# The Life of Abraham Lincoln (Holland)/Chapter XVII

To appreciate the enormity of the rebellion of which Mr. Lincoln's election was made the pretext, by the southern leaders, it is never to be forgotten that the whole South, by becoming a party in the election, committed itself to the result. They were in all honor bound to abide by that result, whatever it might be. If the foes of Mr. Lincoln had refused to vote at all, they would have gone into the rebellion with a much cleaner record; but the first item of that record was a breach of personal honor on the part of every man who engaged in insurrection. Every member of both houses of Congress, every member of the cabinet, and every federal office-holder who turned against the government, was obliged, beyond this breach of personal honor to become a perjurer--to trample upon the solemn oath by virtue of which he held his office.
Allusion has already been made to the operations of the plotters in Mr. Buchanan's cabinet. Before the election, Floyd had, as has already been stated, sent one hundred and fifteen thousand muskets from northern armories to southern arsenals. General Scott had warned him of the danger to which the federal forts at the South were liable, and had advised that, as a precautionary measure, they should be garrisoned. To this warning the secret traitor paid no attention. Attorney General Black had given his official opinion that Congress had no right to carry on a war against any state. The President himself was only a weak instrument in the hands of the intriguers. He consented to have his hands tied; and if he made any protests they were weak and childish. More than anything else he longed to have them delay the execution of their schemes until he should be released from office.
South Carolina, the breeding bed of secession and the birthplace of the fatal State Rights Heresy, took the lead in the secession movement, and called a state convention to meet at Columbia on the seventeenth of December. On the tenth of November, four days after the election, a bill was introduced in the legislature of the state calling out ten thousand volunteers. The two senators from South Carolina, Chesnut and Hammond, resigned their seats, one on the tenth and the other on the eleventh of the same month. Robert Toombs, a Georgia senator, made a violent secession speech at Milledgeville in his own state, and this, notwithstanding the fact that he continued to hold his seat. Howell Cobb, the Secretary of the Treasury, resigned on the tenth of December, declaring his inability to relieve the treasury from the embarrassments into which he had purposely led it; and two days before the secession convention met in South Carolina the Secretary of War, Floyd, accepted the requisition of that state for her quota of United States arms for 1861. Meetings were held all over the South where treason was boldly plotted and promulgated, and the people were goaded to the adoption of the desperate expedients determined upon by the leaders. The South Carolina Secession Convention met at Columbia on the seventeenth of December, but, on account of the prevalence of the small pox there, adjourned to Charleston, where, on the twentieth, they formally issued an ordinance of separation, and declared "that the Union now (then) subsisting between South Carolina and other states under the name of the United States of America is hereby (was thereby) dissolved."
The passage of this ordinance filled the Charlestonians with delight, and, in the evening, in the presence of an immense crowd, the fatal instrument was signed and sealed; and Governor Pickens immediately issued a proclamation, declaring South Carolina to be "a separate, free, sovereign and independent state." This was followed by the withdrawal of Messrs. McQueen, Boyd, Bonham and Ashmore from Congress, although their resignation was not recognized by the speaker, on the ground that such an act would be a recognition of the legitimacy of the action of the state.
Before the adjournment of the South Carolina Convention, resolutions were passed calling for a convention of the seceding states to be held at Montgomery, Alabama, for the purpose of forming a southern confederacy, and providing or suggesting a plan of operations and organization. The Congressional conspirators were active in Washington, and in constant communication with their respective states, urging on the work of national disintegration. On the eighth of January a caucus of southern senators at Washington counseled immediate secession; and at the national capital there was no influence that could, or would, withstand this reckless and rampant treason. As quickly as it could be done consistently with the safety of the cause of treason, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas, followed the lead of South Carolina in to secession. Forts and arsenals were seized in all the seceded states, the steamer Star of the West, sent to Charleston with reinforcements and supplies for Major Anderson, was driven out of the harbor, a southern confederacy was formed, with Jefferson Davis as president, and thus, by every necessary preliminary act, was the most terrible rebellion inaugurated that has ever reddened the pages of history. In cabinet meeting, the southern secretaries, still occupying places, were boldly demanding that the forts at Charleston should be evacuated; and Mr. Buchanan was too weak to take a position against them. But he had one man in his cabinet who was not afraid to speak the truth. Edwin M. Stanton who had been called to fill the office of attorney general on the retirement of Mr. Black, rose and said: "Mr. President, it is my duty, as your legal adviser, to say that you have no right to give up the property of the government, or abandon the soldiers of the United States to its enemies; and the course proposed by the Secretary of the Interior, if followed, is treason, and will involve you and all concerned in treason." For the first time in the cabinet treason had been called by its true name, and the men who were leading the President and the country to ruin were told to their faces the nature of their foul business. Floyd and Thompson, who had had everything their own way, sprang fiercely to their feet, while Mr. Holt, the Postmaster General, took his position by the side of Mr. Stanton; and Mr. Buchanan besought them with a senile whine to take their seats. Thus bolstered by Mr. Stanton the President determined not to withdraw Major Anderson. This act of Mr. Stanton was the first in Mr. Buchanan's administration that seemed to be based on a full comprehension of the nature of the situation. and it was a noble introduction to the great work he was destined to accomplish in the suppression of the rebellion.
These events occurring in rapid succession produced a profound impression at the North. The whole country was filled with feverish apprehension. A peace congress took up its abode in Washington, with the notorious John Tyler for president. Measures of compromise were introduced into Congress and urged with great vigor. Those northern states that had passed "personal liberty bills," and other measures offensive to the South made haste to repeal them, that all possible pretexts for rebellion might be put out of the way. Every practicable attempt was made by the fearful and the faithless to compel such concessions to the slave power as would calm its ire, and obviate the necessity of armed collision. There were not wanting men in the North whose sympathies were with the traitors, and who would willingly and gladly have joined them in the attempt to revolutionize the government, by preventing Mr. Lincoln from taking his seat, and delivering over Washington and the government to the plotters. Indeed, many of the traitors openly declared that by secession they did not mean secession at all, but revolution. Commerce and manufactures begged for peace at the slaveholder's price, whatever it might be.
