CHAPTER I

LINCOLN AND DOUGLAS

STUMP SPEAKING

The pioneers, who migrated with their families during the first half of the nineteenth century from the Atlantic Coast Plain to the Mississippi Valley found themselves cut off from the conveniences of life to which they had been accustomed, and cast into a compelling environment, where makeshifts and substitutes must answer for well-known utilities and contrivances. This was noticeable even in political campaigns. Lacking printing presses to disseminate party doctrines and public halls of sufficient size to accommodate the crowds at a party rally, the people of the frontier were wont to gather in some public square or in a grove of trees, where a temporary stand, or perhaps in very early days, the stump of a felled tree, answered the purpose of a rostrum from which the issues of the day were discussed by "stump" speakers. In the same way, the lack of churches on the frontier caused the substitution of groves as a place for holding "camp-meetings." Through campaign after campaign, both national and state, "stump" speaking continued until improved facilities for making longer journeys began to remedy western isolation and to remove western provincialism. At the same time, the increasing political activity of the printing press and the demands of modern business life gradually turned the people away from these picturesque gatherings of earlier times.

Beginning with the campaign of 1824, in which a favorite son of Kentucky and a war-hero of Tennessee were cham

pioned in song and speech by their supporters in the Middle West, the political "stump" became the favorite hustings. The news that a leader was to "take the stump" in a certain district was sufficient promise of enlightenment on the political issues of the day in a region where newspapers and campaign literature were meager; and also the occasion was likely to afford a diversion in the way of rival processions and to furnish an opportunity of meeting one's friends and neighbors. The community which was favored as the scene of a political debate immediately awoke to unwonted activity. Banners were painted, flags flung from staff and building, and lithographs of rival candidates displayed in windows. Great barges or wagons, especially decorated for the occasion, were filled with "first voters," or with young women dressed to symbolize the political aspects of the campaign. Local merchants hurriedly stocked up on novelties likely to be in demand, while itinerant venders altered their schedules and hurried to the promising center of trade.

Upon the public square each party erected a "pole" with a banner bearing the name of its candidates flying from the lofty top. The rural male voter did not appropriate to himself all the joys of the occasion, but the entire family "went to town," to enjoy the unusual day of diversion in the round of a monotonous and isolated life. A reporter connected with a New York newspaper was sent to Illinois to write up one of these "stump" campaigns, and both vividly and appreciatively he described the gathering of the people for the chief event of the summer:

"It is astonishing how deep an interest in politics this people take. Over long weary miles of hot and dusty prairie the processions of eager partisans come-on foot, on horseback, in wagons drawn by horses or mules; men, women, and children, old and young; the half sick, just out of the last 'shake;' children in arms, infants at the maternal

fount, pushing on in clouds of dust and beneath the blazing sun; settling down at the town where the meeting is, with hardly a chance for sitting, and even less opportunity for eating, waiting in anxious groups for hours at the places of speaking, talking, discussing, litigious, vociferous, while the war artillery, the music of the bands, the waving of banners, the huzzahs of the crowds, as delegation after delegation appears; the cry of the peddlers vending all sorts of ware, from an infallible cure of 'agur' to a monster watermelon in slices to suit purchasers— combine to render the occasion one scene of confusion and commotion. The hour of one arrives and a perfect rush is made for the grounds; a column of dust is rising to the heavens and fairly deluging those who are hurrying on through it. Then the speakers come with flags, and banners, and music, surrounded by cheering partisans. Their arrival at the ground and immediate approach to the stand is the signal for shouts that rend the heavens. They are introduced to the audience amidst prolonged and enthusiastic cheers; they are interrupted by frequent applause; and they sit down finally amid the same uproarious demonstration. The audience sit or stand patiently throughout, and, as the last word is spoken, make a break for their homes, first hunting up lost members of their families, getting their scattered wagonloads together, and, as the daylight fades away, entering again upon the broad prairies and slowly picking their way back to the place of beginning."-Special correspondence from Charleston, Illinois, to the New York Post, September 24, 1858.

The patience of the crowd in listening to lengthy speeches, as noted by this correspondent, finds many illustrations elsewhere. Three hours was the usual time allotted to a speaker. Sometimes after listening to a discussion of this length during the afternoon, the crowd would disperse for supper and then return to hear another speaker for an equal length of time during the evening. The spirit of fairness to both sides prompted the people to furnish one speaker with as large an audience as the other enjoyed. This spirit was manifested at Peoria in 1854 as the following extract from a contemporary newspaper shows:

"On Monday, October 16, Senator Douglas, by appointment, ad

dressed a large audience at Peoria. When he closed he was greeted with six hearty cheers; and the band in attendance played a stirring air. The crowd then began to call for Lincoln, who, as Judge Douglas had announced, was, by agreement, to answer him. Mr. Lincoln then took the stand, and said

"I do not arise to speak now, if I can stipulate with the audience to meet me here at half past six or at seven o'clock. It is now several minutes past five, and Judge Douglas has spoken over three hours. If you hear me at all, I wish you to hear me thro'. It will take me as long as it has taken him. That will carry us beyond eight o'clock at night. Now every one of you who can remain that long, can just as well get his supper, meet me at seven, and remain one hour or two later. The judge has already informed you that he is to have an hour to reply to me. I doubt not but you have been a little surprised to learn that I have consented to give one of his high reputation and known ability this advantage of me. Indeed, my consenting to it, though reluctant, was not wholly unselfish; for I suspected if it were understood, that the Judge was entirely done, you democrats would leave, and not hear me; but by giving him the close, I felt confident that you would stay for the fun of hearing him skin me.'

"The audience signified their assent to the arrangement, and adjourned to 7 o'clock P. M., at which time they re-assembled, and Mr. Lincoln spoke."-Correspondence of the Illinois Journal, Springfield, October 21, 1854.

SENATOR DOUGLAS OF ILLINOIS

The storm center of political agitation, carried to the west of the Alleghany Mountains in the campaign of 1824, gradually advanced with the spread of the people, until the decade between 1850 and 1860 saw it centered in Illinois, mainly through the prominence of Senator Stephen A. Douglas and the Kansas-Nebraska question. As chairman. of the Senate Committee on Territories, Douglas fathered and pushed to enactment the famous law of 1854, which repealed the Missouri Compromise so far at it related to the unorganized portion of the Louisiana Purchase lying north of 36° 30', and threw it open to slavery or freedom as the