Secretary Chase had fallen into the habit of emphasising what he believed to be his indispensability in the Cabinet by threatening to resign, or even by submitting a resignation, whenever his suggestions or conclusions met with opposition. These threats had been received with patience up to the point when patience seemed to be no longer a virtue; but finally, when (in May, 1864) such a resignation was tendered under some aggravation of opposition or of criticism, very much to Chase's surprise the resignation was accepted.

The Secretary had had in train for some months active plans for becoming the Republican candidate for the Presidential campaign of 1864. Evidence had from time to time during the preceding year been brought to Lincoln of Chase's antagonism and of his hopes of securing the leadership of the party. Chase's opposition to certain of Lincoln's policies was doubtless honest enough. He had brought himself to believe that Lincoln did not possess the force and the qualities required to bring the War to a close. He had also convinced himself that he, Chase, was the man, and possibly was the only man, who was fitted to meet the special requirements of the task. Mr. Chase did possess the confidence of the more extreme of the anti-slavery groups throughout the country. His administration of the Treasury had been able and valuable, but the increasing difficulty that had been found in keeping the Secretary of the Treasury in harmonious relations with the other members of the administration caused his retirement to be on the whole a relief. Lincoln came to the conclusion that more effective service could be secured from some other man, even if possessing less ability, whose temperament made it possible for him to work in co-operation. The unexpected acceptance of the resignation caused to Chase and to Chase's friends no little bitterness, which found vent in sharp criticisms of the President. Neither bitterness nor criticisms could, however, prevent Lincoln from retaining a cordial appreciation for the abilities and the patriotism of the man, and, later in the year, Lincoln sent in his nomination as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Chase himself, in his lack of capacity to appreciate the self-forgetfulness of Lincoln's nature, was probably more surprised by his nomination as Chief Justice than he had been by the acceptance of his resignation as Secretary of the Treasury.

In July, 1864, comes a fresh risk of international complications through the invasion of Mexico by a French army commanded by Bazaine, seven years later to be known as the (more or less) hero of Metz. Lotus Napoleon had been unwilling to give up his dream of a French empire, or of an empire instituted under French influence, in the Western Hemisphere. He was still hopeful, if not confident, that the United States would not be able to maintain its existence; and he felt assured that if the Southern Confederacy should finally be established with the friendly co-operation of France, he would be left unmolested to carry out his own schemes in Mexico. He had induced an honest-minded but not very clearheaded Prince, Maximilian, the brother of the Emperor of Austria, to accept a throne in Mexico to be established by French bayonets, and which, as the result showed, could sustain itself only while those bayonets were available. The presence of French troops on American soil brought fresh anxieties to the administration; but it was recognised that nothing could be done for the moment, and Lincoln and his advisers were hopeful that the Mexicans, before their capital had been taken possession of by the invader, would be able to maintain some national government until, with the successful close of its own War, the United States could come to the defence of the sister republic.

The extreme anti-slavery group of the Republican party had, as indicated, never been fully satisfied with the thoroughness of the anti-slavery policy of the administration and Mr. Chase retained until the action of the convention in June the hope that he might through the influence of this group secure the Presidency. Lincoln remarks in connection with this candidacy: "If Chase becomes President, all right. I hope we may never have a worse man." From the more conservative wing of the Republican party came suggestions as to the nomination of Grant and this plan brought from Lincoln the remark: "If Grant takes Richmond, by all means let him have the nomination." When the delegates came together, however, in Baltimore, it was evident that, representing as they did the sober and well-thought-out convictions of the people, no candidacy but that of Lincoln could secure consideration and his nomination was practically unanimous.

The election in November gave evidence that, even in the midst of civil war, a people's government can sustain the responsibility of a national election. The large popular majorities in nearly all of the voting States constituted not only a cordial recognition of the service that was being rendered by Lincoln and by Lincoln's administration, but a substantial assurance that the cause of nationality was to be sustained with all the resources of the nation. The Presidential election of this year gave the final blow to the hopes of the Confederacy.

I had myself a part in a very small division of this election, a division which could have no effect in the final gathering of the votes, but which was in a way typical of the spirit of the army. On the 6th of November, 1864, I was in Libby Prison, having been captured at the battle of Cedar Creek in October. It was decided to hold a Presidential election in the prison, although some of us were rather doubtful as to the policy and anxious in regard to the result. The exchange of prisoners had been blocked for nearly a year on the ground of the refusal on the part of the South to exchange the coloured troops or white officers who held commissions in coloured regiments. Lincoln took the ground, very properly, that all of the nation's soldiers must be treated alike and must be protected by a uniform policy. Until the coloured troops should be included in the exchange, "there can," said Lincoln, "be no exchanging of prisoners." This decision, while sound, just, and necessary, brought, naturally, a good deal of dissatisfaction to the men in prison and to their friends at home. When I reached Libby in October, I found there men who had been prisoners for six or seven months and who (as far as they lived to get out) were to be prisoners for five months more. Through the winter of 1864-65, the illness and mortality in the Virginia prisons of Libby and Danville were very severe. It was in fact a stupid barbarity on the part of the Confederate authorities to keep any prisoners in Richmond during that last winter of the War. It was not easy to secure by the two lines of road (one of which was continually being cut by our troops) sufficient supplies for Lee's army. It was difficult to bring from the granaries farther south, in addition to the supplies required for the army, food for the inhabitants of the town. It was inevitable under the circumstances that the prisoners should be neglected and that in addition to the deaths from cold (the blankets, the overcoats, and the shoes had been taken from the prisoners because they were needed by the rebel troops) there should be further deaths from starvation.

It was not unnatural that under such conditions the prisoners should have ground not only for bitter indignation with the prison authorities, but for discontent with their own administration. One may in fact be surprised that starving and dying men should have retained any assured spirit of loyalty. When the vote for President came to be counted, we found that we had elected Lincoln by more than three to one. The soldiers felt that Lincoln was the man behind the guns. The prison votes, naturally enough, reached no ballot boxes and my individual ballot in any case would not have been legal as I was at the time but twenty years of age. I can but feel, however, that this vote of the prisoners was typical and important, and I have no doubt it was so recognised when later the report of the voting reached Washington.

In December, 1864, occurred one of the too-frequent cabals on the part of certain members of the Cabinet. Pressure was brought to bear upon Lincoln to get rid of Seward. Lincoln's reply made clear that he proposed to remain President. He says to the member reporting for himself and his associates the protest against Seward: "I propose to be the sole judge as to the dismissal or appointment of the members of my Cabinet." Lincoln could more than once have secured peace within the Cabinet and a smoother working of the administrative machinery if he had been willing to replace the typical and idiosyncratic men whom he had associated with himself in the government by more commonplace citizens, who would have been competent to carry on the routine responsibilities of their posts. The difficulty of securing any consensus of opinion or any working action between men differing from each other as widely as did Chase, Stanton, Blair, and Seward, in temperament, in judgment, and in honest convictions as to the proper policy for the nation, was an attempt that brought upon the chief daily burdens and many keen anxieties. Lincoln insisted, however, that it was all-important for the proper carrying on of the contest that the Cabinet should contain representatives of the several loyal sections of the country and of the various phases of opinion. The extreme anti-slavery men were entitled to be heard even though their spokesman Chase was often intemperate, ill-judged, bitter, and unfair. The Border States men had a right to be represented and it was all-essential that they should feel that they had a part in the War government even though their spokesman Blair might show himself, as he often did show himself, quite incapable of understanding, much less of sympathising with, the real spirit of the North. Stanton might be truculent and even brutal, but he was willing to work, he knew how to organise, he was devotedly loyal. Seward, scholar and statesman as he was, had been ready to give needless provocation to Europe and was often equally ill-judged in his treatment of the conservative Border States on the one hand and of the New England abolitionists on the other, but Seward was a patriot as well as a scholar and was a representative not only of New York but of the best of the Whig Republican sentiment of the entire North, and Seward could not be spared. It is difficult to recall in history a government made up of such discordant elements which through the patience, tact, and genius of one man was made to do effective work.

