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Children of the Market Place, a novel by Edgar Lee Masters |
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Chapter 60 |
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_ CHAPTER LX Who should call upon me the next morning after my arrival in Chicago but Yarnell? I had not seen him now for several years. And he was a delegate to the Republican convention. "How is this?" I asked him. "I remember yet what you said to me about slavery when we came to America more than twenty-five years ago." "Oh," he replied, "that makes no difference. The Republican party is not going to disturb slavery where it is. It only proposes to keep it out from what it isn't. The platform will refer to the Declaration of Independence, and all that. But it will also have a tariff plank. The Democrats have beaten the Morrill tariff bill; and we want a tariff--Pennsylvania wants a tariff for iron. And we will nominate Seward and elect him." "What if the Southern States secede?" "That suits us. That will give the Republican party complete control. With the Southern States out, we will have the Senate and the House as well as the President, and we can dominate everything, and gather in all the offices--postmasters, marshals, Federal judges, everything. The northern Democrats will have nothing to say. Your friend Douglas will have nothing to say. He is already a played-out horse. He won't be able to even whinny in the Senate. And the world and the fullness thereof will be ours." "How about Seward being too radical?" "No, he isn't. Look at what it comes to. Kansas will come in as a free state. The work is already done for that. California came in as a free state. Minnesota, Oregon, Wisconsin, have all come in as free states under the Democratic party and with Douglas on top as Senator. There won't be any more slave states no matter who is elected." "That's what I think." "I only say this to show that this talk of the radicalism of Seward is nonsense. He spoke of the higher law, to be sure, but Douglas has been talking of nature and nature's God. What's the difference?" "No difference except that Douglas' law of nature means something and the higher law means nothing. We can see what the law of nature is; we don't know what the higher law is, unless you can fathom the mind of the fanatic; of Thoreau, of John Brown, and Garrison. I will tell you something: Lincoln of this state is not so far apart from Douglas. He has rejected the higher law of Seward in a recent letter. He is for the irrepressible conflict, because it is the same thing as the house divided against itself. He must stand by his own doctrine--and the Bible. He is as practical as Douglas." "That's the point," said Yarnell. "The Abolitionists don't like Lincoln. He said right here in the debates that he was not in favor of giving the nigger a vote or making him a citizen. He isn't for the Declaration of Independence when it comes to things like that. But he is of no moment. He's not known. He's only a local man. He's a country jake, isn't he?" "Rather so." "That's what I hear. He's had no experience. Seward, you know, has been Governor of New York, and Senator. He's a famous man. The political machine is back of him, and lots of money in New York City." Then Yarnell went on to tell me that he himself was connected with the street railways in New York, and that the railways were backing Seward. Wall Street, however, was a little nervous. It didn't want any man elected President who would drive the South into secession. No use to let iron drive out cotton. Let us have both cotton and iron. We went out to walk through the city. Yarnell was amazed at the growth of Chicago. We wandered over to the Wigwam where the convention was to be held. It was a huge frame structure, seating ten thousand people. The city was swarming with delegates and visitors. All the hotels were filled; the saloons roared with drinking crowds. How many thousand cigars were lighted every minute! Stubs decorated the floors, the spittoons, the sidewalks. The houses of ill fame were riotous with men let loose upon a holiday. At the Richmond House there was much champagne, for that was the headquarters of the New York crowd. Yarnell took me here and introduced me about to his friends. He was well known. He had money for the occasion, and was esteemed in that light. It was a different crowd here from that I had seen in St. Louis years before, but its spirit was the same. "If you don't nominate Seward, where will you get your money?" Yarnell was saying this here and there. Some one at our side says: "This railsplitter Lincoln, who carries the purse for him?" "The tariff carries it," is the answer. "There's more money in the tariff than all that Seward can rake together." "Very well, Seward is for the tariff. Give us the tariff and Seward, then we will have the tariff money and Seward's money too." Yarnell and I left the Richmond House on our way to look again at the crowds. Bands of music were playing everywhere. Men were marching. Tom Hyer, the great prize fighter, was leading a club of rough and handy men. They were preceded by