Part 20 (1/2)

By 1860, the Republican Party had clearly become the dominant force in Northern politics. Its growth and momentum had absorbed two parties, the Whigs and the Know Nothings, and ruptured a third-the Democratic Party. If this new party could carry three of the four conservative Northern states it had lost in 1856-Illinois, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey-it could win the presidency. These battleground states lay along the southern tier of the North; they all bordered on slave states; they would play a decisive role in choosing a nominee.

IN THE EARLY HOURS of Wednesday, May 16, the streets surrounding the newly built convention hall swarmed with excited citizens ”who crowded around the doors and windows, congregated upon the bridge, sat on the curb stones, and, in fine, used every available inch of standing room.” When the big doors of the Wigwam-”so called,” it was said, ”because the chiefs of the Republican party were to meet there”-were finally opened to the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude, thousands of ticket holders raced forward to fill the center seats and the more exclusive side galleries, where gentlemen were allowed only if accompanied by a lady. Desperate men had scoured the streets for women-schoolgirls, washerwomen, painted ladies-anyone wearing a skirt and willing to be their date for the afternoon. Within minutes, every seat and nook of the Wigwam was occupied as ten thousand party members waited expectantly for the proceedings to begin.

Exactly at noon, New York's governor Edwin Morgan, chairman of the Republican National Committee, lowered his gavel, and the convention officially began. In his opening address, Morgan told the cheering crowd that ”no body of men of equal number was ever clothed with greater responsibility than those now within the hearing of my voice.... Let methen invoke you to act in a spirit of harmony, that by the dignity, the wisdom and the patriotism displayed here you may be enabled to enlist the hearts of the people, and to strengthen them in [their] faith.”

The work of the convention began. In the course of the first two days, credential battles were settled, and an inclusive platform, keyed to Northern interests, was enthusiastically adopted. While opposition to the extension of slavery remained as central as it had been in 1856, the 1860 platform also called for a Homestead Act, a protective tariff, a railroad to the Pacific, protection for naturalized citizens, and government support for harbor and river improvements-a far broader range of issues designed to attract a larger base.

After much debate, the delegates rejected a provision requiring a two-thirds vote to secure the nomination. Their decision that a simple majority was sufficient to nominate appeared to be a victory for Seward. Coming into Chicago as the best known of all the contenders, he already had nearly a majority of pledges. ”The great body of ardent Republicans all over the country,” James Pike observed, ”desired to elevate to the Presidency the man who had begun so early and had labored so long in behalf of their cardinal doctrines.” Indeed, when business came to a close at the end of the second day, a move was made to proceed directly to the presidential balloting. Had votes been cast at that moment, many believe, Seward would have emerged the victor. Instead, the secretary of the convention informed the delegates that the papers necessary for keeping the tally had not yet been prepared, and they adjourned until ten o'clock the next morning.

For those concerned that Seward was too radical on slavery and too liberal on immigration to win battleground states-Indiana, Illinois, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania-the central question was whether the opposition could be unified behind one man. A Committee of Twelve was formed by the prominent representatives of the four critical states to see if a consensus could be reached. By 10 p.m., twelve hours before the balloting was set to begin, no one had been agreed upon. ”The time had been consumed in talking,” a member of the opposition committee lamented, as each delegation argued stubbornly for its favorite son.

Shortly before midnight, Horace Greeley visited the committee to see if any agreement had been reached. Having surprised Weed by gaining entrance to the convention by representing Oregon as a proxy, Greeley planned to promote Bates and defeat Seward. Disappointed to learn that no agreement had been reached, Greeley sent a telegraph to the Tribune, concluding that since the opposition ”cannot concentrate on any candidate,” Seward ”will be nominated.” Murat Halstead of the Cincinnati Commercial telegraphed the same message to his paper at the same time, reporting that ”every one of the forty thousand men in attendance upon the Chicago Convention will testify that at midnight of ThursdayFriday night, the universal impression was that Seward's success was certain.” In the rooms shared by the New York delegation, great cheers were heard. ”Three hundred bottles of champagne are said to have been cracked,” reported Halstead; ”it flowed freely as water.”

Still, the night was young, the battle only just begun.

AS THE HOURS Pa.s.sED, Weed must have sensed growing opposition among politicians in the conservative battleground states, many of whom feared that supporting Seward's candidacy would hurt their own chances in state elections. However, he never altered his original strategy: before each delegation, he simply a.s.serted that in this perilous time, Seward was, without question, the best man for the job. His love and devotion to his friend of more than thirty years blinded him to the inner dynamics at work since the convention began, the serious doubts that were surfacing about Seward's availability, which meant, bluntly, his ability to win.

