had expected since his nomination. The Republican electors did not
receive a majority by nearly a million votes, but the division of the
Democrats left them a plurality.
The city of Springfield had never cast so large a vote for any candidate
for office up to that time, and it celebrated its triumph with a jubilee
of rejoicing. The people called Lincoln from his house and demanded a
speech, but he asked to be excused. He thanked them for their support
and congratulations, and remarked, "In all our rejoicing let us
neither express nor cherish any hard feeling towards any citizen who
has differed from us. Let us at all times remember that all American
citizens are brothers of a common country and should dwell together in
the bonds of fraternal feeling."
After the excitement had quieted down, Lincoln resumed his former habits
and daily routine. Springfield was crowded with politicians those
days,--office-seekers and advisers, men who came to ask favors and to
offer them. The announcement of his election had been the signal for
the conspirators in the South to throw off their masks. During long
years of controversy, the pro-slavery party had a hope of ultimate
triumph, but until the actual election of Lincoln there was no actual
treason or revolutionary act. Four days after the Senators from South
Carolina resigned, six weeks later that State declared its separation
from the Union and organized an independent government, and, while he
was still waiting at Springfield, Lincoln read the newspaper reports of
conventions in all the Gulf States, at which they also declared their
independence. But he was obliged to sit inactive and helpless; unable to
do anything to check the dissolution of the Union, although appeals came
from every quarter. He described his situation to an old friend who came
to see him at Springfield.
"Joe," he said, sadly, "I suppose you have forgotten the trial down in
Montgomery County where your partner gave away your case in his opening
speech. I saw you motioning to him and how uneasy you were, but you
couldn't stop him, and that's just the way with Buchanan and me. He is
giving away the case and I can't stop him."
It was not the Republicans of the North alone that appealed to Lincoln.
Unionists of the South came to him for pledges that he would do nothing,
for assurances that there was nothing to fear from his election, and he
went so far as to make an exception in their case to gratify them. In
December he wrote a letter to Alexander H. Stephens, whom he had known
and admired in Congress, marked "For your eye only," in which he stated
his position in the most positive and unmistakable language, and asked,
"Do the people of the South really entertain fears that a Republican
administration would directly or indirectly interfere with the slaves?
If they do, I wish to assure you as once a friend, and still, I hope,
not an enemy, that there is no cause for such fears. The South would be
in no more danger in this respect than it was in the days of Washington.
I suppose, however, that this does not meet the case. You think slavery
is right and ought to be extended, while we think it is wrong and ought
to be restricted. That, I suppose, is the rub. It is certainly the only
substantial difference between us."
General Duff Green came to Springfield in December, 1860, as an emissary
from President Buchanan to invite the President-elect to Washington
for a conference upon the situation, with the hope that his presence
there might prevent civil war, and General Green was bold enough to
tell him that, if he did not go, "upon his conscience must rest the
blood that would be shed." Here Lincoln's political shrewdness and
diplomacy were demonstrated in as conspicuous a manner, perhaps, as
at any other crisis in his life. He detected at once the intention to
unload upon him the responsibility for disunion and war, and met it
with a counter-proposition which must have excited the admiration of
the conspirators who were trying to entrap him. He received General
Green with great courtesy, heard him with respectful attention, and
gave him a letter in which he said that he did not desire any amendment
to the Constitution, although he recognized the right of the American
people to adopt one; that he believed in maintaining inviolate the
rights of each State to control its own domestic institutions; and
that he considered the lawless invasion by armed force of the soil of
any State or Territory as the gravest of crimes. While those were his
sentiments, and while they indicated the policy he should pursue as
President, he would not consent to their publication unless the Senators
from Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, Louisiana, and Texas would
sign a pledge which he had written below his signature to this letter
and upon the same piece of paper. It was a pledge "to suspend all
action for the dismemberment of the Union until some act deemed to be
violative of our rights shall be done by the incoming administration."
Thus the responsibility was thrown back upon the representatives of the
seceding States, and it is unnecessary to say that Duff Green's mission
to Springfield was not considered a success by the rebel leaders. In
order to protect himself, Lincoln sent a copy of his letter to Senator
Trumbull, calling his attention to the fact that part of its text and
all of its sentiment were copied from the Chicago platform.
