. Whether I shall ever be better, I cannot tell; I awfully forebode
I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible. I must die or be better,
as it appears to me... I fear I shall be unable to attend to any
business here, and a change of scene might help me. If I could be myself
I would rather remain at home with Judge Logan. I can write no more."
* J. F. Speed, MS. letter, January 6, 1866,
During all this time the Legislature to which Lincoln belonged was in
special session, but for a time he was unable to attend.* Towards the
close of the session, however, he resumed his seat. He took little if
any part in the proceedings, made no speeches, and contented himself
with answers to the monotonous roll-call, and votes on a few of the
principal measures. After the adjournment of the Legislature, his warm
friend Speed, who had disposed of his interests in Springfield, induced
Lincoln to accompany him to Kentucky. Speed's parents lived in a
magnificent place a few miles from Louisville. Their farm was well
stocked, and they, in the current phrase, "lived well." Thither he was
taken, and there amid the quiet surroundings he found the "change of
scene" which he told Stuart might help him. He was living under the
cloud of melancholia, and sent to the _Sangamon Journal_ a few lines
under the gloomy title of "Suicide." They were published in the paper,
and a few years since I hunted over the files, and coming across the
number containing them, was astonished to find that some one had cut
them out. I have always supposed it was done by Lincoln or by some one
at his instigation.
* His illness and consequent incapacity for duty in the
Legislature, continued for almost three weeks. On the 19th
of January, 1841, John J. Hardin announced his illness in
the House. Four days afterward he wrote the letter to Stuart
from which I have quoted a few lines.
Speed's mother was much impressed with the tall and swarthy stranger
her son had brought with him. She was a God-fearing mother, and besides
aiding to lighten his spirits, gave him a Bible, advising him to read it
and by adopting its precepts obtain a release from his troubles which no
other agency, in her judgment, could bring him. "He was much depressed.
At first he almost contemplated suicide. In the deepest of his
depression he said one day he had done nothing to make any human being
remember that he had lived; and that to connect his name with the events
transpiring in his day and generation, and so impress himself upon them
as to link his name with something that would redound to the interest
of his fellow-men, was what he desired to live for."* The congenial
associations at the Speed farm,** the freedom from unpleasant reminders,
the company of his staunch friend, and above all the motherly care
and delicate attentions of Mrs. Speed exerted a marked influence over
Lincoln.
* Letter, J. F. Speed, February 9, 1866, MS.
** At the time of Lincoln's visit at the Speed mansion,
James Speed, a brother of Joshua, and afterward Attorney-
General in Lincoln's Cabinet, was practicing law in
Louisville. Lincoln came into his office daily. "He read my
books," related Mr. Speed in after years; "talked with me
about his life, his reading, his studies, his aspirations."
Mr. Speed discredits the thought that Lincoln was insane at
the time, although he understood he was saddened and
melancholy over an unfortunate love affair.
He improved gradually, day by day gaining strength and confidence in
himself, until at last the great cloud lifted and passed away. In the
fall he and Speed returned to Springfield. At this point, as affording
us the most reliable account of Mr. Lincoln's condition and views, it
is proper to insert a portion of his correspondence with Mr. Speed. For
some time Mr. Speed was reluctant to give these letters to the world.
After some argument, however, he at last shared my view that they were
properly a matter of history, and sent them to me, accompanied by a
letter, in which he says:
"I enclose you copies of all the letters of any interest from Mr.
Lincoln to me. Some explanation may be needed that you may rightly
understand their import. In the winter of 1840 and 1841, he was unhappy
about his engagement to his wife--not being entirely satisfied that his
heart was going with his hand. How much he suffered then on that account
none knew so well as myself; he disclosed his whole heart to me.*
* Lincoln wrote a letter--a long one which he read to me--to
Dr. Drake of Cincinnati, descriptive of his case. Its date
would be in December, 1840, or early in January, 1841. I
think that he must have informed Dr. Drake of his early love
for Miss Rutledge, as there was a part of the letter which
he would not read... I remember Dr. Drake's reply, which
was, that he would not undertake to prescribe for him
without a personal interview."--Joshua F. Speed, MS. letter,
November 30, 1866.
"In the summer of 1841 I became engaged to my wife. He was here on a
visit when I courted her; and, strange to say, something of the same
feeling which I regarded as so foolish in him took possession of me and
kept me very unhappy from the time of my engagement until I was married.
This will explain the deep interest he manifested in his letters on my
account.
"One thing is plainly discernible; if I had not been married and
happy--far more happy than I ever expected to be--he would not have
married."
The first of these letters is one which he gave Speed when the latter
started on his journey from Illinois to Kentucky. It bears no date,
but was handed him January 1, 1842, as Speed has testified, in another
letter to me, that he left Springfield on that day. It is full of
consolation and advice how best to conduct himself when the periods of
gloom which he feels sure will follow come upon his friend. "I know,"
he says, "what the painful point with you is at all times when you are
unhappy; it is an apprehension that you do not love her as you should.
What nonsense! How came you to court her?... Did you court her for her
wealth? Why, you say she had none. But you say you reasoned yourself
into it. What do you mean by that? Was it not that you found yourself
unable to reason yourself out of it? Did you not think, and partly form
the purpose, of courting her the first time you ever saw her or heard
of her? What had reason to do with it at that early stage? There was
nothing at that time for reason to work upon. Whether she was moral,
amiable, sensible, or even of good character, you did not nor could then
know, except perhaps you might infer the last from the company you found
her in.... Say candidly, were not those heavenly black eyes the whole
basis of all your reasoning on the subject? After you and I had once
been at the residence, did you not go and take me all the way to
Lexington and back for no other purpose but to get to see her again on
our return on that evening to take a trip for that express object?"
The next paragraph is significant as affording us an idea of how the
writer perhaps viewed Miss Todd's flirtation with Douglas: "What earthly
consideration," he asks, "would you take to find her scouting and
despising you and giving herself up to another? But of this you need
have no apprehension, and therefore you cannot bring it home to your
feelings."
