Election 1860: In the Weeds with Abraham Lincoln

During this year’s presidential contest, Abraham Lincoln’s name has been brandished by both candidates, but a recent discovery of rare documents at the Museum of Darien offers a true glimpse of Old Abe and how much has changed surrounding our presidential elections — for better or worse — since 1860.

For generations, scholars have deconstructed Lincoln’s every move on that fateful Election Day, a nail-biter of a contest among four major candidates competing to lead a fractured nation. To illustrate the mood at Republican headquarters in Springfield, Ill., that night, historians often quote Samuel Weed, a 24-year-old Darien native who was with Lincoln throughout the day.

The Museum of Darien recently discovered three versions of a speech that Weed delivered in 1884, which contain some previously unreported information and vividly recount Lincoln’s interactions, discussions — even his facial expressions — throughout the morning of Nov. 8 and into the following day.

What we know from that time stands in stark contrast to today’s frenzied 24-hour news cycle: Not only was Weed the sole news reporter covering Lincoln that night, but for reasons unknown, his exclusive story never made it into print.

Like many young people living on the East Coast in the mid-19th century, Weed had left home to chase his own Manifest Destiny in the West. He soon landed a job as a newspaper reporter, and in November 1860, was given an assignment that would quicken the pulse of any ambitious 24-year-old cub reporter: He was told to gain access to the Republican presidential candidate and observe his every move over the course of the day.

Weed tells us that he arrived in Springfield about 10 in the morning and, “armed with my credentials and letters of introduction,” soon located Lincoln at the Illinois statehouse. The candidate was in a small makeshift headquarters in the secretary of state’s office — a location that today would be cause for alarm and likely an investigation, since this office is responsible for the state’s vote count.

However, on the morning of Lincoln’s election to the nation’s highest office, Weed found him chatting amiably with friends, his chair tilted back to accommodate his long legs, which were propped on a nearby woodstove. As Weed approached the candidate, he made his way past fence rails that were strewn haphazardly all over the room, gifts sent to the “rail-splitter” candidate.

“His manner was quiet, unaffected and gracious, and when I informed him of my errand, he smiled and hoped I would manage to enjoy myself,” Weed tells us.

Much of what we admire about Lincoln is on display in Weed’s account: Abe’s folksy manner and witticisms made him extremely likable, and his self-deprecating humor about his lack of good looks endeared him to everyone. Interestingly, Weed disagreed with Abe’s own take on his personal appearance, but at this precise moment, his journalistic powers of observations fall maddeningly short:

“As I first saw him, I could not justify the reports that were everywhere circulated about his lack of physical beauty,” Weed reports to us, but fails to explain.

Weed does, however, paint a picture of an astute politician.

“It was undoubtedly true that he possessed in an uncommon degree a lively sense of the humorous, but it is also true that the uses he made of such impression were almost exclusively to illustrate some point in an argument,” Weed writes.

Yet, throughout the documents, there are also moments that are cringeworthy, with jokes and stories conveyed that, while they might have been acceptable in Lincoln’s time, would not be tolerated today.

For instance, Lincoln lightly jests with everyone in the room — which is filled exclusively with men — that it’s just as well that women could not vote because, based on his bad looks, women would never opt for him.

Despite the times and prejudices of 1860, there are shining examples of strong character and leadership. In another part of the speech, Weed retold how Lincoln countered a Southern pro-slavery argument: “Thus when he was met by an old Kentucky friend with the argument that slavery was the best thing for the black man because it ensured him a home, he [Lincoln] denied it,” Weed wrote.

And when it came to serious issues, Lincoln’s folksy pretense often quickly melted away. No one knew the shifting algebraic equations of an election better than he, and after determining that victory only equaled winning New York, he steadfastly refused any premature celebrations until the final word and congratulations came in around midnight via telegraph from a New York politician named Simeon Draper.

Lincoln finally grinned upon hearing the contents of the telegram, giving everyone the cue that celebrations could commence. The room erupted into cheers, church bells rang out and sleepy residents of Springfield threw open their bedroom windows to hear the news.

“The coolest man in that company was the president-elect. When the noise had partially subsided, Mr. Lincoln asked for the Draper dispatch, put it into his pocket and said it was about time he ‘went home and told the news to a tired woman who was sitting up for him.’”

Let’s all hope that throughout this Election Day and in the days that follow, our leaders follow Lincoln’s example and cooler heads prevail.

Maggie McIntire is the executive director of the Museum of Darien.

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