a noisy band. They shouted. The staring crowd shouted. Hyer had come for the purpose of lifting a lusty voice for Seward at the critical moment. He and his men had good fists too to use in a case of doubt on a question of votes or of a right of entrance to the hall. They pass, the band dies away; other marchers follow. Some paraders are carrying rails bearing the banner with the words "Honest Old Abe" That reminds me of something. We go over to the office of the _Chicago Times_ to see in the windows some rails which Lincoln split when he was working on the bottoms of the Sangamon River, thirty years before. "I should think Greeley would be for Lincoln," I said to Yarnell. "I saw the _Tribune_ yesterday and it slants toward Edward Bates of Missouri." "That old slicker," sneered Yarnell. "Why who can depend on him? He's been for every one and everything, and then against them. He hates Seward. We kept him off the New York delegation. Now he's got on the delegation from Oregon, got some one's proxy, and he's here to make trouble. But it won't do him any good. We will put Seward over on the first ballot." We came to the _Times_' window and looked at the rails. "Well," I said, "if they nominate Lincoln, we'll have another log-cabin campaign." "Yes, that's what it will come to. What's all this talk anyway about Honest Old Abe? Every man is honest enough, and no man in politics much more honest than another. We don't need that kind of dramatics to elect Seward. There is enough to the man to elect him. We mean to have a clean-cut, high-toned campaign with a great man to lead us, who is known to the whole country. The day is past for this log-cabin business. It's now a stone front and champagne." I went back with Yarnell to the Richmond House, then turned my own way to study the crowds. Chicago was a carnival of unlicensed spirits. What thousands of blue flies already swarmed upon the fresh carcass of this new political party! A few years before and it was poor, but of flesh that was fresh. Now it was beginning to stink. Tariffs, railroads, all powerful moneyed interests, special privileges, were settling upon it, blowing it full of eggs. All the old Whigs now long hungry, the old Federalists in disguise, the old plotters and schemers long defeated, were here. The motley elements that Douglas had derided as anti-Masonics, Know-nothings, Abolitionists, Spiritualists, where were they? Sunk in silence, out shouted, out talked, outnumbered by office seekers and monopolists. Tom Hyer was bawling, Garrison could not be heard. The New England manufacturers were here. Whittier was singing their songs and did not know it. I began to think of Rabelais, and of life as gluttony, eating and drinking, digestion and evacuation. I had a vision of all these hordes of men dead at last, their buttocks exposed to driving rains, upturned to a dark sky which breathed futility and contempt upon ended plots and hungers! That night I started out again with Abigail and Aldington. There had not been anything like the same amount of drinking at Charleston. Harlots staggered through the streets, their arms interlocked with those of howling men. Tom Hyer passed, leading his gang of toughs, the gayly liveried band swelling the air with great horns and drums. Again the rails and banners for "Honest Old Abe." Rumors caught us as we passed: the Germans were for Lincoln; Greeley wanted Douglas elected President and was scheming to defeat Seward for the nomination. We went to the Richmond House. I wanted Abigail and Aldington to see the smoking, drinking, gabbling delegates from New York. We ran into Yarnell. He was preoccupied, and was a little in drink. He stood with us for a moment, and then was buttonholed and taken away. We returned to the streets to watch the marchers. Yarnell was good enough to get tickets for Abigail, Aldington, and me, asking us with a half smile not to cheer for any one unless we cheered for Seward. It was in the air that Seward would be nominated. Greeley said so, but he was really fighting Seward. We spied the bald head and bespectacled eyes of the great editor moving about the Oregon delegates. The tumult and the passion of the Charleston convention were not as dramatic as this. These men were here to destroy the Democratic party, to take control of the government. The air was of concentrated passion and will. There was a declaration of principles to be formulated out of sagacity and dramaturgy. Principles were to be observed but baits to be dangled; factions were to be conciliated, relative claims adjusted; the higher thought of the nation respected; radicalism tickled but not embraced; wrong censured, but needless offense avoided. Hence state rights got a sop; the tariff was advocated and the Pacific railroad; the harmless Declaration of Independence was quoted at large. Everybody had used it for more than eighty years--why not this platform? The balloting begins. The expectation is intense. All of us have caught the crowd spirit, the infection of the mob. New England is polled first. What is the matter? She does not give Seward the fully expected vote. Very well! New York is reached. William