February 3, he writes again, acknowledging receipt of a letter dated
January 25. The object of Speed's affection had been ill, and her
condition had greatly intensified his gloomy spirits. Lincoln proffers
his sympathy. "I hope and believe," he continues, "that your present
anxiety about her health and her life must and will forever banish those
horrid doubts which I know you sometimes felt as to the truth of your
affection for her. If they can once and forever be removed (and I almost
feel a presentiment that the Almighty has sent your present affliction
expressly for that object), surely nothing can come in their stead to
fill their immeasurable measure of misery... It really appears to me
that you yourself ought to rejoice and not sorrow at this indubitable
evidence of your undying affection for her. Why, Speed, if you did
not love her, although you might not wish her death, you would most
certainly be resigned to it. Perhaps this point is no longer a question
with you, and my pertinacious dwelling upon it is a rude intrusion
upon your feelings. If so you must pardon me. You know the hell I have
suffered on that point, and how tender I am upon it. You know I do not
mean wrong. I have been quite clear of hypo since you left, even better
than I was along in the fall."
The next letter, February 13, was written on the eve of Speed's
marriage. After assurances of his desire to befriend him in everything,
he suggests: "But you will always hereafter be on ground that I have
never occupied, and consequently, if advice were needed, I might advise
wrong. I do fondly hope, however, that you will never again need any
comfort from abroad... I incline to think it probable that your nerves
will occasionally fail you for awhile; but once you get them firmly
graded now, that trouble is over forever. If you went through the
ceremony calmly or even with sufficient composure not to excite alarm in
any present, you are safe beyond question, and in two or three months,
to say the most, will be the happiest of men."
Meanwhile Lincoln had been duly informed of Speed's marriage, and on the
25th he responds:
"Yours of the 16th, announcing that Miss Fanny and you are 'no more
twain, but one flesh,' reached me this morning. I have no way of telling
how much happiness I wish you both, though I believe you both can
conceive it. I feel somewhat jealous of both of you now. You will be
so exclusively concerned for one another that I shall be forgotten
entirely... I shall be very lonesome without you. How miserably things
seem to be arranged in this world! If we have no friends we have no
pleasure; and if we have them we are sure to lose them, and be doubly
pained by the loss."
In another letter, written the same day, he says, "I have no doubt it
is the peculiar misfortune of both you and me to dream dreams of Elysium
far exceeding all that anything earthly can realize. Far short of your
dreams as you may be, no woman could do more to realize them than
that same blackeyed Fanny. If you could but contemplate her through my
imagination, it would appear ridiculous to you that any one should for
a moment think of being unhappy with her. My old father used to have a
saying, that, 'If you make a bad bargain hug it all the tighter,' and
it occurs to me that if the bargain just closed can possibly be called a
bad one it is certainly the most pleasant one for applying that maxim to
which my fancy can by any effort picture."
Speed having now safely married, Lincoln's mind began to turn on things
nearer home. His relations with Mary Todd were still strained, but
reminders of his period of gloom the year before began now to bring her
again into view. In a letter to Speed, March 27, he says:
"It cannot be told how it thrills me with joy to hear you say you
are 'far happier than you ever expected to be.' That much, I know, is
enough. I know you too well to suppose your expectations were not at
least sometimes extravagant, and if the reality exceeds them all, I say,
'Enough, dear Lord.' I am not going beyond the truth when I tell you
that the short space it took me to read your last letter gave me more
pleasure than the total sum of all I have enjoyed since that fatal first
of January, 1841. Since then it seems to me I should have been entirely
happy but for the never-absent idea that there is one still unhappy whom
I have contributed to make so. That kills my soul. I cannot but
reproach myself for even wishing to be happy while she is otherwise.
She accompanied a large party on the railroad cars to Jacksonville
last Monday, and on her return spoke, so that I heard of it, of having
enjoyed the trip exceedingly. God be praised for that!"
The last paragraph of this letter contains a bit of sentiment by Lincoln
in acknowledgment of a violet. In the margin of the letter which he gave
me, Speed made this note in pencil: "The violet was sent by my wife,
who dropped it in the letter as I was in the act of sealing it. How
beautiful the acknowledgment!" This is the paragraph: "The sweet violet
you enclosed came safely to hand, but it was so dry, and mashed so flat,
that it crumbled to dust at the first attempt to handle it. The juice
that mashed out of it stained a place in the letter, which I mean to
preserve and cherish for the sake of her who procured it to be sent. My
renewed good wishes to her."
Meanwhile the coldness that existed between Lincoln and his "Mary" was
gradually passing away, and with it went all of Lincoln's resolution
never to renew the engagement. In a letter, July 4, he says: "I must
gain confidence in my own ability to keep my resolves when they are
made. In that ability I once prided myself as the only chief gem of my
character; that gem I lost, how and where you know too well. I have not
regained it; and until I do I cannot trust myself in any matter of much
importance. I believe now that had you understood my case at the time as
well as I understood yours afterwards, by the aid you would have given
me I should have sailed through clear; but that does not now afford
me sufficient confidence to begin that or the like of that again.... I
always was superstitious; I believe God made me one of the instruments
of bringing Fanny and you together, which union I have no doubt he had
foreordained. Whatever he designs he will do for me yet. 'Stand still
and see the salvation of the Lord,' is my text just now. If, as you say,
you have told Fanny all, I should have no objection to her seeing this
letter, but for its reference to our friend here; let her seeing it
depend upon whether she has ever known anything of my affairs; and if
she has not, do not let her. I do not think I can come to Kentucky this
season. I am so poor and make so little headway in the world that I drop
back in a month of idleness as much as I gain in a year's sowing."