In February, 1865, in response to suggestions from the South which indicated the possibility of peace, Lincoln accepted a meeting with Alexander H. Stephens and two other commissioners to talk over measures for bringing the War to a close. The meeting was held on a gun-boat on the James River. It seems probable from the later history that Stephens had convinced himself that the Confederacy could not conquer its independence and that it only remained to secure the best terms possible for a surrender. On the other hand, Jefferson Davis was not yet prepared to consider any terms short of a recognition of the independence of the Confederacy, and Stephens could act only under the instructions received from Richmond. It was Lincoln's contention that the government of the United States could not treat with rebels (or, dropping the word "rebels," with its own citizens) in arms. "The first step in negotiations, must," said Lincoln, "be the laying down of arms. There is no precedent in history for a government entering into negotiations with its own armed citizens."

"But there is a precedent, Mr. Lincoln," said Stephens, "King Charles of England treated with the Cromwellians."

"Yes," said Lincoln, "I believe that is so. I usually leave historical details to Mr. Seward, who is a student. It is, however, my memory that King Charles lost his head."

It soon became evident that there was no real basis for negotiations, and Stephens and his associates had to return to Richmond disappointed. In the same month, was adopted by both Houses of Congress the Thirteenth Amendment, which prohibited slavery throughout the whole dominion of the United States. By the close of 1865, this amendment had been confirmed by thirty-three States. It is probable that among these thirty-three there were several States the names of which were hardly familiar to some of the older citizens of the South, the men who had accepted the responsibility for the rebellion. The state of mind of these older Southerners in regard more particularly to the resources of the North-west was recalled to me years after the War by an incident related by General Sherman at a dinner of the New England Society. Sherman said that during the march through Georgia he had found himself one day at noon, when near the head of his column, passing below the piazza of a comfortable-looking old plantation house. He stopped to rest on the piazza with one or two of his staff and was received by the old planter with all the courtliness that a Southern gentleman could show, even to an invader, when doing the honours of his own house. The General and the planter sat on the piazza, looking at the troops below and discussing, as it was inevitable under the circumstances that they must discuss, the causes of the War.

"General," said the planter, "what troops are those passing below?" The General leans over the piazza, and calls to the standard bearers, "Throw out your flag, boys," and as the flag was thrown out, he reports to his host, "The 30th Wisconsin."

"Wisconsin?" said the planter, "Wisconsin? Where is Wisconsin?"

"It is one of the States of the North-west," said Sherman.

"When I was studying geography," said the planter, "I knew of Wisconsin simply as the name of a tribe of Indians. How many men are there in a regiment?"

"Well, there were a thousand when they started," said Sherman.

"Do you mean to say," said the planter, "that there is a State called Wisconsin that has sent thirty thousand men into your armies?"

"Oh, probably forty thousand," answered Sherman.

With the next battalion the questions and the answers are repeated. The flag was that of a Minnesota regiment, say the 32d. The old planter had never heard that there was such a State.

"My God!" he said when he had figured out the thousands of men who had come to the front, from these so-called Indian territories, to maintain the existence of the nation, "If we in the South had known that you had turned those Indian territories into great States, we never should have gone into this war." The incident throws a light upon the state of mind of men in the South, even of well educated men in the South, at the outbreak of the War. They might, of course, have known by statistics that great States had grown up in the North-west, representing a population of millions and able themselves to put into the field armies to be counted by the thousand. They might have realised that these great States of the North-west were vitally concerned with the necessity of keeping the Mississippi open for their trade from its source to the Gulf of Mexico. They might have known that those States, largely settled from New England, were absolutely opposed to slavery. This knowledge was within their reach but they had not realised the facts of the case. It was their feeling that in the coming contest they would have to do only with New England and the Middle States and they felt that they were strong enough to hold their own against this group of opponents. That feeling would have been justified. The South could never have been overcome and the existence of the nation could never have been maintained if it had not been for the loyal co-operation and the magnificent resources of men and of national wealth that were contributed to the cause by the States of the North-west. In 1880, I had occasion, in talking to the two thousand students of the University of Minnesota, to recall the utterance of the old planter. The students of that magnificent University, placed in a beautiful city of two hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, found it difficult on their part to realise, amidst their laughter at the ignorance of the old planter, just what the relations of the South had been before the War to the new free communities of the North-west.

In February, 1865, with the fall of Fort Fisher and the capture of Wilmington, the control of the coast of the Confederacy became complete. The Southerners and their friends in Great Britain and the Bahamas (a group of friends whose sympathies for the cause were very much enhanced by the opportunity of making large profits out of their friendly relations) had shown during the years of the War exceptional ingenuity, daring, and persistence in carrying on the blockade-running. The ports of the British West Indies were very handy, and, particularly during the stormy months of the winter, it was hardly practicable to maintain an absolutely assured barrier of blockades along a line of coast aggregating about two thousand miles. The profits on a single voyage on the cotton taken out and on the stores brought back were sufficient to make good the loss of both vessel and cargo in three disastrous trips. The blockade-runners, Southerners and Englishmen, took their lives in their hands and they fairly earned all the returns that came to them. I happened to have early experience of the result of the fall of Fort Fisher and of the final closing of the last inlet for British goods. I was at the time in prison in Danville, Virginia. I was one of the few men in the prison (the group comprised about a dozen) who had been fortunate enough to retain a tooth-brush. We wore our tooth-brushes fastened into the front button-holes of our blouses, partly possibly from ostentation, but chiefly for the purpose of keeping them from being stolen. I was struck by receiving an offer one morning from the lieutenant of the prison guard of $300 for my tooth-brush. The "dollars" meant of course Confederate dollars and I doubtless hardly realised from the scanty information that leaked into the prison how low down in February, 1865, Confederate currency had depreciated. But still it was a large sum and the tooth-brush had been in use for a number of months. It then leaked out from a word dropped by the lieutenant that no more English tooth-brushes could get into the Confederacy and those of us who had been studying possibilities on the coast realised that Fort Fisher must have fallen.

In this same month of February, into which were crowded some of the most noteworthy of the closing events of the War, Charleston was evacuated as Sherman's army on its sweep northward passed back of the city. I am not sure whether the fiercer of the old Charlestonians were not more annoyed at the lack of attention paid by Sherman to the fire-eating little city in which four years back had been fired the gun that opened the War, than they would have been by an immediate and strenuous occupation. Sherman had more important matters on hand than the business of looking after the original fire-eaters. He was hurrying northward, close on the heels of Johnston, to prevent if possible the combination of Johnston's troops with Lee's army which was supposed to be retreating from Virginia.

On the 4th of March comes the second inaugural, in which Lincoln speaks almost in the language of a Hebrew prophet. The feeling is strong upon him that the clouds of war are about to roll away but he cannot free himself from the oppression that the burdens of the War have produced. The emphasis is placed on the all-important task of bringing the enmities to a close with the end of the actual fighting. He points out that responsibilities rest upon the North as well as upon the South and he invokes from those who under his leadership are bringing the contest to a triumphant close, their sympathy and their help for their fellow-men who have been overcome. The address is possibly the most impressive utterance ever made by a national leader and it is most characteristic of the fineness and largeness of nature of the man. I cite the closing paragraph:

"If we shall suppose that slavery is one of those offences which in the providence of God needs must come, and which having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe to those by whom the offence came, shall we discern therein any departure from those Divine attributes, which the believers in the Living God always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet if God wills that it should continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsmen in two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid for by another drop of blood drawn by the War, as was said two thousand years ago so still it must be said, that the judgments of the Lord are true, and righteous altogether.... With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and for his orphans, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations."

After the election of 1864, Lincoln's word had been "a common cause, a common interest, and a common country." The invocation in this last inaugural is based upon the understanding that there is again a common country and that in caring for those who have been in the battle and in the binding up of the wounds, there is to be no distinction between the men of the grey and those of the blue.

