The effect of the fall of Sumter was amazing. In the South it was hailed with ecstatic delight, especially in Charleston. There was a popular demonstration at Montgomery, Ala., the provisional seat of the Confederate government. L. P. Walker, Confederate Secretary of War, made a speech and, among other things, said that "while no man could tell where the war would end, he would prophesy that the flag which now flaunts the breeze here, would float over the dome of the old Capitol at Washington before the end of May," and that "it might eventually float over Fanueil Hall itself." The Confederate government raised a loan of eight millions of dollars and Jefferson Davis issued letters of marque to all persons who might desire to aid the South and at the same time enrich themselves by depredations upon the commerce of the United States.

The effect upon the North was different. There was a perfect storm of indignation against the people who had presumed to fire on the flag. Butler's prediction proved to be nearly correct. This did unite the North in defense of the flag. Butler was a conspicuous example of this effect. Though a Breckinridge democrat, he promptly offered his services for the defense of the country, and throughout the war he had the distinction of being hated by the South with a more cordial hatred than any other Union general.

It was recollected throughout the North that Lincoln had been conciliatory to a fault towards the South. Conciliation had failed because that was not what the South wanted. They wanted war and by them was war made. This put an end forever to all talk of concession and compromise. Douglas was one of the many whose voice called in trumpet tones to the defense of the flag.

At the date of the fall of Sumter, Lincoln had been in office less than six weeks. In addition to routine work, to attending to extraordinary calls in great numbers, he had accomplished certain very important things: He had the loyal devotion of a cabinet noted for its ability and diversity. He had the enthusiastic confidence of the doubtful minds of the North. He had made it impossible for the European monarchies to recognize the South as a nation. So far as our country was concerned, he might ask for anything, and he would get what he asked. These were no mean achievements. The far-seeing statesman had played for this and had won.

Beauregard got the fort, but Lincoln got the game. In his own words, "he took that trick."



CHAPTER XXV.

THE OUTBURST OF PATRIOTISM.

The fall of Sumter caused an outburst of patriotism through the entire North such as is not witnessed many times in a century. On Sunday morning, April 14th, it was known that terms of surrender had been arranged. On that day and on many succeeding Sundays the voices from a thousand pulpits sounded with the certainty of the bugle, the call to the defense of the flag. Editors echoed the call. Such newspapers as were suspected of secession tendencies were compelled to hoist the American flag. For the time at least, enthusiasm and patriotism ran very high. Those who were decidedly in sympathy with the South remained quiet, and those who were of a doubtful mind were swept along with the tide of popular feeling. The flag had been fired on. That one fact unified the North.

On that same evening Senator Douglas arranged for a private interview with President Lincoln. For two hours these men, rivals and antagonists of many years, were in confidential conversation. What passed between them no man knows, but the result of the conference was quickly made public. Douglas came out of the room as determined a "war democrat" as could be found between the oceans. He himself prepared a telegram which was everywhere published, declaring that he would sustain the President in defending the constitution.

Lincoln had prepared his call for 75,000 volunteer troops. Douglas thought the number should have been 200,000. So it should, and so doubtless it would, had it not been for certain iniquities of Buchanan's mal-administration. There were no arms, accouterments, clothing. Floyd had well-nigh stripped the northern arsenals. Lincoln could not begin warlike preparations on any great scale because that was certain to precipitate the war which he so earnestly strove to avoid.

Further, the 75,000 was about five times the number of soldiers then in the army of the United States. Though the number of volunteers was small, their proportion to the regular army was large.

That night Lincoln's call and Douglas's endorsement were sent over the wires. Next morning the two documents were published in every daily paper north of Mason and Dixon's line.

The call for volunteer soldiers was in the South greeted with a howl of derision. They knew how the arsenals had been stripped. They had also for years been quietly buying up arms not only from the North, but also from various European nations. They had for many years been preparing for just this event, and now that it came they were fully equipped. During the first months of the war the administration could not wisely make public how very poorly the soldiers were armed, for this would only discourage the defenders of the Union and cheer the enemy.