The last letter, and the one which closes this series, was written
October 5, 1842. In it he simply announces his "duel with Shields," and
then goes on to "narrate the particulars of the duelling business,
which still rages in this city." This referred to a challenge from
the belligerent Shields to William Butler, and another from General
Whitesides to Dr. Merryman. In the latter, Lincoln acted as the "friend
of Merryman," but in neither case was there any encounter, and both
ended in smoke. The concluding paragraph of this letter is the most
singular in the entire correspondence. I give it entire without further
comment:
"But I began this letter not for what I have been writing, but to
say something on that subject which you know to be of such infinite
solicitude to me. The immense sufferings you endured from the first days
of September till the middle of February you never tried to conceal from
me, and I well understood. You have now been the husband of a lovely
woman nearly eight months. That you are happier now than the day you
married her, I well know, for without, you could not be living. But
I have your word for it, too, and the returning elasticity of spirits
which is manifested in your letters. But I want to ask a close question:
'Are you in _feeling_ as well as _judgment_ glad you are married as you
are?' From anybody but me this would be an impudent question, not to
be tolerated, but I know you will pardon it in me. Please answer it
quickly, as I am impatient to know." Lincoln again applied himself to
the law. He re-entered the practice, after the long hiatus of rest, with
renewed vigor. He permitted the memory of his engagement with Mary Todd
to trouble him no longer. Their paths had diverged, the pain of the
separation was over, and the whole thing was a history of the past. And
so it might ever have remained but for the intervention of a very shrewd
and sagacious lady--one who was capable of achieving success anywhere
in the ranks of diplomacy. This lady was the wife of Simeon Francis, the
editor of the _Sangamon Journal_. She was a warm friend of Mary Todd and
a leader in society. Her husband was warmly attached to Lincoln. He ran
the Whig organ, and entertained great admiration for Lincoln's brains
and noble qualities. The esteem was mutual, and it is no stretch of the
truth to say that for years Lincoln exercised undisputed control of the
columns of the _Journal_ himself. Whatever he wrote or had written,
went into the editorial page without question. Mrs. Francis, sharing her
husband's views of Lincoln's glorious possibilities, and desiring to do
Mary Todd a kindly act, determined to bring about a reconciliation. She
knew that Miss Todd had by letter a few days after "that fatal first of
January, 1841," as Lincoln styled it, released him from the engagement,
and that since then their relations had been strained, if not entirely
broken off. As she viewed it, a marriage between a man as promising
in the political world as Lincoln, and a woman as accomplished
and brilliant in society as Mary Todd, would certainly add to the
attractions of Springfield and reflect great credit on those who
brought the union about. She was a great social entertainer, and one day
arranged a gathering at her house for the express purpose of bringing
these two people together. Both were invited and both attended; but
neither suspected the other's presence. Having arranged things so
ingeniously and with so much discretion, it was no difficult task for
the hostess to bring the couple together by a warm introduction and the
encouraging admonition, "Be friends again." Much to the surprise of both
they found the web woven around them. They entered into the spirit of
the reconciliation, and found Mrs. Francis' roof an inviting place for
many succeeding meetings. A wall reared itself between them and the
past, and they started again under the auspicious omens of another
engagement. The tact of a woman and the diplomacy of society had
accomplished what love had long since despaired of ever doing or seeing
done.
The meetings in the parlor of Mrs. Francis' house were conducted with
no little privacy. At first even Mrs. Edwards knew nothing of it, but
presently it came to her ears. "I asked Mary," said this lady, "why she
was so secretive about it. She said evasively that after all that had
occurred, it was best to keep the courtship from all eyes and ears.
Men and women and the whole world were uncertain and slippery, and if
misfortune befell the engagement all knowledge of it would be hidden
from the world." *
* Statement, January 10, 1866, MS.
It is unnecessary to prolong the account of this strange and checkered
courtship. The intervention of the affair with Shields, which will
be detailed in a subsequent chapter, in no way impeded, if it did not
hasten the marriage. One morning in November, Lincoln, hastening to the
room of his friend James H. Matheney before the latter had arisen from
bed, informed him that he was to be married that night, and requested
him to attend as best man.* That same morning Miss Todd called on her
friend Julia M. Jayne, who afterward married Lyman Trumbull, and made
a similar request. The Edwardses were notified, and made such meager
preparations as were possible on so short notice. License was obtained
during the day, the minister, Charles N. Dresser,** was sent for, and
in the evening of November 4, 1842, "as pale and trembling as if being
driven to slaughter," Abraham Lincoln was at last married to Mary Todd.*
* "Marriages in Springfield up to that time had been rather
commonplace affairs. Lincoln's was perhaps the first one
ever performed with all the requirements of the Episcopal
ceremony. A goodly number of friends had gathered, and while
witnessing the ceremony one of the most amusing incidents
imaginable occurred. No description on paper can do it
justice. Among those present was Thomas C. Brown, one of the
judges of the Supreme Court. He was in truth an "old-timer,"
and had the virtue of saying just what he thought, without
regard to place or surroundings. He had been on the bench
for many years and was not less rough than quaint and
curious. There was, of course, a perfect hush in the room as
the ceremony progressed. Brown was standing just behind
Lincoln. Old Parson Dresser, in canonical robes, with much
and impressive solemnity recited the Episcopal service. He
handed Lincoln the ring, who, placing it on the bride's
finger, repeated the Church formula, 'With this ring I thee
endow with all my goods and chattels, lands and tenements.'
Brown, who had never witnessed such a proceeding, was struck
with its utter absurdity. 'God Almighty! Lincoln,' he
ejaculated, loud enough to be heard by all, 'the statute
fixes all that!' This unlooked-for interruption almost upset
the old parson; he had a keen sense of the ridiculous, and
for the moment it seemed as if he would break down; but
presently recovering his gravity, he hastily pronounced them
husband and wife."--Letter, James H. Matheney, MS., Aug.
21,1888.
** "My father, Rev. Charles Dresser, was a graduate of Brown
University, Providence, R. I., of the class of 1823."--
Thomas W. Dresser, MS. letter, Sept. 17, 1888.
[Illustration: Edwards Residence where Lincoln Married 273]
In which Lincoln and Mary Todd were married, and in which the latter
died. Photographed in 1886.
One great trial of his life was now over, and another still greater
one was yet to come. To me it has always seemed plain that Mr. Lincoln
married Mary Todd to save his honor, and in doing that he sacrificed his
domestic peace. He had searched himself subjectively, introspectively,
thoroughly: he knew he did not love her, but he had promised to marry
her! The hideous thought came up like a nightmare. As the "fatal first
of January, 1841," neared, the clouds around him blackened the heavens
and his life almost went out with the storm. But soon the skies cleared.
