The Hour of Peril: The Secret Plot to Murder Lincoln Before the Civil War by Daniel Stashower
Authors: Daniel Stashower
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protested his innocence. A large crowd gathered, and “considerable sympathy was expressed for the stately, gray-haired man who was being borne into captivity by the green-looking countryman cooper from Dundee.” Pinkerton’s first big case—which he would one day recount under the heading of “How I Became a Detective”—ended with a swarm of bystanders raining insults on his head.
As it happened, Pinkerton’s flimsy evidence was never tested in court. Although Craig was duly arrested and locked up to await trial, it was discovered one morning that he had mysteriously vanished from his jail cell—leaving, it was said, at least one jailer considerably richer. The episode taught Pinkerton a valuable lesson in what he would call “the perfidy of officials.” A second, more personal lesson had already been taken to heart. Writing of the episode many years later, Pinkerton reflected on a moment at the church in Elgin when he found himself lingering over Craig’s bundle of fifty ten-dollar bills: “For a moment the greatest temptation of my life swept over me,” he admitted. “A thousand thoughts of sudden wealth and a life free from the grinding labor which I had always known, came rushing into my mind. Here in my hands were five hundred dollars, or what professed to be, every one of them as good as gold, if I only chose to use it.” He would resist the temptation, but Pinkerton never forgot it. Throughout his career, he claimed that he could never look on those who had fallen prey to greedy impulses without “a touch of genuine human sympathy.”
Returning to Dundee, Pinkerton found that his latest exploit brought him even more notice than the Bogus Island adventure. “The country being new, and great sensations scarce, the affair was in everybody’s mouth,” he wrote, “and I suddenly found myself called upon, from every quarter, to undertake matters requiring detective skill.” Before long, Pinkerton was offered the post of deputy sheriff of Kane County. The duties were not terribly demanding, mostly serving court papers and chasing down an occasional horse thief, but his days as a country cooper were coming to an end—“all of which,” he later admitted, “I owe to Old John Craig.”
CHAPTER THREE
ARDENT SPIRITS
Against Lincoln the Democrats put up Peter Cartwright, a famous and rugged old-fashioned circuit rider, a storming evangelist, exhorter and Jackson Democrat. [Lincoln] went to a religious meeting where Cartwright in due time said, “All who desire to give their hearts to God, and go to heaven, will stand.” A sprinkling of men, women and children stood up. The preacher exhorted, “All who do not wish to go to hell will stand.” All stood up—except Lincoln. Then Cartwright in his gravest voice: “I observe that many responded to the first invitation to give their hearts to God and go to heaven. And I further observe that all of you save one indicated that you did not desire to go to hell. The sole exception is Mr. Lincoln, who did not respond to either invitation. May I inquire of you, Mr. Lincoln, where you are going?”
Lincoln slowly rose: “I came here as a respectful listener. I did not know that I was to be singled out by Brother Cartwright. I believe in treating religious matters with due solemnity. I admit that the questions propounded by Brother Cartwright are of great importance. I did not feel called upon to answer as the rest did. Brother Cartwright asks me directly where I am going. I desire to reply with equal directness: I am going to Congress.”
—CARL SANDBURG, on Lincoln’s 1846 congressional race
IN THE SPRING OF 1847, a letter appeared in the Western Citizen, a Kane County newspaper, accusing Allan Pinkerton of being an “unrepining atheist.” The denunciation appeared over the signature of M. L. Wisner, the pastor of the Dundee Baptist Church, and signaled that the town cooper had become persona non grata in the community.
Pinkerton was not a
As it happened, Pinkerton’s flimsy evidence was never tested in court. Although Craig was duly arrested and locked up to await trial, it was discovered one morning that he had mysteriously vanished from his jail cell—leaving, it was said, at least one jailer considerably richer. The episode taught Pinkerton a valuable lesson in what he would call “the perfidy of officials.” A second, more personal lesson had already been taken to heart. Writing of the episode many years later, Pinkerton reflected on a moment at the church in Elgin when he found himself lingering over Craig’s bundle of fifty ten-dollar bills: “For a moment the greatest temptation of my life swept over me,” he admitted. “A thousand thoughts of sudden wealth and a life free from the grinding labor which I had always known, came rushing into my mind. Here in my hands were five hundred dollars, or what professed to be, every one of them as good as gold, if I only chose to use it.” He would resist the temptation, but Pinkerton never forgot it. Throughout his career, he claimed that he could never look on those who had fallen prey to greedy impulses without “a touch of genuine human sympathy.”
Returning to Dundee, Pinkerton found that his latest exploit brought him even more notice than the Bogus Island adventure. “The country being new, and great sensations scarce, the affair was in everybody’s mouth,” he wrote, “and I suddenly found myself called upon, from every quarter, to undertake matters requiring detective skill.” Before long, Pinkerton was offered the post of deputy sheriff of Kane County. The duties were not terribly demanding, mostly serving court papers and chasing down an occasional horse thief, but his days as a country cooper were coming to an end—“all of which,” he later admitted, “I owe to Old John Craig.”
CHAPTER THREE
ARDENT SPIRITS
Against Lincoln the Democrats put up Peter Cartwright, a famous and rugged old-fashioned circuit rider, a storming evangelist, exhorter and Jackson Democrat. [Lincoln] went to a religious meeting where Cartwright in due time said, “All who desire to give their hearts to God, and go to heaven, will stand.” A sprinkling of men, women and children stood up. The preacher exhorted, “All who do not wish to go to hell will stand.” All stood up—except Lincoln. Then Cartwright in his gravest voice: “I observe that many responded to the first invitation to give their hearts to God and go to heaven. And I further observe that all of you save one indicated that you did not desire to go to hell. The sole exception is Mr. Lincoln, who did not respond to either invitation. May I inquire of you, Mr. Lincoln, where you are going?”
Lincoln slowly rose: “I came here as a respectful listener. I did not know that I was to be singled out by Brother Cartwright. I believe in treating religious matters with due solemnity. I admit that the questions propounded by Brother Cartwright are of great importance. I did not feel called upon to answer as the rest did. Brother Cartwright asks me directly where I am going. I desire to reply with equal directness: I am going to Congress.”
—CARL SANDBURG, on Lincoln’s 1846 congressional race
IN THE SPRING OF 1847, a letter appeared in the Western Citizen, a Kane County newspaper, accusing Allan Pinkerton of being an “unrepining atheist.” The denunciation appeared over the signature of M. L. Wisner, the pastor of the Dundee Baptist Church, and signaled that the town cooper had become persona non grata in the community.
Pinkerton was not a
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