This call for troops met with prompt response. The various governors of the northern states offered many times their quota. The first in the field was Massachusetts. This was due to the foresight of ex-Governor Banks. He had for years kept the state militia up to a high degree of efficiency. When rallied upon this he explained that it was to defend the country against a rebellion of the slaveholders which was sure to come.

The call for volunteers was published on the morning of April 15th. By ten o'clock the 6th Massachusetts began to rendezvous. In less than thirty-six hours the regiment was ready and off for Washington. They were everywhere cheered with much enthusiasm. In New York they were guests of the Astor House, whose patriotic proprietor would receive no compensation from the defenders of the flag.

The reception in Baltimore was of a very different sort. Some ruffians of that city had planned to assassinate Lincoln in February, and now they in large numbers prepared to attack the soldiers who were hastening to the defense of the national capital. Here was the first bloodshed of the war. The casualties were four killed and thirty-six wounded. When the regiment reached Washington City, the march from the railway station was very solemn. Behind the marching soldiers followed the stretchers bearing the wounded. The dead had been left behind. Governor Andrew's despatch to Mayor Brown,—"Send them home tenderly,"—elicited the sympathy of millions of hearts.

The mayor of Baltimore and the governor of Maryland sent a deputation to Lincoln to ask that no more troops be brought through that city. The President made no promise, but he said he was anxious to avoid all friction and he would do the best he could. He added playfully that if he granted that, they would be back next day to ask that no troops be sent around Baltimore.

That was exactly what occurred. The committee were back the next day protesting against permitting any troops to cross the state of Maryland. Lincoln replied that, as they couldn't march around the state, nor tunnel under it, nor fly over it, he guessed they would have to march across it.

It was arranged that for the time being the troops should be brought to Annapolis and transported thence to Washington by water. This was one of the many remarkable instances of forbearance on the part of the government. There was a great clamor on the part of the North for vengeance upon Baltimore for its crime, and a demand for sterner measures in future. But the President was determined to show all the conciliation it was possible to show, both in this case and in a hundred others.

These actions bore good fruit. It secured to him the confidence of the people to a degree that could not have been foreseen. On the 22d of July, 1861, Mr. Crittenden, of Kentucky, offered the following resolution:

"Resolved by the House of Representatives of the United States, That the present deplorable civil war has been forced upon the country by the disunionists of the Southern States, now in arms against the Constitutional Government and in arms around the capital:

"That in this national emergency, congress, banishing all feelings of mere passion or resentment, will recollect only its duty to the whole country;

"That this war is not waged on their part in any spirit of oppression, or for any purpose of conquest or subjugation, or purpose of overthrowing or interfering with the rights or established institutions of those states, but to defend and maintain the supremacy of the Constitution, and to preserve the Union with all the dignity, equality, and rights of the several states unimpaired; and that, as soon as these objects are accomplished, the war ought to cease."

This resolution was passed with only two dissenting votes. Lincoln's patience, forbearance, conciliation had accomplished this marvel.

Very early in the war the question of slavery confronted the generals. In the month of May, only about two months after the inauguration, Generals Butler and McClellan confronted the subject, and their methods of dealing with it were as widely different as well could be. When Butler was in charge of Fortress Monroe three negroes fled to that place for refuge. They said that Colonel Mallory had set them to work upon the rebel fortifications. A flag of truce was sent in from the rebel lines demanding the return of the negroes. Butler replied: "I shall retain the negroes as contraband of war. You were using them upon your batteries; it is merely a question whether they shall be used for or against us." From that time the word contraband was used in common speech to indicate an escaped slave.

It was on the 26th day of the same month that McClellan issued to the slaveholders a proclamation in which are found these words: "Not only will we abstain from all interference with your slaves, but we will, on the contrary, with an iron hand crush any attempt at insurrection on their part." It is plain that McClellan's "we" did not include his brother-general at Fortress Monroe. Further comment on his attitude is reserved to a later chapter.

The early victims of the war caused deep and profound sympathy. The country was not yet used to carnage. The expectancy of a people not experienced in war was at high tension, and these deaths, which would at any time have produced a profound impression, were emphatically impressive at that time.