At the close of February, Lee, who realises that his weakened lines cannot much longer be maintained, proposes to Grant terms of adjustment. Grant replies that his duties are purely military and that he has no authority to discuss any political relations. On the first of April, the right wing of Lee's army is overwhelmed and driven back by Sheridan at Five Forks, and on the day following Richmond is evacuated by the rear-guard of Lee's army. The defence of Richmond during the long years of the War (a defence which was carried on chiefly from the entrenchments of Petersburg), by the skill of the engineers and by the patient courage of the troops, had been magnificent. It must always take a high rank in the history of war operations. The skilful use made of positions of natural strength, the high skill shown in the construction of works to meet first one emergency and then another, the economic distribution of constantly diminishing resources, the clever disposition of forces, (which during the last year were being steadily reduced from month to month), in such fashion that at the point of probable contact there seemed to be always men enough to make good the defence, these things were evidence of the military skill, the ingenuity, the resourcefulness, and the enduring courage of the leaders. The skill and character of Lee and his associates would however of course have been in vain and the lines would have been broken not in 1865, but in 1863 or in 1862, if it had not been for the magnificent patience and heroism of the rank and file that fought in the grey uniform under the Stars and Bars and whose fighting during the last of those months was done in tattered uniforms and with a ration less by from one quarter to one half than that which had been accepted as normal.

On the second of April, the Stars and Stripes are borne into Richmond by the advance brigade of the right wing of Grant's army under the command of General Weitzel. There was a certain poetic justice in the decision that the responsibility for making first occupation of the city should be entrusted to the coloured troops. The city had been left by the rear-guard of the Confederate army in a state of serious confusion. The Confederate general in charge (Lee had gone out in the advance hoping to be able to break his way through to North Carolina) had felt justified, for the purpose of destroying such army stores (chiefly ammunition) as remained, in setting fire to the storehouses, and in so doing he had left whole quarters of the city exposed to flame. White stragglers and negroes who had been slaves had, as would always be the case where all authority is removed, yielded to the temptation to plunder, and the city was full of drunken and irresponsible men. The coloured troops restored order and appear to have behaved with perfect discipline and consideration. The marauders were arrested, imprisoned, and, when necessary, shot. The fires were put out as promptly as practicable, but not until a large amount of very unnecessary damage and loss had been brought upon the stricken city. The women who had locked themselves into their houses, more in dread of the Yankee invader than of their own street marauders, were agreeably surprised to find that their immediate safety and the peace of the town depended upon the invaders and that the first battalions of these were the despised and much hated blacks.

Upon the 4th of April, against the counsel and in spite of the apprehensions of nearly all his advisers, Lincoln insisted upon coming down the river from Washington and making his way into the Rebel capital. There was no thought of vaingloriousness or of posing as the victor. He came under the impression that some civil authorities would probably have remained in Richmond with whom immediate measures might be taken to stop unnecessary fighting and to secure for the city and for the State a return of peaceful government. Thomas Nast, who while not a great artist was inspired to produce during the War some of the most graphic and storytelling records in the shape of pictures of events, made a drawing which was purchased later by the New York Union League Club, showing Lincoln on his way through Main Street, with the coloured folks of the town and of the surrounding country crowding about the man whom they hailed as their deliverer, and in their enthusiastic adoration trying to touch so much as the hem of his garment. The picture is history in showing what actually happened and it is pathetic history in recalling how great were the hopes that came to the coloured people from the success of the North and from the certainty of the end of slavery. It is sad to recall the many disappointments that during the forty years since the occupation of Richmond have hampered the uplifting of the race. Lincoln's hope that some representative of the Confederacy might have remained in Richmond, if only for the purpose of helping to bring to a close as rapidly as possible the waste and burdens of continued war, was not realised. The members of the Confederate government seem to have been interested only in getting away from Richmond and to have given no thought to the duty they owed to their own people to cooperate with the victors in securing a prompt return of law and order.

On the 9th of April, came the surrender of Lee at Appomattox, four years, less three days, from the date of the firing of the first gun of the War at Charleston. The muskets turned in by the ragged and starving files of the remnants of Lee's army represented only a small portion of those which a few days earlier had been holding the entrenchments at Petersburg. As soon as it became evident that the army was not going to be able to break through the Federal lines and begin a fresh campaign in North Carolina, the men scattered from the retreating columns right and left, in many cases carrying their muskets to their own homes as a memorial fairly earned by plucky and persistent service. There never was an army that did better fighting or that was better deserving of the recognition, not only of the States in behalf of whose so-called "independence" the War had been waged, but on the part of opponents who were able to realise the character and the effectiveness of the fighting.

The scene in the little farm-house where the two commanders met to arrange the terms of surrender was dramatic in more ways than one. General Lee had promptly given up his own baggage waggon for use in carrying food for the advance brigade and as he could save but one suit of clothes, he had naturally taken his best. He was, therefore, notwithstanding the fatigues and the privations of the past week, in full dress uniform. He was one of the handsomest men of his generation, and his beauty was not only of feature but of expression of character. Grant, who never gave much thought to his personal appearance, had for days been away from his baggage train, and under the urgency of keeping as near as possible to the front line with reference to the probability of being called to arrange terms for surrender, he had not found the opportunity of securing a proper coat in place of his fatigue blouse. I believe that even his sword had been mislaid, but he was able to borrow one for the occasion from a staff officer. When the main details of the surrender had been talked over, Grant looked about the group in the room, which included, in addition to two staff officers who had come with Lee, a group of five or six of his own assistants, who had managed to keep up with the advance, to select the aid who should write out the paper. His eye fell upon Colonel Ely Parker, a brigade commander who had during the past few months served on Grant's staff. "Colonel Parker, I will ask you," said Grant, "as the only real American in the room, to draft this paper." Parker was a full-blooded Indian, belonging to one of the Iroquois tribes of New York.

Grant's suggestion that the United States had no requirement for the horses of Lee's army and that the men might find these convenient for "spring ploughing" was received by Lee with full appreciation. The first matter in order after the completion of the surrender was the issue of rations to the starving Southern troops. "General Grant," said Lee, "a train was ordered by way of Danville to bring rations to meet my army and it ought to be now at such a point," naming a village eight or nine miles to the south-west. General Sheridan, with a twinkle in his eye, now put in a word: "The train from the south is there, General Lee, or at least it was there yesterday. My men captured it and the rations will be available." General Lee turns, mounts his old horse Traveller, a valued comrade, and rides slowly through the ranks first of the blue and then of the grey. Every hat came off from the men in blue as an expression of respect to a great soldier and a true gentleman, while from the ranks in grey there was one great sob of passionate grief and finally, almost for the first time in Lee's army, a breaking of discipline as the men crowded forward to get a closer look at, or possibly a grasp of the hand of, the great leader who had fought and failed but whose fighting and whose failure had been so magnificent.



IX

LINCOLN'S TASK ENDED

On the 11th of April, Lincoln makes his last public utterance. In a brief address to some gathering in Washington, he says, "There will shortly be announcement of a new policy." It is hardly to be doubted that the announcement which he had in mind was to be concerned with the problem of reconstruction. He had already outlined in his mind the essential principles on which the readjustment must be made. In this same address, he points out that "whether or not the seceded States be out of the Union, they are out of their proper relations to the Union." We may feel sure that he would not have permitted the essential matters of readjustment to be delayed while political lawyers were arguing over the constitutional issue. On one side was the group which maintained that in instituting the Rebellion and in doing what was in their power to destroy the national existence, the people of the seceding States had forfeited all claims to the political liberty of their communities. According to this contention, the Slave States were to be treated as conquered territory, and it simply remained for the government of the United States to reshape this territory as might be found convenient or expedient. According to the other view, as secession was itself something which was not to be admitted, being, from the constitutional point of view, impossible, there never had in the legal sense of the term been any secession. The instant the armed rebellion had been brought to an end, the rebelling States were to be considered as having resumed their old-time relations with the States of the North and with the central government. They were under the same obligations as before for taxation, for subordination in foreign relations, and for the acceptance of the control of the Federal government on all matters classed as Federal. On the other hand, they were entitled to the privileges that had from the beginning been exercised by independent States: namely, the control of their local affairs on matters not classed as Federal, and they had a right to their proportionate representation in Congress and to their proportion of the electoral vote for President. It has been very generally recognised in the South as in the North that if Lincoln could have lived, some of the most serious of the difficulties that arose during the reconstruction period through the friction between these conflicting theories would have been avoided. The Southerners would have realised that the head of the government had a cordial and sympathetic interest in doing what might be practicable not only to re-establish their relations as citizens of the United States, but to further in every way the return of their communities to prosperity, a prosperity which, after the loss of the property in their slaves and the enormous destruction of their general resources, seemed to be sadly distant.

