CHAPTER IV. THE QUESTION
Many times since Abraham Lincoln has been called to that mansion whichGod has reserved for the patriots who have served Him also, StephenBrice has thought of that steaming night in the low-ceiled room of thecountry tavern, reeking with the smell of coarse food and hot humanity.He remembers vividly how at first his gorge rose, and recalls howgradually there crept over him a forgetfulness of the squalidity anddiscomfort. Then came a space gray with puzzling wonder. Then thedawning of a worship for a very ugly man in a rumpled and ill-made coat.
You will perceive that there was hope for Stephen. On his shake-downthat night, oblivious to the snores of his companions and the droning ofthe insects, he lay awake. And before his eyes was that strange, markedface, with its deep lines that blended both humor and sadness there. Itwas homely, and yet Stephen found himself reflecting that honesty wasjust as homely, and plain truth. And yet both were beautiful to thosewho had learned to love them. Just so this Mr. Lincoln.
He fell asleep wondering why Judge Whipple had sent him.
It was in accord with nature that reaction came with the morning. Such amorning, and such a place!
He was awakened, shivering, by the beat of rain on the roof, andstumbling over the prostrate forms of the four Beaver brothers, reachedthe window. Clouds filled the sky, and Joshway, whose pallet was underthe sill, was in a blessed state of moisture.
No wonder some of his enthusiasm had trickled away!
He made his toilet in the wet under the pump outside; where he had towait his turn. And he rather wished he were going back to St. Louis.He had an early breakfast of fried eggs and underdone bacon, and coffeewhich made him pine for Hester's. The dishes were neither too clean nortoo plentiful, being doused in water as soon as ever they were out ofuse.
But after breakfast the sun came out, and a crowd collected around thetavern, although the air was chill and the muck deep in the street.Stephen caught glimpses of Mr. Lincoln towering above the knots ofcountry politicians who surrounded him, and every once in a while a knotwould double up with laughter. There was no sign that the senatorialaspirant took the situation seriously; that the coming struggle withhis skilful antagonist was weighing him down in the least. Stephen heldaloof from the groups, thinking that Mr. Lincoln had forgotten him.He decided to leave for St. Louis on the morning train, and was evenpushing toward the tavern entrance with his bag in his hand, when he wasmet by Mr. Hill.
"I had about given you up, Mr. Brice," he said. "Mr. Lincoln asked me toget hold of you, and bring you to him alive or dead."
Accordingly Stephen was led to the station, where a long train of twelvecars was pulled up, covered with flags and bunting. On entering one ofthese, he perceived Mr. Lincoln sprawled (he could think of no otherword to fit the attitude) on a seat next the window, and next him wasMr. Medill of the Press and Tribune. The seat just in front was reservedfor Mr. Hill, who was to make any notes necessary. Mr. Lincoln lookedup. His appearance was even less attractive than the night before, as hehad on a dirty gray linen duster.
"I thought you'd got loose, Steve," he said, holding out his hand. "Gladto see you. Just you sit down there next to Bob, where I can talk toyou."
Stephen sat down, diffident, for he knew that there were others in thattrain who would give ten years of their lives for that seat.
"I've taken a shine to this Bostonian, Joe," said Mr Lincoln to Mr.Medill. "We've got to catch 'em young to do anything with 'em, you know.Now, Steve, just give me a notion how politics are over in St. Louis.What do they think of our new Republican party? Too bran new for old St.Louis, eh?"
Stephen saw expostulation in Mr. Medill's eyes, and hesitated. And Mr.Lincoln seemed to feel Medill's objections, as by mental telepathy. Buthe said:-- "We'll come to that little matter later, Joe, when the carsstart."
Naturally, Stephen began uneasily. But under the influence of thatkindly eye he thawed, and forgot himself. He felt that this man wasnot one to feign an interest. The shouts of the people on the littleplatform interrupted the account, and the engine staggered off with itsload.
"I reckon St. Louis is a nest of Southern Democrats," Mr. Lincolnremarked, "and not much opposition."
"There are quite a few Old Line Whigs, sir," ventured Stephen, smiling.
"Joe," said Mr. Lincoln, "did you ever hear Warfield's definition of anOld Line Whig?"
Mr. Medill had not.
"A man who takes his toddy regularly, and votes the Democratic ticketoccasionally, and who wears ruffled shirts."
Both of these gentlemen laughed, and two more in the seat behind, whohad an ear to the conversation.
"But, sir," said Stephen, seeing that he was expected to go on, "I thinkthat the Republican party will gather a considerable strength there inanother year or two. We have the material for powerful leaders in Mr.Blair and others" (Mr. Lincoln nodded at the name). "We are getting anever increasing population from New England, mostly of young men whowill take kindly to the new party." And then he added, thinking ofhis pilgrimage the Sunday before: "South St. Louis is a solid mass ofGermans, who are all antislavery. But they are very foreign still, andhave all their German institutions."
"The Turner Halls?" Mr. Lincoln surprised him by inquiring.
"Yes. And I believe that they drill there."
"Then they will the more easily be turned into soldiers if the timeshould come," said Mr. Lincoln. And he added quickly, "I pray that itmay not."
Stephen had cause to remember that observation, and the acumen itshowed, long afterward.
The train made several stops, and at each of them shoals of countrypeople filled the aisles, and paused for a most familiar chat with thesenatorial candidate. Many called him Abe. His appearance was the equalin roughness to theirs, his manner if anything was more democratic,--yetin spite of all this Stephen in them detected a deference which mightalmost be termed a homage. There were many women among them. Had ourfriend been older, he might have known that the presence of good womenin a political crowd portends something. As it was, he was surprised. Hewas destined to be still more surprised that day.