One of the very first martyrs of the war was Elmer E. Ellsworth. He was young, handsome, impetuous. At Chicago he had organized among the firemen a company of Zouaves with their spectacular dress and drill. These Zouaves had been giving exhibition drills in many northern cities and aroused no little interest. One result was the formation of similar companies at various places. The fascinating Zouave drill became quite popular.

In 1861 Ellsworth was employed in the office of Lincoln and Herndon in Springfield. When the President-elect journeyed to Washington Ellsworth, to whom Lincoln was deeply attached, made one of the party. At the outbreak of hostilities he was commissioned as colonel to raise a regiment in New York. On the south bank of the Potomac, directly opposite Washington, was Alexandria. The keeper of the Mansion House, in that place, had run up a secession flag on the mast at the top of the hotel. This flag floated day after day in full sight of Lincoln and Ellsworth and the others.

Ellsworth led an advance upon Alexandria on the evening of May 23d. The rebels escaped. The next morning as usual, the secession flag floated tauntingly from the Mansion House. Ellsworth's blood was up and he resolved to take down that flag and hoist the stars and stripes with his own hand. Taking with him two soldiers he accomplished his purpose.

Returning by a spiral stairway, he carried the rebel flag in his hand. The proprietor of the hotel came out from a place of concealment, placed his double-barreled shot-gun nearly against Ellsworth's body and fired. The assassin was instantly shot down by private Brownell, but Ellsworth was dead. The rebel flag was dyed in the blood of his heart. Underneath his uniform was found a gold medal with the inscription, non solum nobus, sed pro patria,—"not for ourselves only but for our country."

The body was removed to Washington City, where it lay in state in the East room until burial. The President, amid all the cares of that busy period, found time to sit many hours beside the body of his friend, and at the burial he appeared as chief mourner.

This murder fired the northern imagination to a degree. The picture of Ellsworth's handsome face was everywhere familiar. It is an easy guess that hundreds, not to say thousands, of babies were named for him within the next few months, and to this day the name Elmer, starting from him, has not ceased to be a favorite.

A little more than two weeks later, on the 10th of June, the first real battle of the war was fought. This was at Big Bethel, Va., near Fortress Monroe. The loss was not great as compared with later battles, being only eighteen killed and fifty-three wounded. But among the killed was Major Theodore Winthrop, a young man barely thirty-three years of age. He was the author of several successful books, and gave promise of a brilliant literary career. He was a true patriot and a gallant soldier. His death was the source of sorrow and anger to many thousands of readers of "Cecil Dreeme."

It was two months later that General Lyon fell at Wilson's Creek, Mo. He had been conspicuous for his services to the country before this time. The battle was bitterly contested, and Lyon showed himself a veritable hero in personal courage and gallantry. After three wounds he was still fighting on, leading personally a bayonet charge when he was shot for the fourth time, fell from his horse, and died immediately. It was the gallant death of a brave soldier, that touches the heart and fires the imagination.

These deaths, and such as these, occurring at the beginning of the war, taught the country the painful truth that the cost of war is deeper than can possibly be reckoned. The dollars of money expended, and the lists of the numbers killed, wounded, and missing, do not fully express the profound sorrow, the irreparable loss.



CHAPTER XXVI.

THE WAR HERE TO STAY.

Lincoln was a man of great sagacity. Few statesmen have had keener insight, or more true and sane foresight. While cordially recognizing this, it is not necessary to claim for him infallibility. He had his disappointments.

The morning after the evacuation of Fort Sumter he issued his call for 75,000 volunteers to serve for three months. We have seen that one reason why the number was so small was that this was the largest number that could possibly be clothed, armed, and officered at short notice. Subsequent experience showed that the brief enlistment of three months was an utterly inadequate period for so serious an insurrection. Did Lincoln really think the rebellion could be put down in three months? Why did he not save infinite trouble by calling for five-year enlistments at the beginning?