By this time Lincoln had become thoroughly convinced that the Southern
leaders were in earnest and that nothing could prevent the secession
of their States, although he continued his efforts to reassure them
and to apply every means his ingenuity could suggest to reconcile them
to the situation. Notwithstanding all his anxiety, his sense of humor
remained, and, as was his habit, he illustrated the situation with a
story about a pious man named Brown who was on a committee to erect a
bridge over a very dangerous river. They called in an engineer named
Jones, who had great confidence in himself, and, after the difficulties
had been explained, asked him whether he was able to build the bridge.
Jones was a profane man, and replied that he would build a bridge to
hell if he could get a contract, or words to that effect. The churchmen
were horrified, and when the contractor retired, Brown attempted to
allay their indignation by saying all the good things he could remember
or invent about Jones. At the same time he was a very cautious man and
would not commit himself to any doubtful proposition.
"I know Jones," he said, "and he is a man who will keep his promises. If
he agrees to build a bridge to Hades he will do it, although I have my
doubts about the 'butments on the infernal side."
The infinite patience exhibited by Lincoln during this period of anxious
helplessness, amidst the clamors of office-seekers, the importunities of
sincere but timid men who besought him to yield to the South and avoid
trouble and bloodshed, the threats of his enemies, the intrigues of the
politicians, the conspiracies of the disunionists, showed his strength
of character and sense of discretion, and did much to establish him in
the confidence of the public. He indulged neither in hope nor fear, he
made no boasts, he showed no alarm, he answered neither yea nor nay, but
maintained complete self-control and waited for his time to come. To
intimate friends who possessed his confidence he never failed to assert
his determination to maintain the Union, no matter what it cost, and to
resist to the end every proposition for dissolution or dismemberment,
but his words were as gentle and as kindly as they were firm.
"The right of a State to secede is not an open or debatable question,"
he said. "That was fully discussed in Jackson's time and denied not
only by him but by the vote of Congress. It is the duty of a President
to execute the laws and maintain the existing government. He cannot
entertain any proposition for dissolution or dismemberment. He was not
elected for any such purpose. As a matter of theoretical speculation it
is probably true that if the people, with whom the whole question rests,
should become tired of the present government they might change it in
the manner prescribed by the Constitution."
At the same time, without being dictatorial, he kept the Republican
leaders inspired with his own confidence and determination and
endeavored to prevent them from the mistake of yielding to compromise
or making concessions. He wrote Representative Washburne with emphasis,
"Prevent our friends from demoralizing themselves and their cause
by entertaining propositions for compromise of any sort on slavery
extensions. There is no possible compromise upon it but what puts us
under again, and all our work to do over again. On that point hold firm
as a chain of steel."
To Seward he wrote, "I say now, as I have all the while said, that
on the question of extending slavery I am inflexible. I am for no
compromise which assists or permits the extension of the institution on
soil owned by the nation."
He knew what was going on under the direction of the disloyal members
of Buchanan's Cabinet. He was aware that the Northern States were being
stripped of arms and ammunition and that large quantities of military
stores were being sent South where they could easily be seized when the
time came. He knew also that disloyal officers of the army were being
placed in command of the forts and military posts in the South, and
other strategical points, and he asked Washburne to present his respects
to General Scott, "and tell him confidentially that I should be obliged
to him to be as well prepared as he can either to hold or retake the
forts as the case may require after the inauguration."
Mr. Seward and other Republican leaders were apprehensive lest an
attempt be made to prevent the counting of the electoral vote and the
inauguration of Lincoln. The secessionists controlled both Houses and
could have prevented constitutional proceeding if they had chosen to do
so, but offered no interference. Mr. Seward always claimed--and he had
an excessive degree of admiration for his own acts--that a speech which
he made at the Astor House in January deceived the secession leaders
into permitting the vote to be canvassed and Lincoln inaugurated. "When
I made that speech the electoral vote was not counted," said Mr. Seward
with pride, "and I knew it never would be if Jeff Davis believed there
would be war. I had to deceive Davis and I did it. That's why I said it
would all be settled in sixty days."
The will of the people to make Abraham Lincoln President was carried
into effect upon February 13, 1861, when the Congress of the United
States met in joint session and declared him duly elected.