Friends interposed their aid to avert a calamity, and at last he stood
face to face with the great conflict between honor and domestic peace.
He chose the former, and with it years of self-torture, sacrificial
pangs, and the loss forever of a happy home.*
* While dressing for the wedding in his room at Butler's
house, the latter's little boy, Speed, seeing Lincoln so
handsomely attired, in boyish innocence asked him where he
was going? "To hell, I suppose," was Lincoln's reply.
With Miss Todd a different motive, but one equally as unfortunate,
prompted her adherence to the union. To marry Lincoln meant not a life
of luxury and ease, for Lincoln was not a man to accumulate wealth; but
in him she saw position in society, prominence in the world, and
the grandest social distinction. By that means her ambition would be
satisfied. Until that fatal New Year's day in 1841 she may have loved
him, but his action on that occasion forfeited her affection. He had
crushed her proud, womanly spirit. She felt degraded in the eyes of the
world. Love fled at the approach of revenge. Some writer--it is Junius,
I believe--has said that, "Injuries may be forgiven and forgotten,
but insults admit of no compensation: they degrade the mind in its own
self-esteem and force it to recover its level by revenge." Whether Mrs.
Lincoln really was moved by the spirit of revenge or not she acted along
the lines of human conduct. She led her husband a wild and merry
dance. If, in time, she became soured at the world it was not without
provocation, and if in later years she unchained the bitterness of a
disappointed and outraged nature, it followed as logically as an effect
does the cause.
I have told this sad story as I know and have learned it. In rehearsing
the varied scenes of the drama,* I have unearthed a few facts that seem
half-buried, perhaps, but they were not destined to lay buried deep or
long. The world will have the truth as long as the name of Lincoln is
remembered by mankind.
* For many years I had reason to believe that Sarah Rickard,
who was a sister of Mrs. William Butler, had been the
recipient of some attentions at the hand of Mr. Lincoln. The
lady, long since married, is now living in a Western State.
I applied to her for information recently, and after some
entreaty received this answer in her own handwriting: "As an
old friend I will answer the question propounded to me,
though I can scarcely see what good it can do history. Mr.
Lincoln did make a proposal of marriage to me in the summer,
or perhaps later, in the year of 1840. He brought to my
attention the accounts in the Bible of the patriarch
Abraham's marriage to Sarah, and used that historical union
as an argument in his own behalf. My reason for declining
his proposal was the wide difference in our ages. I was then
only sixteen, and had given the subject of matrimony but
very little, if any, thought. I entertained the highest
regard for Mr. Lincoln. He seemed almost like an older
brother, being, as it were, one of my sister's family."
There were two things Mr. Lincoln always seemed willing to forget.
One was his unparliamentary escape with Joseph Gillespie from the
Legislature by jumping through the church window, in 1839, and the
other was the difficulty with James Shields, or, as he expressed it in a
letter to Speed, the "duel with Shields." Other incidents in his career
he frequently called up in conversation with friends, but in after
years he seldom if ever referred to the affair with Shields. People in
Illinois did gradually forget or, at least, cease mention of it, but in
more remote quarters where Mr. Lincoln was less extensively known, the
thing, much to his regret, kept rising to the surface. During a visit
which I made to the Eastern States in 1858, I was often asked for an
account of the so-called duel; so often, in fact, that on my return home
I told Mr. Lincoln of it. "If all the good things I have ever done,"
he said regretfully, "are remembered as long and well as my scrape with
Shields, it is plain I shall not soon be forgotten."
James Shields, a "gallant, hot-headed bachelor from Tyrone county,
Ireland," and a man of inordinate vanity, had been elected Auditor of
State. Encouraged somewhat by the prominence the office gave him, he at
once assumed a conspicuous position in the society of Springfield. He
was extremely sensitive by nature, but exposed himself to merciless
ridicule by attempting to establish his supremacy as a beau among the
ladies. Blind to his own defects, and very pronounced in support of
every act of the Democratic party, he made himself the target for all
the bitterness and ridicule of the day. It happened that the financial
resources of the State, owing to the collapse of the great internal
improvement system, were exceedingly limited, and people were growing
restless under what they deemed excessive taxation. The State officers
were all Democrats, and during the summer they issued an order declining
to receive any more State Banknotes or bills in payment of taxes. This
made the tax-payer's burdens greater than ever, as much of this paper
remained outstanding in the hands of the people. The order met with
opposition from every quarter--the Whigs of course losing no opportunity
to make it as odious as possible. It was perfectly natural, therefore,
that such an ardent Whig as Lincoln should join in the popular
denunciation. Through the columns of the _Springfield Journal_, of which
he had the undisputed use, he determined to encourage the opposition
by the use of his pen. No object seemed to merit more ridicule and
caricature than the conspicuous figure of the Auditor of State. At this
time Lincoln was enjoying stolen conferences under the hospitable roof
of Mrs. Francis with Mary Todd and her friend Julia M. Jayne. These two
young ladies, to whom he confided his purpose, encouraged it and offered
to lend their aid. Here he caught the idea of puncturing
Shields. The thing took shape in an article published in that Journal,
purporting to have come from a poor widow, who with her pockets full of
State Bank paper was still unable to obtain the coveted receipt for her
taxes. It was written by Lincoln and was headed:
A Letter from the Lost Townships.
Lost Townships, August 27,1842.
Dear Mr. Printer,
I see you printed that long letter I sent you a spell ago. I'm quite
encouraged by it, and can't keep from writing again. I think the
printing of my letters will be a good thing all round--it will give
me the benefit of being known by the world, and give the world the
advantage of knowing what's going on in the Lost Townships, and give
your paper respectability besides. So here comes another. Yesterday
afternoon I hurried through cleaning up the dinner dishes and stepped
over to neighbor S------ to see if his wife Peggy was as well as mout be
expected, and hear what they called the baby. Well, when I got there and
just turned round the corner of his log cabin, there he was, setting on
the doorstep reading a newspaper. "How are you, Jeff?" says I. He sorter
started when he heard me, for he hadn't seen me before. "Why," says he,
"I'm mad as the devil, Aunt 'Becca!" "What about?" says I; "ain't
its hair the right color? None of that nonsense, Jeff; there ain't an
honester women in the Lost Townships than"--"Than who?" says he; "what
the mischief are you about?" I began to see I was running the wrong
trail, and so says I, "Oh! nothing: I guess I was mistaken a little,
that's all. But what is it you're mad about?"
