The Crisis — Complete

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER II. ABRAHAM LINCOLN

  It is sometimes instructive to look back and see hour Destiny gave us akick here, and Fate a shove there, that sent us in the right directionat the proper time. And when Stephen Brice looks backward now, he laughsto think that he did not suspect the Judge of being an ally of thetwo who are mentioned above. The sum total of Mr. Whipple's words andadvices to him that summer had been these. Stephen was dressed morecarefully than usual, in view of a visit to Bellefontaine Road.Whereupon the Judge demanded whether he were contemplating marriage.Without waiting for a reply he pointed to a rope and a slab of limestoneon the pavement below, and waved his hand unmistakably toward theMississippi.

  Miss Russell was of the opinion that Mr. Whipple had once been crossedin love.

  But we are to speak more particularly of a put-up job, although Stephendid not know this at the time.

  Towards five o'clock of a certain afternoon in August of that year,1858, Mr. Whipple emerged from his den. Instead of turning to the right,he strode straight to Stephen's table. His communications were always atrifle startling. This was no exception.

  "Mr. Brice," said he, "you are to take the six forty-five train on theSt. Louis, Alton, and Chicago road tomorrow morning for Springfield,Illinois."

  "Yes sir."

  "Arriving at Springfield, you are to deliver this envelope into thehands of Mr. Abraham Lincoln, of the law firm of Lincoln & Herndon."

  "Abraham Lincoln!" cried Stephen, rising and straddling his chair. "But,sir--"

  "Abraham Lincoln," interrupted the Judge, forcibly "I try to speakplainly, sir. You are to deliver it into Mr. Lincoln's hands. If heis not in Springfield, find out where he is and follow him up.Your expenses will be paid by me. The papers are important. Do youunderstand, sir?"

  Stephen did. And he knew better than to argue the matter with Mr.Whipple. He had read in the Missouri Democrat of this man Lincoln,a country lawyer who had once been to Congress, and who was even nowdisputing the senatorship of his state with the renowned Douglas. Inspite of their complacent amusement, he had won a little admirationfrom conservative citizens who did not believe in the efficacy of JudgeDouglas's Squatter Sovereignty. Likewise this Mr. Lincoln, who had oncebeen a rail-sputter, was uproariously derided by Northern Democratsbecause he had challenged Mr. Douglas to seven debates, to be held atdifferent towns in the state of Illinois. David with his sling andhis smooth round pebble must have had much of the same sympathy andridicule.

  For Mr. Douglas, Senator and Judge, was a national character, mighty inpolitics, invulnerable in the armor of his oratory. And he was knownfar and wide as the Little Giant. Those whom he did not conquer with hislogic were impressed by his person.

  Stephen remembered with a thrill that these debates were going on now.One, indeed, had been held, and had appeared in fine print in a cornerof the Democrat. Perhaps this Lincoln might not be in; Springfield;perhaps he, Stephen Brice, might, by chance, hit upon a debate, and seeand hear the tower of the Democracy, the Honorable Stephen A. Douglas.

  But it is greatly to be feared that our friend Stephen was boredwith his errand before he arrived at the little wooden station of theIllinois capital. Standing on the platform after the train pulled out,he summoned up courage to ask a citizen with no mustache and a beard,which he swept away when he spat, where was the office of Lincoln &Herndon. The stranger spat twice, regarded Mr. Brice pityingly,and finally led him in silence past the picket fence and the NewEngland-looking meeting-house opposite until they came to the greatsquare on which the State House squatted. The State House was a buildingwith much pretension to beauty, built in the classical style, of ayellow stone, with sold white blinds in the high windows and mightycolumns capped at the gently slanting roof. But on top of it was reareda crude wooden dome, like a clay head on a marble statue.

