PHILADELPHIA

Change of Plan

FEBRUARY 22

IN PHILADELPHIA ON FRIDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 22, LINCOLN CLIMBED into a carriage drawn by four white horses and proceeded to Independence Hall. “The President elect had enjoyed a good night’s rest, and felt better for it,” the Philadelphia North American reported, adding that “he came forth fresh as a daisy.”

A large crowd was already present and demanded not only that he raise the flag, as planned, but also make a speech, which he had not planned. He obliged. As often happened when he spoke extemporaneously—as had happened in Indianapolis—he let down his guard. A reporter for the Philadelphia Daily Evening Bulletin noted that he spoke “in a low tone, hardly audible.”

He was deeply moved, he said, to find himself standing in the place where the nation was founded. “I have never had a feeling politically that did not spring from the sentiments embodied in the Declaration of Independence.”

A loud cheer rose from his audience.

He explained that the struggle for independence and the enduring nature of the resulting confederation of states had often led him to ponder what guiding principle had made it so durable. “It was not the mere matter of the separation of the colonies from the mother land,” he said, “but that sentiment in the Declaration of Independence which gave liberty, not alone to the people of this country, but hope to the world for all future time.”

Great applause, here.

“It was that which gave promise that in due time the weights should be lifted from the shoulders of all men, and that all should have an equal chance.”

Another round of cheering.

“This is the sentiment embodied in that Declaration of Independence.

“Now, my friends, can this country be saved upon that basis? If it can, I will consider myself one of the happiest men in the world if I can help to save it. If it can’t be saved upon that principle, it will be truly awful. But, if this country cannot be saved without giving up that principle”—he slapped a hand against his knee—“I was about to say I would rather be assassinated on this spot than to surrender it.”

HE ASCENDED A SPECIAL platform erected around a tall flagstaff outside the hall. The crowd had multiplied. Surrounding trees were ornamented with men. Lincoln removed his coat and hauled the flag up hand over hand. The resulting cheers were described by one observer as “maniacal” and resounded for minutes.

The thing that lingered was Lincoln’s reference to equality, the uniquely American promise “that all should have an equal chance.” A reporter for the New York Herald was quick to discern the greater meaning of Lincoln’s remark: Fulfillment of that promise, he wrote, meant “nothing more or less than the progressive steps of African emancipation.”

THAT MORNING LINCOLN AGREED to alter his schedule in accord with a plan put forth by Pinkerton and Norman Judd. First, however, he insisted on fulfilling his obligations in Harrisburg, where he was to speak to the state legislature.

Under the new plan, Lincoln would then leave Harrisburg in secret on a special train bound for Philadelphia to catch Samuel Felton’s regularly scheduled midnight express to Baltimore, which would arrive at the city’s Calvert Street station at three-thirty in the morning. There, before dawn, he would change trains for the final run to Washington.

Lincoln understood there was a political risk in seeming to sneak into the capital, especially when the rest of the journey had been so public. This did not daunt him. “Unless there are some other reasons besides fear of ridicule,” he said, “I am disposed to carry out Judd’s plan.”