For one thing, he had at that time no legal power to call for a longer period of enlistment. Then he desired to continue the conciliatory policy as long as possible, so as to avoid alienating the undecided in both the North and the South. Had the first call been for 500,000 for three years, it would have looked as if he intended and desired a long and bloody war, and this would have antagonized large numbers of persons. But it is probable that neither he nor the community at large suspected the seriousness of the war. The wars in which the men then living had had experience were very slight. In comparison with what followed, they were mere skirmishes. How should they foresee that they were standing on the brink of one of the longest, the costliest, the bloodiest, and the most eventful wars of all history?

Virginia was dragooned into secession. She declined to participate in the Charleston Convention. Though a slave state, the public feeling was by a decided majority in favor of remaining in the Union. But after the fall of Sumter she was manipulated by skilful politicians, appealed to and cajoled on the side of prejudice and sectional feeling, and on April 17th passed the ordinance of secession. It was a blunder and a more costly blunder she could not have made. For four years her soil was the theater of a bitterly contested war, and her beautiful valleys were drenched with human blood.

Back and forth, over and over again, fought the two armies, literally sweeping the face of the country with the besom of destruction. The oldest of her soldiers of legal age were fifty-five years of age when the war closed. The youngest were twelve years of age when the war opened. Older men and younger boys were in the war, ay, and were killed on the field of battle. As the scourge of war passed over that state from south to north, from north to south, for four years, many an ancient and proud family was simply exterminated, root and branch. Of some of the noblest and best families, there is to-day not a trace and scarcely a memory.

All this could not have been foreseen by these Virginians, nor by the people of the North, nor by the clear-eyed President himself. Even the most cautious and conservative thought the war would be of brief duration. They were soon to receive a rude shock and learn that "war is hell," and that this war was here to stay. This revelation came with the first great battle of the war, which was fought July 21, 1861, at Bull Run, a location not more than twenty-five or thirty miles from Washington.

Certain disabilities of our soldiers should be borne in mind. Most of them were fresh from farm, factory, or store, and had no military training even in the militia. A large number were just reaching the expiration of their term of enlistment and were homesick and eager to get out of the service. The generals were not accustomed to handling large bodies of men. To add to the difficulty, the officers and men were entirely unacquainted with one another. Nevertheless most of them were ambitious to see a little of real war before they went back to the industries of peace. They saw far more than they desired.

It was supposed by the administration and its friends that one crushing blow would destroy the insurrection, and that this blow was to be dealt in this coming battle. The troops went to the front as to a picnic. The people who thronged Washington, politicians, merchants, students, professional men, and ladies as well, had the same eagerness to see a battle that in later days they have to witness a regatta or a game of football. The civilians, men and women, followed the army in large numbers. They saw all they looked for and more.

The battle was carefully planned, and except for delay in getting started, it was fought out very much as planned. It is not the scope of this book to enter into the details of this or any battle. But thus much may be said in a general way. The Confederates were all the day receiving a steady stream of fresh reinforcements. The Federals, on the other hand, had been on their feet since two o'clock in the morning. By three o'clock in the afternoon, after eleven hours of activity and five hours of fighting in the heat of a July day in Virginia, these men were tired, thirsty, hungry,—worn out. Then came the disastrous panic and the demoralization. A large portion of the army started in a race for Washington, the civilians in the lead.

The disaster was terrible, but there is nothing to gain by magnifying it. Some of the oldest and best armies in the world have been broken into confusion quite as badly as this army of raw recruits. They did not so far lose heart that they were not able to make a gallant stand at Centerville and successfully check the pursuit of the enemy. It was said that Washington was at the mercy of the Confederates, but it is more likely that they had so felt the valor of the foe that they were unfit to pursue the retreating army. It was a hard battle on both sides. No one ever accused the Confederates of cowardice, and they surely wanted to capture Washington City. That they did not do so is ample proof that the battle was not a picnic to them. It had been boasted that one southern man could whip five northern men. This catchy phrase fell into disuse.

