Norman B. Judd, who was part of Lincoln’s entourage, disagreed with such criticism. Writing from Buffalo, he reported that “the demonstrations at all points have been very imposing, and whatever doubts may have existed as to the expediency of this kind of journey … would be entirely dispelled if the doubters could see what I have seen and whatever opinion may be formed by persons only reading about Mr. L’s [passage?] I can say that it has been effective in the extreme.” The “excursion will do an immense Service politically,” he predicted.123 James A. Garfield also thought the “tour is having a very fine effect in strengthening the hopes of the union men—and the back-bones of ‘Emasculates.’ ”124 By the same token, Lincoln’s speeches convinced residents of the Lower South that they now had to deal with no weak-willed clone of James Buchanan but rather a firm leader resolved to maintain the Union. They assumed his policies would lead to war, which they confidently assumed they would win.
Lincoln was gaining the affection as well as the respect of many auditors. “Each of the million men whom he meets will have deeper interest in his success, for having seen him, and heard him,” predicted the Ohio State Journal.125 O. H. Dutton of the New York Tribune noted that Lincoln’s power lay “not in his presence or in his speech, but in the honesty and gloriously refreshing sincerity of the Man. In him there is no guile; but he has not the weakness which is often the characteristic of what the Yankees call cleverness. Look at his mouth, and, while you will see nothing dogmatic or overbearing there, you will know that he to whom it belongs is not to be trifled with, and that any trust committed to his keeping will be guarded with unflinching honor. His passage through the country has been like the return of grateful sunshine after a cloudy Winter’s day. The people breathe more freely, and hope revives in all hearts.”126 While acknowledging that the president-elect did not seem to be a particularly gifted extemporaneous speaker, the Springfield, Massachusetts, Republican praised his “distrust of his own capacity for the important position he is about to take, his confidence in the divine guidance and protection, his fraternal and conciliatory spirit towards all parties and all sections, and his firm adherence to essential principles.” Although his addresses contained clichés about upholding the Constitution and enforcing the laws, the Republican noted that “from a man of trusted sincerity and integrity even these common-places have had significance and power, and have increased the general confidence that the government has fallen into safe hands at the great crisis in its history.”127 Thurlow Weed’s Albany Evening Journal aptly observed that it “is no easy matter to talk so much and to do so little harm in talking. … Very few men have the faculty to say nothing, and fewer still to speak at all under circumstances like those which surround Mr. Lincoln, without doing mischief.”128 The Providence Journal declared that the president-elect’s speeches were “fully justifying the confidence which has been placed in him.”129 A Washington correspondent for a Republican paper reported that Lincoln’s utterances “exercised a most salutary influence among the Republicans, both in and out of Congress.”130
Tiring though it was, the journey also had a salutary effect on Lincoln’s spirits, which rose dramatically. The “encouragement he has received, [and] the hearty support he has been promised, have more than counterbalanced the fatigues of the way,” noted a reporter traveling with the president-elect.131
The presidential party spent a quiet Sunday in Buffalo, where Lincoln seemed tired but in good spirits. He and his companions were glad for the much-needed respite. Lincoln had shaken hands for two hours at a reception Saturday night. O. H. Dutton explained why the president-elect was especially tired after such an ordeal: “It is absolutely impossible for Mr. Lincoln to be a formalist in anything. If he makes a speech, he must say what he thinks; and when he shakes hands, he does it with a hearty will, in which his entire body joins. The consequence is that he is more weary after receiving a hundred people than some public men we could all name after being shaken by a thousand.”132 With ex-President Millard Fillmore, he attended church services presided over by Father John Beason, a noted American Indian preacher. Afterward Fillmore hosted Lincoln and his wife for lunch. The couple spent the rest of that cold, damp day quietly at their hotel.
