Return to Milestones Vol. 3, No. 1
The cannon began their dull booming as the President's train neared Rochester station. Somewhere in the crowd which had gathered around the little Pennsylvania depot a signal was given to the band. Perhaps the musicians' song was an old favorite like "Hail Columbia" or "Yankee Doodle." Or it may have been the raucous new tune, heard so often during the recent election campaign:
Abraham Lincoln, President-elect of the United States, was stopping in Rochester on his way to Washington, D.C., and his inauguration.
His train was a magnificent one, specially put together for Lincoln's trip east from his Springfield, Illinois home. "The interior of the Presidential car," says a recent biographer of Mrs. Lincoln, "was the latest thing in railroad elegance. Light-colored tapestry carpet contrasted nicely with richly dark furniture complete with the scrolls, and tassels dear to the Victorian heart. The side walls of the car beneath the windows were covered with crimson plush, while between the window-, hung heavy blue silk studded with thirty-four silver stars. Two national flags of rich silk were crossed at each end of the car. Patriotism ran high at that time of crisis, it was emphasized in the red, white and blue festoons that hung from the molding.
"The exterior also was a thing of vivid color, with glittering varnish and orange panels splashed with flourishes of black or brown. That bright train, with flags and streamers waving from engine and cars, presented a thrilling sight to the thousands who watched it pass. Fine traveling this for a man going East who came West walking beside oxen drawing a clumsy wagon." Lincoln himself concurred with the last statement. He had left Springfield on February 11, 1861. That same day, at a Lafayette, Indiana stop, he observed that "we have seen great changes within the recollection of some of us who are the older. When I first came to the west, some 44 or 45 years ago, at sundown you had completed a journey of some 30 miles which you had commenced at sunrise, and thought you had done well. Now only six hours have elapsed since I left my home in Illinois..."
Since then there had been numerous stops--Thornton, Lebanon, Indianapolis and Lawrenceburg, in Indiana, Cincinnati, Columbus and Steubenville in Ohio, and on to Rochester on February 14. Everywhere the train stopped the people wanted a full-blown oration from the President. Lincoln several times replied with his story of the man "who was a candidate for a county office, who owned a horse that he set great store by, but he was a slow animal and sure footed. He had canvassed extensively with a good chance for the nomination. On the morning of the convention, he mounted his favorite to go to the county seat, but in spite of whip and spur, his horse lagged on the road, biting at every bush, and when he arrived late in the evening, the convention was over and he was defeated.
So of him, if he stopped at every station to make a stump speech he would not arrive at Washington until the inauguration was over." At one halt, he begged off by pointing to the "band of music present" and remarking that "while the iron horse stops to water himself, I would prefer that they should discourse in their more eloquent music than I am capable of."
The Beaver ARGUS account of Lincoln's visit does not single out any individuals among the "persons of all ages, and both sexes" who crowded the depot and platforms, "anxiously waiting the arrival of the cars." But, unless the ways of politicians have changed drastically in the past 115 years, the local Republican stalwarts must have been out that day in strength. Among them would have been President Judge Daniel Agnew, Prothonotary Matthew S. Quay, and attorneys Richard P. Roberts and John Cuthbertson.
Quay must have smiled at the reception prepared for Lincoln, replete with "music, flags and cannon." Ten days before, his deft political hand had prevented what would have been a great embarrassment to the party faithful on the occasion of the new President's visit. During this winter of 1860-61 the House was dividing, the nation falling apart. In December, 1860, Lincoln had written Georgia friend Alexander -Stevens (later Confederate Vice-President) asking him if "the people of the South really entertain fears that a Republican administration would, directly or indirectly, interfere with their slaves? If they do, I wish to assure you, as once a friend, and still, I hope, not an enemy, that there is no cause for such fears." Despite such assurances, multitudes in the South shared the mentality of another Georgian who wrote on November 7 that "telegrams announce the fact of Lincoln's election by a popular vote! South Carolina has today virtually seceded." As if the second statement must inevitably follow the first. By February 4, 1861, South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas had declared that they were no longer to be numbered among the United States.