On the 14th of April, comes the dramatic tragedy ending on the day following in the death of Lincoln. The word dramatic applies in this instance with peculiar fitness. While the nation mourned for the loss of its leader, while the soldiers were stricken with grief that their great captain should have been struck down, while the South might well be troubled that the control and adjustment of the great interstate perplexities was not to be in the hands of the wise, sympathetic, and patient ruler, for the worker himself the rest after the four years of continuous toil and fearful burdens and anxieties might well have been grateful. The great task had been accomplished and the responsibilities accepted in the first inaugural had been fulfilled.

In March, 1861, Lincoln had accepted the task of steering the nation through the storm of rebellion, the divided opinions and counsels of friends, and the fierce onslaught of foes at home and abroad. In April, 1865, the national existence was assured, the nation's credit was established, the troops were prepared to return to their homes and resume their work as citizens. At no time in history had any people been able against such apparently overwhelming perils and difficulties to maintain a national existence. There was, therefore, notwithstanding the great misfortune, for the people South and North, in the loss of the wise ruler at a time when so many difficulties remained to be adjusted, a dramatic fitness in having the life of the leader close just as the last army of antagonists was laying down its arms. The first problem of the War that came to the administration of 1861 was that of restoring the flag over Fort Sumter. On the 14th of April, the day when Booth's pistol was laying low the President, General Anderson, who four years earlier had so sturdily defended Sumter, was fulfilling the duty of restoring the Stars and Stripes.

The news of the death of Lincoln came to the army of Sherman, with which my own regiment happened at the time to be associated, on the 17th of April. On leaving Savannah, Sherman had sent word to the north to have all the troops who were holding posts along the coasts of North Carolina concentrated on a line north of Goldsborough. It was his dread that General Johnston might be able to effect a junction with the retreating forces of Lee and it was important to do whatever was practicable, either with forces or with a show of forces, to delay Johnston and to make such combination impossible. A thin line of Federal troops was brought into position to the north of Johnston's advance, but Sherman himself kept so closely on the heels of his plucky and persistent antagonist that, irrespective of any opposing line to the north, Johnston would have found it impossible to continue his progress towards Virginia. He was checked at Goldsborough after the battle of Bentonville and it was at Goldsborough that the last important force of the Confederacy was surrendered.

We soldiers learned only later some of the complications that preceded that surrender. President Davis and his associates in the Confederate government had, with one exception, made their way south, passing to the west of Sherman's advance. The exception was Post-master-General Reagan, who had decided to remain with General Johnston. He appears to have made good with Johnston the claim that he, Reagan, represented all that was left of the Confederate government. He persuaded Johnston to permit him to undertake the negotiations with Sherman, and he had, it seems, the ambition of completing with his own authority the arrangements that were to terminate the War. Sherman, simple-hearted man that he was, permitted himself, for the time, to be confused by Reagan's semblance of authority. He executed with Reagan a convention which covered not merely the surrender of Johnston's army but the preliminaries of a final peace. This convention was of course made subject to the approval of the authorities in Washington. When it came into the hands of President Johnson, it was, under the counsel of Seward and Stanton, promptly disavowed. Johnson instructed Grant, who had reported to Washington from Appomattox, to make his way at once to Goldsborough and, relieving Sherman, to arrange for the surrender of Johnston's army on the terms of Appomattox. Grant's response was characteristic. He said in substance: "I am here, Mr. President, to obey orders and under the decision of the Commander-in-chief I will go to Goldsborough and will carry out your instructions. I prefer, however, to act as a messenger simply. I am entirely unwilling to take out of General Sherman's hands the command of the army that is so properly Sherman's army and that he has led with such distinctive success. General Sherman has rendered too great a service to the country to make it proper to have him now humiliated on the ground of a political blunder, and I at least am unwilling to be in any way a party to his humiliation."

Stanton was disposed to approve of Johnson's first instruction and to have Sherman at once relieved, but the man who had just come from Appomattox was too strong with the people to make it easy to disregard his judgment on a matter which was in part at least military. The President was still new to his office and he was still prepared to accept counsel. The matter was, therefore, arranged as Grant desired. Grant took the instructions and had his personal word with Sherman, but this word was so quietly given that none of the men in Sherman's army, possibly no one but Sherman himself, knew of Grant's visit. Grant took pains so to arrange the last stage of his journey that he came into the camp at Goldsborough well after dark, and, after an hour's interview with Sherman, he made his way at once northward outside of our lines and of our knowledge.

On Grant's arrival, Sherman at once assumed that he was to be superseded. "No, no," said Grant; "do you not see that I have come without even a sword? There is here no question of superseding the commander of this army, but simply of correcting an error and of putting things as they were. This convention must be cancelled. You will have no further negotiation with Mr. Reagan or with any civilian claiming to represent the Confederacy. Your transactions will be made with the commander of the Confederate army, and you will accept the surrender of that army on the terms that were formulated at Appomattox." Sherman was keen enough to understand what must have passed in Washington, and was able to appreciate the loyal consideration shown by General Grant in the successful effort to protect the honour and the prestige of his old comrade. The surrender was carried out on the 26th of April, eleven days after the death of Lincoln. Johnston's troops, like those of Lee, were distributed to their homes. The officers retained their side-arms, and the men, leaving their rifles, took with them not only such horses and mules as they still had with them connected with the cavalry or artillery, but also a number of horses and mules which had been captured by Sherman's army and which had not yet been placed on the United States army roster. Sherman understood, as did Grant, the importance of giving to these poor farmers whatever facilities might be available to enable them again to begin their home work. Word was at once sent to General Johnston after Grant's departure that the, only terms that could be considered was a surrender of the army, and that the details of such surrender Sherman would himself arrange with Johnston. Reagan slipped away southward and is not further heard of in history.

