Abraham Lincoln

by William Eleroy Curtis

Mr. Seward and other Republican leaders had urged Lincoln to come to Washington early in February, but the latter, with his usual judgment and common sense, declined to depart from ordinary usage, and politely explained his own feeling that he ought not to appear in Washington until he had been formally declared President. When that formality had been completed, he bade his old friends good-by and began a memorable journey, taking a circuitous route in order to gratify the people of the Northern States, who wished to see the President-elect, and gathered at every station through which he passed, hoping to hear his voice or catch a glimpse of his face. He made about thirty speeches on the journey, and every time he spoke it was to stimulate the patriotism and the determination of the people to preserve the Union. The address delivered in Independence Hall, Philadelphia, was perhaps the most notable, as it was the longest, because he was deeply moved by the date and the place, for it was Washington's birthday. Among other things, he said,—

"All the political sentiments I entertain have been drawn, so far as I have been able to draw them, from the sentiments which originated in and 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. It was that which gave promise that in due time the weight would be lifted from the shoulders of all men and that all should have an equal chance. Now, my friends, can this country be saved on that 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 is no need of bloodshed and 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. The government will not use force unless force is used against it.

"My friends, this is wholly an unprepared speech. I did not expect to be called upon to say a word when I came here. I supposed it was merely to do something towards raising a flag—I may, therefore, have said something indiscreet. [Cries of 'No! no!'] But I have said nothing but what I am willing to live by, and, if it be the pleasure of Almighty God, to die by."

The manner in which Lincoln came into Washington has been the subject of abundant discussion and criticism, but long ago the public mind settled down to a mature opinion that he did exactly right, and that a President-elect of the United States, particularly at such a critical juncture, should not take any risks or omit any precautions for his personal safety. Lincoln himself, long after, declared that he did not then and never did believe that he would have been assassinated, but always thought it wise to run no risk when no risk was necessary. Wisdom justifies such a rule, while the tragic experience of the American people has left no doubt of it. The facts were that an Italian barber named Ferrandini, an outspoken secessionist working at a Baltimore hotel, had submitted to an organization of Southern sympathizers a wild plan for intimidating the Union people of Maryland and the North, which included the blowing up of all the bridges around Washington, the kidnapping of several prominent Republicans, and the assassination of Lincoln, General Scott, and Hamlin, the President and Vice-President elect. This would leave the capital open to the Southern leaders, throw the entire government into confusion, and prevent interference from the North with any revolutionary plans which Jefferson Davis might be contemplating.

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

From a photograph by Klauber, Louisville, Kentucky. Reproduced by special permission of James B. Speed, Esq.

Just how much encouragement Ferrandini received from the Southern sympathizers in Baltimore and Washington is not known, but he was the captain of a military company whose members were pledged to prevent the inauguration of Lincoln or any abolitionist President. When Allan Pinkerton learned of his suggestions, he reported the matter at once to Mr. Felton, President of the railroad that connected Baltimore with Philadelphia. Mr. Pinkerton's disclosures were confirmed by detectives employed by Governor Hicks, of Maryland, and the military authorities at Washington, although neither knew that the others were at work on the case. After consultation with his friends, Lincoln decided not to take any chances, and it was arranged that, after the ceremonies at Harrisburg were concluded, he should return to Philadelphia with a single companion and take the regular midnight train to Washington, leaving the rest of his party to continue in the special train according to the original itinerary. Lincoln wore no disguise, no deception was practised upon any one, and the only unusual occurrence that night was the disconnection of the telegraph wires just outside of Philadelphia and Harrisburg, so that, in case the change of plan was discovered, the news could not reach Baltimore until Lincoln had passed through that city. Mr. Seward and Mr. Washburne were the only persons to meet the President-elect at the station, and they had been advised of his coming only a few hours before by Mr. Seward's son, who had come by a previous train from Harrisburg.

The week before the inauguration was a busy one for the President-elect. A great deal of his time was occupied by visits of ceremony and consultations with Republican leaders about the composition of his Cabinet, the terms of his inaugural, and the policy to be pursued by the new administration. March 4 Mr. Buchanan escorted him from the Executive Mansion to the Capitol, where the oath was administered to him by Chief-Justice Taney, and, standing upon a platform at the east portico of the unfinished Capitol, he was introduced to the multitude by his old friend, Edward D. Baker, while Stephen A. Douglas, his opponent for the Presidency, stood at his left hand and held his hat. The public curiosity to see the President-elect reached its climax as he made his appearance. All sorts of stories had been told and believed about his personal appearance. His character had been grossly misrepresented and maligned in both sections of the Union, and the hysterical condition of the country naturally whetted the appetite of men of all parties to see and hear the man who was now the central figure of the republic. The tone of moderation, tenderness, and good-will which breathed through his inaugural speech made a profound impression in his favor, while his voice rang out over the acres of people before him with surprising distinctness, and was heard in the remotest parts of his audience.