  "That there," said the stranger, "is whar we watches for the CountyDelegations when they come in to a meetin'." And with this remark,pointing with a stubby thumb up a well-worn stair, he departed beforeStephen could thank him. Stephen paused under the awning, of which therewere many shading the brick pavement, to regard the straggling line ofstores and houses which surrounded and did homage to the yellow pile.The brick house in which Mr. Lincoln's office was had decorations abovethe windows. Mounting the stair, Stephen found a room bare enough, savefor a few chairs and law books, and not a soul in attendance. Aftersitting awhile by the window, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, hewent out on the landing to make inquiries. There he met another citizenin shirt sleeves, like unto the first, in the very act of sweeping hisbeard out of the way of a dexterous expectoration.

  "Wal, young man," said he, "who be you lookin' for here?"

  "For Mr. Lincoln," said Stephen.

  At this the gentleman sat down on the dirty top step; and gave vent toquiet but annoying laughter.

  "I reckon you come to the wrong place."

  "I was told this was his office," said Stephen, with some heat.

  "Whar be you from?" said the citizen, with interest.

  "I don't see what that has to do with it," answered our friend.

  "Wal," said the citizen, critically, "if you was from Philadelphy orBoston, you might stand acquitted."

  Stephen was on the point of claiming Boston, but wisely hesitated.

  "I'm from St. Louis, with a message for Mr. Lincoln," he replied.

  "Ye talk like y e was from down East," said the citizens who seemed inthe humor for conversation. "I reckon old Abe's' too busy to see you.Say, young man, did you ever hear of Stephen Arnold Douglas, alias theLittle Giant, alias the Idol of our State, sir?"

  This was too much for Stephen, who left the citizen without thecompliment of a farewell. Continuing around the square, inquiring forMr. Lincoln's house, he presently got beyond the stores and burningpavements on to a plank walk, under great shade trees, and past oldbrick mansions set well back from the street. At length he paused infront of a wooden house of a dirty grayish brown, too high for itslength and breadth, with tall shutters of the same color, and a picketfence on top of the retaining wall which lifted the yard above the plankwalk. It was an ugly house, surely. But an ugly house may look beautifulwhen surrounded by such heavy trees as this was. Their shade wasthe most inviting thing Stephen had seen. A boy of sixteen or so wasswinging on the gate, plainly a very mischievous boy, with a round,laughing, sunburned face and bright eyes. In front of the gate was ashabby carriage with top and side curtains, hitched to a big bay horse.

  "Can you tell me where Mr. Lincoln lives?" inquired Stephen.

  "Well, I guess," said the boy. "I'm his son, and he lives right herewhen he's at home. But that hasn't been often lately."

  "Where is he?" asked Stephen, beginning to realize the purport of hisconversations with citizens.

  Young Mr. Lincoln mentioned the name of a small town in the northernpart of the state, where he said his father would stop that night. Hetold Stephen that he looked wilted, invited him into the house to havea glass of lemonade, and to join him and another boy in a fishingexcursion with the big bay horse. Stephen told young Mr. Lincoln that heshould have to take the first train after his father.

  "Jimmy!" exclaimed the other, enviously, "then you'll hear the Freeportdebate."

  Now it has been said that the day was scorching hot. And when Stephenhad got back to the wooden station, and had waited an hour for theBloomington express, his anxiety to hear the Freeport debate was notas keen as it might have been. Late in the afternoon he changed atBloomington to the Illinois Central Railroad: The sun fell down behindthe cardboard edge of the prairie, the train rattled on into the north,wrapped in its dust and Smoke, and presently became a long comet,roaring red, to match that other comet which flashed in the sky.

  By this time it may be said that our friend was heartily sick of hismission, He tried to doze; but two men, a farmer and a clerk, got inat a way station, and sat behind him. They began to talk about this manLincoln.

  "Shucks," said the clerk, "think of him opposin
g the Little Giant."

  "He's right smart, Sam," said the farmer. "He's got a way of sayin'things that's clear. We boys can foller him. But Steve Douglas, he onlymixes you up."

  His companion guffawed.

  "Because why?" he shouted. "Because you ain't had no education: Whatdoes a rail-sputter like Abe know about this government? Judge Douglashas worked it all out. He's smart. Let the territories take care ofthemselves. Besides, Abe ain't got no dignity. The fust of this week Iseen him side-tracked down the road here in a caboose, while Doug wentby in a special."