Washington itself was full of treason. It was the prevailing spirit of all the fashionable life of the national capital. All the governmental departments were crowded with it. It was the talk of the hotels. Loyalty was snubbed and dishonored. Maryland, though she had passed no ordinance of secession, was disloyal. The sympathies of the higher classes of Baltimore were all with the traitors. Thus secession was an accomplished fact, the forts and arsenals of the United States at the South were in the hands of the traitors, the northern arsenals were stripped, every available ship with the exception of two was beyond call, the confederate government was organized, the United States treasury was bankrupt, the whole South was seething with the excitement of treason, disloyalty reigned in every department of the government, southern sympathizers were scattered over the whole North, business was depressed, and a fearful looking-for of terrible days and terrible events had taken possession of those who still loved the Union, when Mr. Lincoln started on his journey to Washington, to assume the office to which he had been elected.
Silently, and with sad forebodings, had he waited in Springfield the opening of the storm. With an intense interest he had followed the development of the disunion scheme, and knowing the character of the southern leaders he appreciated the desperate nature of the struggle upon which he was entering.
On the 11th of February, 1861, Mr. Lincoln reluctantly bade adieu to the peaceful scenes of home and the grateful presence of his best personal friends, for the untried field of high official life. That he dreaded the change, and committed himself to it with the gravest forebodings, there is no question. Already had the threats of assassination reached his ears. It had been widely hinted by his enemies that his inauguration would never be permitted; and even if it should be, he knew that the most oppressive duties awaited him.
On his departure for the railroad station, he was accompanied by a large concourse of his neighbors and friends, the most of whom insisted on a parting shake of the hand. After passing through this trial, he appealed upon the platform of the car set apart for himself and his family and friends, and with the deepest feeling delivered to them his parting words.
"My friends," said he, "no one not in my position can appreciate the sadness I feel at this parting. To this people I owe all that I am. Here I have lived more than a quarter of a century. Here my children were born, and here one of them lies buried. I know not how soon I shall see you again. A duty devolves upon me which is greater, perhaps, than that which has devolved upon any other man since the days of Washington. He never would have succeeded except for the aid of Divine Providence, upon which he at all times relied. I feel that I cannot succeed without the same divine aid which sustained him, and on the same Almighty Being I place my reliance for support; and I hope you, my friends, will pray that I may receive that divine assistance without which I cannot succeed, but with which success is certain. Again, I bid you all an affectionate farewell."
This parting address was telegraphed to every part of the country, and was strangely misinterpreted. So little was the man's character understood that his simple and earnest request that his neighbors should pray for him was received by many as an evidence both of his weakness and his hypocrisy. No President had ever before asked the people, in a public address, to pray for him. It sounded like the cant of the conventicle to ears unaccustomed to the language of piety from the lips of politicians. The request was tossed about as a joke--"old Abe's last"--but it came from a heart surcharged with a sense of need, and strong in its belief that the Almighty listens to the prayers of men.
Mr. Lincoln had before him, on this journey, one of the most difficult tasks of his life. The country was very anxious to get some hint as to his policy. This hint he did not intend to give, until he should be obliged to give it officially. His task, then, of talking without saying anything, was not only a new one, but it was one for which he had no talent. He had never acquired, and could never acquire, the faculty of uttering graceful and acceptable nothings. Give him something to talk about, and he could talk. Give him a knotty point to argue, and he could argue; but to talk for the mere purpose of talk was beyond his power. To talk when it was his impulse and his policy to say nothing, was the hardest task of his life. Hence, there had never been a passage in his life in which he appeared to such a disadvantage as he did in the speeches made during this journey. He could win the profoundest admiration of the gifted and the learned at the Cooper Institute, but on the platform of a railroad car, or before an august committee of city magnates, he was as much at a loss as a school-boy would have been.
Mrs. Lincoln and her three boys were in the car as it rolled out of Springfield; and with them a number of Mr. Lincoln's old friends, Governor Yates, Ex-Governor Moore, Dr. W.M. Wallace, Hon. N.P. Judd, Hon. O.H. Browning, Judge David Davis and Colonel E.E. Ellsworth were of the number, as were also John M. Hay and J.G. Nicolay, afterwards Mr. Lincoln's private secretaries. The first point of destination was Indianapolis, but Mr. Lincoln was called out at various places on the route, to respond to the greetings of the crowds that had assembled at the way stations.
On arriving at Indianapolis, the party found the city entirely devoted for the time to the pleasant task of giving their elected chief magistrate a fitting reception. Business was suspended, flags were floating everywhere, and when, at five o'clock, the train rolled into the Union depot, a salute of thirty-four guns announced them and gave them greeting. Governor Morton addressed to Mr. Lincoln an earnest and hearty speech of welcome, and then the presidential party were escorted through the principal streets by a procession composed of both houses of the legislature, the municipal authorities, and the military and firemen. Arriving at the Bates House, Mr. Lincoln was called for, when he appeared, and made the following brief address:
   "Fellow citizens of the State of Indiana: I am here to thank you much for this magnificent welcome, and still more for the very generous support given by your state to that political cause, which I think is the true and just cause of the whole country and the whole world. Solomon says 'there is a time to keep silence;' and when men wrangle by the mouth, with no certainty that they mean the same thing while using the same words, it perhaps were as well if they would keep silence. The words 'coercion' and 'invasion' are much used in these days, and often with some temper and hot blood. Let us make sure, if we can, that we do not misunderstand the meaning of those who use them. Let us get the exact definitions of these words, not from dictionaries, but from the men themselves, who certainly deprecate the things they would represent by the use of the words. What, then, is 'coercion?' What is 'invasion?' Would the marching of an army into South Carolina, without the consent of her people, and with hostile intent towards them, be invasion? I certainly think it would, and it would be 'coercion' also if the South Carolinians were forced to submit. But if the United States should merely hold and retake its own forts and other property, and collect the duties on foreign importations, or even withhold the mails from places where they were habitually violated, would any or all of these things be 'invasion' or 'coercion?' Do our professed lovers of the Union, who spitefully resolve that they will resist coercion and invasion, understand that such things as these, on the part of the United States, would be coercion or invasion of a state? If so, their idea of means to preserve the object of their great affection would seem to be exceedingly thin and airy. If sick, the little pills of the homoeopathist would be much too large for it to swallow. In their view, the Union, as a family relation, would seem to be no regular marriage, but rather a sort of 'free-love' arrangement, to be maintained on passional attraction. By the way, in what consists the special sacredness of a state? I speak not of the position assigned to a state in the Union by the Constitution, for that is the bond we all recognize. That position, however, a state cannot carry out of the Union with it. I speak of that assumed primary right of a state to rule all which is less than itself, and to ruin all which is larger than itself. If a state and a county, in a given case, should be equal in extent of territory and equal in number of inhabitants, in what, as a matter of principle, is the state better than the county? Would an exchange of name be an exchange of rights? Upon what principle, upon what rightful principle, may a state, being no more than one-fiftieth part of the nation in soil and population, break up the nation, and then coerce a proportionably larger subdivision of itself in the most arbitrary way? What mysterious right to play tyrant is conferred on a district or country with its people, by merely calling it a state? Fellow-citizens, I am not asserting any thing. I am merely asking questions for you to consider. And now allow me to bid you farewell."
