Part 18 (1/2)

”I hear of ultra old Whigs in Boston who say they are ready to take up Mr. Seward upon his recent speech,” a Ma.s.sachusetts delegate told Weed. ”All the New England delegates, save Connecticut's, will be equally satisfactory.” And in Ohio, Salmon Chase admitted that there ”seems to be at present a considerable set toward Seward.” Seward himself believed that the speech had been a great success, the final step in his long journey to the presidency.

In the heady weeks that followed, Weed a.s.sured him that everything was in readiness for a victory at the convention. By trading legislative charters to build city railroads for campaign contributions, Weed had a.s.sembled what one observer called ”oceans of money,” a campaign chest worth several hundred thousand dollars.

As the convention approached, overconfidence reigned in the Seward camp and poor judgment set in. Despite Weed's generally keen political intuition, he failed to antic.i.p.ate the damage Seward would suffer as a consequence of a rift with Horace Greeley. Over the years, Greeley had voiced a longing for political office, for both the monetary compensation it would provide and the prestige it promised. On several occasions, Greeley later claimed, he had made this desire clear to Seward and Weed. They never took his political aspirations seriously, believing that his strength and usefulness lay in writing, not in practical politics and public office. Greeley had written a plaintive letter to Seward in the autumn of 1854, in which he catalogued a long list of grievances and announced the dissolution of the political firm of Seward, Weed, & Greeley. He recalled the work he had done to secure Seward's first victory as governor, only to discover that jobs had been dispensed ”worth $3000 to $20,000 per year to your friends and compatriots, and I returned to my garret and my crust, and my desperate battle with pecuniary obligations.” With the exception of a single term in Congress, Greeley charged, Weed had never given him a chance to be nominated for any office. Despite hundreds of suggestions that he run for governor in the most recent election, Weed had refused to support the possibility, claiming that his candidacy would hurt Seward's chances for the Senate. But the most humiliating moment had come, Greeley revealed, when Weed handed the nomination for lieutenant governor that year to Henry Raymond, editor of the New York Times, the Tribune's archrival.

Seward was distressed to read Greeley's letter, which he characterized as ”full of sharp, p.r.i.c.king thorns,” but he mistakenly a.s.sumed that Greeley's pique was temporary, akin to the anger, he said, that one of his sons might display if denied the chance to go to the circus or a dancing party. After showing it to his wife, Seward cast the letter aside. Frances read it more accurately. Recognizing the ”mortal offense” Greeley had taken, she saved the letter, preserving a record of the tangled web of emotions that led Greeley in 1860 to abandon one of his oldest friends in favor of Edward Bates, a man he barely knew.

Week after week, through his columns in the Tribune, Greeley laid the groundwork for the nomination of Bates. Seward's supporters were incensed when he subtly began to sabotage the New Yorker's campaign. Henry Raymond remarked that Greeley ”insinuated, rather than openly uttered, exaggerations of local prejudice and animosity against him; hints that parties and men hostile to him and to the Republican organization must be conciliated and their support secured; and a new-born zeal for nationalizing the party by consulting the slave-holding states in regard to the nomination.” The influence of the Tribune was substantial, and with each pa.s.sing day, enthusiasm for Bates's candidacy grew.

At some point that spring, Weed had a long talk with Greeley and came away with the mistaken conviction that Greeley was ”all right,” that despite his editorial support for Bates, he would not play a major role at the convention. The conversation mistakenly satisfied Weed that ties of old friends.h.i.+p would keep Greeley from taking an active role against Seward once the convention began.

Overconfidence also played a role in Weed's failure to meet with Pennsylvania's powerful political boss, Simon Cameron, before the convention opened. In mid-March, Cameron told Seward that he wanted to see Weed in either Was.h.i.+ngton or Philadelphia ”at any time” convenient to Weed. Seward relayed the message to his mentor, but Weed, certain that Cameron would deliver Pennsylvania to Seward by the second ballot, as he thought he had promised, never managed to make the trip.

Weed's faith in Cameron was due partly to Seward's report of a special visit he had made to Cameron's estate, Lochiel, near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Shortly before leaving for Europe the previous spring, Seward had spent a day with Cameron and had returned certain that Cameron was pledged to his candidacy. ”He took me to his home, told me all was right,” Seward told Weed. ”He was for me, and Pa. would be. It might want to cast a first ballot for him or might not.... He brought the whole legislature of both parties to see me-feasted them gloriously and they were in the main so free, so generous as to embarra.s.s me.” Reports of this lavish reception persuaded reporters and politicians alike that a deal had been brokered.

In the months that followed, even as gossip spread that Cameron did not have control of his entire delegation, Weed continued to believe that the Pennsylvania boss, so like himself in many ways, would do whatever was necessary to fulfill his pledge and deliver his state. After all, to Cameron was attributed the oft-quoted definition: ”an honest politician is one who, when he is bought, stays bought.”

