Friday, February 2, 2007 11:29 PM CST
Lincoln’s ‘lost’ speech: A pivotal oration mysteriously disappears
By HAL MALEHORN
On the evening of May 29, 1856, in Bloomington, Ill., Abraham Lincoln made a speech that was remarkable in several ways: it was given ex tempore over a 90-minute period; it was an uninvited and unscheduled address; its passionate persuasion stunned its audience; it proved to be a turning point in Lincoln’s political career.
And it helped to define and solidify the newly-organized Republican Party.
In sum, the speech was memorable, especially in one small detail: so transfixed was Lincoln’s entire audience that not a single listener had the presence of mind to record exactly what it was that Lincoln said.
One day prior to Lincoln’s performance a group of onetime Whigs, Free-Soilers, Anti-Nebraskans, Know-Nothings, and abolitionist Democrats had gathered in Bloomington to discuss the grave political situation confronting the United States: thanks to the Democrat-controlled Congress and White House, the new territories of Kansas and Nebraska would now be open to the institution of slavery.
Even more ominous, just last year (1855) a resultant conflict, “Bleeding Kansas,” had erupted, as armed gangs of Southerners began clashing with rifle-toting Yankees over the right of Kansas to become a slaveholding territory. And the Southland’s talk of secession was in the air.
Now, in May of 1856, several hundred delegates had convened in Bloomington to take care of another, more practical, matter than the national crisis: they were to name candidates for state offices, under their banner lately labeled “Republican.” Setting aside former loyalties and rivalries, these Illinois delegates were uniting to propose their new party’s anti-slavery slate.
The evening of May 28 the assembled delegates in Major’s Hall sat in restless anticipation of fiery oratory. And they were not disappointed.
The verbal fireworks began with a speech by John Dixon, political patriarch of the Rock River region, who presented a powerful condemnation of the Southland’s “peculiar institution.” Next, Congressman Elihu Washburne eloquently reviewed the angry debate over slavery that had raged in Congress for years. John Palmer then delivered a 40-minute bantering chat that both amused and bemused the audience.
The last, and main, address was given by blunt and tempestuous “Long John” Wentworth, longtime Congressman, one-time Democrat, and present-time editor from Chicago. Wentworth delivered a two-hour harangue against Stephen A. Douglas, architect of the notorious Kansas-Nebraska Act, the immediate cause of the nation’s distress. When Wentworth finished, it was midnight. The delegates then dispersed to their lodgings.
In the darkness a crowd gathered outside Lincoln’s hotel, clamoring for a speech. However, Lincoln demurred, assuring the throng that he had prepared something for the morrow.
As the delegates began their morning session the next day, there was yet much excitement. Their first task was to elect a convention chairman; for that post the assemblage chose John Palmer from Carlinville. Second on the agenda was the nomination of a candidate for governor; William Bissell of Belleville was unanimously selected.
Several newspapermen sat at separate tables, dutifully recording the proceedings. Chief among the journalists was Joseph Medill, editor of the Chicago Tribune.
At this point Abraham Lincoln moved that a committee of nine be appointed to present a slate of candidates for the remaining state offices. Lincoln’s motion carried without dissent. Lincoln was named the committee’s chair. During the noon recess his committee agreed upon its nominations.
Lincoln had not been invited to make a speech at all. But, ever the opportunist, he stayed ready, biding his time.
Although Lincoln by then was well-known and widely respected throughout Illinois, he had earlier been under a political cloud. After all, he had disgraced himself in Congress in 1848 by challenging President Polk to justify the otherwise-popular Mexican War. And only last year Lincoln had lost his bid for a U.S. Senate seat to his friend, Lyman Trumbull.
As that second day’s business wound down, the supper hour and adjournment approached. But from the rear of the gallery someone called out Lincoln’s name, expecting, most likely, to conclude the two days’ proceedings with a few yarns or jokes for which Lincoln was noted.
Situated in the midst of the hall, Lincoln rose to his feet. “I will say just a few words from here,” he agreed. But a small claque insisted that he take the platform.
Lincoln, several scraps of paper in hand, moved diffidently to center stage. For the first half-hour his speech was slow, mild and conciliatory, his high-pitched Kentucky twang unimpressive. But then, after he had warmed to his subject, for the next 60 minutes frequent applause, stomping, cheers and shouts of approval punctuated the speech.
When Lincoln was done, a horde of excited listeners swirled around him, praising him, slapping his back and pumping his hand.
But not one of the newspapermen, so caught up in the oratory of the moment, had bothered to record stenographically any of what Lincoln had said.
All who had heard the speech agreed afterwards that Lincoln had spoken quite out of character: he had been fiery, emotional, reckless and hot-blooded -- even violent. “Maddened by the wrong of slavery” and “blazing with wrath” were phrases later used to describe the oratory. In sum, Lincoln had spoken almost as a person possessed.
As Jesse Dubois, candidate for state auditor, left the hall that evening, he said to Henry Whitney, “Whitney, that is the greatest speech ever made in Illinois.” This appraisal was repeated by many listeners, then and in the years beyond.
As the stunned crowd slowly dispersed, they began piecing together the substance of what they had just heard. Almost universally, they agreed upon two quotes: at the beginning, regarding Kansas, “We will win with ballots, not bullets.” And, at the end, “We say to our Southern brethren, ‘We WON’T go out of the Union, and you SHAN’T.’”
The rest was forever lost. But most delegates agreed they had variously been “electrified,” “hypnotized” or “enthralled.”
Whatever had been said, it had transformed Illinois politics. And, as for Lincoln, he came to Bloomington a tall man and left town a giant; he went to the convention a Whig and emerged a Republican; he arose to speak a lawyer, and sat down, the eventual president.
Hal Malehorn portrays Alfred Balch at Lincoln Log Cabin State Historic Site.
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