All the Powers of Earth

by Sidney Blumenthal

  Lane also came and went from the Tremont. “I saw Henry S. Lane at one o’clock, pale and haggard, with cane under his arm, walking as if for a wager, from one caucus-room to another, at the Tremont House,” reported Halstead. “He had been toiling with desperation to bring the Indiana delegation to go as a unit for Lincoln. And then in connection with others, he had been operating to bring the Vermonters and Virginians to the point of deserting Seward.”

  The morning edition of the Chicago Press and Tribune featured an urgent plea to nominate the candidate with the greatest “availability” in the “doubtful States.” Under the headline addressed to the delegates, Lincoln’s paper wrote: “That with a victory within our grasp, if that prudence is exercised which the crisis demands, there should be any number of delegates, who, for the sake of promoting the fortunes and gratifying the ambition of any living man, dare to stake all upon the contingency of a Democratic disruption, rather than throw themselves back upon the certain and reliable strength of the party opposed to the extension of Human Slavery, is too monstrous for belief.”

  Daylight broke on the last day of the convention, Friday, May 18, the day of the nomination, but the Pennsylvania delegation had not rested. Some delegates had agreed upon a resolution that the whole delegation should vote as a unit on the first ballot for Cameron and then by a majority vote continue to cast its vote as a unit. But a few didn’t want to vote for Cameron at all. At a caucus meeting at nine o’clock that morning Curtin, who was Cameron’s adversary, gave a passionate speech for the unit rule. It took some time for the delegates to walk to the Wigwam.

  The Seward throng gathered bright and early for their march behind Tom Hyer and a brass band to their choice seats in the Wigwam. The Lincoln men were anxious that the best tickets were being monopolized for Seward. The son of Jesse Fell recounted, “Father and the rest of the Committee had a rush meeting, at which it developed that through some underhand work that all the Seward adherents had been furnished tickets of admission and that if they all got in there would be no room for the Lincoln ‘rooters.’ So father suggested that he would have plenty more tickets printed, and that they would be put in the hands of their friends, at the same time cautioning their friends to be on hand early—which was done. Amongst some of the first New York tickets presented at the door were some that were not regular, and as a consequence, the door-keepers held them back until father could be seen, and meanwhile the Lincoln friends were getting the seats, and had done it so well that they concluded to let technicalities go and admit all those holding tickets.” Another Illinois man, Henry M. Russell, who had been head of the delegation from Urbana at the state convention and come to Chicago to assist the Davis group, recalled that he had helped “organize a coup which on bogus visitors’ tickets gained 300 Illinois rooters admission to the Wigwam on the last morning of the convention, and at the same time denied entrance to an equal number of jubilant New Yorkers who, after parading the Chicago streets headed by a bass band, planned to march into the hall and shout for Seward.” Inside the hall, Davis directed Dick Oglesby, who had invented “The Railsplitter,” and had “very stout lungs,” to “fill the body of the building where the public were admitted, with a strong-voiced brigade of shouters,” according to Leonard Swett.

  After the invocation and rap of the chairman’s gavel, the Pennsylvania delegation came in through a side door to find their seats occupied by squatting spectators. Once the interlopers were routed, William Evarts of New York arose to declare, “Sir, I take the liberty to name as the candidate to be nominated by this convention for the office of President of the United States, William H. Seward.” Halstead recorded the decibel level: “Hundreds of persons stopped their ears in pain. The shouting was absolutely frantic, shrill and wild. No Camanches, no panthers ever struck a higher note, or gave screams with more infernal intensity.” Then Judd put Lincoln’s name into nomination, the signal for the leather lung shouters. “Imagine all the hogs ever slaughtered in Cincinnati giving their death squeals together, a score of big steam whistles going (steam at 160 lbs. per inch), and you conceive something of the same nature. I thought the Seward yell could not be surpassed; but the Lincoln boys were clearly ahead, and feeling their victory, as there was a lull in the storm, took deep breaths all round, and gave a concentrated shriek that was positively awful, and accompanied it with stamping that made every plank and pillar in the building quiver.” Henry Lane jumped on a table, “swinging hat and cane, performed like an acrobat.”