The unwillingness of Mr. Lincoln to speak on public questions at this time is evident enough from these remarks; but he could not resist the inclination to expose some of his ideas, touching certain words which were then in circulation, and they undoubtedly conveyed hints concerning his policy.
On the following day, Mr. Lincoln and his party started by a special train for Cincinnati. An immense crowd assembled, and cheered them as they moved off. The train was composed of four passenger cars, the third and fourth of which were occupied by the Cincinnati committee of reception, who greeted Mr. Lincoln at once--Judge Este on behalf of the citizens, and Major Dennis J. Yoohey on behalf of the Board of Common Council. Mr. Lincoln responded briefly. The first stop was at Shelbyville, where Mr. Lincoln was obliged to show himself to the enthusiastic assemblage, though, from the brevity of the stop, he could say nothing. At Greensburgh and Lawrenceburgh Mr. Lincoln made brief remarks to the crowds that had assembled. The wisest and most characteristic thing that he uttered at the latter place was in these words: "Let me tell you that if the people remain right, your public men can never betray you. If, in my brief term of office, I shall be wicked or foolish, if you remain right and true and honest you cannot be betrayed. My power is temporary and fleeting--yours as eternal as the principles of liberty. Cultivate and protect that sentiment, and your ambitious leaders will be reduced to the position of servants."
The train passed by the burial place of General Harrison who had occupied briefly the presidential chair, and here the family of the deceased patriot were assembled. Mr. Lincoln bowed his respects to the group and to the memory of his predecessor.
The twelfth day of February was remarkably sunny and cheerful, and a large concourse of citizens had assembled to give Mr. Lincoln greeting and to catch a glimpse of his face. All the streets leading to the railroad depot were thronged with people; and the windows and roofs and every perch from which a lookout could be obtained were occupied. It took a large force of military and police to keep the way clear. A distant cannon announced the approach of the train, and then there went up from the multitude such a cheer as such a multitude alone can give. After some difficulty the party reached their carriages, and then the crowd went wild with enthusiasm, cheering the President and the Union, Mr. Lincoln rising in the carriage with uncovered head, and acknowledging the greetings that met him at every crossing. Mr. Lincoln's carriage was drawn by six white horses, and was surrounded by a detachment of police to keep off the crowd. Mayor Bishop occupied a seat by his side. All along the route of the procession houses were decorated with the national colors, and various devices for expressing personal and patriotic feeling. The Court House, Custom House, Catholic Institute, city buildings, newspaper offices, hotels, &c., were all gaily decorated. Banners, transparencies and patriotic emblems and mottoes were everywhere. At the Orphan Asylum, all the children came out and sang "Hail Columbia." Some incidents occurred that created special and peculiar interest, and some that excited no little amusement. A brawny German took a little girl in his arms, and carried her to the carriage, when she modestly presented to the President a single flower, which compliment he acknowledged by stooping and kissing the child. It was a small incident--a very pretty incident--but incidents like these depend for their effect upon the susceptibilities of the observers; and many of the excited multitude were touched to tears. One German devised a characteristic compliment. He took a seat upon a huge beer barrel, and, with a glass of its contents in his hand, addressed the President thus: "God be with you! Enforce the laws and save our country! Here's your health!" From the depot to the Burnet House, he rode through a dense mass of men, women and children, who took every mode of expressing their enthusiastic good will. It would have been impossible for Cincinnati to do more to receive an emperor or reward a conqueror.
The Burnet House was reached at five o'clock, and soon afterwards Mr. Lincoln appeared upon the balcony. Mayor Bishop introduced him to the people and gave him a formal welcome "in the name of the people of all classes." Mr. Lincoln then replied:
   "Mr. Mayor, Ladies and Gentlemen: Twenty-four hours ago, at the Capital of Indiana, I said to myself, 'I have never seen so many people assembled together in winter weather.' I am no longer able to say that. But it is what might reasonably have been expected--that this great city of Cincinnati would thus acquit herself on such an occasion. My friends, I am entirely overwhelmed by the magnificence of the reception which has been given, I will not say to me, but to the President elect of the United States of America. Most heartily do I thank you one and all for it. I am reminded by the address of your worthy Mayor, that this reception is given not by one political party; and even if I had not been so reminded by His Honor, I could not have failed to know the fact by the extent of the multitude I see before me now. I could not look upon this vast assemblage without being made aware that all parties were united in this reception. This is as it should be. It is as it should have been if Senator Douglas had been elected; it is as it should have been if Mr. Bell had been elected, as it should have been it Mr. Breckinridge had been elected; as it should ever be when any citizen of the United States is constitutionally elected President of the United States. Allow me to say that I think what has occurred here to-day could not have occurred in any other country on the face of the globe, without the influence of the free institutions which we have unceasingly enjoyed for three-quarters of a century. There is no country where the people can turn out and enjoy this day precisely as they please, save under the benign influence of the free institutions of our land. I hope that, although we have some threatening national difficulties now, while these free institutions shall continue to be in the enjoyment of millions of free people of the United States, we will see repeated every four years what we now witness. In a few short years I and every other individual man who is now living will pass away. I hope that our national difficulties will also pass away, and I hope we shall see in the streets of Cincinnati--good old Cincinnati--for centuries to come, once every four years, the people give such a reception as this to the constitutionally elected President of the whole United States. I hope you will all join in that reception, and that you shall also welcome your brethren across the river to participate in it. We will welcome them in every state in the Union, no matter where they are from. From away South, we shall extend to them a cordial good will, when our present differences shall have been forgotten and blown to the winds forever.
