"What does Lincoln represent in this campaign? Is he an abolitionist or a Whig?"
The committee replied that Lincoln was a Whig, whereupon Douglas dismissed the subject in his pompous way, saying,—
"Oh, yes, I am now in the region of the Old Line Whig. When I am in Northern Illinois I am assailed by an abolitionist, when I get to the centre I am attacked by an Old Line Whig, when I go to Southern Illinois I am beset by an Anti-Nebraska Democrat. It looks to me like dodging a man all over the State. If Mr. Lincoln wants to make a speech he had better get a crowd of his own, for I most respectfully decline to hold a discussion with him."
Lincoln calmly ignored this assumption of superiority at the time, but never failed to punish Mr. Douglas for it when they met upon the stump, and, according to the testimony of their contemporaries, he was equal to his able and adroit opponent from the beginning of their rivalry either in the court-room, or in a rough-and-tumble debate, or in the serious political discussion of great political questions. Only one of Lincoln's speeches of this period of his life is preserved. That is an address delivered at a sort of oratorical tournament at Springfield. There was such a demand for it that a few days after its delivery he wrote out as much as he could remember and the Whig managers printed it in pamphlet form as a campaign document; but it was the last time he indulged in the old-fashioned flights of eloquence. From that hour the topics he discussed demanded his serious attention and his closest argument, and he spoke to convince, not to excite admiration or merely to stir the emotions of his audiences.
In 1854 the moral sense of the nation was shocked by the repeal of what is called "The Missouri Compromise." That was a law passed in 1820 for the admission of the Territory of Missouri to the Union as a slave State, upon a condition that slavery should not go north of its northern boundary, latitude 36° 30'. Lincoln shared the national indignation. Douglas, then in the United States Senate, was one of the advocates of the repeal, and his powerful influence in Congress made it possible. As soon as the action of Congress was announced, the entire country was plunged into a discussion of the question on the platform, in the pulpit, in the press, in the debating societies, by the firesides, at the corner groceries, at the post-office, and wherever people met together. Lincoln took no public part in the controversy for several months, but during the interval studied the question in its moral, historical, and constitutional bearings, and while the Democrats accused him of "mousing around" the libraries of the State-House, he was preparing himself for a controversy which he knew was sure to come.
That fall (1854) Richard Yates was up for Congress and Lincoln took the stump in his behalf. In the mean time Mr. Douglas was speaking in other sections of the State, but came to Springfield to attend the State Agricultural Fair, and, being a United States Senator and a political idol, was of course a great attraction. He made a speech justifying the action of Congress, and, by common impulse, the opponents of the repeal called upon Lincoln to answer him. There is no doubt of the zeal and ardor with which he accepted the invitation, and he spoke for four hours, as one of his friends testifies, "in a most happy and pleasant style, and was received with abundant applause." At times he made statements which brought Senator Douglas to his feet, and their passages at arms created much excitement and enthusiasm. It was evident that the force of Lincoln's argument surprised and disconcerted Mr. Douglas, for he insisted upon making a two-hours' rejoinder, which of itself was a confession of his defeat.
Lincoln's triumph on this occasion placed him at the head of the political debaters of the State, and, in order that Mr. Douglas might have another chance to retrieve himself, they met again twelve days later at Peoria. Lincoln yielded to Douglas the advantage of the opening and closing speeches, explaining that he did so from selfish motives, because he wanted to hold the Democratic portion of the audience through his own speech. At the request of the Whig leaders and politicians in other parts of the State who had not been able to hear the discussion, Mr. Lincoln wrote out his speech from memory and we have it in full. It was by far the ablest and most profound composition he had produced up to that time, and even now, after the lapse of half a century, it is recognized as a model of political argument. He here rose from the rank of the politician to that of the statesman, and never fell below it in his future addresses. Lincoln and Douglas were understood by themselves as well as by the public to be contesting for a seat in the United States Senate, and the latter was so alarmed by Lincoln's unexpected manifestation of power that he sought an interview on the pretence of friendship and persuaded him into an agreement that neither should make any more speeches before the actual campaign began,—an agreement violated by Douglas during the next week.
Horace White, now editor of the New York Evening Post, says of the speech just mentioned, "I was then in the employ of the Chicago Evening Journal. I had been sent to Springfield to report the political doings of State Fair week for that newspaper. Thus it came about that I occupied a front seat in the Representatives' Hall, in the old State-House, when Mr. Lincoln delivered the speech already described in this volume. The impression made upon me by the orator was quite overpowering. I had not heard much political speaking up to that time. I have heard a great deal since. I have never heard anything since, either by Mr. Lincoln, or by anybody, that I would put on a higher plane of oratory. All the strings that play upon the human heart and understanding were touched with masterly skill and force, while beyond and above all skill was the overwhelming conviction pressed upon the audience that the speaker himself was charged with an irresistible and inspiring duty to his fellow-men. Having, since then, heard all the great public speakers of this country subsequent to the period of Clay and Webster, I award the palm to Mr. Lincoln as the one who, although not first in all respects, would bring more men of doubtful or hostile leanings around to his way of thinking by talking to them on a platform than any other."
The next occasion upon which Lincoln displayed unusual power as an orator was the Bloomington Convention for the organization of the Republican party early in 1856. Never was an audience more completely electrified by human speech. The Convention, which was composed of former members of all political parties had adopted the name Republican, had taken extreme grounds against slavery, and had launched a new political organization; but it contained many discordant, envious, and hostile elements. Those who had watched the proceedings were anxious and apprehensive of dissension and jealousy, and Lincoln, with his acute political perceptions, realized the danger, perhaps, more keenly than any other man in the assembly. He saw before him a group of earnest, zealous, sincere men, willing to make tremendous sacrifices and undertake Titanic tasks, but at the same time most of them clung to their own theories and advocated their individual methods with a tenacity that promised to defeat their common purpose. Therefore, when he arose in response to the unanimous demand for a speech from the great orator of Springfield, his soul was flooded with a desire and a purpose to harmonize and amalgamate the patriotic emotions of his associates. He realized that it was a crisis in the history of his country, and rose to the full height of the occasion.
Those who were present say that at first he spoke slowly, cautiously, and in a monotone, but gradually his words grew in force and intensity until he swept the discordant souls of the assembly together and his hearers "arose from their chairs with pale faces and quivering lips and pressed unconsciously towards him." His influence was irresistible. Even the trained reporters, accustomed to witness the most touching and impressive scenes with the indifference of their profession, dropped their pencils, and what was perhaps the greatest speech of Lincoln's entire career was unreported. Joseph Medill, afterwards editor of the Chicago Tribune, who was then a reporter for that paper, says,—