By nine o’clock, as tallies were relayed from distant states, Lincoln, Davis, and a few friends gathered at the telegraph office for immediate access to the returns. While Lincoln reclined on a sofa, the telegraph tapped out good news all around. New England, the Northwest, Indiana, and Pennsylvania had all come into the Republican camp. When ten o’clock arrived, however, with no word from New York, Lincoln grew fretful. “The news would come quick enough if it was good,” he told his cohorts that “and if bad, he was not in any hurry to hear it.”
Finally, at 11:30, a message came from New York. “We have made steady gains everywhere throughout the State, but the city returns are not sufficiently forward to make us sure of the result, although we are quite sanguine a great victory has been won.” The dispatch produced tremendous cheers. Minutes later, Lyman Trumbull came running into the room: “Uncle Abe, you’re the next President, and I know it.” Lincoln was still uncertain, for if the Democrats piled up huge majorities in New York City, the Republican votes in the rest of the state could be offset. “Not too fast, my friends,” he said. “Not too fast, it may not be over yet.”
At midnight, Lincoln attended a “victory” supper prepared by the Republican ladies. While everyone else was in high spirits, assured of victory, Lincoln remained anxious about New York. Too often in the past his dreams had collapsed at the last moment. Without New York’s 35 electoral votes, his total of 145 electoral votes would be 7 short of a majority.
Lincoln’s concerns proved groundless, for Thurlow Weed’s unparalleled organization had been at work since dawn, rounding up Republican voters in every precinct. “Don’t wait until the last hour,” Weed had instructed his workers. “Consider every man a ‘delinquent’ who doesn’t vote before 10 o’clock.” He left his organization plenty of time to prod, push, and, if necessary, carry voters to the polls.
Soon after midnight, the returns from New York and Brooklyn came in, revealing that Democratic control of New York City was not enough to counter the Republican vote throughout the state. Celebrations could begin in earnest, for Lincoln’s victory was accomplished.
Church bells began to ring. Cheers for “Old Abe” resounded through the streets. Lincoln was jubilant, admitting that he was “a very happy man…who could help being so under such circumstances?” Pocketing the final dispatch, he headed home to tell Mary, who had been waiting anxiously all day. “Mary, Mary,” he cried out, “we are elected!”
CHAPTER 10
“AN INTENSIFIED CROSSWORD PUZZLE”
BY THE TIME LINCOLN got to bed, it was two o’clock. He was exhausted but could not sleep. “The excitement which had kept him up through the campaign had passed away,” he later recalled to Gideon Welles, “and he was oppressed with the load of responsibility that was upon him.” Outside his windows, he could hear the citizens of Springfield partying in the streets, laughing, singing, and marching until they could carry on no longer. With the arrival of dawn, they finally dispersed to their homes.
Undoubtedly, Lincoln shared the elation of his neighbors. From his earliest days in politics, he had craved the opportunity to accomplish important deeds that would benefit his fellows. In modern parlance, he wanted to make a difference and now he had the opportunity to do so. Yet, keenly aware of both the fractious nature of the youthful Republican Party and the ominous threats from the South, he understood that his country was entering a most perilous time.
“I began at once to feel that I needed support,” he noted later; “others to share with me the burden.” As the exhausted townsfolk shuffled back to their homes and the city sank “into its usual quietness,” Lincoln began to compose his official family—the core of his administration. “This was on Wednesday morning,” he revealed, “and before the sun went down, I had made up my Cabinet. It was almost the same as I finally selected.”
On a blank card he wrote the names of the seven men he wanted. At the center of his list stood his chief rivals for the nomination—Seward, Chase, and Bates. The list also included Montgomery Blair, Gideon Welles, and Norman Judd, all former Democrats, as well as William Dayton of New Jersey, a former Whig. While several months would pass before the cabinet was assembled, subjecting Lincoln to intense pressures from all sides, he resolved that day to surround himself with the strongest men from every faction of the new Republican Party—former Whigs, Free-Soilers, and antislavery Democrats.