Cameron had been quicker than Weed to exploit the lucrative potential of politics. Through contracts with ca.n.a.l companies, railroads, and banks, he ama.s.sed ”so much money,” he later boasted, that he might have become ”the richest man in Pennsylvania” had he not pursued elective office. Unlike Weed, who remained behind the scenes, Cameron secured for himself two terms in the U.S. Senate; in 1844 and again in 1855. He began his political life as a Democrat but became frustrated by Democratic positions on slavery and, more important, on the tariff, which was his ”legislative child.” In 1855, he was instrumental in establis.h.i.+ng Pennsylvania's Republican Party, initially called the People's Party.

At the People's Party state convention in February 1860, Cameron received the expected favorite-son nod for the presidency, but Andrew Curtin, a magnetic young politician who was challenging Cameron for control in the state, was nominated for governor. Though Cameron received a majority vote at the convention, a substantial number of district delegates remained to be chosen, eventually producing a split between the rival forces of Cameron and Curtin. Curtin was uncommitted to any candidate when the Republican Convention opened, yet it was known that he questioned Seward's electability. Seward's name on the ticket might hamstring his own election, for the anti-Catholic Know Nothings, who still exerted considerable power in Pennsylvania, had never forgiven Seward for his liberalism toward immigrants and his controversial support for parochial education. Boss Cameron might have been able to resolve these obstacles with Boss Weed in private conversation before the convention. Since that meeting never took place, Weed was left to navigate the countervailing forces of the Pennsylvania state delegation without Cameron's guidance.

SEWARD'S LEISURELY SOJOURN abroad afforded Chase the opportunity to actively secure pledges and workers for his nomination. Never the most astute of politicians, Chase made curiously little use of the precious months of 1859 to better his chances. Sure of the power and depth of his support, he once again, as in 1856, a.s.sumed he would somehow gain the nomination without much personal intervention. News to the contrary Chase dismissed out of hand, even when the intelligence came from his close friend Gamaliel Bailey.

Bailey and Chase had become acquainted in Cincinnati when Bailey was editing The Philanthropist. Later on, when Bailey became publisher of The National Era and moved his family to Was.h.i.+ngton, they warmly welcomed the lonely Chase into their home. When the Senate was in session, Chase lived for months at a time at their house, forming friends.h.i.+ps with Bailey's wife, Margaret, and the entire Bailey clan. On Sat.u.r.day evenings, the Baileys' home became ”a salon in European tradition,” replete with dinner and the word games at which Chase excelled.

Throughout their long friends.h.i.+p, Bailey had always been frank with Chase, castigating him in 1856 for his temporizing att.i.tude toward the ”detestable” Know Nothings. Nonetheless, Bailey remained loyal and supportive of his old friend, a.s.suring him on numerous occasions that he would rather see him ”in the presidential chair than any other man.” Yet, as Bailey a.s.sessed the temper of the country in early 1859, conversing with many people, ”observing the signs of the times and the phases of public opinion,” he concluded in a long, candid letter to Chase that he thought it best to support Seward in 1860. The time for Chase would come again four years later.

”He and you are the two most prominent representative men of the party,” Bailey wrote on January 16, 1859, ”but he is older than you.” His friends believe it is ”now or never” with him, ”to postpone him now is to postpone him forever...you are in the prime of life and have the promise of continuing so-you have not attained your full stature or status-he has-every year adds to your strength, and in 1864, you will be stronger than in 1860.... To be urgent now against the settled feeling of Seward's numerous friends, would provoke unpleasant and damaging discords, and tend hereafter to weaken your position.” Bailey suspected that Chase might disagree with his recommendation, but ”I know you will not question my integrity or my friends.h.i.+p.”

”I do not doubt your friends.h.i.+p,” Chase testily replied, ”but I do think that if our situations were reversed I should take a different method of showing mine for you.... The suggestion 'now or never' [with regard to Seward] is babyish...how ridiculous...but to sum up all in brief...let me say it cannot change my position. I have no right to do so.... A very large body of the people-embracing not a few who would hardly vote for any man other than myself as a Republican nominee-seem to desire that I shall be a candidate in 1860. No effort of mine, and as far as I know none of my immediate personal friends has produced this feeling. It seems to be of spontaneous growth.”

Bailey responded that he presumed Chase's characterization of the ”now or never” position of Seward's supporters as ”babyish” was ”a slip of your pen.... It may be erroneous, groundless, but...it is ent.i.tled to consideration. It has reference not only to age, & health, but other matters.... Governor Seward will be fifty-nine in May, 1860.... Should another be nominated, and elected, the chances would be in favor of a renomination-which would postpone the Governor eight years-until he should be sixty-seven, in the shadow of seventy.... You are still growing [Chase had just turned fifty-one]-you are still increasing in reputation-four years hence...your chances of nomination & election to the Presidency would be greater than they are now.” Bailey a.s.sured Chase that he would never work against him. ”All I desired was to apprise you, as a friend.”

