Lincoln, the unknown

LINCOLN THE UNKNOWN• 109the printer delivered the papers necessary for keeping the tally.And the printer, on his way to the convention, probably stoppedfor a glass of beer. At any rate, he was late, and consequentlythere was nothing for the convention to do that Thursday eveningbut sit and wait for him.Mosquitoes were bad in the hall, the place was hot and stuffy,and the delegates hungry and thirsty; so some one stood up andmoved that the convention adjourn until ten o'clock the nextmorning. A motion to adjourn is always in order; it takes precedenceover all other motions and it is nearly always popular.This one carried with a rush of enthusiasm.Seventeen hours elapsed before the convention assembledagain. That is not a long time, but it was long enough forSeward's career to be wrecked, and Lincoln's made.The person largely responsible for the wrecking was HoraceGreeley, a grotesque-looking man with a head as round as acantaloupe; with thin, silky hair as light as an albino's; andwith a string necktie that usually worked itself out of place untilthe bow was approximately under his left ear.Greeley was not even advocating the nomination of Lincoln,but he was determined with all the bitterness of his soul to evenup an old score with William H. Seward and Seward's manager,Thurlow Weed.The trouble was this: For fourteen years, Greeley had foughtside by side with these men; he had helped make Seward Governorof New York and then United States Senator; and he hadaided Weed tremendously in his battle to become and remainpolitical boss of the State.And what had Greeley gotten out of all this struggle andcombat? Very little but neglect. He had wanted to be madeState printer, and Weed had taken that place for himself. Hehad longed to be appointed postmaster of New York City, andWeed did not offer to recommend him. He had aspired to begovernor, or even lieutenant-governor, and Weed not only said"no," but said itin a way that hurt and rankled.Finally, when he could stand no more, Greeley sat down andwrote a long, stinging letter to Seward. It would fill seven pagesof this book, and every paragraph of it was seared with bitterness.That fiery message had been written on Saturday night,November 11, 1854. . . . And this was 1860. Greeley had waitedsix long years for an opportunity to get his revenge, but at last