And people were not at all sure what was to be done about it. The outgoing President, James Buchanan, had arrived at the somewhat paradoxical position that no state had the right to secede, but that if one did, the federal authorities had no power to stop it. Even Richard Roberts, who raged at secessionists as 11 men before whose hellish treason that of Benedict Arnold pales and whitens into innocency," mused that perhaps the Southerners might "be left to themselves until torn and bleeding from internal strife, they come back like repentent children to seek refuge in the bosom of the Union."
Such was the situation when on February 4, 1861-just ten days before Lincoln's scheduled stop--Beaver County's Democrats, supporters of President Buchanan and foes of the new President, met at noon in the courthouse in Beaver. "It was known," as Bausman later wrote, "that an effort would be made at this meeting to pass resolutions condemnatory of the policy of coercion towards the seceding States," which policy the Democrats, or "Locofocos," as they were called, believed Lincoln represented.
Matthew Quay, determined to block these resolutions, had sent out messages to Republican friends. One note directed a friend to "turn out to the meeting.. this afternoon if you possibly can, and bring every Republican from Vanport with you, if possible. They intend passing Locofoco resolutions and sending them out to the State as the expression of Beaver County. It should be prevented if possible."
Since Quay had had little advance warning of the meeting, the gathering organized under Democratic leadership, and was called to order at one o'clock, 11 when few Republicans were present," as Quay later wrote. Still, there was little need for hurry, since before any resolutions were introduced, Democratic attorney S. B. Wilson of Beaver gave a long speech. (it was, Quay groaned, "a sterotyped Democratic harangue" which lasted "Between two and three mortal hours.")
Quay--short, physically unprepossessing and with a rather weak voice-- was not the man to answer Wilson. But he had gotten the troops out. Now, at the Democrat's conclusion, Republicans crowded into the courtroom alongside the Democrats, and began, Quay said, "vociferous shouts for Mr. Roberts, who had appeared in the house." At the appearance of Richard P. Roberts in the lists for the opposition, the Democrats thought it was high time to move their resolutions, "but the Republicans were determined to be heard ... and Mr. Roberts took the floor."
He held it, according to Quay, for over an hour and a quarter, defending "the Republican party from the charges of abolitionism and of being the agitator of the Slavery question." Several attempts at interruption failed and finally Roberts finished.
Wilson hurriedly produced his "Locofoco" resolutions and moved their adoption. Roberts attempted to regain the floor to argue against them. "The clamor and excitement increased," says Quay, "cries for Roberts mingling with calls for the question-every one present shouted what seemed to him best..." The young Republican attorney, John Cuthbertson, produced his own set of counter resolutions, but was told that in the clamor "Mr. Wilson's resolutions had already been adopted." As most of the Democrats filed Out the Republicans passed Cuthbertson's resolutions and adjourned. If they had not achieved a clear-cut victory, Quay's Republicans had at least forestalled a Democratic triumph. With two sets of resolutions issuing from the same meeting, the "Locofocos", as Quay wrote, could not send theirs "forth to the State as the voice of the ... County of Beaver."
The whistle of the locomotive split the air, and the President's train slowed and stopped at the Rochester depot. According to the ARGUS account, "Mr. Lincoln, in obedience to the cheers and repeated calls of the multitude, which had now increased to a great degree, appeared on the platform of the rear car, and bowed..." It is unlikely that many in the crowd were impressed with Lincoln's physical appearance, unless, perhaps, his extreme height impressed them. A journalist about this time described him as "the homeliest man I ever saw. His body seemed to me a huge skeleton in clothes. Tall as he was, his hands and feet looked out of proportion, so long and clumsy were they. Every movement was awkward in the extreme." The President's chin whiskers, grown during the campaign at the behest of a little girl, did not yet seem to "fit" his face.
