quirk in state laws, would hold their state elections in October, a month ahead of the national election. Other things being equal, their voters would line up in these state elections just about as they would in the national election. If the national ticket could not produce internal harmony, the Republicans in Indiana and Pennsylvania would lose in the October balloting and hence would lose in November as well—and, in addition, would provide the party with a deadly psychological handicap all across the North. It was essential, therefore, for the Wigwam to produce a candidate who could win in Indiana and Pennsylvania, and the principal Republican politicians in those two states did not believe Seward could do it. The job facing the group at the Tremont suite was to demonstrate that Lincoln could.
Seward was paying the price which, as Wentworth had said, was apt to be exacted of the man who was too prominent. In his famous remark about the irrepressible conflict, he had, as a matter of fact, said nothing that Lincoln himself had not said when he asserted that a house divided against itself could not stand, but somehow it had made more people angry. He had coupled it with vague, damaging talk about a “higher law” than the Constitution; also—and in some ways this was the biggest handicap of all—he was totally unacceptable to the suspicious Know-Nothings, because he had, as governor of New York, years ago, urged the support of Catholic parochial schools with public funds. Both Indiana and Pennsylvania contained many voters strongly tinged with the Know-Nothingprejudice. Like the Free-Soil moderates who felt that Seward’s statements on slavery had been a bit extreme, they might not follow the Republicans if Seward carried the banner. There was, indeed, grave danger that dismaying numbers of them would vote for John Bell, running on the Constitutional Union ticket; if that happened, states which the Republicans ought to carry might wind up in the Democratic column.
The pivotal state of Indiana was already pretty well in line for Lincoln. Key man here was Caleb Smith, a former Whig who had been friendly with Lincoln when Lincoln was in Congress, prominent enough in Indiana Republican ranks to believe that he ought to be named to the cabinet if a Republican won the election. Davis had talked to him carefully and persuasively—indeed, the whole Indiana delegation had been most carefully cultivated—and Smith and the delegation had been won over. It would be asserted afterward that, in flat disregard of Lincoln’s order that no binding pledges be made in his name, Davis had promised Smith the cabinet appointment. This may be an overstatement, but in any case Smith had agreed to second Lincoln’s nomination from the floor, and the Indiana delegation was prepared to vote for Lincoln on the first ballot. 2 The job now was to win Pennsylvania, plus such other delegations as might feel that Seward was an unsafe candidate.
So on that Thursday evening there was a meeting at Davis’s suite, and if the hoary tradition of a smoke-filled room was not born there, it at least took on a good deal of growth. The Lincoln men had been working hard in Pennsylvania and in New Jersey—another delegation that was uneasy about Seward—and delegates from Illinois, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey were convening now to take stock of the situation. On Judd’s suggestion, a subcommittee composed of three men from each state was formed, with the hope that it could agree on a candidate, and this group met for five hours and more.
Somewhere around ten o’clock that night the door to Davis’s suite opened and the pink, cherubic face of Horace Greeley, fringed with silky hair and whiskers, peered blandly in. As a determined foe of Seward, Greeley realized that the fate of the stop-Seward movement depended on what was being done right here, and as a goodreporter he wanted to know what was going on. Had they, he inquired, agreed upon a
Seward was paying the price which, as Wentworth had said, was apt to be exacted of the man who was too prominent. In his famous remark about the irrepressible conflict, he had, as a matter of fact, said nothing that Lincoln himself had not said when he asserted that a house divided against itself could not stand, but somehow it had made more people angry. He had coupled it with vague, damaging talk about a “higher law” than the Constitution; also—and in some ways this was the biggest handicap of all—he was totally unacceptable to the suspicious Know-Nothings, because he had, as governor of New York, years ago, urged the support of Catholic parochial schools with public funds. Both Indiana and Pennsylvania contained many voters strongly tinged with the Know-Nothingprejudice. Like the Free-Soil moderates who felt that Seward’s statements on slavery had been a bit extreme, they might not follow the Republicans if Seward carried the banner. There was, indeed, grave danger that dismaying numbers of them would vote for John Bell, running on the Constitutional Union ticket; if that happened, states which the Republicans ought to carry might wind up in the Democratic column.
The pivotal state of Indiana was already pretty well in line for Lincoln. Key man here was Caleb Smith, a former Whig who had been friendly with Lincoln when Lincoln was in Congress, prominent enough in Indiana Republican ranks to believe that he ought to be named to the cabinet if a Republican won the election. Davis had talked to him carefully and persuasively—indeed, the whole Indiana delegation had been most carefully cultivated—and Smith and the delegation had been won over. It would be asserted afterward that, in flat disregard of Lincoln’s order that no binding pledges be made in his name, Davis had promised Smith the cabinet appointment. This may be an overstatement, but in any case Smith had agreed to second Lincoln’s nomination from the floor, and the Indiana delegation was prepared to vote for Lincoln on the first ballot. 2 The job now was to win Pennsylvania, plus such other delegations as might feel that Seward was an unsafe candidate.
So on that Thursday evening there was a meeting at Davis’s suite, and if the hoary tradition of a smoke-filled room was not born there, it at least took on a good deal of growth. The Lincoln men had been working hard in Pennsylvania and in New Jersey—another delegation that was uneasy about Seward—and delegates from Illinois, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey were convening now to take stock of the situation. On Judd’s suggestion, a subcommittee composed of three men from each state was formed, with the hope that it could agree on a candidate, and this group met for five hours and more.
Somewhere around ten o’clock that night the door to Davis’s suite opened and the pink, cherubic face of Horace Greeley, fringed with silky hair and whiskers, peered blandly in. As a determined foe of Seward, Greeley realized that the fate of the stop-Seward movement depended on what was being done right here, and as a goodreporter he wanted to know what was going on. Had they, he inquired, agreed upon a
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