   "I have spoken but once before this in Cincinnati. That was a year previous to the late presidential election. On that occasion, in a playful manner but with sincere words, I addressed much of what I said to the Kentuckians. I gave my opinion that we as republicans would ultimately beat them as democrats, but that they could postpone that result longer by nominating Senator Douglas for the presidency than they could in any other way. They did not in the true sense of the word nominate Douglas, and the result has come certainly as soon as I expected. I also told them how I expected they would be treated after they should have been beaten; and I now wish to call or recall their attention to what I then said upon that subject. I then said: 'When we do, as we say, beat you, you perhaps will want to know what we will do with you. We mean to treat you as near as we possibly can as Washington, Jefferson and Madison treated you. We mean to leave you alone and in no way to interfere with your institutions, to abide by all and every compromise of the Constitution; and, in a word, coming back to the original proposition to treat you as far as degenerate men, if we have degenerated, may, according to the examples of those noble fathers Washington, Jefferson and Madison. We mean to remember that you are as good as we--that there is no difference us--other than the difference of circumstances. We mean to recognize and bear in mind always that you have as good hearts in your bosoms as other people, or as good as we claim to have, and treat you accordingly.'
   "Fellow-citizens of Kentucky, Friends, Brethren: May I call you such? In my new position I see no occasion and feel no inclination to retract a word of this. If it shall not be made good, be assured that the fault shall not be mine."
This little speech, remarkable for nothing so much as its thoroughly friendly feeling toward all classes and men of all opinions, was received with warm approval. Subsequently he was called upon by a procession of two thousand Germans, who, in their formal address, indicated a desire for some utterance touching his public policy. In his response, Mr. Lincoln begged to be excused from entering upon such an exposition. "I deem it due to myself and the whole country," said Mr. Lincoln, "in the present extraordinary condition of the country and of public opinion, that I should wait and see the last development of public opinion before I give my views, or express myself at the time of the inauguration. I hope at that time to be false to nothing you have been taught to expect of me."
On the morning of the thirteenth, the party started for Columbus, the capital of Ohio. The scenes of the previous day were repeated on the route, in the gathering of large crowds at all the intermediate stations. The reception in Columbus had been a fortnight in preparation, the legislature taking the initiative. At noon, on the thirteenth, it was calculated that five thousand strangers were in the city. As the time approached for the arrival of the train, the crowd around the depot became almost overwhelming. A thirty-four-gun salute announced the coming train, and as it drove slowly into the depot, the crowd called upon the President elect to show himself. He stepped out upon the platform of the rear car, and with head uncovered bowed his acknowledgments to the hearty greeting he received. On alighting and entering a carriage for the passage to the State House, the scenes at Cincinnati were re-enacted. Streets were full of people, the air was ringing with shouts and huzzas, and the same kind sun smiled upon all. He was received in the hall of the House of Representatives, and Governor Dennison introduced him to the Legislature. The President of the Senate responded in a speech of welcome which so concisely and happily conveyed the feelings of the people at that time, and so justly measured the nature and importance of the crisis, that it deserves record. He addressed Mr. Lincoln in the following words:
   "Sir: On this day, and probably this very hour, the Congress of the United States will declare the verdict of the people, making you their President. It is my pleasurable duty, in behalf or the people of Ohio, speaking through this General Assembly, to welcome you to their Capital. Never in the history of this Government has such fearful responsibility rested upon the Chief Executive of the nation as will now devolve upon you. Never since the memorable time our patriotic fathers gave existence to the American Republic, have the people looked with such intensity of feeling to the inauguration and future policy of a President, as they do to yours. I need not assure you that the people of Ohio have full confidence in your ability and patriotism, and will respond to you in their loyalty to the Union and the Constitution. It would seem, sir, that the great problem of self-government is to be solved under your administration. All nations are deeply interested in its solution, and they wait with breathless anxiety to know whether this form of government, which has been the admiration of the world, is to be a failure or not. It is the earnest and united prayer of our people, that the same kind Providence which protected us in our colonial struggles, and has attended us thus far in our prosperity and greatness, will so imbue your mind with wisdom, that you may dispel the dark clouds that hang over our political horizon, and thereby secure the return of harmony and fraternal feeling to our now distracted and unhappy country. Again I bid you a cordial welcome to our Capital."
To this noble greeting Mr. Lincoln responded as follows:
   "Gentlemen of the Senate and Citizens of Ohio: It is true, as has been said by the President of the Senate, that very great responsibility rests upon me in the position to which the votes of the American people have called me. I am deeply sensible of that weighty responsibility. I cannot but know, what you all know, that without a name-perhaps without a reason why I should have a name--there has fallen upon me a task such as did not rest upon the Father of his Country. And so feeling I cannot but turn and look for the support without which it will be impossible for me to perform that great task. I turn, then, and look to the American people, and to that God who has never forsaken them.
   "Allusion has been made to the interest felt in relation to the policy of the new administration. In this I have received from some a degree of credit for having kept silence, from others some depreciation. I still think I was right. In the varying and repeatedly shifting scenes of the present, without a precedent which could enable me to judge from the past, it has seemed fitting that before speaking upon the difficulties of the country I should have gained a view of the whole field. To be sure, after all, I would be at liberty to modify and change the course of policy, as future events might make a change necessary.
   "I have not maintained silence from any want of real anxiety. It is a good thing that there is no more than anxiety, for there is nothing going wrong. It is a consoling circumstance that when we look out there is nothing that really hurts anybody. We entertain different views upon political questions, but nobody is suffering anything. This is a most consoling circumstance, and from it I judge that all we want is time and patience, and a reliance on that God who has never forsaken this people."