"Why," says he, "I've been tugging ever since harvest, getting out wheat
and hauling it to the river to raise State Bank paper enough to pay my
tax this year and a little school debt I owe; and now, just as I've got
it, here I open this infernal _Extra Register_, expecting to find it
full of 'Glorious Democratic Victories' and 'High Comb'd Cocks,' when,
lo and behold! I find a set of fellows, calling themselves officers of
the State, have forbidden the tax collectors and school commissioners to
receive State paper at all; and so here it is dead on my hands. I don't
now believe all the plunder I've got will fetch ready cash enough to pay
my taxes and that school debt."
I was a good deal thunderstruck myself; for that was the first I had
heard of the proclamation, and my old man was pretty much in the same
fix with Jeff. We both stood a moment staring at one another without
knowing what to say. At last says I, "Mr. S------, let me look at that
paper." He handed it to me, when I read the proclamation over.
"There now," says he, "did you ever see such a piece of impudence and
imposition as that?" I saw Jeff was in a good tune for saying some
ill-natured things, and so I tho't I would just argue a little on the
contrary side, and make him rant a spell if I could. "Why," says I,
looking as dignified and thoughtful as I could, "it seems pretty tough,
to be sure, to have to raise silver where there's none to be raised; but
then, you see, 'there will be danger of loss' if it ain't done."
"Loss! damnation!" says he. "I defy Daniel Webster, I defy King Solomon,
I defy the world--I defy--I defy--yes, I defy even you, Aunt 'Becca,
to show how the people can lose anything by paying their taxes in State
paper."
"Well," says I, "you see what the officers of State say about it, and
they are a desarnin' set of men. But," says I, "I guess you're mistaken
about what the proclamation says. It don't say the people will lose
anything by the paper money being taken for taxes. It only says 'there
will be danger of loss'; and though it is tolerable plain that the
people can't lose by paying their taxes in something they can get easier
than silver, instead of having to pay silver; and though it's just as
plain that the State can't lose by taking State Bank paper, however low
it may be, while she owes the bank more than the whole revenue, and can
pay that paper over on her debt, dollar for dollar;--still there is
danger of loss to the 'officers of State'; and you know, Jeff, we can't
get along without officers of State."
"Damn officers of State!" says he; "that's what Whigs are always
hurrahing for."
"Now, don't swear so, Jeff," says I; "you know I belong to the meetin',
and swearin' hurts my feelings."
"Beg pardon, Aunt 'Becca," says he; "but I do say it's enough to make Dr.
Goddard swear, to have tax to pay in silver, for nothing only that Ford
may get his two thousand a year, and Shields his twenty-four hundred a
year, and Carpenter his sixteen hundred a year, and all without 'danger
of loss' by taking it in State paper. Yes, yes: it's plain enough now
what these officers of State mean by 'danger of loss.' Wash, I s'pose,
actually lost fifteen hundred dollars out of the three thousand that two
of these 'officers of State' let him steal from the treasury, by
being compelled to take it in State paper. Wonder if we don't have a
proclamation before long, commanding us to make up this loss to Wash in
silver."
And so he went on till his breath run out, and he had to stop. I
couldn't think of anything to say just then, and so I begun to look over
the paper again. "Ay! here's another proclamation, or something like
it."
"Another?" says Jeff; "and whose egg is it, pray?"
I looked to the bottom of it, and read aloud, "Your obedient servant,
James Shields, Auditor." "Aha!" says Jeff, "one of them same three
fellows again. Well, read it, and let's hear what of it."
I read on till I came to where it says, "The object of this measure is
to suspend the collection of the revenue for the current year."
"Now stop, now stop!" says he; "that's a lie a'ready, and I don't want
to hear of it."
"Oh! may be not," says I.
"I say it--is--a--lie. Suspend the collection, indeed! Will the
collectors, that have taken their oaths to make the collection, dare
to suspend it? Is there anything in law requiring them to perjure
themselves at the bidding of James Shields?
"Will the greedy gullet of the penitentiary be satisfied with swallowing
him instead of all of them, if they should venture to obey him? And
would he not discover some 'danger of loss,' and be off about the time
it came to taking their places?
"And suppose the people attempt to suspend, by refusing to pay; what
then? The collectors would just jerk up their horses and cows, and the
like, and sell them to the highest bidder for silver in hand, without
valuation or redemption. Why, Shields didn't believe that story himself:
it was never meant for the truth. If it was true, why was it not writ
till five days after the proclamation? Why didn't Carlin and Carpenter
sign it as well as Shields? Answer me that, Aunt 'Becca. I say it's a
lie, and not a well told one at that. It grins out like a copper dollar.
Shields is a fool as well as a liar. With him truth is out of the
question; and as for getting a good, bright, passable lie out of him,
you might as well try to strike fire from a cake of tallow. I stick to
it, it's all an infernal Whig lie!"
"A Whig lie! Highty tighty!"
"Yes, a Whig lie; and it's just like everything the cursed British Whigs
do. First they'll do some divilment, and then they'll tell a lie to hide
it. And they don't care how plain a lie it is: they think they can cram
any sort of a one down the throats of the ignorant Locofocos, as they
call the Democrats."
"Why, Jeff, you're crazy: you don't mean to say Shields is a Whig!"
"Yes, I do."
"Why, look here! the proclamation is in your own Democratic paper, as
you call it."
"I know it; and what of that? They only printed it to let us Democrats
see the deviltry the Whigs are at."
"Well, but Shields is the auditor of this Loco--I mean this Democratic
State."
"So he is, and Tyler appointed him to office."
"Tyler appointed him?"