The stillness of this first day that allowed Lincoln to contemplate the formulation of his ideal cabinet proved to be the calm before the storm. Soon, “the mad scramble” for the lesser positions began. With letters of recommendation stuffed in their pockets and fervent hopes in their hearts, hordes of office seekers descended on Springfield. Some arrived with “muddy boots and hickory shirts,” while others were dressed in their finest linen and woolens. All were graciously welcomed by Lincoln.
He decided to hold two receptions a day, the first in the morning, the second in the late afternoon. The receptions were held in the Governor’s Room in the State House, a chamber far too small for the constant crush of visitors pushing their way through the narrow doorway, guided by Lincoln’s “clear voice and often ringing laughter.” New York Tribune correspondent Henry Villard, although initially skeptical of Lincoln’s qualifications to be president, observed that the president-elect “showed remarkable tact” with every caller. Listening patiently to each applicant, Lincoln revealed a quick-witted “adaptation to individual characteristics and peculiarities. He never evaded a proper question, or failed to give a fit answer.” What most impressed Villard was Lincoln’s remarkable ability to tell a humorous story or deliver an appropriate anecdote “to explain a meaning or enforce a point, the aptness of which was always perfect.”
While the opposition papers derided Lincoln’s penchant for telling stories, imagining that he babbled on from the moment he awakened—at mealtimes, on the street, in his office, in stores, even in his sleep (with Mary beside him in her nightcap)—the perceptive Villard understood that the president-elect’s perpetual supply of stories “helped many times to heal wounded feelings and mitigate disappointments.” Everyone Lincoln dealt with, Villard concluded, agreed that “he is the very embodiment of good temper and affability. They will all concede that he has a kind word, an encouraging smile, a humorous remark for nearly everyone that seeks his presence, and that but few, if any, emerge from his reception room without being strongly and favorably impressed with his general disposition.”
At this juncture, Lincoln was sorely in need of a second assistant. Nicolay recommended twenty-two-year-old John Hay, the young journalist and Brown University graduate who had become actively involved in the campaign and had written pro-Lincoln columns for the Missouri Democrat. Nicolay had originally met Hay in private school. When Nicolay asked his boyhood friend to help with the overflowing correspondence, the gregarious young man was delighted. Though Hay was preparing for the bar in the Springfield office of his uncle Milton Hay, he was passionate about literature. On Class Day at Brown, he had delivered a poem that was remembered for years afterward. He had hoped quixotically to make his living as a poet upon graduation, but had reluctantly settled for a career in law. He leaped at the chance to work in the White House.
For Mary, Willie, and Tad, it was an exciting time. At night, after the formal receptions were over, visitors, sketch artists, and friends flocked to their home. Mary flourished in her role as hostess, while the boys regaled visitors with laughter and stories of their own. The ardent political conversations of celebrated men surely reminded Mary of childhood evenings when her father entertained congressmen and senators, including Henry Clay, in the parlor of his Kentucky mansion. To be sure, there were unpleasant moments, as when mud was tracked into the house, or when callers would point to Mary and boisterously ask: “Is that the old woman?” But Mary seemed to take it all in stride. Her delight in victory overshadowed such small aggravations.
Even as the Lincolns entertained their colorful parade of callers, the presi
dent-elect never lost sight of the intricate task he faced in building a cabinet that would preserve the integrity of the Republican Party in the North, while providing the fairest possible representation from the South. To help with his deliberations, he asked Hannibal Hamlin, his vice president–elect, to meet him in Chicago. Once the arrangements were made, he invited his old friend Joshua Speed to join him, and suggested that he bring his wife, Fanny, to keep Mary company. Traveling by train with a small party of journalists and friends, the Lincolns took up quarters at the Tremont House, which had lodged Davis and Swett six months earlier when they managed the unexpected nomination.