But to the heavily bearded, handsome 'Richard P. Roberts, experienced trial lawyer, counsel to the Harmony Society, and former Beaver County District Attorney, Lincoln was "able, honest, patriotic, firm but mild." The Beaver attorney wrote that "I shall be disappointed if his administration does not make a bright page in history..." Roberts had perhaps heard of Abraham Lincoln before most of Beaver County had. In 1856 he had attended the infant Republican Party's first national presidential convention in Philadelphia. There John C. Fremont was named the party's candidate for President. And there some Illinois Republicans, trying to get the Vice-Presidential spot for a favorite son, asked Roberts' fellow delegate from Beaver County, Congressman John Allison, to place the then relatively unknown Lincoln's name in nomination. Though Lincoln did not get the nod, Roberts came to share Allison's opinion of the Illinois lawyer; Allison in his nominating speech had called Lincoln "the prince of good fellows."
On the train platform, Lincoln announced that "he had no speech to make, as it was impossible to speak at every point where his fellow citizens greeted him." He thanked the crowd "for this expression of their wishes towards him. He was now on his way to Washington, and about the 4th of March he would speak to all who chose to hear him."
A voice sang out: "What will you do with the secessionists then?"
"My friend," Lincoln said, "that is a matter which I have under very grave consideration." After this exchange the President talked "with various persons who approached the car."
Abraham Lincoln, according to his law partner William H. Herndon, "was six feet and four inches high in his sock feet." Biographer Ida Tarbell later wrote that he "was proud of" his height, and "throughout his life was fond of comparing himself with tall and strong
men." In the crowd that day at Rochester was one Henry Dillon, whom a number of sources identify as "a coal-heaver" from Freedom. Henry, the ARGUS reporter said, was "a very enthusiastic Republican, and withal a most excellent fellow," and stood "some six feet three or four inches in his boots." He called out to Lincoln that he thought he was taller than the President was.
"Let us see about that," Lincoln laughed, reaching out his hand and pulling Henry onto the platform beside him. The two men, "turning their backs to each other, while prolonged and enthusiastic cheers rent the air," demonstrated, said the ARGUS, that "Old Abe... was a LITTLE the tallest man in the crowd yet."
Carl Sandburg would note years later that "here and there earnest people said it was no way for a public man to act with a coal-heaver," but the good-natured, humorous touch certainly impressed Henry Dillon; "we are sure," the ARGUS said, "that Mr. Lincoln has not a stronger supporter in the State." (The HISTORY OF BEAVER COUNTY published in 1688 reported that Henry Dillon, "now a resident of Beaver Falls," remained "a very enthusiastic Republican.") the ARGUS, concluding its story of the incident, stated that some of Henry's friends insisted that Dillon was a shade taller than the President after all. "Perhaps this, like many* other vexed questions will remain an unsettled one," the newspaper said.
A question of much greater import faced the nation, and Lincoln had pinpointed it on his way to Rochester. At Indianapolis he had told the crowd that he, as President, was "an accidental instrument, temporary, and to serve but a limited time." He had appealed to the people of the United States "to constantly bear in mind that with you, and not with politicians, not with Presidents, not with office-seekers, but with you, is the question, 'Shall the Union and shall the liberties of the country be preserved to the latest generation?"' Many in the crowd who watched as Lincoln's train pulled Out of Rochester after its twenty-minute stay would help answer that question.
When the war came, the young lawyer, John" Cuthbertson, raised the first company of Union troops "to leave Beaver County and the first from Beaver County to be mustered into the service of the United States." Severely wounded in June, 1862, he returned home, disabled, to serve as local Provost Marshal for the rest of the war. He died September 21, 1865. Matthew S. Quay resigned as Prothonotary at the outbreak of hostilities, and enlisted. Forced out of the army by illness in late 1862, he remained as a volunteer during the bloody fighting at Fredericksburg. He led a charge up Maryes Heights in that battle, for which he was later awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. Richard P. Roberts, 42 years of age, became Colonel of the 140th Pennsylvania Infantry in September, 1862. He was killed at Gettysburg on July 2 of the following yea r.
"...with you, and not with politicians, not with Presidents, not with office-seekers, but with you, is the question..."
The hundreds of Beaver Countians, Democrats and Republicans, who flocked to the colors a few months later would help answer the question posed by Abraham Lincoln as he journeyed by rail from Springfield to Washington in February of 1861.