It was natural and politic for the Confederates to magnify their victory. This was done without stint by Jeff Davis who was present as a spectator. He telegraphed the following:

"Night has closed upon a hard-fought field. Our forces were victorious. The enemy was routed and fled precipitately, abandoning a large amount of arms, ammunition, knapsacks, and baggage. The ground was strewed for miles with those killed, and the farmhouses and the ground around were filled with wounded. Our force was fifteen thousand; that of the enemy estimated at thirty-five thousand."

That account is sufficiently accurate except as to figures. Jeff Davis never could be trusted in such circumstances to give figures with any approach to accuracy. Lossing estimates that the Federal forces were 13,000, and the Confederates about 27,000. This is certainly nearer the truth than the boast of Jeff Davis. But a fact not less important than the numbers was that the Confederate reinforcements were fresh, while the Federal forces were nearly exhausted from marching half the night before the fighting began.

Although the victorious forces were effectively checked at Centerville, those who fled in absolute rout and uncontrollable panic were enough to give the occasion a lasting place in history. The citizens who had gone to see the battle had not enjoyed their trip. The soldiers who had thought that this war was a sort of picnic had learned that the foe was formidable. The administration that had expected to crush the insurrection by one decisive blow became vaguely conscious of the fact that the war was here to stay months and years.

It is a curious trait of human nature that people are not willing to accept a defeat simply. The mind insists on explaining the particular causes of that specific defeat. Amusing instances of this are seen in all games: foot-ball, regattas, oratorical contests. Also in elections; the defeated have a dozen reasons to explain why the favorite candidate was not elected as he should have been. This trait came out somewhat clamorously after the battle of Bull Run. A large number of plausible explanations were urged on Mr. Lincoln, who finally brought the subject to a conclusion by the remark: "I see. We whipped the enemy and then ran away from him!"

The effect of the battle of Bull Run on the South was greatly to encourage them and add to their enthusiasm. The effect on the North was to deepen their determination to save the flag, to open their eyes to the fact that the southern power was strong, and with renewed zeal and determination they girded themselves for the conflict. But the great burden fell on Lincoln. He was disappointed that the insurrection was not and could not be crushed by one decisive blow. There was need of more time, more men, more money, more blood. These thoughts and the relative duties were to him, with his peculiar temperament, a severer trial than they could have been to perhaps any other man living. He would not shrink from doing his full duty, though it was so hard.

It made an old man of him. The night before he decided to send bread to Sumter he slept not a wink. That was one of very many nights when he did not sleep, and there were many mornings when he tasted no food. But weak, fasting, worn, aging as he was, he was always at his post of duty. The most casual observer could see the inroads which these mental cares made upon his giant body. It was about a year later than this that an old neighbor and friend, Noah Brooks of Chicago, went to Washington to live, and he has vividly described the change in the appearance of the President.

In Harper's Monthly for July, 1865, he writes: "Though the intellectual man had greatly grown meantime, few persons would recognize the hearty, blithesome, genial, and wiry Abraham Lincoln of earlier days in the sixteenth President of the United States, with his stooping figure, dull eyes, careworn face, and languid frame. The old clear laugh never came back; the even temper was sometimes disturbed; and his natural charity for all was often turned into unwonted suspicion of the motives of men, whose selfishness caused him so much wear of mind."

Again, the same writer said in Scribner's Monthly for February, 1878: "There was [in 1862] over his face an expression of sadness, and a faraway look in the eyes, which were utterly unlike the Lincoln of other days.... I confess that I was so pained that I could almost have shed tears.... By and by, when I knew him better, his face was often full of mirth and enjoyment; and even when he was pensive or gloomy, his features were lighted up very much as a clouded alabaster vase might be softly illuminated by a light within."

He still used his epigram and was still reminded of "a little story," when he wished to point a moral or adorn a tale. But they were superficial indeed who thought they saw in him only, or chiefly, the jester. Once when he was reproved for reading from a humorous book he said with passionate earnestness that the humor was his safety valve. If it were not for the relief he would die. It was true. But he lived on, not because he wanted to live, for he would rather have died. But it was God's will, and his country needed him.



CHAPTER XXVII.