The reporter for the Ohio State Journal, describing the incidents of the day, says that the impression produced by the President elect was most agreeable. "His great hight," he continues, "was conspicuous, even in that crowd of goodly men, and lifted him fully in view as he walked up the aisle. When he took the speaker's stand, a better opportunity was afforded to look at the man upon whom more hopes hang than upon any other living. At first, the kindness and amiability of his face strikes you; but as he speaks, the greatness and determination of his nature are apparent. Something in his manner, even more than in his words, told how deeply he was affected by the enthusiasm of the people; and when he appealed to them for encouragement and support, every heart responded with mute assurance of both. There was the simplicity of greatness in his unassuming and confiding manner, that won its way to instant admiration. He looked somewhat worn with travel and the fatigues of popularity, but warmed to the cordiality of his reception."
After the conclusion of the formalities in the hall, Mr. Lincoln went to the western steps of the Capitol, to say a word to the people. The address he made here consisted simply of commonplaces and phrases that had already become hackneyed. The hand-shaking that succeeded was something fearful. Every man in the crowd was anxious to wrench the hand of Abraham Lincoln. He finally gave both hands to the work, with great good nature. To quote one of the reports of the occasion: "people plunged at his arms with frantic enthusiasm, and all the infinite variety of shakes, from the wild and irrepressible pump-handle movement, to the dead grip, was executed upon the devoted dexter and sinister of the president. Some glanced at his face as they grasped his hand; others invoked the blessings of Heaven upon him; others affectionately gave him their last gasping assurance of devotion; others, bewildered and furious, with hats crushed over their eyes, seized his hands in a convulsive grasp, and passed on as if they had not the remotest idea who, what, or where they were." The President at last escaped, and took refuge in the Governor's residence, although he held a levee at the State House in the evening, where, in a more quiet way, he met many prominent citizens.
On the fourteenth, the presidential party left Columbus, for Pittsburgh. The morning was rainy, but large numbers witnessed the departure of the train, and assembled at the stations along the route. At Steubenville, about five thousand people had assembled, and these Mr. Lincoln briefly addressed. The rain interfered very materially with the proposed reception at Pittsburgh, as did also the darkness, for it was night when the party arrived. At the Monongahela House, Mr. Lincoln addressed a large concourse of people in a few words of acknowledgment, and deferred his more formal remarks until the morning of the fifteenth. These latter were not charged with particular interest. They were rather an apology for not speaking at all, upon the great subject of which all wished to hear, than any exposition of opinion or policy upon any subject. A single paragraph showed that he still deemed a peaceful solution of the national difficulties possible:
   "Notwithstanding the troubles across the river, there is really no crisis springing from anything in the Government itself. In plain words, there is really no crisis except an artificial one. What is there now to warrant the condition of affairs presented by our friends over the river? Take even their own view of the questions involved, and there is nothing to justify the course which they are pursuing. I repeat it, then, there is no crisis, except such a one as may be gotten up at any time by turbulent men, aided by designing politicians. My advice, then, under such circumstances, is to keep cool. If the great American people will only keep their temper on both sides of the line, the trouble will come to an end, and the question which now distracts the country will be settled just as surely as all other difficulties of like character which have originated in this Government have been adjusted. Let the people on both sides keep their self-possession, and just as other clouds have cleared away in due time, so will this, and this great nation shall continue to prosper as heretofore."
The next place at which he was to be received was Cleveland, Ohio; and the party set out for this beautiful city in a hard shower of rain, that had not the power to dampen the enthusiasm of the Pittsburgh people who cheered their departing guests with great heartiness. There were the usual incidents along the road, and at four o'clock the train arrived at the Euclid Street Station of the Cleveland and Pittsburgh Railroad, where a very large escort waited to conduct Mr. Lincoln to the Weddell House. The President took his seat in a carriage drawn by four white horses. Notwithstanding the unpleasantness of the weather, Euclid Street was crowded from one end to the other, with persons who acted almost like wild men, in their anxiety to catch a glimpse of the President. Mr. I.U. Masters, the President of the City Council, made a formal speech of welcome, and was followed by Hon. Sherlock G. Andrews, who welcomed the guest of the occasion on behalf of the citizens' committee. Here, in his response, Mr. Lincoln repeated the substance of the remarks he made at Pittsburgh about the artificial nature of the crisis that was upon the country. "It was not argued up," he said, "and cannot, therefore, be argued down. Let it alone and it will go down of itself." In these remarks, and in all like these, he must have taken counsel of his hopes rather than his convictions; for in the same speech, while alluding to the grateful fact that his reception was by the citizens generally, without distinction of party, he said: "If all don't join now to save the good old ship of the Union this voyage, nobody will have a chance to pilot her on another voyage." There was a general reception and hand-shaking in the evening, and after the distinguished guest had become too tired for further honors, he was permitted to retire for the night.
Early the next morning the party took their leave, but they found many up and ready to get a parting glance of Mr. Lincoln, who, taking his seat in the rear car, appeared upon the platform as the train moved out of the depot, and bowed his farewell to the people who had so generously and cordially received him. His next public reception was at Buffalo, where he arrived late in the afternoon of the sixteenth, having received all along the route those testimonials of interest which had come to be as wearisome at last, as they were grateful at the first. On the arrival of the train at Buffalo, Mr. Lincoln was met by a very large concourse of citizens, with Ex-President Fillmore at their head. After being conducted to his hotel, the acting mayor gave him a formal welcome, to which Mr. Lincoln responded with hearty thanks, and such phrases of apology for not saying anything as had already become threadbare, and with his often repeated promise to say what the people wished to hear, when he should be called upon to do it officially.
From Buffalo, Mr. Lincoln and his party proceeded to Albany, receiving many demonstrations of respect from the beautiful cities along the route of three hundred miles. At Albany he was welcomed by Governor Morgan, to whom he made a brief response; and then he was conducted into the presence of the legislature, where he had another formal reception. To the speech addressed to him here, he made an unusually graceful and feeling response. He said:
   "It is with feelings of great diffidence, and, I may say, feelings even of awe, perhaps greater than I have recently experienced, that I meet you here in this place. The history of this great state, the renown of its great men, who have stood in this chamber, and have spoken their thoughts, all crowd around my fancy, and incline me to shrink from an attempt to address you. Yet I have some confidence given me by the generous manner in which you have invited me, and the still more generous manner in which you have received me. You have invited me and received me without distinction of party. I could not for a moment suppose that this has been done in any considerable degree with any reference to my personal self. It is very much more grateful to me that this reception and the invitation preceding it were given to me as the representative of a free people than it could possibly have been were they but the evidence of devotion to me or to any one man.