Awkward Arrangements in Albany
In order to depart for Albany at 5:45 A.M., the entourage arose at 4 o’clock on Monday, February 18. It was a “grey, cold, dull winter morning, with snow on the ground,” Nicolay recollected. The “spectral dawn outside, and gloom and ominous shadows dimly penetrated by a few feeble lamp-rays inside the depot” gave “an air of unreality to the muffled or flitting forms.” Adding to the spooky effect were “the clanging and hissing sounds that came back in hollow echoes from walls and arches.”133 Hay, who deeply resented having to awake so early, called down maledictions on the organizer of the trip, William S. Wood. The young secretary summarized the journey across the Empire State in three words—“crowds, cannon, and cheers”—and painted a composite picture of the day’s images: “Such crowds—surging through long arches, cursing the military and blessing Old Abe; swinging hats, banners, handkerchiefs, and every possible variety of festival bunting, and standing with open mouths as the train, relentlessly punctual, moved away. The history of one is the history of all; depots in waves, as if the multitudinous seas had been let loose, and its billows transformed into patriots, clinging along roofs and balconies and pillars, fringing long embankments, swarming upon adjacent trains of motionless cars, shouting, bellowing, shrieking, howling, all were boisterous; all bubbling with patriotism. The enthusiasm for the President was spontaneous and universal; and when we reached Albany, everybody present congratulated himself that he had been a witness of one of the most memorable of triumphal processions which this or any other country has ever witnessed.”134
En route, Lincoln and his companions discussed a widely publicized squabble between Governor E. D. Morgan and the New York State Legislature over arrangements for the cavalcade’s visit to Albany. The governor sought to be Lincoln’s host exclusively, but the legislature wanted him to be more accessible to everyone. Both the press and the presidential entourage found such bickering “undignified and absurd.”135 At Buffalo, a persistent Morgan staffer had importuned Lincoln to stay and dine at the governor’s house; the president-elect agreed to do so because he understood that no other arrangements had been made. A while later, at Utica, members of the New York state special legislative committee on arrangements boarded the train and urged Lincoln not to spend all his time at the governor’s mansion but to attend a public reception at the Delavan House hotel. When told that arrangements were already settled in keeping with Morgan’s request, Lincoln ordered that the governor be informed that he would spend some time at the hotel reception. To a representative of the governor who protested that Morgan “would be very angry at this change,” Lincoln replied simply: “I can’t help it.”136 He accommodated both parties by first dining at the governor’s and then attending the reception at the hotel.
Rested after his Sabbath in Buffalo, though still suffering from hoarseness and a sore chest, Lincoln was pleased by the support pledged to him en route to Albany. His wife was not pleased, however, with his appearance. He had been wearing a battered, dust-covered hat, a threadbare overcoat, and trousers that failed to reach his unshined shoes. Mrs. Lincoln ordered William H. Johnson, the black servant accompanying them, to fetch the president-elect’s new hat and coat, which improved his appearance markedly. (A journalist described Johnson as “a likely mulatto” who was “a very useful member of the party” and whose “untiring vigilance” as “he took care of the Presidential party is entitled to high credit.”)137 The journalist Joseph Howard, Jr., reported that “Mr. Lincoln seemed physically better than at any time since leaving Springfield. The new hat and coat produce an effect that is very perceptible, and at the same time beneficial, though it is very doubtful if the wearer of them knows or cares anything about it.”138 Meanwhile, as the train sped through a snowstorm
past Batavia, Rochester, Utica, Syracuse, and Schenectady, the recently resigned senator from Mississippi, Jefferson Davis, was being inaugurated as provisional president of the Confederate States of America in Montgomery, the capital of both Alabama and the newly proclaimed nation.