"Yes (if you must chaw it over), Tyler appointed him; or, if it wasn't
him, it was old Granny Harrison, and that's all one. I tell you, Aunt
'Becca, there's no mistake about his being a Whig. Why, his very looks
shows it; everything about him shows it: if I was deaf and blind, I
could tell him by the smell. I seed him when I was down in Springfield
last winter. They had a sort of a gatherin' there one night among the
grandees, they called a fair. All the gals about town was there, and all
the handsome widows and married women, finickin' about trying to look
like gals, tied as tight in the middle, and puffed out at both ends,
like bundles of fodder that hadn't been stacked yet, but wanted stackin'
pretty bad. And then they had tables all around the house kivered over
with [ ] caps and pincushions and ten thousand such little knic-knacks,
tryin' to sell'em to the fellows that were bowin' and scrapin' and
kungeerin' about'em. They wouldn't let no Democrats in, for fear they'd
disgust the ladies, or scare the little gals, or dirty the floor. I
looked in at the window, and there was this same fellow Shields floatin'
about on the air, without heft or earthly substances, just like a lock
of cat fur where cats had been fighting.
"He was paying his money to this one, and that one, and t'other one, and
sufferin' great loss because it wasn't silver instead of State paper;
and the sweet distress he seemed to be in,--his very features, in the
ecstatic agony of his soul, spoke audibly and distinctly, 'Dear girls,
it is distressing, but I cannot marry you all. Too well I know how
much you suffer; but do, do remember, it is not my fault that I am so
handsome and so interesting.'
"As this last was expressed by a most exquisite contortion of his face,
he seized hold of one of their hands, and squeezed, and held on to it
about a quarter of an hour. 'Oh, my good fellow!' says I to myself, 'if
that was one of our Democratic gals in the Lost Townships, the way
you'd get a brass pin let into you would be about up to the head.' He
a Democrat! Fiddlesticks! I tell you, Aunt 'Becca, he's a Whig, and no
mistake: nobody but a Whig could make such a conceity dunce of himself."
"Well," says I, "maybe he is; but, if he is, I'm mistaken the worst
sort. Maybe so, maybe so; but, if I am, I'll suffer by it; I'll be a
Democrat if it turns out that Shields is a Whig, considerin' you shall
be a Whig if he turns out a Democrat."
"A bargain, by jingoes!" says he; "but how will we find out?"
"'Why," says I, "we'll just write and ax the printer."
"Agreed again!" says he; "and by thunder! if it does turn out that
Shields is a Democrat, I never will"--
"Jefferson! Jefferson!"
"What do you want, Peggy?"
"Do get through your everlasting clatter some time, and bring me a gourd
of water; the child's been crying for a drink this livelong hour."
"Let it die, then; it may as well die for water as to be taxed to death
to fatten officers of State."
Jeff run off to get the water, though, just like he hadn't been saying
anything spiteful for he's a raal good-hearted fellow, after all, once
you get at the foundation of him.
I walked into the house, and, "Why, Peggy," says I, "I declare we like
to forgot you altogether." "Oh, yes," says she, "when a body can't help
themselves, everybody soon forgets'em; but, thank God! by day after
to-morrow I shall be well enough to milk the cows, and pen the calves,
and wring the contrary ones' tails for'em, and no thanks to nobody."
"Good evening, Peggy," says I, and so I sloped, for I seed she was mad
at me for making Jeff neglect her so long.
And now, Mr. Printer, will you be sure to let us know in your next paper
whether this Shields is a Whig or a Democrat? I don't care about it
for my self, for I know well enough how it is already; but I want to
convince Jeff. It may do some good to let him, and others like him,
know who and what these officers of State are. It may help to send the
present hypocritical set to where they belong, and to fill the places
they now disgrace, with men who will do more work for less pay, and take
a fewer airs while they are doing it. It ain't sensible to think that
the same men who get us into trouble will change their course; and yet
it's pretty plain if some change for the better is not made, it's not
long that either Peggy or I or any of us will have a cow left to milk,
or a calf's tail to wring.
Yours truly,
Rebecca ------.
Within a week another epistle from Aunt Rebecca appeared, in which,
among other things, she offered the gallant Shields her hand. This one
was written by Miss Todd and Miss Jayne. I insert it without further
comment:
Lost Townships, September 8, 1842. Dear Mr. Printer:
I was a-standin' at the spring yesterday a-wash-in' out butter when I
seed Jim Snooks a-ridin' up towards the house for very life, when, jist
as I was a-wonderin' what on airth was the matter with him, he stops
suddenly, and ses he, "Aunt 'Becca, here's somethin' for you and with
that he hands out your letter. Well, you see, I steps out towards him,
not thinkin' that I had both hands full of butter; and seein' I couldn't
take the letter, you know, without greasin' it, I ses, "Jim, jist you
open it, and read it for me." Well, Jim opens it and reads it; and would
you believe it, Mr. Editor, I was so completely dumfounded and turned
into stone that there I stood in the sun a-workin' the butter, and it
a-running on the ground, while he read the letter, that I never thunk
what I was about till the hull on't run melted on the ground and was
lost. Now, sir, it's not for the butter, nor the price of the butter,
but, the Lord have massy on us, I wouldn't have sich another fright for
a whole firkin of it. Why, when I found out that it was the man what
Jeff seed down to the fair that had demanded the author of my letters,
threatnin' to take personal satisfaction of the writer, I was so skart
that I tho't I should quill-wheel right where I was.
You say that Mr. S------ is offended at being compared to cats' fur,
and is as mad as a March hare (that ain't fur), because I told about the
squeezin'.
