The next day, May 4, Latham met with Douglas, “who was under the influence of liquor. . . . His eye flashed fire when he spoke of his enemies and called them ‘blood hounds after his life &c.’ Said ‘this controversy has but commenced &c.’ I told him there was ‘too much fire in his eye, for a great man and he showed too much passion, to keep cool, it would all come right.’ He said I would feel, when they got after me.”
Lincoln’s defense of the Republican Party against the charges of both Douglas and the Southerners in his Cooper Union speech proved to be a strange guide to the war between Douglas and the South inside the Democratic Party. Douglas had assailed Lincoln for his “house divided” speech and as a representative of a sectional “Black Republican Party.” Yet Douglas was subjected to the same withering attacks from his enemies within. He was the one accused of being the sectional candidate, the one dividing the house, no better than a Black Republican. Just as Lincoln pointed out to Republicans that nothing would satisfy Southerners except agreeing with them on the unrestricted rights of slavery, Douglas faced the same demand of utter capitulation as the only act that would pacify them. Lincoln’s speech was a prophecy of Douglas’s catastrophe. At Charleston, his brand of popular sovereignty imploded and his impending crisis exploded into the Democrats’ irrepressible conflict.
Douglas had devised his “great principle” of popular sovereignty to evade hard choices, create a soft center, and maneuver to preeminence above controversy. But his doctrine had perversely been used to crush him at the convention he thought would crown him. The fights over the platform and the two-thirds rule, which had been enacted in 1844 to secure Southern veto over the presidential nomination, gave substance to popular sovereignty that Douglas never imagined. He believed in the rule of the majority. The Southerners, even many of those who did not bolt, did not believe in it. They did not believe in its application at the Democratic convention; nor did they believe in it within the nation. Since John C. Calhoun, they had sought to find formulas for sustaining minority rule. The Alabama Platform was a pure form of Calhounism. At the convention, the Democratic Party shattered over democracy itself. The churches had already divided over slavery, the Whigs had fragmented, and the Democratic split was the destruction of the last national institution uniting the country.
On the day the Charleston convention was suspended, May 4, the New York Times ran an editorial, “The Disruption of the Democratic Party,” acknowledging the harsh reality:
The Charleston Convention has abandoned the attempt to nominate a Democratic candidate for the Presidency. . . . The contest between the two sections of the Union has at last penetrated the Democratic Party, and rendered it impossible for the two wings to agree upon a declaration of principles. When the majority adopted its platform the minority seceded. . . . The result was to give the South the victory. They have controlled the Convention, and prevented the nomination of any candidate. . . . The disruption itself is a fact of very marked importance, not only in the history of political parties but of the country itself. It seems to sever the last link of nationality in the political affairs of the Union. . . . We regard the struggle as one for political power. . . . The Slave States have substantially controlled the policy of the Federal Government for the last fifty years. . . . The time has come when they must relinquish their grasp. Power is passing into the hands of the majority. . . . It is among the inevitable events of political history. . . . The South can either accept it as inevitable and make the best of it,—or plunge the whole country into turmoil, and bring down swift ruin upon its own borders, in the vain contest against national growth and development.
Alexander Stephens, who if Douglas had won the nomination at Charleston might have been his running mate, reflected to a friend that “men will be cutting one another’s throats in a little while. In less than twelve months we shall be in a war, and that the bloodiest in history. Men seem to be utterly blinded to the future. . . . The only hope was at Charleston. If the party could have agreed there we might carry the election. As it is, the cause is hopelessly lost. . . . Mark me, when I repeat that in less than twelve months we shall be in the midst of a bloody war.” From the remove of the turmoil on his estate in Georgia, he wondered, “What amazes me in Douglas is his desire to be President. I have sometimes asked him what he desired the office for.”
Remains of the South Carolina Institute Hall, 1865
The Douglas men leaving Charleston were sunk in depression; no gambit, not the resumption of the convention at Baltimore, would put the party back together again. “It is the prevalent impression that the Democratic Party has been done for,” wrote Halstead. “Even if it should be possible to patch up a superficial reconciliation, and nominate with a whole Convention, the nomination would be worthless. I hear it stated here a hundred times a day, by the most orthodox Democrats and rampant Southerners, ‘William H. Seward will be next President of the United States.’ ”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE RAILSPLITTER
On April 29, the sixth day of the Democratic convention, divided over its platform, but with the result unclear, Lincoln wrote Trumbull, “The taste is in my mouth a little.”
Lincoln, The Railsplitter, painting, 1860
Lincoln’s understated line was an unmistakable announcement of his candidacy. It appeared plainly stated, slyly humorous and slightly humble in the Lincoln style. But it was in its simplicity his indirect way of telling Trumbull that he was aware of Trumbull’s unannounced national ambitions, that he had precedence over him, and that he would overcome the tangled politics that threatened to sideline him once again.