Lincoln’s party reached the capital of New York in the afternoon amid great confusion. Because the police and the military were late in arriving, the large crowd surged unimpeded against the cars. After the tardy soldiers finally cleared a path to the speaker’s platform, Lincoln and the mayor emerged to faint cheering. The pushy crowd at first did not recognize the weary, bewhiskered gentleman who scarcely resembled the hearty, clean-shaven candidate depicted in popular prints. On the platform, Lincoln listened to the mayor’s welcoming speech and responded to it briefly. As he proceeded to the capitol, the public showed less enthusiasm than Westerners had displayed. Standing before Governor Morgan, he appeared pale and careworn. The local Democratic paper remarked that the president-elect “does not look as if he had the bodily vigor to stand the pressure upon him. He evidently has not the superiority of nature which compels respect and commands isolation, even amid crowds. Rude hands jostled him and his underlings commanded him; and all about him the struggle was who was to control him.”139
In the chamber of the New York Assembly, Lincoln took his customary self-deprecation to unusual lengths, expressing gratitude to the legislature for its invitation: “It is with feelings of great diffidence, and I may say with feelings of awe, perhaps greater than I have recently experienced, that I meet you here in this place. The history of this great State, the renown of those great men who have stood here, and spoke here, and been heard here, all crowd around my fancy, and incline me to shrink from any attempt to address you. … It is true that while I hold myself without mock modesty, the humblest of all individuals that have ever been elevated to the Presidency, I have a more difficult task to perform than any one of them.”140
After dining with Governor Morgan, Lincoln attended the reception at the Delavan House, where 1,000 people shook his hand. According to a legislator in attendance, “Mrs. Lincoln, although nearly forty [actually forty-two], was dressed like a girl of eighteen with little loops over her shoulders, her arms bare. She wore white kid gloves, and outside of her gloves she wore every ring she possessed. One of the ladies on the Reception Committee on meeting her asked if she didn’t find life much gayer in the East. And Mrs. Lincoln ‘sizing her up’ coolly replied ‘Oh no, we have always been used to this.’ ”141 Henry Villard judged that the “whole reception has been a sort of failure—a miserable botch, characterized by snobbery throughout. The only part that passed off in any decent manner was the proceedings in the House. The whole affair has opened up developments and heart burnings that will make hereafter a bitter fight in the republican party.”142
The time spent in Albany, though disagreeable, had not been wasted. A journalist covering that city reported that “the impression made upon the masses here by the appearance and demeanor of the President elect has been unexpectedly favorable. So much has been said in disparagement of the personal appearance of Mr. Lincoln that imagination had depicted him with ogre-like lineaments; but, his face having been much improved by the beard, … he is found, on actual inspection, to be a perfectly presentable man, and in his frank and open features the people read at once the sure indications of a kind, generous and truthful nature.”143 One favorably impressed Albany clergyman said of Lincoln: “I think ninety five percent more of him, than before I saw him. … He will put his foot down pretty firmly in time. … I like Mr. Linco[l]n much. He is in the hearts of the people who have seen him more than any other man.”144 A Massachusetts man who traveled to Albany said Lincoln “looked 100 per cent better than I was led to suppose from any picture etc I had seen.”145 At the next stop (Troy), an abolitionist in the audience confided to his diary that “Mr. Lincoln is a better looking man than his portraits represent him.”146
In Albany, Thurlow Weed took charge of arranging a place for the Lincolns to stay in Washington prior to the inauguration. He was acting on behalf of Seward, who had invited the president-elect to lodge with him. Lincoln, at the prompting of his wife, who disliked Seward intensely, wrote to Illinois Congressman Elihu B. Washburne on February 15: “I have decided to stop at a public, rather than a private house, when I reach Washington; and Mrs. L. objects to the National [Hotel] on account of the sickness four years ago.” (In 1857, at that hostelry president-elect Buchanan, along with several other guests, had taken gravely ill.) “With this to guide you, please call to your assistance all our Republican members from Illinois, and select and engage quarters for us.”147 The following day, he telegraphed Seward about the changed plans. On February 19, Weed informed Willard’s Hotel that the president-elect and his aides would be staying there. But that very day Washburne, after consulting with Trumbull and his fellow Republican congressmen from Illinois, had rented a furnished house for the Lincolns. (According to a journalist, the public “is much divided as to the choice of a hotel or private house for his temporary stay. The former is so manifestly in accordance with propriety, and the accepted usage of his predecessors, that there ought to be no hesitation concerning it.”)148 The following day, Lord Thurlow read a press account of Washburne’s arrangements and informed Willard’s of the fact. Lincoln supposed that Washburne, who did not receive the president-elect’s letter till late on February 18, had chosen Willard’s. On February 21, Weed and Ward Hill Lamon explained to Willard’s that the presidential entourage would be their guests as of February 23. Simultaneously, Lamon informed Washburne that “Mr. Lincoln desires me to say to you that Mrs Lincoln objects to going to a private house. It is decided to go ‘Willards Hotel[.]’ It will be explained to you on our arrival.”149
The hotel management, understandably confused by the flurry of contradictory messages, asked Colonel E. V. Sumner to specify in writing what was desired. When told of this switch in plans, Lincoln said: “I fear, it will give mortal offense to our friends, but I think the arrangement a good one. I can readily see that many other well-meant plans will ‘gang aglee,’ but I am sorry. The truth is, I suppose I am now public property; and a public inn is the place where people can have access to me.”150 When the party arrived in the capital, a wealthy merchant, William E. Dodge, hurriedly vacated an elegant suite at Willard’s to make way for the Lincolns. The rest of the presidential entourage, however, had to settle for what Nicolay deemed “sorry accommodations.”151 The confusion stemmed from Washburne’s misreading of Lincoln’s letter and the president-elect’s delay in deciding on the kind of accommodations he wanted.
