The third ballot was begun amid a breathless suspense; hundreds of pencils kept pace with the roll-call, and nervously marked the changes on their tally-sheets. The Lincoln figures steadily grew. Votes came to him from all the other candidates—4½ from Seward, 2 from Cameron, 13 from Bates, 18 from Chase, 9 from Dayton, 3 from McLean, 1 from Clay. Lincoln had gained 50½, Seward had lost 4½. Long before the official tellers footed up their columns, spectators and delegates rapidly made the reckoning and knew the result: Lincoln, 231½; Seward, 180.[10] ] Counting the scattering votes, 465 ballots had been cast, and 233 were necessary to a choice; only 1½ votes more were needed to make a nomination.
A profound stillness suddenly fell upon the wigwam; the men ceased to talk and the ladies to flutter their fans; one could distinctly hear the scratching of pencils and the ticking of telegraph instruments on the reporters' tables. No announcement had been made by the chair; changes were in order, and it was only a question of seconds who should speak first. While every one was leaning forward in intense expectancy, David K. Cartter sprang upon his chair and reported a change of four Ohio votes from Chase to Lincoln. There was a moment's pause,—a teller waved his tally-sheet towards the skylight and shouted a name,—and then the boom of a cannon on the roof of the wigwam announced the nomination to the crowds in the streets, where shouts and salutes took up and spread the news. In the convention the Lincoln river now became an inundation. Amid the wildest hurrahs, delegation after delegation changed its vote to the victor.
A graceful custom prevails in orderly American conventions, that the chairman of the vanquished delegation is first to greet the nominee with a short address of party fealty and promise of party support. Mr. Evarts, the spokesman for New York, essayed promptly to perform this courteous office, but was delayed a while by the enthusiasm and confusion. The din at length subsided, and the presiding officer announced that on the third ballot Abraham Lincoln, of Illinois, received 364 votes, and "is selected as your candidate for President of the United States." Then Mr. Evarts, in a voice of unconcealed emotion, but with admirable dignity and touching eloquence, speaking for Seward and for New York, moved to make the nomination unanimous.
The interest in a National Convention usually ceases with the announcement of the principal nomination. It was only afterwards that the delegates realized how fortunate a selection they made by adding Hannibal Hamlin, of Maine, to the ticket as candidate for Vice-President. Mr. Hamlin was already distinguished in public service. He was born in 1809, and became a lawyer by profession. He served many years in the Maine Legislature and four years as a Representative in Congress. In 1848 he was chosen to fill a vacancy in the United States Senate, and in 1851 was reelected for a full term. When in 1856 the Cincinnati Convention indorsed the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, which he had opposed, Mr. Hamlin formally withdrew from the Democratic party. In November of that year the Republicans elected him Governor of Maine, and in January, 1857, reelected him United States Senator.
Halstead, "Conventions of 1860," p. 154.
For the moment the chief self-congratulation of the convention was that by the nomination of Lincoln it had secured the doubtful vote of the conservative States. Or rather, perhaps, might it be said that it was hardly the work of the delegates—it was the concurrent product of popular wisdom. Political evolution had with scientific precision wrought "the survival of the fittest." The delegates leaving Chicago on the various homeward-bound railroad trains that night, saw that already the enthusiasm of the convention was transferred from the wigwam to the country. "At every station where there was a village, until after 2 o'clock, there were tar-barrels burning, drums beating, boys carrying rails, and guns great and small banging away. The weary passengers were allowed no rest, but plagued by the thundering of the cannon, the clamor of drums, the glare of bonfires, and the whooping of boys, who were delighted with the idea of a candidate for the Presidency who thirty years before split rails on the Sangamon River—classic stream now and for evermore—and whose neighbors named him 'honest.'"
[ [1]] "It is true indeed that the national domain is ours. It is true it was acquired by the valor and with the wealth of the whole nation. But we hold, nevertheless, no arbitrary power over it. We hold no arbitrary authority over anything, whether acquired lawfully or seized by usurpation. The Constitution regulates our stewardship; the Constitution devotes the domain to union, to justice, to defense, to welfare, and to liberty. But there is a higher law than the Constitution which regulates our authority over the domain, and devotes it to the same noble purposes. The territory is a part, no inconsiderable part, of the common heritage of mankind, bestowed upon them by the Creator of the universe. We are his stewards, and must so discharge our trust as to secure in the highest attainable degree their happiness."—William H. Seward, Senate Speech, March 11, 1850. App. "Globe," p. 265.