The Chicago Press and Tribune had raised the banner of Lincoln, and it published a pamphlet of his Cooper Union speech. But behind the scenes its editor Joseph Medill tried to keep all avenues open. Just after the Cooper Union speech, and perhaps as a result of Seward’s scolding of Medill for his Lincoln enthusiasm, the Tribune published an editorial suggesting that Lincoln “would not permit his friends to use his name in rivalry with that of Mr. Seward.” The Illinois State Journal on March 13 reprimanded the Tribune. “Has Mr. Seward, then, such transcendent claims upon the party, that no other man must be mentioned by the side of him? . . . If Mr. Lincoln’s name is presented to the Convention, it will not be ‘in rivalry’ with Mr. Seward, Mr. Bates, or anybody else: but because ‘his friends,’ as a matter of expediency and choice prefer him as their candidate, and believe that under his leadership the Republican party is sure of the victory.”
“The Illinois State Journal will not provoke a controversy with us,” the Tribune replied on March 15, observing, “The views expressed in that [editorial], we doubt not, are the views of Mr. Lincoln himself.” Trying to climb down, the Tribune said that while Seward “is unquestionably the choice of a majority of the Republican party,” and that Lincoln “would not” consider Seward’s nomination “inexpedient,” the paper stated, “Mr. Lincoln is our candidate—has been so from the beginning, and will be so until the Convention takes from us the right as partisans to press his claims.”
The Tribune’s tentative tone revealed its skepticism about Lincoln’s chances, even though it endorsed him as a favorite son of Illinois, which gave the paper a modicum of influence. Privately, Medill wrote Trumbull to assay his interest in running as the vice president on a ticket headed by Supreme Court Justice John McLean, whose candidacy had quickly folded in 1856 and who was now seventy-five years old. Medill told Trumbull that “a young, fresh, reliable” running mate would balance McLean. “The judge is old and may not live thro’ a term,” he wrote encouragingly. He added that to be sure he was still for Lincoln, but just exploring hypothetical possibilities. Trumbull took his suggestion more seriously. He wrote McLean that he was “the only person who can be nominated in Chicago in opposition to Governor Seward,” and “I think we could also give you Illinois” in the convention after Lincoln’s bid fell apart. The taste was also in Trumbull’s mouth a little.
Medill’s can
didate shopping and Trumbull’s interest were complicated by the running feud between “Long John” Wentworth and Norman B. Judd, and by David Davis’s siding with Wentworth. Wentworth, just reelected mayor of Chicago, with Judd’s support in the end, was determined to destroy Judd’s effort to win the Republican nomination for governor. Judd, the longtime intimate ally of Trumbull, wrote him on April 2 trying to draw him into active participation in the Lincoln campaign, a letter that clearly was crafted in consultation with other members of Lincoln’s inner circle and had received Lincoln’s approval. “Cannot a quiet combination between the delegates from New Jersey Indiana and Illinois be brought about—including Pennsylvania—United action by those delegates will probably control the convention—Nothing but a positive position will prevent Seward’s nomination—The movement for Lincoln has neutralized to some extent the Bates movement in our state. . . . State pride will carry a resolution of instruction through our convention—This suggestion has been made to Mr. L.”
Wentworth and Davis engaged in a ploy using Trumbull’s flirtation with McLean to turn Lincoln against Judd in order to give Wentworth control with Davis over Lincoln’s candidacy. It was a scheme that was completely obvious to Lincoln. On April 21, Wentworth wrote Lincoln, “I enclose you an article (one of many that I see) placing Trumbull in rivalry with you for vice President.” He emphasized, “Davis is here. He agrees with me in all things.” Judd’s work for Lincoln’s nomination, he warned, would end badly. “Davis and I shall not call until you are beaten once more,” he wrote acidly.
They especially agreed that Judd should be defeated for governor. Judd was “crying and whining,” and wanted to exclude Wentworth from the state party convention in Decatur on May 9. Wentworth declared, “I do not intend that he should be Governor under any circumstances!” He concluded, “I shall be at Decatur anyhow and so should you.”
Two days later, on April 23, in tandem with Wentworth, Davis wrote Lincoln that Wentworth should replace Judd as his campaign manager. “I am more and more convinced of the wonderful power of John Wentworth—If he had managed the campaign in this State in 1858, I wd have bet half I am worth that you would have been successful.” To advance Wentworth to Lincoln, Davis tried to create bad blood between Lincoln and Judd as well as bad blood between Lincoln and Trumbull. Davis cited Wentworth’s superior political insight. “He believes that the Tribune clique as he calls them, are devoted to the Elevation of Seward Trumbull and that then going for you is a mere blind—He believes this—There is no mistake about it, and I must confess to sharing his opinion a good deal—He wishes to make you the great man of the State and not Trumbull—No matter what his motive, you could not have a more Effective or efficient friend.” Davis relayed Wentworth’s gossip that Gustave Koerner, the German American leader, “is not to be relied on” and “really for Seward.” Davis urged Lincoln that he must appoint Wentworth one of his delegates to the national convention to take charge of his candidacy. “Wentworth must be appointed one of the delegates at large—I will vouch for his faithfulness. . . . You ought to have got him long ago to ‘run you.’ ” “Write me,” Davis finished. Lincoln, however, did not. The episode only increased his mistrust of Wentworth, and Davis’s judgment by extension.