The record of Lincoln's relations to the events of the War would not be complete without a reference to the capture of Jefferson Davis. On returning to Washington after his visit to Richmond, Lincoln had been asked what should be done with Davis when he was captured. The answer was characteristic: "I do not see," said Lincoln, "that we have any use for a white elephant." Lincoln's clear judgment had at once recognised the difficulties that would arise in case Davis should become a prisoner. The question as to the treatment of the ruler of the late Confederacy was very different from, and much more complicated than, the fixing of terms of surrender for the Confederate armies. If Davis had succeeded in getting out of the country, it is probable that the South, or at least a large portion of the South, would have used him as a kind of a scapegoat. Many of the Confederate soldiers were indignant with Davis for his bitter animosities to some of their best leaders. Davis was a capable man and had in him the elements of statesmanship. He was, however, vain and, like some other vain men, placed the most importance upon the capacities in which he was the least effective. He had had a brief and creditable military experience, serving as a lieutenant with Scott's army in Mexico, and he had impressed himself with the belief that he was a great commander. Partly on this ground, and partly apparently as a result of general "incompatibility of temper," Davis managed to quarrel at different times during the War with some of the generals who had shown themselves the most capable and the most serviceable. He would probably have quarrelled with Lee, if it had been possible for any one to make quarrel relations with that fine-natured gentleman, and if Lee had not been too strongly entrenched in the hearts of his countrymen to make any interference with him unwise, even for the President. Davis had, however, managed to interfere very seriously with the operations of men like Beauregard, Sidney Johnson, Joseph Johnston, and other commanders whose continued leadership was most important for the Confederacy. It was the obstinacy of Davis that had protracted the War through the winter and spring of 1865, long after it was evident from the reports of Lee and of the other commanders that the resources of the Confederacy were exhausted and that any further struggle simply meant an inexcusable loss of life on both sides. As a Northern soldier who has had experience in Southern prisons, I may be excused also from bearing in mind the fearful responsibility that rests upon Davis for the mismanagement of those prisons, a mismanagement which caused the death of thousands of brave men on the frozen slopes of Belle Isle, on the foul floors of Libby and Danville, and on the rotten ground used for three years as a living place and as a dying place within the stockade at Andersonville. Davis received from month to month the reports of the conditions in these and in the other prisons of the Confederacy. Davis could not have been unaware of the stupidity and the brutality of keeping prisoners in Richmond during the last winter of the War when the lines of road still open were absolutely inadequate to supply the troops in the trenches or the people of the town. Reports were brought to Davis more than once from Andersonville showing that a large portion of the deaths that were there occurring were due to the vile and rotten condition of the hollow in which for years prisoners had been huddled together; but the appeal made to Richmond for permission to move the stockade to a clean and dry slope was put to one side as a matter of no importance. The entire authority in the matter was in the hands of Davis and a word from him would have remedied some of the worst conditions. He must share with General Winder, the immediate superintendent of the prisons, the responsibility for the heedless and brutal mismanagement,—a mismanagement which brought death to thousands and which left thousands of others cripples for life.

As a result of the informal word given by Lincoln, it was generally understood, by all the officers, at least, in charge of posts and picket lines along the eastern slope, that Davis was not to be captured. Unfortunately it had not proved possible to get this informal expression of a very important piece of policy conveyed throughout the lines farther west. An enterprising and over-zealous captain of cavalry, riding across from the Mississippi to the coast, heard of Davis's party in Florida and, "butting in," captured, on May 10th, "the white elephant."

The last commands of the Confederate army were surrendered with General Taylor in Louisiana on the 4th of May and with Kirby Smith in Texas on the 26th of May. As Lincoln had foreshadowed, not a few complications resulted from this unfortunate capture of Davis, complications that were needlessly added to by the lack of clear-headedness or of definite policy on the part of a confused and vacillating President. During the months in which Davis was a prisoner at Fortress Monroe, and while the question of his trial for treason was being fiercely debated in Washington, the sentiment of the Confederacy naturally concentrated upon its late President. He was, as the single prisoner, the surviving emblem of the contest. His vanities, irritability, and blunders were forgotten. It was natural that, under the circumstances, his people, the people of the South, should hold in memory only the fact that he had been their leader and that he had through four strenuous years borne the burdens of leadership with unflagging zeal, with persistent courage, and with an almost foolhardy hopefulness. He had given to the Confederacy the best of his life, and he was entitled to the adoration that the survivors of the Confederacy gave to him as representing the ideal of the lost cause.

The feeling with which Lincoln was regarded by the men in the front, for whom through the early years of their campaigning he had been not only the leader but the inspiration, was indicated by the manner in which the news of his death was received. I happened myself on the day of those sad tidings to be with my division in a little village just outside of Goldsborough, North Carolina. We had no telegraphic communication with the North, but were accustomed to receive despatches about noon each day, carried across the swamps from a station through which connection was made with Wilmington and the North. In the course of the morning, I had gone to the shanty of an old darky whom I had come to know during the days of our sojourn, for the purpose of getting a shave. The old fellow took up his razor, put it down again and then again lifted it up, but his arm was shaking and I saw that he was so agitated that he was not fitted for the task. "Massa," he said, "I can't shave yer this mornin'." "What is the matter?" I inquired. "Well," he replied, "somethin's happened to Massa Linkum." "Why!" said I, "nothing has happened to Lincoln. I know what there is to be known. What are you talking about?" "Well!" the old man replied with a half sob, "we coloured folks—we get news or we get half news sooner than you-uns. I dun know jes' what it is, but somethin' has gone wrong with Massa Linkum." I could get nothing more out of the old man, but I was sufficiently anxious to make my way to Division headquarters to see if there was any news in advance of the arrival of the regular courier. The coloured folks were standing in little groups along the village street, murmuring to each other or waiting with anxious faces for the bad news that they were sure was coming. I found the brigade adjutant and those with him were puzzled like myself at the troubled minds of the darkies, but still sceptical as to the possibility of any information having reached them which was not known through the regular channels.

At noon, the courier made his appearance riding by the wood lane across the fields; and the instant he was seen we all realised that there was bad news. The man was hurrying his pony and yet seemed to be very unwilling to reach the lines where his report must be made. In this instance (as was, of course, not usually the case) the courier knew what was in his despatches. The Division Adjutant stepped out on the porch of the headquarters with the paper in his hand, but he broke down before he could begin to read. The Division Commander took the word and was able simply to announce: "Lincoln is dead." The word "President" was not necessary and he sought in fact for the shortest word. I never before had found myself in a mass of men overcome by emotion. Ten thousand soldiers were sobbing together. No survivor of the group can recall the sadness of that morning without again being touched by the wave of emotion which broke down the reserve and control of these war-worn veterans on learning that their great captain was dead.

The whole people had come to have with the President a relation similar to that which had grown up between the soldiers and their Commander-in-chief. With the sympathy and love of the people to sustain him, Lincoln had over them an almost unlimited influence. His capacity for toil, his sublime patience, his wonderful endurance, his great mind and heart, his out-reaching sympathies, his thoughtfulness for the needs and requirements of all, had bound him to his fellow-citizens by an attachment of genuine sentiment. His appellation throughout the country had during the last year of the war become "Father Abraham." We may recall in the thought of this relation to the people the record of Washington. The first President has come into history as the "Father of his Country," but for Washington this role of father is something of historic development. During Washington's lifetime, or certainly at least during the years of his responsibilities as General and as President, there was no such general recognition of the leader and ruler as the father of his country. He was dear to a small circle of intimates; he was held in respectful regard by a larger number of those with whom were carried on his responsibilities in the army, and later in the nation's government. To many good Americans, however, Washington represented for years an antagonistic principle of government. He was regarded as an aristocrat and there were not a few political leaders, with groups of voters behind them, who dreaded, and doubtless honestly dreaded, that the influence of Washington might be utilised to build up in this country some fresh form of the monarchy that had been overthrown. The years of the Presidency had to be completed and the bitter antagonisms of the seven years' fighting and of the issues of the Constitution-building had to be outgrown, before the people were able to recognise as a whole the perfect integrity of purpose and consistency of action of their great leader, the first President. Even then when the animosities and suspicions had died away, while the people were ready to honour the high character and the accomplishments of Washington, the feeling was one of reverence rather than of affection. This sentiment gave rise later to the title of the "Father of his Country"; but there was no such personal feeling towards Washington as warranted, at least during his life, the term father of the people. Thirty years later, the ruler of the nation is Andrew Jackson, a man who was, like Lincoln, eminently a representative of the common people. His fellow-citizens knew that Jackson understood their feelings and their methods and were ready to have full confidence in Jackson's patriotism and honesty of purpose. His nature lacked, however, the sweet sympathetic qualities that characterised Lincoln; and while to a large body of his fellow-citizens he commended himself for sturdiness, courage, and devotion to the interests of the state, he was never able for himself to overcome the feeling that a man who failed to agree with a Jackson policy must be either a knave or a fool. He could not place himself in the position from which the other fellow was thinking or acting. He believed that it was his duty to maintain what he held to be the popular cause against the "schemes of the aristocrats," the bugbear of that day. He was a fighter from his youth up and his theory of government was that of enforcing the control of the side for which he was the partisan. Such a man could never be accepted as the father of the people.