   "It is true that, while I hold myself, without mock-modesty, the humblest of all the individuals who have ever been elected President of the United States, I yet have a more difficult task to perform than any one of them has ever encountered. You have here generously tendered me the support, the united support, of the great Empire State. For this, in behalf of the nation--in behalf of the present and of the future of the nation--in behalf of the cause of civil liberty in all time to come--I most gratefully thank you. I do not propose now to enter upon any expressions as to the particular line of policy to be adopted with reference to the difficulties that stand before us, in the opening of the incoming administration. I deem that it is just to the country, to myself, to you, that I should see everything, hear everything, and have every light that can possibly be brought within my reach to aid me before I shall speak officially, in order that, when I do speak, I may have the best possible means of taking correct and true grounds. For this reason, I do not now announce anything in the way of policy for the new administration. When the time comes, according to the custom of the government, I shall speak, and speak as well as I am able for the good of the present and of the future of this country--for the good of the North and of the South--for the good of one and of the other, and of all sections of it. In the meantime, if we have patience, it we maintain our equanimity, though some may allow themselves to run off in a burst of passion, I still have confidence that the Almighty Ruler of the universe, through the instrumentality of this great and intelligent people, can and will bring us through this difficulty, as he has heretofore brought us through all preceding difficulties of the country. Relying upon this, and again thanking you, as I forever shall, in my heart, for this generous reception you have given me, I bid you farewell."
Mr. Lincoln was met at Albany by a delegation of the city government of New York, and started on the nineteenth for the great metropolis. He was not permitted to pass by Poughkeepsie without a formal welcome from the mayor of that city, to which he made a formal response. In this little speech there is a manifest improvement upon the earlier efforts of the route. Mr. Lincoln had found that there were things to talk about besides policy, and that it was better to yield himself up to the impulse of the moment than to be under the constant fear of saying some imprudent thing, concerning the character of the crisis and the policy of the incoming administration.
The reception at the city of New York was such as only New York can give. Places of business were generally closed, and the streets presented such crowds as only a city numbering a million of people can produce. Here he was formally received by Fernando Wood, then mayor of the city, to whose welcome he made the following response:
   "Mr. Mayor:--It is with feelings of deep gratitude that I make my acknowledgments for the reception given me in the great commercial city of New York. I cannot but remember that this is done by a people who do not, by a majority, agree with me in political sentiment. It is the more grateful, because in this I see that, for the great principles of our Government, the people are almost unanimous. In regard to the difficulties that confront us at this time, and of which your Honor has thought fit to speak so becomingly and so justly, as I suppose, I can only say that I agree in the sentiments expressed. In my devotion to the Union, I hope I am behind no man in the nation. In the wisdom with which to conduct the affairs tending to the preservation of the Union, I fear that too great confidence may have been reposed in me; but I am sure that I bring a heart devoted to the work. There is nothing that could ever bring me to willingly consent to the destruction of this Union, under which not only the great commercial city of New York, but the whole country, acquired its greatness, except it be the purpose for which the Union itself was formed. I understand the ship to be made for the carrying and the preservation of the cargo, and so long as the ship can be saved with the cargo, it should never be abandoned, unless there appears no possibility of its preservation, and it must cease to exist, except at the risk of throwing overboard both freight and passengers. So long, then, as it is possible that the prosperity and the liberties of the people be preserved in this Union, it shall be my purpose at all times to use all my powers to aid in its perpetuation."
On the twentieth, Mr. Lincoln left New York for Philadelphia, visiting on the way both Houses of the New Jersey Legislature at Trenton. From the speech made before the Senate on this occasion, a quotation has been made in this volume, and the entire passage is worthy of record:
   "I cannot but remember the place that New Jersey holds in our early history. In the early Revolutionary struggle, few of the states among the old thirteen had more of the battle-fields of the country within its limits than old New Jersey. May I be pardoned, if, upon this occasion, I mention, that away back in my childhood, the earliest days of my being able to read, I got hold of a small book, such a one as few of the younger members have ever seen, 'Weems' Life of Washington.' I remember all the accounts there given of the battle-fields and struggles for the liberties of the country, and none fixed themselves upon my imagination so deeply as the struggle here at Trenton, New Jersey. The crossing of the river--the contest with the Hessians--the great hardships endured at that time--all fixed themselves on my memory more than any single revolutionary event; and you all know, for you have all been boys, how these early impressions last longer than any others. I recollect thinking then, boy even though I was, that there must have been something more than common that those men struggled for. I am exceedingly anxious that that thing which they struggled for--that something even more than National Independence--that something that held out a great promise to all the people of the world to all time to come--I am exceedingly anxious that this Union, the Constitution, and the liberties of the people, shall be perpetuated in accordance with the original idea for which that struggle was made, and I shall be most happy indeed if I shall be an humble instrument in the hands of the Almighty, and of this, his almost chosen people, for perpetuating the object of that great struggle."
At Philadelphia Mr. Lincoln was received with great enthusiasm, and many demonstrations of popular regard. His formal welcome was given by the mayor of the city, but there was nothing in his response that calls for reproduction, except a single passage in which he hints at the possibility that he may never be permitted to take the presidential chair. Alluding to the popular desire to learn something definite concerning his policy, he said, "It were useless for me to speak of details of plans now; I shall speak officially next Monday week, if ever. If I should not speak then, it were useless for me to do so now."
He had been aware, ever since he left Springfield, that men were seeking for his life. An attempt was made to throw the train off the track that bore him out of Springfield; and at Cincinnati a hand grenade was found concealed upon the train. The fear excited by these hostile demonstrations was an indefinite one, but on his arrival at Philadelphia the plot was all unfolded to him.
Before Mr. Lincoln left home it was whispered about that he would never be permitted to pass through Baltimore alive; and a detective of great experience and skill was put to the task of ferreting out the conspiracy. He employed both men and women to assist him, and found that a conspiracy was indeed in existence, with an Italian refugee, a barber, at the head of it, who, assuming the name of "Orsini," indicated the part he expected to play in the plot.