Mr. Seward and other Republican leaders had urged Lincoln to come to
Washington early in February, but the latter, with his usual judgment
and common sense, declined to depart from ordinary usage, and politely
explained his own feeling that he ought not to appear in Washington
until he had been formally declared President. When that formality had
been completed, he bade his old friends good-by and began a memorable
journey, taking a circuitous route in order to gratify the people of
the Northern States, who wished to see the President-elect, and gathered
at every station through which he passed, hoping to hear his voice
or catch a glimpse of his face. He made about thirty speeches on the
journey, and every time he spoke it was to stimulate the patriotism
and the determination of the people to preserve the Union. The address
delivered in Independence Hall, Philadelphia, was perhaps the most
notable, as it was the longest, because he was deeply moved by the date
and the place, for it was Washington's birthday. Among other things, he
said,--
"All the political sentiments I entertain have been drawn, so far as I
have been able to draw them, from the sentiments which originated in
and were given to the world from this hall. I have never had a feeling,
politically, that did not spring from the sentiments embodied in the
Declaration of Independence. It was that which gave promise that in
due time the weight would be lifted from the shoulders of all men and
that all should have an equal chance. Now, my friends, can this country
be saved on that basis? If it can, I will consider myself one of the
happiest men in the world if I can help to save it. If it cannot be
saved upon that principle, it will be truly awful. But if this country
cannot be saved without giving up that principle, I was about to say I
would rather be assassinated on this spot than surrender it. Now, in my
view of the present aspect of affairs, there is no need of bloodshed and
war. There is no necessity for it. I am not in favor of such a course;
and I may say in advance that there will be no bloodshed unless it be
forced upon the government. The government will not use force unless
force is used against it.
"My friends, this is wholly an unprepared speech. I did not expect to
be called upon to say a word when I came here. I supposed it was merely
to do something towards raising a flag--I may, therefore, have said
something indiscreet. [Cries of 'No! no!'] But I have said nothing but
what I am willing to live by, and, if it be the pleasure of Almighty
God, to die by."
The manner in which Lincoln came into Washington has been the subject
of abundant discussion and criticism, but long ago the public mind
settled down to a mature opinion that he did exactly right, and that a
President-elect of the United States, particularly at such a critical
juncture, should not take any risks or omit any precautions for his
personal safety. Lincoln himself, long after, declared that he did not
then and never did believe that he would have been assassinated, but
always thought it wise to run no risk when no risk was necessary. Wisdom
justifies such a rule, while the tragic experience of the American
people has left no doubt of it. The facts were that an Italian barber
named Ferrandini, an outspoken secessionist working at a Baltimore
hotel, had submitted to an organization of Southern sympathizers a
wild plan for intimidating the Union people of Maryland and the North,
which included the blowing up of all the bridges around Washington, the
kidnapping of several prominent Republicans, and the assassination of
Lincoln, General Scott, and Hamlin, the President and Vice-President
elect. This would leave the capital open to the Southern leaders, throw
the entire government into confusion, and prevent interference from
the North with any revolutionary plans which Jefferson Davis might be
contemplating.
[Illustration: Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.
For Mrs. Lucy G. Speed, from whose pious hand I accepted the
present of an Oxford Bible twenty years ago. Washington, D.C.
October 3, 1861
A. Lincoln.
From a photograph by Klauber, Louisville, Kentucky. Reproduced by
special permission of James B. Speed, Esq.]
Just how much encouragement Ferrandini received from the Southern
sympathizers in Baltimore and Washington is not known, but he was the
captain of a military company whose members were pledged to prevent
the inauguration of Lincoln or any abolitionist President. When Allan
Pinkerton learned of his suggestions, he reported the matter at once
to Mr. Felton, President of the railroad that connected Baltimore
with Philadelphia. Mr. Pinkerton's disclosures were confirmed by
detectives employed by Governor Hicks, of Maryland, and the military
authorities at Washington, although neither knew that the others were at
work on the case. After consultation with his friends, Lincoln decided
not to take any chances, and it was arranged that, after the ceremonies
at Harrisburg were concluded, he should return to Philadelphia with a
single companion and take the regular midnight train to Washington,
leaving the rest of his party to continue in the special train according
to the original itinerary. Lincoln wore no disguise, no deception was
practised upon any one, and the only unusual occurrence that night was
the disconnection of the telegraph wires just outside of Philadelphia
and Harrisburg, so that, in case the change of plan was discovered, the
news could not reach Baltimore until Lincoln had passed through that
city. Mr. Seward and Mr. Washburne were the only persons to meet the
President-elect at the station, and they had been advised of his coming
only a few hours before by Mr. Seward's son, who had come by a previous
train from Harrisburg.
The week before the inauguration was a busy one for the President-elect.