Now I want you to tell Mr. S------ that, rather than fight, I'll make
any apology; and, if he wants personal satisfaction, let him only come
here, and he may squeeze my hand as hard as I squeezed the butter, and,
if that ain't personal satisfaction, I can only say that he is the fust
man that was not satisfied with squeezin' my hand. If this should
not answer, there is one thing more that I would rather do than get a
lickin'. I have long expected to die a widow; but, as Mr. S------
is rather goodlooking than otherwise, I must say I don't care if
we compromise the matter by--really, Mr. Printer, I can't help
blushin'--but I--it must come out--I--but widowed modesty--well, if I
must, I must--wouldn't he--may be sorter let the old grudge drap if I
was to consent to be--be--h-i-s w-i-f-e? I know he's a fightin' man, and
would rather fight than eat; but isn't marryin' better than fightin',
though it does sometimes run in to it? And I don't think, upon the
whole, that I'd be sich a bad match neither: I'm not over sixty, and
am jist four feet three in my bare feet, and not much more around the
girth; and for color, I wouldn't turn my back to nary a gal in the Lost
Townships. But, after all, maybe I'm countin' my chickins before they
are hatched, and dreamin' of matrimonial bliss when the only alternative
reserved for me may be a lickin'. Jeff tells me the way these
fire-eaters do is to give the challenged party choice of weapons, etc.,
which bein' the case, I'll tell you in confidence that I never fights
with anything but broomsticks or hot water or a shovelful of coals or'
some such thing; the former of which, being somewhat like a shillalah,
may not be very objectional to him. I will give him choice, however, in
one thing, and that is, whether, when we fight, I shall wear breeches or
he petticoats, for, I presume that change is sufficient to place us on
an equality.
Yours, etc.,
Rebecca ------.
P. S.--Jist say to your friend, if he concludes to marry rather than
fight, I shall only inforce one condition, that is, if he should ever
happen to gallant any young gals home of nights from our house, he must
not squeeze their hands.
Not content with their epistolary efforts, the ladies invoked the muse.
"Rebecca" deftly transformed herself into "Cathleen," and in jingling
rhyme sang the praises of Shields, and congratulated him over the
prospect of an early marriage to the widow. Following are the verses,
rhyme, metre, and all:
Ye Jew's-harps awake! The Auditor's won.
Rebecca the widow has gained Erin's son;
The pride of the north from Emerald Isle
Has been wooed and won by a woman's smile.
The combat's relinquished, old loves all forgot:
To the widow he's bound. Oh, bright be his lot!
In the smiles of the conquest so lately achieved.
Joyful be his bride, "widowed modesty" relieved,
The footsteps of time tread lightly on flowers,
May the cares of this world ne'er darken his hours!
But the pleasures of life are fickle and coy
As the smiles of a maiden sent off to destroy.
Happy groom! in sadness far distant from thee
The fair girls dream only of past times of glee
Enjoyed in thy presence; whilst the soft blarnied stone
Will be fondly remembered as relics of yore,
And hands that in rapture you oft would have pressed,
In prayer will be clasped that your lot may be blest.
Cathleen.
The satire running through these various compositions, and the publicity
their appearance in the _Journal_ gave them, had a most wonderful effect
on the vain and irascible Auditor of State. He could no longer endure
the merriment and ridicule that met him from every side. A man of
cooler head might have managed it differently, but in the case of a
high-tempered man like Shields he felt that his integrity had been
assailed and that nothing but an "affair of honor" would satisfy him.
Through General John D. Whiteside he demanded of editor Francis the name
of the author. The latter hunted up Lincoln, who directed him to give
his name and say nothing about the ladies. The further proceedings in
this grotesque drama were so graphically detailed by the friends of both
parties in the columns of the _Journal_ at that time, that I copy their
letters as a better and more faithful narrative than can be obtained
from any other source. The letter of Shields' second, General Whiteside,
appearing first in the _Journal_, finds the same place in this chapter:
"_To the Editor of the Sangamon Journal_: Springfield, Oct. 3, 1842.
"SIR: To prevent misrepresentation of the recent affair between Messrs.
Shields and Lincoln, I think it proper to give a brief narrative of the
facts of the case, as they came within my knowledge; for the truth
of which I hold myself responsible, and request you to give the same
publication. An offensive article in relation to Mr. Shields appeared
in the _Sangamon Journal_ of the 2d of September last; and, on demanding
the author, Mr. Lincoln was given up by the editor. Mr. Shields,
previous to this demand, made arrangements to go to Quincy on public
business; and before his return Mr. Lincoln had left for Tremont to
attend the court, with the intention, as we learned, of remaining on
the circuit several weeks. Mr. Shields, on his return, requested me
to accompany him to Tremont; and, on arriving there, we found that Dr.
Merryman and Mr. Butler had passed us in the night, and got there before
us. We arrived in Tremont on the 17th ult., and Mr. Shields addressed a
note to Mr. Lincoln immediately, informing him that he was given up as
the author of some articles that appeared in the Sangamon Journal (one
more over the signature having made its appearance at this time), and
requesting him to retract the offensive allusions contained in said
articles in relation to his private character. Mr. Shields handed this
note to me to deliver to Mr. Lincoln, and directed me, at the same time,
not to enter into any verbal communication, or be the bearer of any
verbal explanation, as such were always liable to misapprehension. This
note was delivered by me to Mr. Lincoln, stating, at the same time,
that I would call at his convenience for an answer. Mr. Lincoln, in the
evening of the same day, handed me a letter addressed to Mr. Shields. In
this he gave or offered no explanation, but stated therein that he could
not submit to answer further, on the ground that Mr. Shields's note
contained an assumption of facts and also a menace. Mr. Shields then
addressed him another note, in which he disavowed all intention to
menace, and requested to know whether he (Mr. Lincoln) was the author
of either of the articles which appeared in the _Journal_, headed 'Lost
Townships,' and signed 'Rebecca'; and, if so, he repeated his request
of a retraction of the offensive matter in relation to his private
character; if not, his denial would be held sufficient. This letter was
returned to Mr. Shields unanswered, with a verbal statement 'that there
could be no further negotiation between them until the first note
was withdrawn.' Mr. Shields thereupon sent a note designating me as a
friend, to which Mr. Lincoln replied by designating Dr. Merryman. These
three last notes passed on Monday morning, the 19th. Dr. Merryman handed
me Mr. Lincoln's last note when by ourselves. I remarked to Dr. Merryman
that the matter was now submitted to us, and that I would propose that
he and myself should pledge our words of honor to each other to try to
agree upon terms of amicable arrangement, and compel our principals to
accept of them. To this he readily assented, and we shook hands upon
the pledge. It was then mutually agreed that we should adjourn to
Springfield, and there procrastinate the matter, for the purpose of
effecting the secret arrangement between him and myself. All this I kept
concealed from Mr. Shields. Our horse had got a little lame in going
to Tremont, and Dr. Merryman invited me to take a seat in his buggy. I
accepted the invitation the more readily, as I thought that leaving
Mr. Shields in Tremont until his horse would be in better condition to
travel would facilitate the private agreement between Dr. Merryman and
myself. I travelled to Springfield part of the way with him, and part
with Mr. Lincoln; but nothing passed between us on the journey in
relation to the matter in hand. We arrived in Springfield on Monday
night. About noon on Tuesday, to my astonishment, a proposition was made
to meet in Missouri, within three miles of Alton, on the next Thursday!