  "Abe is a plain man, Sam," the farmer answered solemnly. "But you watchout for him."

  It was ten o'clock when Stephen descended at his destination. Mercifulnight hid from his view the forlorn station and the ragged town. Thebaggage man told him that Mr. Lincoln was at the tavern.

  That tavern! Will words describe the impression it made on a certainyoung man from Boston! It was long and low and ramshackly and hot thatnight as the inside of a brick-kiln. As he drew near it on the singleplant walk over the black prairie-mud, he saw countrymen and politiciansswarming its narrow porch and narrower hall. Discussions in all keyswere in progress, and it, was with vast difficulty that our distractedyoung man pushed through and found the landlord, This personage was thecoolest of the lot. Confusion was but food for his smiles, importunitybut increased his suavity. And of the seeming hundreds that pressed him,he knew and utilized the Christian name of all. From behind a corner ofthe bar he held them all at bay, and sent them to quarters like the oldcampaigner he was.

  "Now, Ben, tain't no use gettin' mad. You, and Josh way, an' Will, an'Sam, an' the Cap'n, an' the four Beaver brothers, will all sleep innumber ten. What's that, Franklin? No, sirree, the Honerable Abe, andMister Hill, and Jedge Oglesby is sleepin' in seven." The smell ofperspiration was stifling as Stephen pushed up to the master of thesituation. "What's that? Supper, young man? Ain't you had no supper?Gosh, I reckon if you can fight your way to the dinin' room, the gals'llgive you some pork and a cup of coffee."

  After a preliminary scuffle with a drunken countryman in mud-cakedboots, Mr. Brice presently reached the long table in the dining-room.A sense of humor not quite extinct made him smile as he devoured porkchops and greasy potatoes and heavy apple pie. As he was finishing thepie, he became aware of the tavern keeper standing over him.

  "Are you one of them flip Chicagy reporters?" asked that worthy, with asuspicious eye on Stephen's clothes.

  Our friend denied this.

  "You didn't talk jest like 'em. Guess you'll be here, tonight--"

  "Yes," said Stephen, wearily. And he added, outs of force of habit, "Canyou give me a room?"

  "I reckon," was the cheerful reply. "Number ten, There ain't nobody inthere but Ben Billings, and the four Beaver brothers, an' three more.I'll have a shake-down for ye next the north window."

  Stephen's thanks for the hospitality perhaps lacked heartiness. Butperceiving his host still contemplating him, he was emboldened to say:

  "Has Mr. Lincoln gone to bed?"

  "Who? Old Abe, at half-past ten? Wal I reckon you don't know him."

  Stephen's reflections here on the dignity of the Senatorial candidate ofthe Republican Party in Illinois were novel, at any rate. He thought ofcertain senators he had seen in Massachusetts.

  "The only reason he ain't down here swappin' yarns with the boys, isbecause he's havin' some sort of confab with the Jedge and Joe Medill ofthe 'Chicagy Press' and 'Tribune'."

  "Do you think he would see me?" asked Stephen, eagerly. He wasemboldened by the apparent lack of ceremony of the candidate. Thelandlord looked at him in some surprise.

  "Wal, I reckon. Jest go up an' knock at the door number seven, and sayTom Wright sent ye."

  "How shall I know Mr. Lincoln?" asked Stephen.

  "Pick out the ugliest man in the room. There ain't nobody I kin think ofuglier than Abe."

  Bearing in mind this succinct description of the candidate, Stephenclimbed the rickety stairs to the low second story. All the bedroomdoors were flung open except one, on which the number 7 was inscribed.From within came bursts of uproarious laughter, and a summons to enter.

  He pushed open the door, and as soon as his eyes became, accustomed tothe tobacco smoke, he surveyed the room. There was a bowl on thefloor, the chair where it belonged being occupied. There was a veryinhospitable looking bed, two shake-downs, and four Windsor chairs inmore or less state of dilapidation--all occupied likewise. A countryglass lamp was balanced on a rough shelf, and under it a young man satabsorbed in making notes, and apparently oblivious to the noise aroundhim. Every gentleman in the room was collarless, coatless, tieless,and vestless. Some were engaged in fighting gnats and June bugs, whileothers battled with mosquitoes--all save the young man who wrote, hebeing wholly indifferent.