It was arranged, in case Mr. Lincoln should reach Baltimore safely, that, on a given signal, he should be shot by those who should gather in the guise of friends around his carriage, and that hand grenades should complete the work of destruction which the pistol had commenced. In the confusion thus produced, the guilty parties proposed to escape to a vessel in waiting, which would convey them to Mobile.
The detective and Mr. Lincoln reached Philadelphia nearly at the same time, and there the former submitted to a few of the President's friends the information he had secured. An interview between Mr. Lincoln and the detective was immediately arranged, which took place in the apartments of the former at the Continental Hotel. Mr. Lincoln having heard the officer's statement in detail, then informed him that he had promised to raise the American flag on Independence Hall the following morning--the morning of the anniversary of Washington's birthday--and that he had accepted an invitation to a reception by the Pennsylvania legislature in the afternoon of the same day. "Both of these engagements I will keep," said Mr. Lincoln, "if it costs me my life." For the rest, he authorized the detective to make such arrangements as he thought proper for his safe conduct to Washington.
In the meantime, General Scott and Senator Seward, both of whom were in Washington, learned from independent sources that Mr. Lincoln's life was in danger, and concurred in sending Mr. Frederick W. Seward to Philadelphia, to urge upon him the necessity of proceeding immediately to Washington in a quiet way. The messenger arrived late on Thursday night, after Mr. Lincoln had retired, and requested an audience. Mr. Lincoln's fears had already been aroused, and he was cautious, of course, in the matter of receiving a stranger. But satisfied that the messenger was indeed the son of Mr. Seward, he gave him audience. Nothing needed to be done, but to inform him of the plan entered into with the detective by which the President was to arrive in Washington early on Saturday morning, in advance of his family and party. This information was conveyed to Mr. Washburne of Illinois, among others, on Mr. Seward's return to Washington; and he was deputed to receive Mr. Lincoln at the depot on his arrival.
Such were the exciting events and disclosures of the day and night preceding Mr. Lincoln's appearance at Independence Hall, where he was formally received, and where he made the following address, one passage of which bears the burden of his apprehension:
   "I am filled with deep emotion at finding myself standing here, in this place, where were collected the wisdom, the patriotism, the devotion to principle, from which sprang the institutions under which we live. You have kindly suggested to me that in my hands is the task of restoring peace to the present distracted condition of the country. I can say in return, sir, that all the political sentiments I entertain have been drawn, so far as I have been able to draw them, from the sentiments which originated were given to the world from this hall. I have never had a feeling, politically, that did not spring from the sentiments embodied in the Declaration of Independence. I have often pondered over the dangers which were incurred by the men who assembled here, and framed and adopted that Declaration of Independence. I have pondered over the toils that were endured by the officers and soldiers of the army who achieved that independence. I have often inquired of myself what great principle or idea it was that kept this Confederacy so long together. It was not the mere matter of the separation of the colonies from the mother-land, but that sentiment in the Declaration of Independence which gave liberty, not alone to the people of this country, but, I hope, to the world for all future time. It was that which gave promise that in due time the weight would be lifted from the shoulders of all men. This is a sentiment embodied in the Declaration of Independence. Now, my friends, can this country be saved upon this basis? If it can, I will consider myself one of the happiest men in the world if I can help to save it. If it cannot be saved upon that principle, it will be truly awful. But if this country cannot be saved without giving up that principle, I was about to say I would rather be assassinated on this spot than surrender it. Now, in my view of the present aspect of affairs, there need be no bloodshed or war. There is no necessity for it. I am not in favor of such a course; and I may say, in advance, that there will be no bloodshed unless it be forced upon the Government, and then it will be compelled to act in self-defense."
At the conclusion of this speech, Mr. Lincoln was conducted to a platform outside, where he was publicly invited to raise the new flag. In responding to this invitation, he addressed a few words to the people, and then ran the flag up to the top of the staff, amid the cheers of a vast concourse of people. The ceremony was alike impressive to the principal actor and the multitude of observers. The great battles of Mr. Lincoln's life had been done for the principles of the Declaration of Independence. It was because he represented those principles, distinctively, that he had been elected to the presidency, that the slave-power was in active revolt, and that the friends of slavery were seeking for his life. It was certainly a remarkable occasion when he stood within the room where the Declaration was framed and signed, and pledged himself anew to its truths and principles, and then walked out into the presence of the people and ran up to its home the beautiful national ensign prepared for his hands.
At the conclusion of these ceremonies, Mr. Lincoln and his party left the city for Harrisburg, the capital of the state, where, in accordance with his promise, he visited both branches of the Pennsylvania legislature. The following were the more important passages in his response to the address of welcome:
   "I thank you most sincerely for this reception, and the generous words in which support has been promised me upon this occasion. I thank your great Commonwealth for the overwhelming support it recently gave, not to me personally, but the cause, which I think a just one, in the late election. Allusion has been made to the fact--the interesting fact, perhaps we should say--that I, for the first time, appear at the capital of the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania upon the birthday of the Father of his Country, in connection with that beloved anniversary connected with the history of this country. I have already gone through one exceedingly interesting scene this morning in the ceremonies at Philadelphia. Under the high conduct of gentlemen there, I was, for the first time, allowed the privilege of standing in Old Independence Hall, to have a few words addressed to me there, and opening up an opportunity of saying, with much regret, that I had not more time to express something of my own feelings, excited by the occasion--somewhat to harmonize and give shape to the feelings that had been really the feelings of my whole life.
   "Besides this, our friends there had provided a magnificent flag of the country. They had arranged it so that I was given the honor of raising it to the head of its staff. And when it went up I was pleased that it went to its place by the strength of my own feeble arm; when, according to the arrangement, the cord was pulled, and it flaunted gloriously to the wind without an accident, in the bright glowing sunshine of the morning, I could not help hoping that there was in the entire success of that beautiful ceremony at least something of an omen of what is to come. Nor could I help feeling then, as I often have felt, that in the whole of that proceeding I was a very humble instrument. I had not provided the flag; I had not made the arrangements for elevating it to its place. I had applied but a very small portion of my feeble strength in raising it. In the whole transaction I was in the hands of the people who had arranged it; and if I can have the same generous co-operation of the people of the nation, I think the flag of our country may yet be kept flaunting gloriously.
