When Swett asked permission to write a similar letter to Judge John W. Shaffer, reassuring the Seward and Cameron men to whom he had made pledges at Chicago, Lincoln cautiously assented, but stipulated: “do not let him know I have seen it.” He instructed Swett to burn his letter, “not that there is any thing wrong in it; but because it is best not to be known that I write at all.”177
In reality, even Seward’s most disenchanted New York friends could not sit on their hands lest the Democrats win control of the state legislature and thus prevent their man’s reelection to the senate.
Front Porch Campaign
Publishers scrambled to meet the great demand for information about the little-known Republican candidate, who at first was widely referred to as Abram. The most informative of the thirteen campaign lives that appeared in 1860 were by William Dean Howells, a young Ohio journalist who would later achieve literary fame, and by John Locke Scripps, editor of the Chicago Press and Tribune and a good friend of Lincoln.
For Howells, Scripps, and other authors, Lincoln prepared an autobiographical sketch, which, though brief, was longer than the one he had drafted in 1859 for Jesse W. Fell. In this political document he said little about slavery, other than to reproduce his 1837 resolution denouncing the peculiar institution as based on “injustice and bad policy” and assert that his views had not changed since then. He devoted much more space to his Mexican War stand, correctly assuming that the Democrats would once again attack his record on that conflict. In addition to relying on that autobiographical sketch, Scripps sought to interview Lincoln about his life. At first the candidate was reluctant to cooperate, telling his would-be biographer: “it is a great piece of folly to attempt to make anything out of my early life. It can all be condensed into a single sentence and that sentence you will find in Gray’s Elegy: ‘The short and simple annals of the poor.’ That’s my life, and that’s all you or any one else can make of it.’ ”178 Nevertheless, he told Scripps much about his life that was then incorporated into the campaign biography, making it virtually an autobiography. The busy editor hastily churned out ninety-six pages of copy, only to be instructed by his New York publisher (Horace Greeley’s Tribune) to reduce it to thirty-two. After reluctantly making wholesale cuts, he apologized to Lincoln for the “sadly botched” final section, which was trimmed at the last minute. Amusingly, he instructed the candidate that if he had not read Plutarch’s Lives, he should do so immediately, for the biography asserted that he had read it in his youth! Earlier Scripps had written a 4,000-word biographical sketch for the Chicago Press and Tribune, which he used as the basis for the campaign biography. In the latter he omitted a sentence that had appeared in the former: “A friend says that once, when in a towering rage in consequence of the efforts of certain parties to perpetrate a fraud on the State, he was heard to say ‘They shan’t do it, d—n ’em!’ ”179 Evidently, it was thought advisable to play down Lincoln’s formidable capacity for anger.
Like Scripps’s biography, William Dean Howells’s was enriched by interviews. They were conducted by a research assistant, James Quay Howard, who visited Springfield and talked briefly with Lincoln and at greater length with several of his friends. When the publisher, Follett and Foster of Columbus, Ohio (which had issued the Lincoln-Douglas debates earlier that year), advertised it as “authorized by Mr. Lincoln,” the candidate protested vigorously. To Samuel Galloway he complained about Follett and Foster: “I have scarcely been so much astounded by anything, as by their public announcement that it is authorized by me.” He had, he said, made himself “tiresome, if not hoarse, with repeating to Mr. Howard” that he “authorized nothing—would be responsible for nothing.” He would not endorse a biography unless he thoroughly reviewed and corrected it, which he was then unable to do. He could not consistently obey the advice of all his “discreet friends” to make no public statements while simultaneously approving a campaign life for his opponents “to make points upon without end.” If he were to do so, “the convention would have a right to reassemble” and name a different candidate.180 To maintain deniability, Lincoln refused to read the manuscript of any campaign biography before its publication. He had his friends at the Illinois State Journal run a disclaimer and had letters of protest sent both to Howard and to Follett and Foster.