  On the first ballot, Seward was in first place with 1731/2, but Lincoln was second at 102, just where the Illinois strategy wanted him to be. Bates had 48, Cameron 501/2, Chase 49, Dayton 14, McLean 10, Collamer of Vermont 10, and a few others. Seward’s totals in a few key states were less than expected. Indiana went for Lincoln, “a startler”—Caleb B. Smith had seconded his nomination—and it became apparent that the momentum was running against Seward.

  On the second ballot, Seward immediately took losses in New Hampshire and Vermont, where he could not afford any depletion, and four of Greeley’s “Oregon boys” shifted from Bates to Lincoln. Then Pennsylvania announced 48 votes for Lincoln. “The New Yorkers started as if an Orsini bomb had exploded.” The convention secretary declared the results: Seward 1841/2, Lincoln 181, Bates 35, Chase 421/2, Dayton 10, and a few scattered votes. Seward had gained a bit, but the holdouts were inclined to Lincoln. The inevitable suddenly came into clear sight.

  Without stop the roll of states was called for the third ballot. “Massachusetts!” Four switched from Seward to Lincoln. “Pennsylvania!” Four more switched to Lincoln. “Maryland!” All four Bates delegates and one for Seward switched to Lincoln. (The hidden hand of the Blairs was moving.) “Ohio!” Chase’s vote collapsed, 14 defected from his base and one for McLean shifting to Lincoln. Lincoln was now 11/2 short of the nomination. “Greeley saw it,” wrote Tarbell, “and a guileless smile spread over his features as he watched Thurlow Weed press his hand hard against his wet eyelids.”

  Joseph Medill of the Press and Tribune had insinuated himself in a seat on the convention floor amid the Ohio delegation, next to the state chairman, David Cartter, and whispered in his ear, “If you can throw the Ohio delegation to Lincoln, Chase can have anything he wants.” Cartter paused, called for recognition, and spoke in his stutter. “I-I a-arise, Mr. Chairman, to a-announce the c-change of f-four votes, from Mr. Chase to Abraham Lincoln.”

  “The deed was done,” wrote Halstead. “There was a moment’s silence. The nerves of the thousands, which through the hours of suspense had been subjected to terrible tension, relaxed, and as deep breaths of relief were taken, there was a noise in the wigwam like the rush of a great wind, in the van of a storm—and, in another breath, the storm was there. There were thousands cheering with the energy of insanity.” Cannons were fired on the roof of the Wigwam. Smoke and the smell of gunpowder wafted in through the open doors. A gigantic charcoal portrait of Lincoln was brought in and hung by the stage. One hundred guns were fired in salute at the Tremont House. “City wild with excitement. From my inmost heart I congratulate you,” Jesse Fell wired Lincoln.

  Weed was “completely unnerved by the result at Chicago” and burst into tears on the convention floor. He refused to be consulted on the vice presidency, “in a temper that indicated contempt for the action of the convention,” recalled McClure. The sentiment was on the side of Cassius M. Clay, but the nomination went to Senator Hannibal Hamlin, of Maine, a former Democrat who had supported Seward, an obvious balance. McClure visited Weed in his rooms and “found him sullen, and offensive in both manner and expression.” Curtin saw Weed, too, “very rude, indeed.” Weed bitterly accused Curtin of selfishness, “You have defeated the man who of all others was most revered by the people and wanted as President. You and Lane want to be elected, and to elect Lincoln you must elect yourselves.”

  Seward had expectantly awaited his anointment at his home in Auburn. “On the day when the convention was to ballot for
a candidate, Cayuga county poured itself into Auburn,” recalled his friend Henry Stanton. “The streets were full, and Mr. Seward’s house and grounds overflowed with his admirers. . . . Flags were ready to be raised, and a loaded cannon was placed at the gate, whose pillars bore up two guardian lions.” A messenger galloped up with the results of the first ballot. The crowd cheered. The messenger returned with the tally of the second ballot. “I shall be nominated on the next ballot,” said Seward, and “the throng in the house applauded, and those on the lawn and in the street echoed the cheers.” The messenger rode up again with another telegram: “Lincoln nominated. T.W.” “Seward turned as pale as ashes. The sad tidings crept through the vast concourse. The flags were furled, the cannon was rolled away, and Cayuga county went home with a clouded brow.”