”Four years ago we went to Philadelphia to name our candidate,” Weed told one delegation after another, ”and we made one of the most inexcusable blunders.... We nominated a man who had no qualification for the position of Chief Magistrate.... We were defeated as we probably deserved to be.... We are facing a crisis; there are troublous times ahead of us.... What this country will demand as its chief executive for the next four years is a man of the highest order of executive ability, a man of real statesmanlike qualities, well known to the Country, and of large experience in national affairs. No other cla.s.s of men ought to be considered at this time. We think we have in Mr. Seward just the qualities the Country will need.... We expect to nominate him...and to go before the Country full of courage and confidence.”

No sooner did Weed leave each chamber than Horace Greeley came in and addressed the delegates: ”I suppose they are telling you that Seward is the be all and the end all of our existence as a party, our great statesman, our profound philosopher, our pillar of cloud by day, our pillar of fire by night, but I want to tell you boys that in spite of all this you couldn't elect Seward if you could nominate him. You must remember as things stand today we are a sectional party. We have no strength outside the North, practically we must have the entire North with us if we hope to win.... He cannot carry New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Indiana, or Iowa, and I will bring to you representative men from each of these states who will confirm what I say.” Greeley proceeded to do just that, one delegate recalled, introducing Governor Samuel Kirkwood of Iowa, and gubernatorial candidates Andrew Curtin and Henry Lane of Pennsylvania and Indiana, ”each of whom confirmed what Greeley had said.”

”I know my people well,” Pennsylvania's Henry Lane argued. ”In the south half of my State a good proportion of my people have come from Slave States.... They will not tolerate slavery in Indiana or in our free territories but they will not oppose it where it is.... They are afraid Seward would be influenced by that abolition element of the East and make war on slavery where it is.”

Greeley's spearheading of the anti-Seward forces was all the more credible because few were aware of his estrangement from Seward. Delegates accepted his arguments as those of a friend who simply feared Seward would not bring their party the presidency. ”While professing so high a regard for Mr. Seward,” one reporter later recognized, ”there was rankling in the bosom of Greeley a hatred of the great statesman as bitter as that ever entertained by the most implacable of his political enemies. The feeling had been pent up for years, gathering strength and fury for an occasion when a final explosion could be had with effect. The occasion was afforded at Chicago. The match was lit-the combustible material was ignited, the explosion came.... Horace Greeley had his revenge.”

Nor was Seward the only target of the late-night gatherings. Gustave Koerner, the leader of the German-Americans-an important component of the Republican const.i.tuency in the West-had never forgiven Bates for supporting Fillmore's Know Nothing Party in 1856. In his memoirs, Koerner described rus.h.i.+ng into a crowded meeting of delegates from Pennsylvania and Indiana. Frank Blair was just finis.h.i.+ng an eloquent speech for Bates when Koerner took the floor. ”In all candor,” he said, ”if Bates [is] nominated,” even if he were to win his home state of Missouri, which was doubtful, ”the German Republicans in the other States would never vote for him; I for one would not, and I would advise my countrymen to the same effect.”

Bates was further handicapped by the fact that he never really represented the middle of the party, however much the Blairs and Greeley tried to position him there. He was much too conservative for liberal Republicans, who might welcome him into their party but would never accord him chief command of an army in which he had never officially enlisted. At the same time, the letter he had written to prove his credentials to the Republicans had diminished the previous enthusiasm of conservatives and former Know Nothings.

Nor was all going well for Salmon Chase. Besides Seward, Chase was the most renowned Republican aspirant. Though more zealously committed to the black man than Seward, Chase was not hampered by Seward's radical reputation; his words had not become emblazoned on the banner of the antislavery movement. In contrast to Seward's reputation as a liberal spender, which hurt in battleground states, he was an economic conservative. And, unlike Seward, he had never openly attacked the Know Nothings.

Moreover, as the third largest delegation at the convention, Ohio wielded substantial power. ”If united,” observed Halstead, ”it would have a formidable influence and might throw the casting votes between candidates, holding the balance of power between the East and the West.” But Ohio would not unite behind Chase, as some delegates held out for Ben Wade or Judge McLean. The many enemies Chase had made and failed to conciliate over the years came back to haunt him at this critical juncture. Any hope of persuading McLean to turn over his votes had been lost long before as a consequence of his manipulations to gain his Senate seat. Chase, McLean remarked, ”is selfish, beyond any other man. And I know from the bargain he has made in being elected to the Senate, he is ready to make any bargain to promote his interest.”