Lincoln himself wrote few letters that season, in part because friends urged him to remain silent lest he, like Henry Clay, ruin his presidential chances by seeming to modify earlier positions. James A. Briggs told him that “as the gallant ‘Harry of the West’ struck himself down by writing letters to medlers, I hope if any Mourning owl politicians, write you letters, asking your opinions, you will let them wait for answers until the Jews are restored to their ancient Judea!”181
Heeding the counsel of Briggs and several others, Lincoln turned aside urgent appeals to speak out, especially on slavery. He had a secretary reply to such requests with a form letter stating that friends had advised him “to write nothing whatever upon any point of political doctrine. They say his positions were well known when he was nominated, and that he must not now embarrass the canvass by undertaking to shift or modify them.”182 The New York Times argued that any statement Lincoln made during the campaign “would have been justly open to the suspicion of having been said for effect:—while it could not have been stronger or more directly to the point than what he has already and repeatedly said, at a time when his motives were not open to any such construction.”183
This strategy did not sit well with all of Lincoln’s correspondents, including Benjamin G. Wright, an Illinois Republican who told party confreres that he was leaving them because “the non-committalism of Mr. A. Lincoln makes it an imperative duty. Mr. Lincoln’s right to pursue this policy is not questioned, but I do question its correctness, because it subverts our representative system of government.”184
In dealing privately with requests for a clarification of his views, Lincoln seemed hypersensitive about appearing weak, timid, biddable, unmanly, or cowardly. When a Tennessean asked him to reassure the South that he would, if elected, not interfere with the peculiar institution, he gently but firmly declined: “in my judgment, it would do no good. I have already done this many—many, times; and it is in print, and open to all who will read, or heed. Those who will not read, or heed, what I have already publicly said, would not read, or heed, a repetition of it. ‘If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded though one rose from the dead.’ ”185
Lincoln did, however, tell a visitor from Louisiana “that he would dispel the illusion existing at the South, that he would have to send men from the Free States to fill the offices, by assuring him that there would be found plenty of persons at the South glad enough to get them, and that he had already received four hundred letters from the slave states begging office, a large and considerable portion of which came from Louisiana.”186
Protectionists nagged Lincoln for a public avowal of his tariff views. To James E. Harvey of Pennsylvania he explained that in 1844 he had served as an elector for Henry Clay and had sat on a committee that wrote a resolution favoring protective tariffs. But, he asked, “after all, was it really any more than the tariff plank of our present platform? And does not my acceptance pledge me to that? And am I at liberty to do more, if I were inclined?”187 (Harvey’s newspaper, the Philadelphia North American and United States Gazette, heaped praise on Lincoln’s tariff stand.) When a gentleman with the improbable name of G. Yoke Tams made a blunt inquiry about tariffs, Lincoln patiently reiterated his support of the party platform. Then he added: “Now, if I were to publicly shift this position, by adding or subtracting anything, the convention would have the right, and probably would be inclined, to displace me as their candidate. And I feel confident that you, on reflection, would not wish me to give private assurances to be seen by some, and kept secret from others.”188 Lincoln appreciated the delicacy of the tariff issue. Early in the campaign he said that “the tariff subject must be touched
lightly. My speeches in favor of a Protective Tariff would please Pennsylvania and offend W. C. Bryant in the same degree. It is like the case of three men who had nothing to cover them but a blanket only sufficient to cover two. When No 1 pulled it on himself he pulled it off No. 3.”189
Just as he would not write about his views, Lincoln refused speaking invitations as well. The National Republican Campaign Committee told him that he should follow the traditional custom of staying quietly at home during the campaign lest he appear to be an undignified “stump candidate.”190