  Stanton believed that Seward never truly recovered from the trauma of his loss. “Mr. Seward felt his defeat at Chicago beyond all power of expression, and he never forgave those who had actively contributed to produce it. In incensed moments he accused some men wrongfully, as he subsequently admitted. He was a good hater, and lay in wait to punish.” About a year later, Secretary of State Seward raised objections to Lincoln’s appointment of Carl Schurz to be minister to Spain. Schurz had been a stalwart Seward man at the convention, but Seward balked that his background as a revolutionary would not make him an effective diplomat to Bourbon Spain. Congressman John F. Potter, of New York, interceded for Schurz, telling him that rejecting the worthy Schurz would be “a severe disappointment to a good many people.” Seward leaped from his chair. “Disappointment! You speak to me of disappointment. To me, who was justly entitled to the Republican nomination for the presidency, and who had to stand aside and see it given to a little Illinois lawyer! You speak to me of disappointment!” (Schurz got the appointment.)

  While Chicago was delirious in revelry at Lincoln’s nomination, Davis and Judd pushed through the crowds in the street to see Weed at his hotel. They found him more sad than angry. He was, “for some purpose,” going to Iowa. They arranged for him to visit Springfield on his way east where they would introduce him to Lincoln. Weed came a week later, on May 24. “Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Weed,” recalled Swett, about the two politicians, “naturally ‘took to each other’ from the very day they met.”

  Edward Bates received the news of Lincoln’s nomination as an affront to his dignity. “Some of my friends who attended the Convention assure me,” he wrote in his diary, “that the nomination of Mr. Lincoln took every body by surprise: That it was brought about by accident or trick, by which my pledged friends had to vote against me.” He blamed “a few Germans . . . with their truculent boldness, scared the timid men of Ind[ian]a. into submission. Koerner went before the Ind[ian]a. Delegation and assured them that if Bates were nominated the Germans would bolt!” He believed that the Republicans would soon regret they had not chosen him. “I think they will soon be convinced, if they are not already, that they have committed a fatal blunder.” Judd sent Browning to see Bates at St. Louis to ask him if he would campaign for Lincoln. Bates declined, explaining that “he thought it would be in very bad taste, and incompatible with the dignity of his character and position.” But a month later he wrote an endorsement that was published in the St. Louis Democrat—“a great letter,” declared Browning.

  On the day that the struggle within the Wigwam reached its climax, Lincoln played handball against an alley wall with some boys. “This game makes my shoulders feel well,” he said. Then he sat around in the law office of his friend, James C. Conkling, a former state legislator and member of the Republican State Central Committee, who just returned from helping out Davis in Chicago. They killed time speculating about the convention for two hours, before Lincoln remarked, “Well, Conkling, I believe I will go back to my office and practice law.” Edward L. Baker, the Illinois State Journal’s editor, back from running his errand to Chicago for Lincoln, ran up the stairs to Lincoln’s office with the first ballot result. Lincoln decided to get word on the next rounds in the office of the Journal. Baker stationed himself at the telegraph office. Soon, a wire arrived: “TO LINCOLN YOU ARE NOMINATED.” Baker brought the telegram to the Journal, read it aloud, and led three cheers “for the next president.” “He [Lincoln] received all with apparent coolness from the expressions playing upon his countenance,” recalled a clerk in Lincoln’s law office, Charles. “However, a close observer could detect strong emotions within.” Lincoln announced he should leave to tell Mary. “I must go home. There is a little short woman there that is more interested in this matter than I am.” People hearing of the news had already excitedly begun to gather in front of the newspaper. “Boys,” said Lincoln, “you had better come and shake hands with me now that you have an opportunity—for you do not know what influence this nomination may have on me. I am human, you know.” “I can see him now as he went away,” one of Lincoln’s old friends, John Carmody, recalled. “He leaned forward and walked mighty fast. The boy that went with him had to run almost to keep up with him.”