Deluded by flattery, Chase preferred the unrealistic projections of New York's Hiram Barney, who thought his strength in New York State was growing so rapidly that it was possible he might receive New York's vote on the first ballot. So heroic was his self-conception, Chase believed that doubtful supporters would flock to his side once they understood the central role he had played as the guardian of the antislavery tradition and father of the Republican Party.

Failing once again to appoint a campaign manager, Chase had no one to bargain and maneuver for him, no one to promise government posts in return for votes. He rejected an appeal from a New Hamps.h.i.+re supporter who proposed to build a state organization. He never capitalized on the initial support of powerful Chicago Press and Tribune editor Joseph Medill. He turned down an invitation to speak at Cooper Union in a lecture series organized by his supporters as a forum for candidates other than Seward. Refusing even to consider that his own state might deny him a united vote on the first ballot, he failed to confirm that every delegate appointed to the convention was pledged to vote for him. Indeed, his sole contribution to his own campaign was a series of letters to various supporters and journalists around the country, reminding them that he was the best man for the job.

Frustrated supporters tried to shake him into more concerted action. ”I now begin to fear that Seward will get a majority of the delegates from Maryland,” Chase's loyal backer James Ashley warned. ”He and his friends work-work. They not only work-but he works.” The willful Chase was blind to troubling signs, convinced that if the delegates voted their conscience, he would ultimately prevail.

”I shall have n.o.body to push or act for me at Chicago,” Chase boasted to Benjamin Eggleston, a delegate from Cincinnati, ”except the Ohio delegation who will, I doubt not, faithfully represent the Republicans of the State.” While a large majority of the Ohio state delegation indeed supported Chase, Senator Ben Wade had his own devoted followers. ”The Ohio delegation does not seem to be anywhere as yet,” delegate Erastus Hopkins warned. Heedless, Chase remained positive that the entire Ohio delegation would come around, given everything he had done and sacrificed for his state. To support any other candidate would put one ”in a position no man of honor or sensibility would care to occupy.”

A month before the convention, Kate convinced her father that a journey to Was.h.i.+ngton would sh.o.r.e up his support among various congressmen and senators. Lodging at the Willard Hotel, they made the rounds of receptions and dinners. Seward was very kind to them, Chase admitted to his friend James Briggs. The genial New Yorker hosted a dinner party in their honor at which ”all sides were pretty fairly represented” and ”there was a good deal of joking.” The next evening, former Ohio congressman John Gurley organized a party to honor both Chase and Ohio's new governor, William Dennison. Seward was invited to join the Ohio gathering, which included former Whig leader Tom Corwin and Senator Ben Wade.

Writing home after the dinner, Seward jos.h.i.+ngly noted that he ”found much comfort” in the discovery that Ohio was home to at least three candidates for the presidency, ”all eminent and excellent men, but each preferring anybody out of Ohio, to his two rivals within.” While Seward immediately intuited signals that Ben Wade, in particular, coveted the nomination, Chase remained oblivious, refusing to believe that Ohio would not back its most deserving son. On the Chases' last evening in Was.h.i.+ngton, the Blairs threw them a lavish party at their country estate in Silver Spring.

As usual, Kate left a deep impression on everyone. Seward afterward told Frances that she was quite ”a young lady, pleasant and well-cultivated.” Chase wrote Nettie how pleased he was that many showed ”attention to Katie,” and many were ”kind to me.” He returned home convinced that his trip had accomplished a great deal. ”Everybody seems to like me and to feel a very gratifying degree of confidence in me,” he reported to a Cincinnati friend. Confusing hospitality with hard allegiance, he told one of his supporters that ”a great change seemed to come over men's minds while I was in Was.h.i.+ngton.”

THE BEGINNING of the pre-presidential year found the backers of Edward Bates more active in the pursuit of his nomination than the candidate himself. While Bates would gradually warm to the idea, he found himself, as always, conflicted about plunging into politics. Without the encouragement of the powerful Blairs, it is unlikely that he would have put his name forward. Once he agreed to stand, he was confronted with a political dilemma. His strength lay among old Whigs and nativists concentrated in the border states, and conservatives in the North and Northwest. To have a genuine chance for the nomination, he would have to prove himself acceptable to moderate Republicans as well.

Had he used the months prior to the nomination to travel to the very different states of Illinois, Indiana, Ma.s.sachusetts, Connecticut, or Maryland, he might have acquainted himself with the wide range of views that comprised the new party. But he never left his home state, preferring to rely on intelligence received from colleagues and supporters who came to visit him. Not only did he keep to Missouri, he rarely left his beloved home, noting in his diary when he was forced to stay overnight in St. Louis that it was ”the first that I have slept in town for about two years.” Four decades of marriage had not diminished his bond with Julia.