(Ignoring that custom, Douglas busily campaigned around the country, denouncing Republicans and pro-secessionist Southerners alike, alleging that Congress had no constitutional power to exclude slavery from the territories, and insisting that settlers in the territories had as much right to govern themselves as the inhabitants of the states. Although political etiquette dictated that the office should seek the man rather than the man the office, the Little Giant protested to crowds that “I am not canvassing. I’m only showing you how you can preserve the integrity of the Union and Constitution by supporting this great principle of non-intervention.”191 He boasted that “Lincoln is under great obligations to me,” for the Republicans “would never have dreamed of taking up Lincoln as a candidate for the Presidency, if I had not brought him into notice by beating him in Illinois.”192 The Rail-splitter also owed a debt of gratitude to the pro-Breckinridge forces, for, said Douglas, “if they had not bolted I would have beaten Lincoln in every State of the Union except Vermont and Massachusetts.”193 If Lincoln actually did win, Douglas pledged to help impeach and hang him “higher than Virginia hung John Brown” if he violated the Constitution or made “war upon the rights of any State or any section.”194 He also leveled criticism at Lincoln for his reluctance to speak out. “The Republicans have asked me a great many [questions], and got more answers than they wished they had. After answering their questions I have turned to them and asked them to propound the same questions to their own candidates. I said to a leading republican the other day, who asked me questions on the stand, that I would answer them unequivocally, and then would like to have him propound them to Lincoln. Why is this not done?”195 Many condemned Douglas’s unorthodox campaign tactics in the same fashion as did the Illinois State Journal, which scathingly remarked: “in the whole history of the country, no other candidate for the Presidency ever degraded himself by such a course as Mr. Douglas is now pursuing. No other candidate ever traveled about the country, delivering partisan harangues.… Mr. Douglas is doing what Mr. Lincoln would scorn to do. His regard for the proprieties of his position, as well as his confidence in the respect for the intelligence of the American people, alike forbid his entering into the campaign.”)196
Only once did Lincoln depart from the strategy of public silence. On August 8, he attended a “monster meeting” in Springfield, where he delivered public remarks for the first and last time of the campaign. The event featured a number of prominent speakers, who, according to the local Democratic paper, “threw out an indescribable amount of gas on the nigger question.”197 Entering the fairgrounds, Lincoln was surprised when some members of the huge crowd rushed his carriage, removed him “almost violently,” hoisted him onto their shoulders, and conveyed him to the speakers’ platform. The onlookers cheered lustily for ten minutes, producing “a noise not unlike the roar of Niagara Falls.”198 When they finally quieted down, he briefly thanked them for their enthusiastic applause, which he interpreted as no tribute to himself personally but rather to the cause and party he represented. Taken aback by the tumultuous reception, Lincoln closed saying: “I came here, fellow citizens, expecting quiet, but as it seems, I am a great disturber of the peace. I wish you would allow me to depart.”199 After escaping on horseback, he remarked: “I was afraid of being caught and crushed in that crowd. The American people remind me of a flock of sheep.”200
Lincoln spent most of his days in the state capitol, where he occupied the governor’s office, which Yates used only when the legislature was in session. Measuring approximately 15 by 12 feet, and furnished with a sofa, a table, and a few armchairs, it could accommodate up to a dozen people comfortably. There was also a desk where his secretary, John G. Nicolay, worked. The industrious, efficient Nicolay was a 28-year-old, German-born journalist from Pike County who since 1857 had been clerking for Secretary, of State Ozias M. Hatch. A week before the Chicago Convention, Nicolay had helped build support for Lincoln’s candidacy by publishing an elaborate article comparing his record on slavery with Henry Clay’s, arguing that they were very similar. He probably did so at the suggestion of the hopeful candidate, who may have written the piece himself. Since 1858, Nicolay had been contributing occasional articles to the Missouri Democrat of St. Louis; he filed a long report on the Chicago Convention for that newspaper. Shortly after his nomination, Lincoln told Hatch: “I wish I could find some young man to help me with my correspondence. It is getting so heavy I can’t handle it. I can’t afford to pay much, but the practice is worth something.” When Hatch recommended Nicolay, Lincoln found it easy to accept the advice, for he regarded the young man as “entirely trust-worthy” and had often conversed and played chess with him in Hatch’s office, which served as an informal Republican headquarters. Nicolay had hoped to be given the task of writing a campaign biography and was jealous when William Dean Howells was chosen. He was solaced when Lincoln hired him at $75 per month, for he vastly admired his employer, who served as a kind of surrogate father to the orphaned Nicolay.201
As time passed and the correspondence grew heavier, Nicolay required help. Milton Hay proposed that the committee covering Lincoln’s extra expenses hire his young nephew, John Hay, saying that he had “great literary talent and great tact.” The committee agreed to the suggestion, and the 23-year-old Hay, a suave, sophisticated graduate of Brown University with a touch of the poet and a reputation for “humorous gayety,” began assisting Nicolay, who had been his school chum in Pittsfield.202 Both young men later accompanied Lincoln to Washington, where they served as his private secretaries. During the campaign, Hay wrote occasional press dispatches under the pen name “Ecarte.”