Although Hamlin had been a senator when Lincoln was in the House, this was the first time they would meet. Hamlin recalled listening to a speech Lincoln delivered that “was so full of good humor and sharp points” that the entire chamber “was convulsed with laughter.” Born in Maine the same year as Lincoln, Hamlin was a tall, powerfully built man with a swarthy complexion. He had entered politics as a Jacksonian Democrat at a young age, serving first in the Maine state legislature, then in the U.S. House of Representatives, and finally in the Senate.
The two men began their discussions in Lincoln’s room in the Tremont House, but news of their meeting soon brought “a great throng of visitors,” necessitating a public reception and a round of dinners. The following day, however, their dialogue resumed privately at a friend’s house, where Lincoln made clear his determination to create “a compact body” by drawing his former rivals into “his official household.” Hamlin apparently agreed with this notion, and the conversation turned to selecting a representative from New England. Lincoln’s original choice, Gideon Welles, was mentioned, along with Nathaniel Banks and Charles Francis Adams, Jr. Hamlin objected to Banks but agreed to look into the availability and feasibility of both Adams and Welles.
Amid the flood of political aspirants and tactical discussions, Lincoln must have coveted his time with Speed. He arranged for Fanny to visit with Mary so that he might speak with his old friend in private. Speed later recalled that Lincoln “threw himself on the bed” and said: “Speed what are your pecuniary Conditions—are you rich, or poor.” Understanding the import of the question, Speed replied: “I think I know what you wish. I’ll Speak Candidly to you—My pecuniary Conditions are good—I do not think you have any office within your gift that I can afford to take.” Though Speed’s resolve never wavered, the two friends would maintain contact during the war, and Speed would play an important role in keeping Kentucky in the Union.
While Lincoln was preoccupied with selecting his cabinet, Mary had a splendid time. She visited the scene of her husband’s triumph at the Wigwam, toured the Custom House and the Post Office, and maintained her poise and charm at the large public reception accorded the president-elect and his wife.
Returning home, Lincoln corresponded with a wide range of politicians and listened carefully to their suggestions for his cabinet. In the end, however, he alone would solve what Nicolay’s daughter, Helen, later described as “an intensified crossword puzzle in which party loyalty and service, personal fitness, geographical location and a dozen other factors have to be taken into account and made to harmonize.”
From the start, Lincoln determined to give the highest place to Seward, “in view of his ability, his integrity, and his commanding influence.” The presidency now unavailable, Seward never questioned that he deserved the premier post as secretary of state. Not only had he been the overwhelming favorite for the nomination, but he had vigorously campaigned for Lincoln in the general election and had helped to bring the critical state of New York to Lincoln’s side.
“Of course, Mr. Lincoln will offer you the chief place in his Cabinet,” Charles Francis Adams wrote Seward. “I trust no considerations will deter you from accepting it…. I know of no such faith existing in the competency of any other person.” From Pennsylvania, Simon Cameron tendered a similar prediction. “You will be offered the State Dept. within a few days and you must not refuse it. The whole victory achieved by the labor of so many years, will be lost if you run away now. My whole ambition is to see you in the Presidency.”
Lincoln agreed wholeheartedly with the presumption that Seward deserved first consideration. Seward, however, harbored more elaborate ambitions. While Lincoln desired a cabinet that stitched together the various factions of the Republican Party, Seward believed the cabinet should be dominated by former Whigs like himself. The Whig Party had provided nearly two thirds of Lincoln’s total vote. Lesser posts could be given to the leading representatives of the other factions, but the former Whigs, Seward believed, deserved all the top prizes. Furthermore, Seward intended, with Weed’s help, to have a major role in choosing the remaining cabinet members, thus acquiring a position in the new government more commanding than that of Lincoln himself.
To set this in motion, Thurlow Weed invited Lincoln shortly after the election to join him at Seward’s home in Auburn so the three men might deliberate about the cabinet. As precedent, he invoked the journey of President-elect William Harrison to Lexington, Kentucky, in 1841 to confer with his rival Henry Clay. Lincoln wisely declined. When Weed suggested meeting in a more neutral setting, Lincoln again declined. While more than willing to consult with Weed and Seward on his cabinet selections, Lincoln wanted it known that the ultimate decisions would emanate from Springfield and would be his alone.