The day after Davis’s letter was sent, Trumbull wrote Lincoln that he had taken a survey of his political contacts in the key states and concluded that Seward “cannot” and “should not be nominated.” Trumbull did not believe Bates could be nominated either. The only option would be McLean. But Trumbull insisted, “I wish to be distinctly understood as first & foremost for you. I want our State to send delegates not only instructed for you, but your friends who will stand by and nominate you if possible, never faltering unless you yourself shall so advise.” McLean should “only be taken up as a compromise candidate,” and only in “the belief, that it would be better to take him and probable victory than Seward and probable defeat.” He finished, “I want to know your views.”
To this letter, Lincoln for the first time unequivocally declared his candidacy. Having confessed his interest, he offered his assessment of the state of play. “Now, as to my opinions about the chances of others in Illinois. I think neither Seward or Bates can carry Illinois if Douglas shall be on the track; and that either of them can, if he shall not be.” Lincoln’s chance as he saw it depended upon Douglas prevailing. If the Democrats were to nominate anyone more favorable to the Southern position than Douglas, then it would be generally felt that any Republican could win. But with Douglas as the Democratic nominee the sense that Seward couldn’t match his appeal in the lower North would become a growing factor at the Republican convention.
“A word now for your own special benefit,” Lincoln wrote confidentially. “You better write no letters which can possibly be distorted into opposition, or quasi opposition to me. There are men on the constant watch for such things out of which to prejudice my peculiar friends against you. While I have no more suspicion of you than I have of my best friend living, I am kept in a constant struggle against suggestions of this sort.”
The election of delegates in Cook County to the state convention on April 28 was a battle royal between Wentworth and Judd. Wentworth used every tool at his disposal including dispatching the Chicago police as precinct workers, but Judd swept the slate winning all forty-seven delegates. “. . . every man is a Lincoln as a first choice,” Judd wrote Lincoln on May 2. He advised him that the state ticket should include more than old Whigs, a strong suggestion that Lincoln might support him, an old Democrat. “You must quietly shape the destinies of the party,” Judd wrote. He warned that Wentworth had gone to Springfield, and “has probably seen you before this and whispered his poison, it will not effect you—and our friends in the State house must not listen to his suggestions.”
Wentworth had in fact already come to Springfield. He repeated to Lincoln his stories about Trumbull, Judd, and the “Tribune clique.” “I tell you want, Lincoln,” he said. “You must do like Seward does—get a feller to run you.” The phrase was exactly the same as the one used by Davis. But Lincoln was not about to adopt Wentworth as his Thurlow Weed.
Lincoln’s men moved up the Illinois State Republican Convention to May 9 in Decatur in order to consolidate the state delegation behind him as a phalanx. Most of the counties were for him, the largest under Judd pledged to him, but there were pockets of support for Bates and Seward, and about thirty counties uncommitted. Lincoln’s greatest fear was a divided delegation, which would by itself doom his candidacy.
The chief of convention planning, Richard J. Oglesby, a lawyer from Decatur, a Mexican War veteran. and State Senate candidate, was not a delegate, but he was in charge of all arrangements. He directed the construction of a makeshift structure on State Street to house the convention, called “The Wigwam,” a wooden frame covered by a large tent he purchased from a traveling circus. Oglesby was fully committed to Lincoln, and wanted to “kill the Seward boom,” and had a notion that Lincoln needed an image to depict him as a symbol of free labor. He knew Lincoln’s elder cousin, John Hanks, who lived near Decatur, as an old settler, and had heard tales of his exploits on the Illinois frontier, how he and the Lincolns had migrated as one extended family in wagons from Indiana, how he and Lincoln had gone down the Mississippi on a flatboat to New Orleans, and how they had chopped down trees, and split the logs into rails. Oglesby took Hanks in a buggy about twelve miles west of the town to a clearing. Hanks identified a fence. “They are the identical rails we made,” he said. They detached two of them, tied them to the rear wagon axle and dragged them to Oglesby’s barn.
Thousands of delegates, party men, and onlookers crushed into the hastily built Wigwam. Jackson Grimshaw, a Lincoln man, called the convention to order. Joe Gillespie, Lincoln’s old friend, was elected chairman, and before any other business, he turned the convention over to Oglesby. Oglesby said he was “informed that a distinguished citizen of Illinois—and one whom Illinois would ever delight to honor w
as present, at the meeting, and he wished to move that this body invite him to a seat on the stand.” The delegates craned their necks to look to the back of the Wigwam. “Abraham Lincoln!” shouted Oglesby. “The storm of applause burst forth loud, long and deep,” recalled one delegate. “As it subsided—the motion was seconded—and passed.” But Lincoln could not make his way forward through the packed meeting. Suddenly he was lifted up, and carried above the heads of the throng, “until he found himself, kicking scrambling—crawling—upon the sea of heads between him and the stand. The enthusiasm was at too high a pitch, for the ludicrousness of the scene. . . . The cheering was like the roar of the sea, hats were thrown up by the Chicago delegation.” Lincoln “rose bowing and blushing,” smiled, and thanked the delegates for their “manifestations of esteem.”
All the Powers of Earth Page 74