The secretary’s desk was covered with innumerable letters and newspapers. Editors sent copies of their journals, all carefully marked up for the inspection of the president-elect, who ignored them. Also strewing the desktop were some of the hundreds of gifts and souvenirs people sent Lincoln. Among them were canes, axes, mauls, fragments of old rails that he had allegedly split and of the cabins where he had supposedly lived, pieces of furniture and surveyor’s tools he had once owned, mementos of the Black Hawk War, wedges, pictures, books, and a chain of links ingeniously carved from a single piece of wood. The various tools became conversation pieces that Lincoln described to his city-based well-wishers, one of whom observed two steel wedges and asked, “Are those the wedges, Sir?” Lincoln replied: “These, Sir, are the identical wedges—that were sent to me about a week ago.”203 Upon receiving an elegant hat, he remarked to Mrs. Lincoln: “Well, wife, there is one thing likely to come out of this scrape, any how. We are going to have some new clothes!”204
At the governor’s office Lincoln received politicians from around the country. He usually told them a story, said nothing significant, and sent them home happy. Uncomplainingly, he also met ordinary people who wished to see him. “I am a public man now,” he said, “and I am the public’s most obedient servant.” He was especially happy to chat with old friends from his early days in the state. No matter how eminent a figure he was entertaining, Lincoln, when informed that such a caller sought an audience, would promptly excuse himself to offer his greetings and make his new guest comfortable. They would then reminisce about the old days. One such friend was an elderly gentleman who greeted him with the salutation “Mr. President.”
“Not yet,” said Lincoln. “We mustn’t count our chickens before they are hatched, you know.” “Well,” said the caller, “maybe yourn aint quite
hatched, but they’re peepin’ sure.”
Lincoln’s patience, affability, and dignity impressed his callers, including some Southerners who found to their surprise that their prejudices against him were unfounded. A Mississippian who had just emerged from a long conversation with Lincoln declared, “I am perfectly astonished. I expected to find a fierce and ignorant fanatic, but I find instead, not only an affable and genial gentleman, but a wise and moderate statesman.… Why, our whole southern people are deceived in regard to that man.”205 Another visitor reported that Lincoln “makes every one feel not only easy, but delighted and fascinated by his fine narratives, references and classical quotations. He does not pretend to be familiar with literature, though not many will be willing to enter a second time on literary themes with him, unless their minds be well stored.”206
Some callers expressed concern for Lincoln’s life, reminding him that his Whig predecessors, Harrison and Taylor, had both died in office. His only regular companion in the governor’s office, John G. Nicolay, noted that it was “astonishing how the popular sympathy for Mr. Lincoln draws fearful forebodings from these two examples.”207
Lincoln’s office was overrun with all kinds of visitors virtually every day. He made no distinction between the great and the humble. “The flat-boatman and the statesman, the beggar and the millionaire, are treated with equal courtesy, and all heard with marvelous patience,” a journalist observed. “Honors have not changed the manners of ‘Honest Old Abe.’ ”208 His old friend Orville Browning also found Lincoln bearing “his honors meekly.” As they chatted freely and easily for an hour or two, the candidate told several amusing stories.209
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