“WE ARE COMING!”
On the saddlecloth were the words,
“CLEAR THE TRACK!”
The headlines below the picture said:
A POLITICAL EARTHQUAKE
THE PRAIRIES ON FIRE FOR LINCOLN!
THE BIGGEST DEMONSTRATION EVER HELD
IN THE WEST
The great rally was but one of many such dramatic gatherings across the country. The vast crowds whipped up strained emotions and kept people conscious of the election—and of their country’s political conflict.
The parade was only a brief interruption in Abraham Lincoln’s program. The next morning he continued seeing people and reading letters. Market baskets piled with mail arrived daily from the post office, and he attempted to read every letter and to answer (in longhand) as many as he could.
One letter in his daily pile gave him special pleasure.
NY
Westfield Chautauqua Co.
Oct 15, 1860
Hon A B Lincoln
Dear Sir
My father has just come home from the fair and brought home your picture and Mr. Hamlin’s. I am a little girl only eleven years old, but want you should be president of the United States very much so I hope you wont think me very bold to write to such a great man as you are. Have you any little girls about as large as I am if so give them my love and tell her to write to me, if you cannot answer this letter. I have got 4 (?) brothers and part of them will vote for you anyway and if you will let your whiskers grow I will try and get the rest of them to vote for you you would look a great deal better for your face is so thin. All the ladies like whiskers and they would tease their husbands to vote for you and then you would be President. My father is agoing to vote for you to but I will try and get every one to vote for you that I can think that rail fence around your picture makes it look very pretty I have got a baby sister she is nine weeks old and is just as cunning as can be. When you direct your letter diret to Grace Bedell Westfield Chautauqua County New York.
I must not write any more answer this letter right off Goodbye
Grace Bedell
Lincoln replied in his own hand.
Private
Springfield, Ills.
Oct. 19, 1860
Miss Grace Bedell
MY DEAR LITTLE MISS,
Your very agreeable letter of the 15th. is received.
I regret the necessity of saying I have no daughters. I have three sons—one seventeen, one nine and one seven, years of age. They, with their mother, constitute my whole family.
As to the whiskers, having never worn any, do you not think people would call it a piece of silly affection if I were to begin it now—?
Your very sincere well-wisher
A. Lincoln
THE PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES OF 1860
Construction at the U.S. Capitol, including a column named to recognize Abraham Lincoln’s election as president on November 6, 1860.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN became president without even winning a majority of the vote, receiving 1,865,908 votes out of about 4.5 million cast. This was due to the fact that there were four candidates that year:
STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS The Northern Democratic candidate, also from Illinois, Douglas received almost 1.4 million votes, and might have won the election if not for two other candidates diluting the vote.
It was Douglas’s Kansas–Nebraska Act, which sought to allow slavery in some territories where it had been previously closed, that led some Democrats to rebel and form the Republican Party. After losing the election, Douglas became a vigorous supporter of the Union but died of typhoid fever in 1861.
JOHN BRECKINRIDGE A member of the Southern Democratic Party faction from Kentucky, Breckinridge received 848,000 votes. He was a strong proponent of the rights of states to determine the policy toward slavery. The fact that Northern and Southern Democrats could not agree on a single candidate paved the way for Abraham Lincoln’s victory. Breckinridge became a brigadier general and later Secretary of War for the Confederacy.
JOHN BELL A member of the Constitutional Union Party from Tennessee, Bell initially fought vigorously against secession from the Union and the expansion of slavery but became a strong Confederate advocate.
Pictures taken some weeks after this letter show that Lincoln had grown a beard, in the modish fashion of the day. He wore it the rest of his life. When he went to Washington for his inauguration, the train stopped in Westfield and he met and talked to Grace Bedell.
Election day, November 6th, was clear and warm. Springfield people got up early and milled around the square. Lincoln had decided not to vote; it didn’t seem mannerly. But friends told him that his party needed his vote for other offices. So he cut off the upper part of his ticket and voted. Local pride got the better of politics, and men and boys of all parties cheered him when he went to the polls.
When returns began to “tap in,” Lincoln went to the small telegraph office and sat tranquilly, awaiting his fate. Reports from the North came first and of course were good. Telegraphers gathered up batches of messages and read news to the people waiting outside. When the South began to be heard from Lincoln remarked, “Now we should get a few licks back!”
At midnight Lincoln and a few others went to a party prepared by the ladies. Mrs. Lincoln, flushed and excited, was there. During the party a few friends risked congratulating Lincoln.
“How do you do, Mr. President?” was a choice bit of wit.
By one-thirty Republican victory seemed certain, and the Lincolns went home. But the city’s jollification lasted till dawn. When the official count was published, Lincoln had won the electoral vote of every free state but New Jersey (it was divided); but his vote was nearly a million less than the total of his opponents, so he was a minority president. And Republicans were a minority in both houses of Congress. It was a staggering task that awaited him in Washington—made worse by the fact that many, both Republicans and Democrats, thought that Lincoln’s election was a national calamity. Now when it was too late, many Republicans wished that the experienced Seward had been elected; Democrats saw in Lincoln’s election the end of the union of states and probably civil war. Meanwhile, Buchanan, with the best of intention and little forcefulness, marked time in Washington. Everyone waited as people wait for a burning fuse to set off a bomb.