”There was no unity of action, no determination of purpose,” one Chase supporter later lamented; there was ”a weakness in the spinal column in the Ohio delegation at Chicago, most pitiable to behold.” Ohio's inability to settle firmly on Chase, another delegate told him, proved catastrophic. ”If the Ohio delegation had been true...you would have been nominated.... I mingled freely with many of the delegations-they stood ready as a second choice...to give you their votes-would have done so if Ohio had...[been] relied upon.”

Nor had Chase learned from his mistakes four years earlier. Once again, he failed to appoint a set of trusted managers who could guide his campaign, answer objections, cajole wavering delegates, and, at the right moment, make promises to buoy supporters and strengthen wills. ”There are lots of good feeling afloat here for you,” one of Chase's friends told him, ”but there is no set of men in earnest for you...I think the hardest kind of death to die is that occasioned by indecisive, or lukewarm friends.”

MEANWHILE, THROUGHOUT this night of a thousand knives, the opposition to Seward grew more vociferous, even frantic. ”Men gather in little groups,” observed Halstead, ”and with their arms about each other, and chatter and whisper as if the fate of the country depended upon their immediate delivery of the mighty political secrets with which their imaginations are big.” Rumors multiplied with each pa.s.sing hour; ”things of incalculable moment are communicated to you confidentially, at intervals of five minutes.”

The rumor was deliberately circulated ”that the Republican candidates for governor in Indiana, Illinois and Pennsylvania would resign if Seward were nominated.” No one challenged Seward's ability; no one questioned his credentials as statesman of the party. He was opposed simply because it was thought he would damage the prospects of the Republican Party and hurt Republican candidates in local elections. Still, Halstead admiringly observed: ”Amid all these cries of distress, the Sewardites are true as steel to their champion, and they will cling to 'Old Irrepressible,' as they call him, until the last gun is fired and the big bell rings.”

All along, the main question among the gathering ranks of the ”stop Seward” movement had been whether the opposition would be able to concentrate its strength on a single alternative, or be crippled by its own divisions.

For this eventuality, Lincoln had long prepared. Though he understood he could not positively count on the unanimous support of any delegation beyond Illinois, he knew he had earned widespread respect and admiration throughout the North. ”You know how it is in Ohio,” he wrote a friend from the Buckeye State two weeks before the convention. ”I am certainly not the first choice there; and yet I have not heard that any one makes any positive objection to me. It is just so everywhere so far as I can perceive. Everywhere, except in Illinois, and possibly Indiana, one or another is prefered to me, but there is no positive objection.”

To reach his goal of becoming everyone's second choice, Lincoln was careful not to disparage any other candidate. Nor was it in his nature to do so. His committed team of workers-including Judge David Davis, Leonard Swett, Norman Judd, and Stephen Logan-understood this, resolving from the start ”to antagonize no one.” They did not need to, for Greeley and candidates for governor in the doubtful states had that task well in hand. Nor, as Kenneth Stampp writes, did they need to win support based upon Lincoln's ”relative ability compared with other candidates.... Their appeal was based on availability and expediency; they urged the delegates to nominate the man who could win.”

”No men ever worked as our boys did,” Swett later claimed. ”I did not, the whole week I was there, sleep two hours a night.” Although some of Lincoln's men had political ambitions of their own, Henry Whitney observed, ”Most of them worked con amore, chiefly from love of the man, his lofty moral tone, his pure political morality.” Working in his ”typically methodical way,” Davis designated specific tasks to each member of his team. Maine's Leonard Swett was charged with making inroads in the Maine delegation. Samuel Parks, a native Vermonter, was dispatched to the delegation of the Green Mountain State. In the spring elections in New England, the Republicans had suffered setbacks, leading Lincoln to observe that the election result would be seen as ”a drawback upon the prospects of Gov. Seward,” opening the door for one of his rivals. Stephen Logan and Richard Yates were given Kentucky, while Ward Lamon was a.s.signed his home state of Virginia. In each of these states, the Lincoln men worked to pick off individual delegates to keep Seward from sweeping the field on the first ballot.

”It all worked to a charm,” boasted Swett. ”The first State approached was Indiana.” Even before the convention had opened, Lincoln got word that ”the whole of Indiana might not be difficult to get” and had urged Davis to concentrate on the Hoosier State. Though Indiana contained twenty thousand or more former Know Nothings who likely preferred Bates, the Indiana politicians were fearful that Bates was not strong enough to challenge Seward for the nomination. And if Seward headed the ticket, gubernational candidate Henry Lane never tired of warning, the radical image he projected and his unpopularity with the Know Nothings would jeopardize the entire state ticket.