The weapons, cavalry broadswords of the largest size; the parties to
stand on each side of a barrier, and to be confined to a limited space.
As I had not been consulted at all on the subject, and considering the
private understanding between Dr. Merryman and myself, and it being
known that Mr. Shields was left at Tremont, such a proposition took me
by surprise. However, being determined not to violate the laws of
the State, I declined agreeing upon the terms until we should meet in
Missouri. Immediately after, I called upon Dr. Merryman and withdrew
the pledge of honor between him and myself in relation to a secret
arrangement. I started after this to meet Mr. Shields, and met him about
twenty miles from Springfield. It was late on Tuesday night when we both
reached the city and learned that Dr. Merryman had left for Missouri,
Mr. Lincoln having left before the proposition was made, as Dr. Merryman
had himself informed me. The time and place made it necessary to
start at once. We left Springfield at eleven o'clock on Tuesday night,
travelled all night, and arrived in Hillsborough on Wednesday morning,
where we took in General Ewing. From there we went to Alton, where we
arrived on Thursday; and, as the proposition required three friends on
each side, I was joined by General Ewing and Dr. Hope, as the friends of
Mr. Shields. We then crossed to Missouri, where a proposition was made
by General Hardin and Dr. English (who had arrived there in the mean
time as mutual friends) to refer the matter to, I think, four friends
for a settlement. This I believed Mr. Shields would refuse, and declined
seeing him; but Dr. Hope, who conferred with him upon the subject,
returned and stated that Mr. Shields declined settling the matter
through any other than the friends he had selected to stand by him on
that occasion. The friends of both the parties finally agreed to
withdraw the papers (temporarily) to give the friends of Mr. Lincoln an
opportunity to explain. Whereupon the friends of Mr. Lincoln, to wit,
Messrs. Merryman, Bledsoe, and Butler, made a full and satisfactory
explanation in relation to the article which appeared in the _Sangamon
Journal_ of the 2d, the only one written by him. This was all done
without the knowledge or consent of Mr. Shields, and he refused to
accede to it, until Dr. Hope, General Ewing, and myself declared the
apology sufficient, and that we could not sustain him in going further.
I think it necessary to state further, that no explanation or apology
had been previously offered on the part of Mr. Lincoln to Mr. Shields,
and that none was ever communicated by me to him, nor was any even
offered to me, unless a paper read to me by Dr. Merryman after he had
handed me the broadsword proposition on Tuesday. I heard so little of
the reading of the paper, that I do not know fully what it purported to
be; and I was the less inclined to inquire, as Mr. Lincoln was then gone
to Missouri, and Mr. Shields not yet arrived from Tremont. In fact, I
could not entertain any offer of the kind, unless upon my own
responsibility; and that I was not disposed to do after what had already
transpired.
"I make this statement, as I am about to be absent for some time, and
I think it due to all concerned to give a true version of the matter
before I leave.
"Your obedient servant,
"John D. Whiteside."
Springfield, October 8, 1842.
Editors of the Journal:
Gents:--By your paper of Friday, I discover that General Whiteside has
published his version of the late affair between Messrs. Shields and
Lincoln, I now bespeak a hearing of my version of the same affair, which
shall be true and full as to all material facts.
On Friday evening, the 16th of September, I learned that Mr. Shields
and General Whiteside had started in pursuit of Mr. Lincoln, who was at
Tremont, attending court. I knew that Mr. Lincoln was wholly unpractised
both as to the diplomacy and weapons commonly employed in similar
affairs; and I felt it my duty, as a friend, to be with him, and, so far
as in my power, to prevent any advantage being taken of him as to either
his honor or his life. Accordingly, Mr. Butler and myself started,
passed Shields and Whiteside in the night, and arrived at Tremont ahead
of them on Saturday morning. I told Mr. Lincoln what was brewing, and
asked him what course he proposed to himself. He stated that he was
wholly opposed to duelling, and would do anything to avoid it that might
not degrade him in the estimation of himself and friends; but, if such
degradation or a fight were the only alternatives, he would fight.
In the afternoon Shields and Whiteside arrived, and very soon the former
sent to Mr. Lincoln, by the latter, the following note or letter:--
Tremont, September 17, 1842.
A. Lincoln, Esq.:--
I regret that my absence on public business compelled me to postpone a
matter of private consideration a little longer than I could have
desired. It will only be necessary, however, to account for it by
informing you that I have been to Quincy on business that would not
admit of delay. I will now state briefly the reasons of my troubling you
with this communication, the disagreeable nature of which I regret, as I
had hoped to avoid any difficulty with any one in Springfield while
residing there, by endeavoring to conduct myself in such a way amongst
both my political friends and opponents, as to escape the necessity of
any. Whilst thus abstaining from giving provocation, I have become the
object of slander, vituperation, and personal abuse which, were I
capable of submitting to, I would prove myself worthy of the whole of
it.
In two or three of the last numbers of the Sangamon Journal, articles of
the most personal nature, and calculated to degrade me, have made their
appearance. On inquiring, I was informed by the editor of that paper,
through the medium of my friend, General Whiteside, that you are the
author of those articles. This information satisfies me that I have
become, by some means or other, the object of secret hostility. I will
not take the trouble of inquiring into the reason of all this, but
I will take the liberty of requiring a full, positive, and
absolute retraction of all offensive allusions used by you in these
communications, in relation to my private character and standing as a
man, as an apology for the insults conveyed in them.
This may prevent consequences which no one will regret more than myself.
Your ob't serv't,
Jas. Shields.
About sunset, General Whiteside called again, and secured from Mr.
Lincoln the following answer to Mr. Shields's note:--