Lincoln, coming from those whom he called the common people, feeling with their feelings, sympathetic with their needs and ideals, was able in the development of his powers to be accepted as the peer of the largest intellects in the land. While knowing what was needed by the poor whites of Kentucky, he could understand also the point of view of Boston, New York, or Philadelphia. In place of emphasising antagonisms, he held consistently that the highest interest of one section of the country must be the real interest of the whole people, and that the ruler of the nation had upon him the responsibility of so shaping the national policy that all the people should recognise the government as their government. It was this large understanding and width of sympathy that made Lincoln in a sense which could be applied to no other ruler of this country, the people's President, and no other ruler in the world has ever been so sympathetically, so effectively in touch with all of the fellow-citizens for whose welfare he made himself responsible. The Latin writer, Aulus Gellius, uses for one of his heroes the term "a classic character." These words seem to me fairly to apply to Abraham Lincoln.

An appreciative Englishman, writing in the London Nation at the time of the Centennial commemoration, says of Lincoln:

The greatness of Lincoln was that of a common man raised to a high dimension. The possibility, still more the existence, of such a man is itself a justification of democracy. We do not say that so independent, so natural, so complete a man cannot in older societies come to wield so large a power over the affairs and the minds of men; we can only say that amid all the stirring movements of the nineteenth century he has not so done. The existence of what may be called a widespread commonalty explains the rarity of personal eminence in America. There has been and still remains a higher general level of personality than in any European country, and the degree of eminence is correspondingly reduced. It is just because America has stood for opportunity that conspicuous individuals have been comparatively rare. Strong personality, however, has not been rare; it is the abundance of such personality that has built up silently into the rising fabric of the American Commonwealth, pioneers, roadmakers, traders, lawyers, soldiers, teachers, toiling terribly over the material and moral foundation of the country, few of whose names have emerged or survived. Lincoln was of this stock, was reared among these rude energetic folk, had lived all those sorts of lives. He was no "sport"; his career is a triumphant refutation of the traditional views of genius. He had no special gift or quality to distinguish him; he was simply the best type of American at a historic juncture when the national safety wanted such a man. The confidence which all Americans express that their country will be equal to any emergency which may threaten it, is not so entirely superstitious as it seems at first sight. For the career of Lincoln shows how it has been done in a country where the "necessary man" can be drawn not from a few leading families, or an educated class, but from the millions.

Rabbi Schechter, in an eloquent address delivered at the Centennial celebration, speaks of Lincoln's personality as follows:

The half century that has elapsed since Lincoln's death has dispelled the mists that encompassed him on earth. Men now not only recognise the right which he championed, but behold in him the standard of righteousness, of liberty, of conciliation, and truth. In him, as it were personified, stands the Union, all that is best and noblest and enduring in its principles in which he devoutly believed and served mightily to save. When to-day, the world celebrates the century of his existence, he has become the ideal of both North and South, of a common country, composed not only of the factions that once confronted each other in war's dreadful array, but of the myriad thousands that have since found in the American nation the hope of the future and the refuge from age-entrenched wrong and absolutism. To them, Lincoln, his life, his history, his character, his entire personality, with all its wondrous charm and grace, its sobriety, patience, self-abnegation, and sweetness, has come to be the very prototype of a rising humanity.

Carl Schurz, himself a man of large nature and wide and sympathetic comprehension, says of Lincoln:

In the most conspicuous position of the period, Lincoln drew upon himself the scoffs of polite society; but even then he filled the souls of mankind with utterances of wonderful beauty and grandeur. It was distinctly the weird mixture in him of qualities and forces, of the lofty with the common, the ideal with the uncouth, of that which he had become with that which he had not ceased to be, that made him so fascinating a character among his fellow-men, that gave him his singular power over minds and hearts, that fitted him to be the greatest leader in the greatest crisis of our national life.

He possessed the courage to stand alone—that courage which is the first requisite of leadership in a great cause. The charm of Lincoln's oratory flooded all the rare depth and genuineness of his convictions and his sympathetic feelings were the strongest element in his nature. He was one of the greatest Americans and the best of men.

The poet Whittier writes:

The weary form that rested not Save in a martyr's grave; The care-worn face that none forgot, Turned to the kneeling slave.

We rest in peace where his sad eyes Saw peril, strife, and pain; His was the awful sacrifice, And ours the priceless gain.

Says Bryant:

That task is done, the bound are free, We bear thee to an honoured grave, Whose noblest monument shall be The broken fetters of the slave.

Pure was thy life; its bloody close Hath blessed thee with the sons of light, Among the noble host of those Who perished in the cause of right.

Says Lowell:

Our children shall behold his fame, The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame; New birth of our new soil, the first American.

Ordinary men die when their physical life is brought to a close, if perhaps not at once, yet in a brief space, with the passing of the little circle of those to whom they were dear.

The man of distinction lives for a time after death. His achievements and his character are held in appreciative remembrance by the community and the generation he has served. The waves of his influence ripple out in a somewhat wider circle before being lost in the ocean of time. We call that man great to whom it is given so to impress himself upon his fellow-men by deed, by creation, by service to the community, by character, by the inspiration from on high that has been breathed through his soul, that he is not permitted to die. Such a man secures immortality in this world. The knowledge and the influence of his life are extended throughout mankind and his memory gathers increasing fame from generation to generation.

It is thus that men are to-day honouring the memory of Abraham Lincoln. To-day, one hundred years after his birth, and nearly half a century since the dramatic close of his life's work, Lincoln stands enshrined in the thought and in the hearts of his countrymen. He is our "Father Abraham," belonging to us, his fellow-citizens, for ideals, for inspiration, and for affectionate regard; but he belongs now also to all mankind, for he has been canonised among the noblest of the world's heroes.



APPENDIX



THE ADDRESS OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Delivered at Cooper Institute, New York,

February 27, 1860.

With Introduction by Charles C. Nott; Historical and Analytical Notes by Charles C. Nott and Cephas Brainerd, and with the Correspondence between Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Nott as Representative of the Committee of the Young Men's Republican Union.



INTRODUCTORY NOTE

The address delivered by Lincoln at the Cooper Institute in February, 1860 in response to the invitation of certain representative New Yorkers, was, as well in its character as in its results, the most important of all of his utterances.

The conscientious study of the historical and constitutional record, and the arguments and conclusions based upon the analysis of this record, were accepted by the Republican leaders as constituting the principles and the policy to be maintained during the Presidential campaign of 1860, a campaign in which was involved not merely the election of a President, but the continued existence of the republic.

Under the wise counsels represented by the words of Lincoln, the election was fought out substantially on two contentions:

First, that the compact entered into by the Fathers and by their immediate successors should be loyally carried out, and that slavery should not be interfered with in the original slave States, or in the additional territory that had been conceded to it under the Missouri Compromise; and, secondly, that not a single further square mile of soil, that was still free, should be left available, or should be made available, for the incursion of slavery.

It was the conviction of Lincoln and of his associates, as it had been the conviction of the Fathers, that under such a restriction slavery must certainly in the near future come to an end. It was because these convictions, both in the debates with Douglas and in the Cooper Institute speech, were presented by Lincoln more forcibly and more conclusively than had been done by any other political leader, that Lincoln secured the nomination and the presidency. The February address was assuredly a deciding factor in the great issue of the time, and it certainly belongs, therefore, with the historic documents of the republic.

G.H.P.

NEW YORK, September 1, 1909.



CORRESPONDENCE WITH LINCOLN, NOTT, AND BRAINERD

(From Robert Lincoln)

MANCHESTER, VERMONT,

July 27, 1909.

DEAR MAJOR PUTNAM:

Your letter of July 23rd reaches me here, and I beg to express my thanks for your kind remembrances of me in London.... I am much interested in learning that you were present at the time my father made his speech at Cooper Institute. I, of course, remember the occasion very well, although I was not present. I was at that time in the middle of my year at Phillips Exeter Academy, preparing for the Harvard entrance examination of the summer of 1860.... After the Cooper Institute address, my father came to Exeter to see how I was getting along, and this visit resulted in his making a number of speeches in New England on his way and on his return, and at Exeter he wrote to my mother a letter which was mainly concerned with me, but which did make reference to these speeches.... He said that he had had some embarrassment with these New England speeches, because in coming East he had anticipated making no speech excepting the one at the Cooper Institute, and he had not prepared himself for anything else.... In the later speeches, he was addressing reading audiences who had, as he thought probable, seen the report of his Cooper Institute speech, and he was obliged, therefore, from day to day (he made about a dozen speeches in New England in all) to bear that fact in mind.