In preparation for his new office Lincoln must select his cabinet and write his inaugural address. But how was a man to think and write when the country seemed to be going to pieces around him? Soon after the election South Carolina seceded. Every mail brought word of more trouble! Southerners honestly believed that only by withdrawing from the Union could they save their way of life. Soon six other states—Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Florida, and Texas—joined South Carolina and formed the Confederate States of America with the distinguished Jefferson Davis, former United States Senator, as their president.
In December, frightened statesmen tried to get some agreement that would save the country. They even proposed that the Missouri Compromise be restored. But Lincoln refused because he had been elected on his promise that slavery should not spread. It was too late to bring back an agreement that would let slavery into the west.
Terror—a secret, fearful terror—spread like a sickness over the country. Even Republicans who had voted for Lincoln felt that they had gone too far. Many were relieved when word got out that William Seward was to be the Secretary of State. He was a “safe man.” He could save the country. Lincoln, they now thought, didn’t know much about statecraft.
In the midst of all this turmoil, Lincoln gathered a few books and shut himself in a back room over a store to write his address. He had with him his history of the United States with the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, the speeches of his favorite statesmen—Webster, Jackson, and Clay—and the Bible. The country eyed that room. What was Lincoln writing? Would he try to appease and save the nation from war? Or would he defy—and bring on armed conflict?
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p; In February, after the Confederates had taken several Gulf forts and had threatened Fort Sumter, the speech was finished. The cabinet was chosen too: Lincoln asked his three rivals for the nomination—Seward, Bates, and Cameron—and four others to be his advisers. This must have taken courage, but Lincoln never lacked for that.
Now it was time to wind up personal business in Springfield. He rented his house and sold the furniture. He traveled to Charleston, Illinois, to bid his stepmother good-bye and see that she was well cared for. He had a long talk with Billy Herndon about their law partnership; and as he left the office, he pointed to their shabby sign.
“Let it hang,” he said. “Give our clients to understand that the election of a president makes no change in the firm of Lincoln & Herndon. If I live, I’m coming back sometime; and then we’ll go right on practicing law as if nothing had ever happened.”
He went to Billy’s Barber Shop and had the new beard trimmed. Proud Billy hated to see his friend go away.
“We colored people will miss you, Mr. Lincoln,” he said.
After Lincoln left the shop, Billy remarked to a friend: “I feel uneasy about Mr. Lincoln—almost as though he may never come back to Springfield.” Billy stood at the window watching as Lincoln walked away.
Long ago Abe Lincoln had felt a clear conviction about the time to leave New Salem. His success in law and in politics had proved the rightness of that decision. But leaving Springfield seemed hardly an act of his own choosing. He was now riding a tide of monstrous events.
The eleventh of February was a dreary day. Mr. Lincoln drove to the railroad station in a drizzle of cold rain. But weather did not keep friends from coming to see him off. The crowds made it impossible to say a personal farewell to each one, but he could not leave without expressing his friendship. After he got aboard the train he walked through to the end platform and stood a moment in the cold, looking at these loyal friends. Then he spoke to them:
“My friends: No one, not in my situation, can appreciate my feeling of sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my children have been born, and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when or whether ever, I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of that Divine Being, who ever attended him, I cannot succeed. With that assistance I cannot fail. Trusting in Him who can go with me, and remain with you, and be every where for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet be well. To His care commending you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affectionate farewell.”
Lincoln turned, pulled his old gray shawl tighter around his neck, and went into the car. The whistle blew. The train stirred; people waited as it slowly moved out of sight. Then they silently turned away. Abraham Lincoln, their friend and neighbor, was gone from their town. Uneasy and sad, they plodded to their homes.
• CHAPTER SIXTEEN •
WASHINGTON IN 1861
The journey from Springfield to Washington could be done in two or three days, but Lincoln’s trip was to last two weeks. The train was to stop at many places where he would see important people, hold conferences, and make speeches. His advisers hoped that a sight of him might quiet rising tension. His manner was so friendly that shaking his hand made a person feel his kindly nature and gave people confidence.
So it was the twenty-first of February when he arrived in Philadelphia. Mrs. Lincoln and the small boys had joined him, and they were conducted from train to hotel with a great parade.
The inauguration of Abraham Lincoln, March 4, 1861.
Few knew that while gay crowds thronged the streets three men were anxiously conferring in a small room. Two were friends of Lincoln who were making the trip with him. The third was the detective, Allan Pinkerton.
“There is a plot to murder Mr. Lincoln in Baltimore!” Pinkerton told them.