  Lincoln’s Right Hand, cast by Leonard Volk

  In the late afternoon Lincoln saw a man walking down the street toward his house and went out to greet him. “His face looked radiant,” wrote Leonard Volk, who had already been on the train headed to Springfield while Lincoln was being nominated in the Wigwam. “I am the first man from Chicago, I believe, who has the honor of congratulating you on your nomination for President,” he said. Lincoln brought him into the house where Mary gave him a bouquet of roses she was carrying. Volk himself had a present for the Lincolns. It was a small version of the bust that Lincoln had sat for a month earlier.

  Volk asked Lincoln if he would allow him to make a full-scale statue and casts of his hands. Two days later, on Sunday morning, he recalled, “I found him ready, but he looked more grave and serious than he had appeared on the previous days.” Volk wanted to cast Lincoln’s right hand, swollen from shaking hands, grasping an object. “Thereupon he went to the wood-shed, and I heard the saw go, and he soon returned to the dining-room (where I did the work), whittling off the end of a piece of broom-handle.” Lincoln pointed to a scar on his hand. “You have heard that they call me a railsplitter, and you saw them carrying rails in the procession . . . well, it is true that I did split rails, and one day, while I was sharpening a wedge on a log, the ax glanced and nearly took my thumb off, and there is the scar, you see.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  A FALLEN STAR

  Three days after the Democratic convention at Charleston adjourned in shambles, on May 7, Jefferson Davis resumed the battle on the floor of the Senate by reintroducing his national slave code. Even before the Republican convention, he posed the challenge, “If a party hostile to our institutions shall gain possession of the Government, that we shall stand quietly by, and wait for an overt act? Is not a declaration of war an overt act? What would be thought of a country that, after a declaration of war, and whilst the enemy’s fleets were upon the sea, should wait until a city had been sacked before it would say that war existed, or resistance should be made? The power of resistance consists, in no small degree, in meeting the evil at the outer gate.” Douglas was “the evil” and his nomination “the outer gate.”

  Life mask of Stephen A. Douglas, cast by Leonard Volk, 1857

  It took the ill and rankled Douglas a week to reply. “I am no longer a heretic. I am no longer an outlaw from the Democratic Party,” he declared to the Senate on May 15, claiming that the passage of his platform at the suspended convention that failed to nominate him had vindicated him. But he was unable to finish his speech from physical exhaustion. The next day, he laid out how the Ultra leadership at Charleston had plotted “to divide and destroy the Democratic Party” for years, to “lead, directly, inevitably, to a dissolution of the Union, and the formation of a southern confederacy.” He flourished a letter written by Yancey in 1858, urging tactics “precipitating the cotton states into revolution.” Document in hand, Douglas accused, “So, it
seems, that, in 1858, a well-digested plan had been matured and approved by many of the ablest men of the South; and even in Virginia.” The plan “was not to be executed at once,” but again quoting Yancey, “at the proper time.” That time, Douglas stated, was at the Charleston convention, when “the program was carried out to the letter.” Yancey’s plan, “published two years ago, is a truthful history of the secession movement at Charleston.” Now, accusing Jefferson Davis without uttering his name, Douglas said, “The Yancey platform at Charleston, known as the majority report from the committee on resolutions, was the same as the Senate caucus resolutions; the same as the resolutions now under discussion, and upon which the Senate is called upon to vote.” Douglas went out of his way to say he would not accuse any senator of desiring “disunion.” But he warned, “that such a platform of principles, insisted upon, will lead directly and inevitably to a dissolution of the Union.”

  Jefferson Davis rose to the full height of his condescension to ridicule Douglas’s delusion that he possessed a particle of authority as the rightful Democratic nominee, the Little Giant hallucinating that he was the Sun King. “The fact that the Senator criticized the idea of the States prescribing the terms on which they will act in a party convention recognized to be representative, is suggestive of an extreme misconception of relative position; and the presumption with which the Senator censured what he was pleased to term ‘the seceders,’ suggested to me a representation of the air of the great monarch of France when, feeling royalty and power all concentrated in his own person, he used the familiar yet remarkable expression, ‘the State, that’s me.’ Does the Senator consider it a modest thing in him to announce to the Democratic Convention on what terms he will accept the nomination; but presumptuous in a State to declare the principle on which she will give him her vote? It is an advance on Louis Quatorze.”