A great deal of his time was occupied by visits of ceremony and
consultations with Republican leaders about the composition of his
Cabinet, the terms of his inaugural, and the policy to be pursued by
the new administration. March 4 Mr. Buchanan escorted him from the
Executive Mansion to the Capitol, where the oath was administered to
him by Chief-Justice Taney, and, standing upon a platform at the east
portico of the unfinished Capitol, he was introduced to the multitude by
his old friend, Edward D. Baker, while Stephen A. Douglas, his opponent
for the Presidency, stood at his left hand and held his hat. The public
curiosity to see the President-elect reached its climax as he made his
appearance. All sorts of stories had been told and believed about his
personal appearance. His character had been grossly misrepresented and
maligned in both sections of the Union, and the hysterical condition
of the country naturally whetted the appetite of men of all parties to
see and hear the man who was now the central figure of the republic. The
tone of moderation, tenderness, and good-will which breathed through
his inaugural speech made a profound impression in his favor, while
his voice rang out over the acres of people before him with surprising
distinctness, and was heard in the remotest parts of his audience.
No inaugural address before or since has been awaited with so much
anxiety and interest. It was expected that in this, his first
official utterance, the new President would outline the policy of his
administration and determine whether the country should have war or
peace. Thousands of men were eager for an intimation of what he intended
to say, and an accurate forecast was worth millions of dollars to the
stock market; but not a word nor a thought leaked out. The document was
written with Lincoln's own hand upon the backs of envelopes and other
scraps of paper from time to time as ideas suggested themselves and he
determined what to say, and finally, as the time of his departure from
Springfield approached, he put them together in a little bare room in
a business block over the store of his brother-in-law, where he was
accustomed to retire when he wanted to be alone or had to do writing of
importance. Only two persons knew of this retreat.
When the manuscript was finished it was intrusted to Mr. William H.
Bailhache, editor of the _Illinois State Journal_, who put it in type
himself, assisted by a veteran compositor, also an old friend of
Lincoln. After taking a dozen proof-slips, the type was distributed.
Judge David Davis and one or two other friends read it in Springfield.
Orville H. Browning read it on the journey to Washington, and upon
the morning of his arrival at the capital, a copy was handed to Mr.
Seward, who spent an entire Sunday revising it. His amendments and
suggestions were almost as voluminous as the original document. Lincoln
adopted either in whole or in part nearly all of them, except where they
affected the style or changed the policy indicated. The most important
changes made were to modify the declaration of his intentions to recover
and hold the fortifications and property which had been seized by the
secessionists and to speak of the exercise of power in that direction
with some ambiguity and a hint at forbearance.
During all his life at the White House Lincoln took an active part
in political affairs. He never forgot that he was the President of
the whole country; but at the same time he considered it necessary
to its salvation to establish the Republican party upon a firm and
permanent basis, and for that purpose a more complete and thorough
organization was necessary. He knew the value of an organization of
trained politicians and of political discipline as well as any man in
public life. He was thoroughly a practical politician and as skilful
in execution as he was in planning. He knew how to manipulate men and
direct movements as well as Thurlow Weed, and no man in the Cabinet
or in either House of Congress was more adroit in accomplishing his
purposes. He never failed to carry through Congress any measure that
he considered important; he never failed to obtain the confirmation
of a nominee. He used the patronage of his office to strengthen the
Republican party because he believed it essential to the salvation of
his country. He possessed a political tact so subtle and masterful that
it enabled him to reconcile rivalries and enemies, to unite conflicting
purposes, and to bring to his support men of implacable hostility, who
never realized his purpose until his object was accomplished, and then
it was such as they almost invariably approved. He was candid when
candor was necessary, he was mysterious when he believed it wise to
excite curiosity, and he was determined and often arbitrary with men
whom he thought would be most impressed that way. His greatest quality,
the most valuable talent he possessed, was his ability to fathom the
human heart, to understand its weakness and its strength, so that he
could measure the influence that must be exerted and the methods by
which it could be induced to assist him in his direction of affairs.
His lowly birth and early experience were of great advantage to him in
understanding human nature, and he looked to the great masses of "the
plain people" as well as to the Almighty for guidance, and had full
faith in their honesty and capacity. Before he acted upon any important
question he felt the public pulse, and when he thought the people were
ready he acted, and not before. While he was a great leader, a shrewd
and deep manipulator of public opinion, he often said, in his quaint
way, that it was possible to fool a part of the people all the time,
and all of the people part of the time; but no man could fool all the
people all the time. With his great common sense, he endeavored to
discover what was in the public mind and how the public conscience
would regard certain measures proposed, and waited for it to point out
his path of duty. The atmosphere of Washington never affected him; he
was self-contained and indifferent to social and other influences that
usually exercise much force upon public men.