Lincoln’s careful maneuvering with Weed did not indicate any hesitation to make Seward his secretary of state. On the contrary, Lincoln responded testily to a warning from a conservative Kentucky judge that “if obnoxious men like Seward, Cassius M. Clay, &c were put in the Cabinet,” the citizens of Kentucky might feel compelled to follow South Carolina in its call for a secession convention. “In what speech,” Lincoln asked, had Seward or any prominent Republican “ever spoken menacingly of the South?” The problem was not what the Republicans said or believed but the manner in which Southerners “persistently bespotted and bespattered every northern man by their misrepresentations to rob them of what strength they might otherwise have.”
In fact, after newspapers had speculated that Seward had no interest in a cabinet post, and that, even if he did, Lincoln did not want to offer him one, Lincoln resolved to act quickly. Early in December, he directed Hamlin to ascertain Seward’s state of mind. When Hamlin approached Seward’s friend Preston King, King suggested that the vice president–elect should deal directly with Seward. Knowing this would be equivalent “to a tender of a place,” Hamlin again sought Lincoln’s instructions.
Lincoln concluded the time had come to make the offer official. In reply to Hamlin, he enclosed two letters for Seward and directed Hamlin, after consulting with Trumbull in Washington, to deliver them to Seward “at once.” On the afternoon of December 10, after the Senate had adjourned, Hamlin caught up with Seward on the street. Reaching the Washington House on the corner of Third Street and Pennsylvania Avenue where Hamlin was staying, the vice president–elect invited Seward in to talk. Asked if he would, in truth, reject the position of secretary of state, Seward was guarded. “If that is what you have come to talk to me about, Hamlin, we might as well stop here,” he replied. “I don’t want the place, and if I did, I have reason to know that I could not get it; therefore let us have no more talk about it.”
“Very well,” Hamlin said, “but before you express yourself to others as plainly as you have done to me, let me present you with this letter from Mr. Lincoln.” Seward “trembled” and appeared “nervous” as he took the first letter, dated December 8, which contained the formal invitation. “With your permission,” Lincoln wrote, “I shall, at the proper time, nominate you to the Senate, for confirmation, as Secretary of State, for the United States. Please let me hear from you at your own earliest convenience.”
At first, Seward said little, perhaps suspecting this was the pro forma offer that the papers had predicted all along. Moments later, he opened the second letter, labeled private and confidential
, which was brilliantly designed to soothe Seward’s ego. “Rumors have got into the newspapers,” Lincoln wrote, “to the effect that the Department, named above, would be tendered you, as a compliment, and with the expectation that you would decline it. I beg you to be assured that I have said nothing to justify these rumors. On the contrary, it has been my purpose, from the day of the nomination at Chicago, to assign you, by your leave, this place in the administration…. I now offer you the place, in the hope that you will accept it, and with the belief that your position in the public eye, your integrity, ability, learning, and great experience, all combine to render it an appointment pre-eminently fit to be made.”
His face “pale with excitement,” Seward grasped Hamlin’s hand. “This is remarkable, Mr. Hamlin; I will consider the matter, and, in accordance with Mr. Lincoln’s request, give him my decision at the earliest practicable moment.” Three days later, on December 13, Seward wrote Lincoln a gracious note, explaining that it was an honor to have received the offer, but that he needed “a little time” to think about whether he had “the qualifications and temper of a minister, and whether it is in such a capacity that my friends would prefer that I should act if I am to continue at all in the public service.” He wished, he said, that he could confer directly with Lincoln on these questions, but he did not see how such a meeting “could prudently be held under existing circumstances.” While there was little doubt that Seward desired the post, he still wished to test the extent of his influence in selecting congenial (pro-Seward) colleagues.
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