   "I recur for a moment to some words uttered at the hotel in regard to what has been said about the military support which the general government may expect from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania in a proper emergency. To guard against any possible mistake do I recur to this. It is not with any pleasure that I contemplate the possibility that a necessity may arise in this country for the use of the military arm. While I am exceedingly gratified to see the manifestation upon your streets of your military force here, and exceedingly gratified at your promise here to use that force upon a proper emergency--while I make these acknowledgments, I desire to repeat, in order to preclude any possible misconstruction, that I do most sincerely hope that we shall have no use for them; that it will never become their duty to shed blood, and most especially never to shed fraternal blood. I promise that, so far as I may have wisdom to direct, if so painful a result shall in any wise be brought about, it shall be through no fault of mine."
It is proper to call renewed attention here to Mr. Lincoln's strong and ever present conviction that he was only a humble instrument in the hands of a higher power. He recognized the people as one of the higher powers which held him in service, and his illustration of his position, drawn from his office in raising the flag over Independence Hall, was extremely beautiful. We shall find this conviction deepening throughout the remainder of his life--the conviction that he was nothing--that he was of no consequence--save as an instrument, and that he had no rights and no mission except those which were deputed to him.
At the conclusion of the exercises of the day, Mr. Lincoln, who was known to be very weary, was permitted to pass undisturbed to his apartments in the Jones House. It was popularly understood that he was to start for Washington the next morning; and the people of Harrisburg supposed they had taken only a temporary leave of him. He remained in his rooms until nearly six o'clock, when he passed into the street, entered a carriage unobserved, in company with Colonel Lamon, and was driven to a special train on the Pennsylvania Railroad, in waiting for him. As a measure of precaution, the telegraph wires were cut the moment he left Harrisburgh, so that, if his departure should be discovered, intelligence of it could not be communicated at a distance. At half past ten, the train arrived at Philadelphia, and here Mr. Lincoln was met by the detective, who had a carriage in readiness, in which the party were driven to the depot of the Philadelphia, Wilmington and Baltimore Railroad. At a quarter past eleven they arrived, and, very fortunately, found the regular train, which should have left at eleven, delayed. The party took berths in the sleeping car, and, without change of cars, passed directly through Baltimore to Washington, where Mr. Lincoln arrived at half past six o'clock in the morning, and found Mr. Washburne anxiously awaiting him. He was taken into a carriage, and in a few minutes he was talking over his adventures, with Senator Seward at Willard's Hotel.
Mr. Lincoln's family left Harrisburgh on the special train that had been intended for him; and as news of his safe arrival in Washington was already telegraphed over the country, no disturbance was made by the passage of the party through Baltimore. It was found that the number of original conspirators was about twenty, all of whose names were in possession of responsible parties. It was a bold plot, ingeniously foiled; but the detective through whose means the President's life had been saved, was not considered safe in Washington, and after a day or two was sent away. It should be added that the current story that Mr. Lincoln passed through Baltimore disguised in a "long military cloak and Scotch cap," is a pure fabrication, written by a man who hated Mr. Lincoln, and knew absolutely nothing of the event of which he wrote. Mr. Lincoln did not find it necessary to adopt any disguise.
It is a curious coincidence that Mr. Seward and his son who both were very active in the discovery of this plot, and in the measures for avoiding its consequences, were the only sharers in that violence which, at a later period, destroyed Mr. Lincoln's life. It is also a very suggestive fact, touching the responsibility of the southern leaders for Mr. Lincoln's assassination, that when a man of the name of Byrne was arrested in Richmond a year afterwards, for keeping a gambling house and for disloyalty to the confederate government, he was released on the testimony of Mr. Wigfall, who, to prove the man's truth to treason, swore that he was captain of the band that plotted to assassinate President Lincoln in Baltimore.
The city of Washington was thrown into a flutter of excitement by this unexpected arrival. Mr. Lincoln's foes--and there were multitudes of them in Washington--ridiculed his fears, and his friends were equally angry and ashamed that the chosen chief of the nation should consent to sneak into his capital; but the latter, sooner or later, learned that he had taken the wiser course. It was, indeed, a very shameful thing that the President elect should have been obliged to do what he did, but so long as he was not responsible for it, the shame in no way attaches to him.
Mr. Lincoln went immediately into free conferences with his friends, visited both houses of Congress, and after a day he was waited upon by the Mayor and the municipal authorities, who gave him formal welcome to the city. In his brief reply, he took occasion to say that he thought much of the ill feeling existing between those living in free and slave states was owing to their failure to understand one another, and then assured the Mayor and his party that he did not then entertain, and had never entertained, any other than kindly feelings toward the South, that he had no disposition to treat the people of the South otherwise than as his own neighbors, and that he had no wish to withhold from them any of the benefits of the Constitution. On the second evening after his arrival, the Republican Association tendered him the courtesy of a serenade, which attracted a large crowd of friends and curious spectators. On being called out, he made much such an address as he had already made to the Mayor, closing with an expression of the conviction that when they should come to know each other better they would be better friends.
The days that preceded the inauguration were rapidly passing away. In the meantime, although General Scott had been busy and efficient in his military preparations for the occasion, many were fearful that scenes of violence would be enacted on that day, even should Mr. Lincoln be permitted to escape assassination in the meantime. It was a time of fearful uncertainty. The leading society of Washington hated Mr. Lincoln and the principles he represented. If it would be uncharitable to say that they would have rejoiced in his death, it is certainly true that they were in perfect sympathy with those who were plotting his destruction. His coming and remaining would be death to the social dominance of slavery in the national capital. This they felt; and nothing would have pleased them better than a revolution which would send Mr. Lincoln back to Illinois, and install Jefferson Davis in the White House. There was probably not one man in five in Washington at the time Mr. Lincoln entered the city who, in his heart, gave him welcome. It is not to be wondered at that his friends all over the country looked nervously forward to the fourth of March.

## Footnotes

* ↑ For all the particulars of this attempt upon Mr. Lincoln's life the author is indebted to an article in the Albany Evening Journal.