M. Everetts, hook-nosed and dished of mouth, plumps New York seventy votes for Seward. The convention recovers from its fear. All is going well for Seward after all. What of Pennsylvania and her tariff? She has fifty-seven votes; fifty and one half of these go to a favorite son, Simon Cameron. This is a mere compliment; Pennsylvania will come to Seward now that her favorite son has been honored. Illinois is reached and votes for Lincoln. There are cheers. But he is the favorite son of Illinois. These are his people. The next ballot they will go to Seward. Indiana is reached. All of her vote goes to Lincoln. There are great cheers. But Lincoln split rails once in Indiana. This is a complimentary vote too. Ohio is reached. She has two favorite sons, Chase and McLean. Missouri is reached. Edward Bates is her son and gets the vote. What is this vote of Virginia,--fourteen votes out of her twenty-three for Lincoln? Some one near us whispers: "The South hates Seward worse than any one." At last the whole vote is announced: Seward has 173-1/2; Lincoln 102. The Illinois River breaks loose; the great shouter for Lincoln, hired for the occasion, storms and bawls above the hubbub of the convention. Where is Hyer the prize fighter? He has been out with his gang. Drinking? We do not know. At any rate he is late, has missed one of the psychologies of the convention. After the noise is subsided, we hear that Bates, Greeley's favorite, has forty-eight votes. "Call the roll!" "Call the roll!" shout hundreds of delegates. Men are going mad with anxiety. Arms are waved frantically, delegates rise from their seats and bawl undistinguishable words. Curses and hisses fill the air. The second ballot begins. Why does Pennsylvania deliberate, why does she retire so often to consult her wishes? There is laughter over it. She changes her vote now. Her favorite son, Cameron, gets two; forty-eight go to Lincoln. What is the matter with Seward? We had heard there was plenty of Seward money in Pennsylvania. Yarnell had told me so. Why doesn't the machinery work? Ohio falls off seven votes for Chase; Bates loses thirteen of his Missouri votes. Vermont throws her whole vote to Lincoln, and the Stentor from the Illinois River bottoms raises a thunder of applause. But Tom Hyer has now arrived and the Seward chorus is working. The vote is announced: Seward has 184-1/2; Lincoln 181; necessary to a choice, 233. Seward is ruined. Tom Hyer is down. The band, the banners are for nothing. All the Seward money is for nothing. To be Governor, Senator, the leading man of the party for years, the great debater of the Senate, the author of the irrepressible conflict, the most dreaded enemy of the South--all this goes up and out in a second like a poor sulphur match in a gale. Seward is ruined. A country lawyer from Springfield, Illinois, once a state legislator, once a Congressman, has killed him in two blows. What has done it? The irrepressible conflict. It has crushed him before it crushed many more, old and young throughout the land. He is too famous. His words are too well known. The house divided against itself is not so well known. Lincoln is obscure. He is a trim new champion of fifty-one years of age, ready after some fifteen or more years of resting and training, for a great fight. Yet may not Greeley's Bates still come in? A horse not so swiftly running before now has a chance. Where would Seward's strength be thrown now that he cannot use it for himself? Can he throw it to any one? No! For the third ballot gives Seward 180 and Lincoln 231-1/2. But Seward is still holding on. Ohio has been sticking to Chase. The vote is not announced by the chair. But hundreds of pencils have kept the score. And just about as it is to be announced, Ohio throws four votes from Chase to Lincoln. Lincoln is nominated! The West of Douglas has won. The convention goes mad. The Illinois River roars like waters over a thousand dams. Lake Michigan shouters make the rafters tremble. A cannon is fired from the roof. But no one inside hears it. We go forth to the street. Masses are yelling and crying with delight. Old Abe from Illinois is nominated. Chicago is delirious with joy. From the Tremont House a hundred guns are fired. Processions start; everywhere men are bearing rails. Bands play. Drink flows like sudden freshets. Yarnell passes at a distance. He is staring straight ahead, hurrying somewhere. What is left for Seward, for his supporters? Virginia had been bought, why didn't she deliver? Ohio was fingered for Seward. Why didn't Ohio yield? Pennsylvania had taken quantities of Seward money. Why this ingratitude? What nominated Lincoln? The Seward men have an answer. The madness of the crowd for railsplitting! The log-cabin tradition! Genius and statesmanship have been set aside for a popular symbol, railsplitting. A party of moral ideas has reverted to claptrap. These are the bitter comments of Seward's beaten army. Then there are curses for Greeley. Greeley has avenged Seward's lifetime enmity. He has slaughtered the great man of the party. Why? The old traitor wants Douglas elected. _ |
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