  Stephen picked out the homeliest man in the room. There was no mistakinghim. And, instead of a discussion of the campaign with the othergentlemen, Mr. Lincoln was defending what do you think? Mr. Lincoln wasdefending an occasional and judicious use of swear words.

  "Judge," said he, "you do an almighty lot of cussing in your speeches,and perhaps it ain't a bad way to keep things stirred up."

  "Well," said the Judge, "a fellow will rip out something once in a whilebefore he has time to shut it off."

  Mr. Lincoln passed his fingers through his tousled hair. His thicklower lip crept over in front of the upper one, A gleam stirred in thedeep-set gray eyes.

  "Boys," he asked, "did I ever tell you about Sam'l, the old Quaker'sapprentice?"

  There was a chorus of "No's" and "Go ahead, Abe?" The young man who waswriting dropped his pencil. As for Stephen, this long, uncouth manof the plains was beginning to puzzle him. The face, with its crudefeatures and deep furrows, relaxed into intense soberness. AndMr. Lincoln began his story with a slow earnestness that was trulystartling, considering the subject.

  "This apprentice, Judge, was just such an incurable as you." (Laughter.)"And Sam'l, when he wanted to, could get out as many cusses in a secondas his anvil shot sparks. And the old man used to wrastle with himnights and speak about punishment, and pray for him in meeting. But itdidn't do any good. When anything went wrong, Sam'l had an appropriateword for the occasion. One day the old man got an inspiration when hewas scratching around in the dirt for an odd-sized iron.

  "'Sam'l,' says he, 'I want thee.'

  "Sam'l went, and found the old man standing over a big rat hole, wherethe rats came out to feed on the scraps.

  "'Sam'l,' says he, 'fetch the tongs.'

  "Sam'l fetched the tongs.

  "'Now, Sam'l,' says the old man, 'thou wilt sit here until thou hasta rat. Never mind thy dinner. And when thou hast him, if I hear theeswear, thou wilt sit here until thou hast another. Dost thou mind?'"

  Here Mr. Lincoln seized two cotton umbrellas, rasped his chair over thebare boor into a corner of the room, and sat hunched over an imaginaryrat hole, for all the world like a gawky Quaker apprentice. And this wasa candidate for the Senate of the United States, who on the morrow wasto meet in debate the renowned and polished Douglas!

  "Well," Mr. Lincoln continued, "that was on a Monday, I reckon, and theboys a-shouting to have their horses shod. Maybe you think they didn'thave some fun with Sam'l. But Sam'l sat there, and sat there, and satthere, and after a while the old man pulled out his dinner-pail. Sam'lnever opened his mouth. First thing you know, snip went the tongs." Mr.Lincoln turned gravely around. "What do you reckon Sam'l said, Judge?"

  The Judge, at random, summoned up a good one, to the delight of theaudience.

  "Judge," said Mr. Lincoln, with solemnity, "I reckon that's what you'dhave said. Sam'l never said a word, and the old man kept on eating hisdinner. One o'clock came, and the folks began to drop in again, butSam'l, he sat there. 'Long towards night the boys collected 'round thedoor. They were getting kind of interested. Sam'l, he never looked up."Here Mr. Lincoln bent forward a little, and his voice fell to a loud,drawling whisper. "First thing you know
, here come the whiskers peepingup, then the pink eyes a--blinking at the forge, then--!"

  "Suddenly he brought the umbrellas together with whack.

  "'By God,' yells Sam'l, 'I have thee at last!'"

  Amid the shouts, Mr. Lincoln stood up, his long body swaying to and froas he lifted high the improvised tongs. They heard a terrified squeal,and there was the rat squirming and wriggling,--it seemed beforetheir very eyes. And Stephen forgot the country tavern, the countrypolitician, and was transported straightway into the Quaker's smithy.