The men were not so surprised as Pinkerton had expected. They knew Lincoln’s life had been threatened; likely this was just another crackpot. Lincoln would laugh at their fears. But the detective was insistent. Vague threats could be brushed off. This was a definite plot. Lincoln must not go through Baltimore by daylight, as planned.
“Then you’ll have to tell him yourself!” the men said.
Pinkerton went to Lincoln that evening and was laughed at for his worry. Lincoln had planned to attend a flag-raising at Independence Hall, Philadelphia, the next day, to speak in Harrisburg, and to go through Baltimore; and he intended to carry out that plan. After much argument he was persuaded to protect himself by letting them slip him through Baltimore in the night. But he refused to miss that ceremony at Independence Hall and the speech at Harrisburg.
The next day the flag was raised, and Mr. Lincoln spoke words that showed his deep love for the famous document written in that hall.
“I am filled with deep emotion (he said) at finding myself standing … in this place … from which sprang the institutions under which we live… . All the political sentiments I entertain have been drawn … from sentiments which originated and were given to the world from this hall.” He said that he thought often of the men who wrote the Declaration of Independence and the army that achieved the freedom it declared. Liberty should not be just for separation from the mother country; it should be for all people in the world for all future time. If the country could be saved with freedom for all, he would be the happiest of men. If it could not be saved with freedom, “I would rather be assassinated on this spot than surrender it.” And he promised that there would be no blood shed except in self-defence.
After he had finished in Philadelphia and Harrisburg, he reluctantly allowed himself to be smuggled through Baltimore in the night. But when he arrived safely in Washington the next morning, he said it was a shabby way to approach the greatest office in the land.
Hours behind him, the special train with his family and party arrived in Washington, and they joined him at the Willard Hotel. At once the Lincoln suite took on the gay air of a continual party. Mrs. Lincoln had pretty sisters, nieces, and cousins with her and handsome Robert had come down from Harvard for his father’s inauguration. Mr. Lincoln’s two secretaries were attractive young men and had their hands full managing the many visitors.
Robert was a mannerly youth. His middle name Todd was aptly chosen, for he was a Kentucky gentleman—and always correct. Willie and Tad gleefully dodged through the rooms; they were by now badly pampered youngsters, but their devoted father seemed to find their energy diverting.
And so the important day drew near.
March 4th was windy and raw in spite of sunshine. Thousands who had come to see the inauguration could not find places to sleep. They washed at public fountains and milled around the city. A few buildings were gaily decorated. Others were tightly shuttered, reminding visitors that Washington, like Baltimore, was really a southern city. Pennsylvania Avenue had been freshly swept and looked its best, but the sight of Federal soldiers marching to stations along the way was disturbing. Sabers gleamed; feet tramped with military correctness. The crowds eyed the soldiers uncomfortably.
Many friends had come from Illinois for the day. Among these was Mentor Graham, the kindly schoolteacher of New Salem. He had drawn from his precious savings: bought a new suit, hat, and railroad ticket. This day, when the youth he had taught grammar and surveying would become the president of the United States, was a great day in Graham’s life.
As Abraham Lincoln stepped onto the platform, he was carefully dressed. His suit was well made, his tall hat shone, his shirt bosom was white, his boots new, and he carried a shiny ebony cane topped with gold. But where should he put the thing? The small stand before him would barely hold the manuscript of his address.
Senator Douglas, sitting near, reached out, took both hat and cane, and held them through the ceremony. Mr. Lincoln gazed at the assembled people; many a time he and Douglas had f
aced as big a crowd on a prairie. How strange to be together here; one holding a hat, one taking a high office.
Senator Baker of Oregon made the introduction. “Fellow citizens, I introduce to you Abraham Lincoln, the President-elect of the United States.”
Hardly a ripple of applause broke the tense silence as Mr. Lincoln stepped to the speaker’s stand, took his address from his pocket, and began to speak.
“Fellow citizens of the United States: In compliance with a custom as old as the government itself, I appear before you to address you briefly, and to take in your presence, the oath prescribed by the Constitution of the United States, to be taken by the President ‘before he enters on the execution of his office.’ ”
Then in clear statements he assured Southern states that he would not interfere with slavery where it was legal and that fugitive slaves from such states would be returned. He reminded the South that forts belonged to the Federal government, but that he would try to avoid irritation in carrying out government work. These matters attended to, he began what to him was the most important part of his address: he begged the people to keep an unbroken union.
“Physically … we cannot separate,” he said. “We cannot remove our respective sections one from each other, nor build an impassable wall between… . Suppose you go to war, you cannot fight always; and when, after much loss on both sides and no gain on either you cease fighting, the identical old questions … are again upon you… . Nothing valuable can be lost by taking time … Intelligence, patriotism, Christianity, and a firm reliance on Him who has never yet forsaken this favored land, are still competent to adjust in the best way all our present difficulty… .
A copy of the Emancipation Proclamation.
“I am loathe to close. We are not enemies but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”
Abraham Lincoln Page 11