Reception in New York
Lincoln was relieved to depart Albany. As the train rolled toward New York City, he was so tired and feeling so poorly that he took little interest in political discussions. Upon reaching the town of Hudson, he was surprised and gratified by the special new car put at his disposal. It featured the latest heating and ventilating technology, plush carpets, luxurious ottomans and sofas, elegant upholstery, national flags suspended at each end, and star-spangled coverings for the walls and ceiling. He spoke at several stops, including Poughkeepsie, where he addressed a crowd of 10,000: “It is with your aid, as the people, that I think we shall be able to preserve—not the country, for the country will preserve itself, (cheers), but the institutions of the country—(great cheering); those institutions which have made us free, intelligent and happy—the most free, the most intelligent and the happiest people on the globe. (Tremendous applause.) I see that some, at least, of you are of those who believe that an election being decided against them is no reason why they should sink the ship. (“Hurrah.”) I believe with you, I believe in sticking to it, and carrying it through; and, if defeated at one election, I believe in taking the chances next time. (Great laughter and applause.)” He did not think that the voters “have chosen the best man to conduct our affairs, now—I am sure they did not—but acting honestly and sincerely, and with
your aid, I think we shall be able to get through the storm.”152
Stephen R. Fiske, who replaced Henry Villard as the New York Herald’s correspondent covering the president-elect’s journey, was struck by the unpretentious quality of Lincoln and his wife, whom he described as “common sense, home-like folks, unused to the glitter and gutter of society. Towering above all, with his face and forehead furrowed by a thousand wrinkles, his hair unkempt, his new whiskers looking as if not yet naturalized, his clothing illy arranged, Mr. Lincoln sat towards the rear of the saloon car.” Despite his unprepossessing appearance, the president-elect was obviously, Fiske said, “a man of immense power and force of character and natural talent. He seems so sincere, so conscientious, so earnest, so simple hearted, that one cannot help liking him, and esteeming any disparagement of his abilities or desire to do right as a personal insult.”153
Arriving in Manhattan, Lincoln was glad to find 1,300 police efficiently controlling the crowds (the largest of the entire journey) along the streets connecting the train station and the Astor House. “Such a crowd as greeted his arrival I have never seen,” wrote an observer. “A distance of probably six miles, on the route from the Depot to the Hotel, the streets were positively jammed with human beings, of all sizes, sexes, and colors.”154 During the ride, Lincoln occasionally stood to acknowledge cheers, but for the most part he remained seated, manifestly drained by the rigors of the trip. Despite appearing pallid and sorely burdened by his grave responsibilities, he seemed to one journalist “firm, self-possessed, and … equal to the stupendous task before him.”155 George William Curtis noted that “he looked at the people with a weary, melancholy air, as if he felt already the heavy burden of his duty.”156
Abraham Lincoln: A Life, Volume 2 Page 5