Sincerely yours,

ROBERT LINCOLN.

(From Judge Nott)

WILLIAMSTOWN, MASS.,

July 26, 1909.

DEAR PUTNAM:

I consider it very desirable that the report of Mr. Lincoln's speech, embodying the final revision, should be preserved in book form.... The text in the pamphlet now in your hands is authentic and conclusive. Mr. Lincoln read the proof both of the address and of the notes. I am glad that you are to include in your reprint the letters from Mr. Lincoln, as these letters authenticate this copy of the address as the copy which was corrected by him with his own hand....

The preface to the address, written in September, 1860, has interest because it shows what we thought of the address at that time.... Your worthy father was, if I remember rightly, one of the vice-presidents of the meeting....

Yours faithfully,

CHARLES C. NOTT.

(From Cephas Brainerd)

NEW YORK, August 18, 1909.

DEAR MAJOR PUTNAM:

I am very glad to learn that there is good prospect that the real Lincoln Cooper Institute address, with the evidence in regard to it, will now be available for the public.... I am glad also that with the address you are proposing to print the letters received by Judge Nott from Mr. Lincoln. One or two of these have, unfortunately, not been preserved. I recall in one an observation made by Lincoln to the effect that he "was not much of a literary man."

I did not see much of Mr. Lincoln when he was in New York, as my most active responsibility in regard to the meeting was in getting up an audience.... I remember in handing some weeks earlier to John Sherman, who, like Lincoln, had never before spoken in New York, five ten-dollar gold pieces, that he said he "had not expected his expenses to be paid." At a lunch that was given to Sherman a long time afterward, I referred to that meeting. Sherman cocked his eye at me and said: "Yes, I remember it very well; I never was so scar't in all my life." ...

The observations of Judge Nott in regard to the meeting are about as just as anything that has ever been put into print, and as I concur fully in the accuracy of these recollections, I do not undertake to give my own impressions at any length. I was expecting to hear some specimen of Western stump-speaking as it was then understood. You will, of course, observe that the speech contains nothing of the kind. I do remember, however, that Lincoln spoke of the condition of feeling between the North and the South.... He refers to the treatment which Northern men received in the South, and he remarked, parenthetically, that he had never known of a man who had been able "to whip his wife into loving him," an observation that produced laughter.

In making up the notes, we ransacked, as you may be sure, all the material available in the libraries in New York, and I also had interviews as to one special point with Mr. Bancroft, with Mr. Hildreth, and with Dr. William Goodell, who was in those times a famous anti-slavery man.

Your father[3] and William Curtis Noyes were possibly more completely in sympathy than any other two men in New York, with the efforts of these younger men; they impressed me as standing in that respect on the same plane. The next man to them was Charles Wyllis Elliott, the author of a History of New England. We never went to your father for advice or assistance when he failed to help us, and he was always so kindly and gentle in what he did and said that every one of us youngsters acquired for him a very great affection. He always had time to see us and was always on hand when he was wanted, and if we desired to have anything, we got it if he had it. Neither your father, nor Mr. Noyes, nor for that matter Mr. Elliott, ever suggested that we were "young" or "fresh" or anything of that sort. The enthusiasm which young fellows have was always recognised by these men as an exceedingly valuable asset in the cause.... Pardon all this from a "veteran," and believe me,

Sincerely yours,

CEPHAS BRAINERD.



INTRODUCTION

BY CHARLES C. NOTT

The Cooper Institute address is one of the most important addresses ever delivered in the life of this nation, for at an eventful time it changed the course of history. When Mr. Lincoln rose to speak on the evening of February 27, 1860, he had held no administrative office; he had endeavoured to be appointed Commissioner of Patents, and had failed; he had sought to be elected United States Senator, and had been defeated; he had been a member of Congress, yet it was not even remembered; he was a lawyer in humble circumstances, persuasive of juries, but had not reached the front rank of the Illinois Bar. The record which Mr. Lincoln himself placed in the Congressional Directory in 1847 might still be taken as the record of his public and official life: "Born February 12th, 1809, in Hardin County, Kentucky. Education defective. Profession a lawyer. Have been a captain of volunteers in the Black Hawk War. Postmaster in a very small office. Four times a member of the Illinois Legislature and a member of the lower house of Congress." Was this the record of a man who should be made the head of a nation in troubled times? In the estimation of thoughtful Americans east of the Alleghanies all that they knew of Mr. Lincoln justified them in regarding him as only "a Western stump orator"—successful, distinguished, but nothing higher than that—a Western stump orator, who had dared to brave one of the strongest men in the Western States, and who had done so with wonderful ability and moral success. When Mr. Lincoln closed his address he had risen to the rank of statesman, and had stamped himself a statesman peculiarly fitted for the exigency of the hour.

Mr. William Cullen Bryant presided at the meeting; and a number of the first and ablest citizens of New York were present, among them Horace Greeley. Mr. Greeley was pronounced in his appreciation of the address; it was the ablest, the greatest, the wisest speech that had yet been made; it would reassure the conservative Northerner; it was just what was wanted to conciliate the excited Southerner; it was conclusive in its argument, and would assure the overthrow of Douglas. Mr. Horace White has recently written: "I chanced to open the other day his Cooper Institute speech. This is one of the few printed speeches that I did not hear him deliver in person. As I read the concluding pages of that speech, the conflict of opinion that preceded the conflict of arms then sweeping upon the country like an approaching solar eclipse seemed prefigured like a chapter of the Book of Fate. Here again he was the Old Testament prophet, before whom Horace Greeley bowed his head, saying that he had never listened to a greater speech, although he had heard several of Webster's best." Later, Mr. Greeley became the leader of the Republican forces opposed to the nomination of Mr. Seward and was instrumental in concentrating those forces upon Mr. Lincoln. Furthermore, the great New York press on the following morning carried the address to the country, and before Mr. Lincoln left New York he was telegraphed from Connecticut to come and aid in the campaign of the approaching spring election. He went, and when the fateful moment came in the Convention, Connecticut was one of the Eastern States which first broke away from the Seward column and went over to Mr. Lincoln. When Connecticut did this, the die was cast.

It is difficult for younger generations of Americans to believe that three months before Mr. Lincoln was nominated for the Presidency he was neither appreciated nor known in New York. That fact can be better established by a single incident than by the opinions and assurances of a dozen men.

After the address had been delivered, Mr. Lincoln was taken by two members of the Young Men's Central Republican Union—Mr. Hiram Barney, afterward Collector of the Port of New York, and Mr. Nott, one of the subsequent editors of the address—to their club, The Athenaeum, where a very simple supper was ordered, and five or six Republican members of the club who chanced to be in the building were invited in. The supper was informal—as informal as anything could be; the conversation was easy and familiar; the prospects of the Republican party in the coming struggle were talked over, and so little was it supposed by the gentlemen who had not heard the address that Mr. Lincoln could possibly be the candidate that one of them, Mr. Charles W. Elliott, asked, artlessly: "Mr. Lincoln, what candidate do you really think would be most likely to carry Illinois?" Mr. Lincoln answered by illustration: "Illinois is a peculiar State, in three parts. In northern Illinois, Mr. Seward would have a larger majority than I could get. In middle Illinois, I think I could call out a larger vote than Mr. Seward. In southern Illinois, it would make no difference who was the candidate." This answer was taken to be merely illustrative by everybody except, perhaps, Mr. Barney and Mr. Nott, each of whom, it subsequently appeared, had particularly noted Mr. Lincoln's reply.