When they had left behind them the shouts of the little down of Dixon,Mr. Lincoln took off his hat, and produced a crumpled and not tooimmaculate scrap of paper from the multitude therein.
"Now, Joe," said he, "here are the four questions I intend to ask JudgeDouglas. I am ready for you. Fire away."
"We don't care anything about the others," answered Mr. Medill. "But Itell you this. If you ask that second one, you'll never see the UnitedStates Senate."
"And the Republican party in this state will have had a blow from whichit can scarcely recover," added Mr. Judd, chairman of the committee.
Mr. Lincoln did not appear to hear them. His eyes were far away over thewet prairie.
Stephen held his breath. But neither he, nor Medill, nor Judd, nor Hillguessed at the pregnancy of that moment. How were they to know thatthe fate of the United States of America was concealed in thatQuestion,--was to be decided on a rough wooden platform that day in thetown of Freeport, Illinois?
But Abraham Lincoln, the uncouth man in the linen duster with thetousled hair, knew it. And the stone that was rejected of the builderswas to become the corner-stone of the temple.
Suddenly Mr. Lincoln recalled himself, glanced at the paper, and clearedhis throat. In measured tones, plainly heard above the rush and roar ofthe train, he read the Question:
"Can the people of a United States Territory, in any lawful way, against the wish of any citizen of the United States, exclude slavery from its limits prior to the formation of a State Constitution?"
Mr. Medill listened intently.
"Abe," said he, solemnly, "Douglas will answer yes, or equivocate, andthat is all the assurance these Northern Democrats want to put SteveDouglas in the Senate. They'll snow you under."
"All right," answered Mr. Lincoln, quietly.
"All right?" asked Mr. Medill, reflecting the sheer astonishment of theothers; "then why th
e devil are you wearing yourself out? And why are wespending our time and money on you?"
Mr. Lincoln laid his hand on Medill's sleeve.
"Joe," said he, "a rat in the larder is easier to catch than a ratthat has the run of the cellar. You know, where to set your trap in thelarder. I'll tell you why I'm in this campaign: to catch Douglas now,and keep him out of the White House in 1860. To save this country ofours, Joe. She's sick."
There was a silence, broken by two exclamations.
"But see here, Abe," said Mr. Medill, as soon as ever he got his breath,"what have we got to show for it? Where do you come in?"
Mr. Lincoln smiled wearily.
"Nowhere, I reckon," he answered simply.
"Good Lord!" said Mr. Judd.
Mr. Medill gulped.
"You mean to say, as the candidate of the Republican party, you don'tcare whether you get to the Senate?"
"Not if I can send Steve Douglas there with his wings broken," was thecalm reply.
"Suppose he does answer yes, that slavery can be excluded?" said Mr.Judd.
"Then," said Mr. Lincoln, "then Douglas loses the vote of the greatslave-holders, the vote of the solid South, that he has been fosteringever since he has had the itch to be President. Without the solid Souththe Little Giant will never live in the White House. And unless I'mmightily mistaken, Steve Douglas has had his aye as far ahead as 1860for some time."
Another silence followed these words. There was a stout man standing inthe aisle, and he spat deftly out of the open window.
"You may wing Steve Douglas, Abe," said he, gloomily, "but the gun willkick you over the bluff."
"Don't worry about me, Ed," said Mr. Lincoln. "I'm not worth it."
In a wave of comprehension the significance of all this was revealed toStephen Brice, The grim humor, the sagacious statesmanship, and (best ofall)--the superb self sacrifice of it, struck him suddenly. I think itwas in that hour that he realized the full extent of the wisdom he wasnear, which was like unto Solomon's.
Shame surged in Stephen's face that he should have misjudged him. He hadcome to patronize. He had remained to worship. And in after years, whenhe thought of this new vital force which became part of him that day,it was in the terms of Emerson: "Pythagoras was misunderstood, andSocrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, andNewton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be greatis to be misunderstood."
How many have conversed with Lincoln before and since, and knew him not!
If an outward and visible sign of Mr. Lincoln's greatness wereneeded,--he had chosen to speak to them in homely parables. The story ofFarmer Bell was plain as day. Jim Rickets, who had life all his own way,was none other than Stephen A. Douglas, the easily successful. The uglygaloot, who dared to raise his eyes only to the pear, was Mr. Lincolnhimself. And the pear was the Senatorship, which the galoot had deniedhimself to save Susan from being Mr. Rickets' bride.
Stephen could understand likewise the vehemence of the Republicanleaders who crowded around their candidate and tried to get him toretract that Question. He listened quietly, he answered with a patientsmile. Now and then he threw a story into the midst of this discussionwhich made them laugh in spite of themselves. The hopelessness of thecase was quite plain to Mr. Hill, who smiled, and whispered in Stephen'sear: "He has made up his mind. They will not budge him an inch, and theyknow it."
Finally Mr. Lincoln took the scrap of paper, which was even more dirtyand finger-marked by this time, and handed it to Mr. Hill. The trainwas slowing down for Freeport. In the distance, bands could be heardplaying, and along the track, line upon line of men and women werecheering and waving. It was ten o'clock, raw and cold for that time ofthe year, and the sun was trying to come out.
"Bob," said Mr. Lincoln, "be sure you get that right in your notes. And,Steve, you stick close to me, and you'll see the show. Why, boys," headded, smiling, "there's the great man's private car, cannon and all."
All that Stephen saw was a regular day-car on a sidetrack. A brasscannon was on the tender hitched behind it.
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