The little party broke up. Mr. Lincoln had been cordially received, but certainly had not been flattered. The others shook him by the hand and, as they put on their overcoats, said: "Mr. Nott is going down town and he will show you the way to the Astor House." Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Nott started on foot, but the latter observing that Mr. Lincoln was apparently Walking with some difficulty said, "Are you lame, Mr. Lincoln?" He replied that he had on new boots and they hurt him. The two gentlemen then boarded a street car. When they reached the place where Mr. Nott would leave the car on his way home, he shook Mr. Lincoln by the hand and, bidding him good-bye, told him that this car would carry him to the side door of the Astor House. Mr. Lincoln went on alone, the only occupant of the car. The next time he came to New York, he rode down Broadway to the Astor House standing erect in an open barouche drawn by four white horses. He bowed to the patriotic thousands in the street, on the sidewalks, in the windows, on the house-tops, and they cheered him as the lawfully elected President of the United States and bade him go on and, with God's help, save the Union.

His companion in the street car has often wondered since then what Mr. Lincoln thought about during the remainder of his ride that night to the Astor House. The Cooper Institute had, owing to a snowstorm, not been full, and its intelligent, respectable, non-partisan audience had not rung out enthusiastic applause like a concourse of Western auditors magnetised by their own enthusiasm. Had the address—the most carefully prepared, the most elaborately investigated and demonstrated and verified of all the work of his life—been a failure? But in the matter of quality and ability, if not of quantity and enthusiasm, he had never addressed such an audience; and some of the ablest men in the Northern States had expressed their opinion of the address in terms which left no doubt of the highest appreciation. Did Mr. Lincoln regard the address which he had just delivered to a small and critical audience as a success? Did he have the faintest glimmer of the brilliant effect which was to follow? Did he feel the loneliness of the situation—the want of his loyal Illinois adherents? Did his sinking heart infer that he was but a speck of humanity to which the great city would never again give a thought? He was a plain man, an ungainly man; unadorned, apparently uncultivated, showing the awkwardness of self-conscious rusticity. His dress that night before a New York audience was the most unbecoming that a fiend's ingenuity could have devised for a tall, gaunt man—a black frock coat, ill-setting and too short for him in the body, skirt, and arms—a rolling collar, low-down, disclosing his long thin, shrivelled throat uncovered and exposed. No man in all New York appeared that night more simple, more unassuming, more modest, more unpretentious, more conscious of his own defects than Abraham Lincoln; and yet we now know that within his soul there burned the fires of an unbounded ambition, sustained by a self-reliance and self-esteem that bade him fix his gaze upon the very pinnacle of American fame and aspire to it in a time so troubled that its dangers appalled the soul of every American. What were this man's thoughts when he was left alone? Did a faint shadow of the future rest upon his soul? Did he feel in some mysterious way that on that night he had crossed the Rubicon of his life-march—that care and trouble and political discord, and slander and misrepresentation and ridicule and public responsibilities, such as hardly ever before burdened a conscientious soul, coupled with war and defeat and disaster, were to be thenceforth his portion nearly to his life's end, and that his end was to be a bloody act which would appall the world and send a thrill of horror through the hearts of friends and enemies alike, so that when the woeful tidings came the bravest of the Southern brave should burst into tears and cry aloud, "Oh! the unhappy South, the unhappy South!"

The impression left on his companion's mind as he gave a last glance at him in the street car was that he seemed sad and lonely; and when it was too late, when the car was beyond call, he blamed himself for not accompanying Mr. Lincoln to the Astor House—not because he was a distinguished stranger, but because he seemed a sad and lonely man.

February 12, 1908.



CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. LINCOLN

69 Wall St., New York,

February 9, 1860.

Dear Sir:

The "Young Men's Central Republican Union" of this city very cordially desire that you should deliver during the ensuing month—what I may term—a political lecture. The peculiarities of the case are these—A series of lectures has been determined upon—The first was delivered by Mr. Blair of St. Louis a short time ago—the second will be in a few days by Mr. C.M. Clay, and the third we would prefer to have from you, rather than from any other person. Of the audience I should add that it is not that of an ordinary political meeting. These lectures have been contrived to call out our better, but busier citizens, who never attend political meetings. A large part of the audience would also consist of ladies. The time we should prefer, would be about the middle of March, but if any earlier or later day will be more convenient for you we would alter our arrangements.

Allow me to hope that we shall have the pleasure of welcoming you to New York. You are, I believe, an entire stranger to your Republican brethren here; but they have, for you, the highest esteem, and your celebrated contest with Judge Douglas awoke their warmest sympathy and admiration. Those of us who are "in the ranks" would regard your presence as very material aid, and as an honor and pleasure which I cannot sufficiently express.

Respectfully,

Charles C. Nott.

To Hon. Abram Lincoln.

69 Wall St., New York,

May 23, 1860.

Dear Sir:

I enclose a copy of your address in New York.

We (the Young Men's Rep. Union) design to publish a new edition in larger type and better form, with such notes and references as will best attract readers seeking information. Have you any memoranda of your investigations which you would approve of inserting?

You and your Western friends, I think, underrate this speech. It has produced a greater effect here than any other single speech. It is the real platform in the Eastern States, and must carry the conservative element in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania.

Therefore I desire that it should be as nearly perfect as may be. Most of the emendations are trivial and do not affect the substance—all are merely suggested for your judgment.

I cannot help adding that this speech is an extraordinary example of condensed English. After some experience in criticising for Reviews, I find hardly anything to touch and nothing to omit. It is the only one I know of which I cannot shorten, and—like a good arch—moving one word tumbles a whole sentence down.

Finally—it being a bad and foolish thing for a candidate to write letters, and you having doubtless more to do of that than is pleasant or profitable, we will not add to your burden in that regard, but if you will let any friend who has nothing to do, advise us as to your wishes, in this or any other matter, we will try to carry them out.

Respectfully,

Charles C. Nott.

To Hon. Abraham Lincoln.

Springfield, Ills., May 31, 1860.

Charles C. Nott, Esq.

My Dear Sir:

Yours of the 23rd, accompanied by a copy of the speech delivered by me at the Cooper Institute, and upon which you have made some notes for emendations, was received some days ago—Of course I would not object to, but would be pleased rather, with a more perfect edition of that speech.

I did not preserve memoranda of my investigations; and I could not now re-examine, and make notes, without an expenditure of time which I can not bestow upon it—Some of your notes I do not understand.

So far as it is intended merely to improve in grammar, and elegance of composition, I am quite agreed; but I do not wish the sense changed, or modified, to a hair's breadth—And you, not having studied the particular points so closely as I have, can not be quite sure that you do not change the sense when you do not intend it—For instance, in a note at bottom of first page, you propose to substitute "Democrats" for "Douglas"—But what I am saying there is true of Douglas, and is not true of "Democrats" generally; so that the proposed substitution would be a very considerable blunder—Your proposed insertion of "residences" though it would do little or no harm, is not at all necessary to the sense I was trying to convey—On page 5 your proposed grammatical change would certainly do no harm—The "impudently absurd" I stick to—The striking out "he" and inserting "we" turns the sense exactly wrong—The striking out "upon it" leaves the sense too general and incomplete—The sense is "act as they acted upon that question "—not as they acted generally.

After considering your proposed changes on page 7, I do not think them material, but I am willing to defer to you in relation to them.

On page 9, striking out "to us" is probably right—The word "lawyer's" I wish retained. The word "Courts" struck out twice, I wish reduced to "Court" and retained—"Court" as a collection more properly governs the plural "have" as I understand—"The" preceding "Court," in the latter case, must also be retained—The words "quite," "as," and "or" on the same page, I wish retained. The italicising, and quotation marking, I have no objection to.

As to the note at bottom, I do not think any too much is admitted—What you propose on page 11 is right—I return your copy of the speech, together with one printed here, under my own hasty supervising. That at New York was printed without any supervision by me—If you conclude to publish a new edition, allow me to see the proof-sheets.