THE DARKEST HOUR OF THE WAR.

There were so many dark hours in that war, and those hours were so dark, that it is difficult to specify one as the darkest hour. Perhaps a dozen observers would mention a dozen different times. But Lincoln himself spoke of the complication known as the Trent affair as the darkest hour. From his standpoint it was surely so. It was so because he felt the ground of public confidence slipping out from under him as at no other time. The majority of the North were with him in sentiment for the most part. A goodly number were with him all the time,—except this. This time, Charles Sumner, the Chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations, was in agreement with him, but beyond that, everybody was against him, North and South, and all Europe as well. Upon him fell the task of turning the very turbulent current of public sentiment into the channel of duty and wisdom.

The facts of the affair were simple. Two men, Mason and Slidell, both ex-senators of the United States, had started, with their secretaries and families, to England and France as emissaries of the Confederate government. These countries had already recognized the Confederates as belligerents, and the mission of these men was to secure the recognition of the Confederate government as a nation. They succeeded in running the blockade at Charleston and put in at Havana. There they were received with much ostentation. They took passage on the British mail steamer Trent to St. Thomas, intending to take the packet thence to England.

Captain Wilkes, commanding a war vessel of the United States, was in the neighborhood and learned of these proceedings and plans. He stopped the British vessel on the high seas and by force took the two men and their secretaries. They were confined in Fort Warren, Boston Harbor.

This capture set the entire North ablaze with enthusiasm. Seward was in favor of it. Stanton, who a few weeks later was appointed Secretary of War, applauded the act. Welles, Secretary of the Navy, wrote a congratulatory letter upon the "great public service." The people of Boston tendered a banquet to the hero of the hour. When congress assembled about a month later, it gave him a vote of thanks. This wave of public enthusiasm swept the country from ocean to ocean. The southern sympathies of England and France had been so pronounced that this whole country seemed to unite in hilarious triumph over this capture, and regarded it as a slap in the face to England's pride. The fact that the complications threatened war with that nation only added fuel to the flames.

The excitement ran highest among the soldiers. Camp life had become monotonous, no decisive victories had raised their courage and enthusiasm. They were tired. They were exasperated with England's policy. They wanted to fight England.

The feeling upon the other side of the question ran equally high in the South, in England, and in France. As soon as the matter could receive official attention, the British minister at Washington was instructed to demand the instant release of the four men with a suitable apology. He was to wait seven days for an answer, and if the demand was not met by that time, he was to break off diplomatic relations with the United States. This of course meant war.

Sumner seems to have been the only other one who said, "We shall have to give them up." Lincoln, when he heard of the capture, declared that they would prove to be white elephants on our hands. "We shall have to give them up," he too said. But the difficulty was to lead the excited nation to see the need of this as he saw it. He declared that "we fought Great Britain for doing just what Captain Wilkes has done. If Great Britain protests against this act and demands their release, we must adhere to our principles of 1812. We must give up these prisoners. Besides, one war at a time." He again said that it was "the bitterest pill he ever swallowed. But England's triumph will not last long. After this war is over we shall call her to account for the damage she has done us in our hour of trouble."

The policy of the government with regard to this matter was not settled in the cabinet meeting until the day after Christmas. Public enthusiasm by that time had had six weeks in which to cool down. In that time the sober second judgment had illuminated many minds, and the general public was ready to see and hear reason. The outline of the reply of the United States was directed by Lincoln, but he instructed Seward to choose his own method of arguing the case. The reply was set forth in a very able and convincing paper. It reaffirmed our adhesion to the doctrine of 1812, said that Captain Wilkes had not done in an orderly way that which he did, promised that the prisoners would be cheerfully set at liberty, but declined to make any apology.

At this late date we are able to look somewhat behind the scenes, and we now know that the Queen and the Prince consort were very deeply concerned over the possibility of a war with us. They had only the kindest feelings for us, and just then they felt especially grateful for the many courtesies which had been shown to the Prince of Wales upon his recent visit to this country. They were glad to get through with the incident peaceably and pleasantly.

Seward's reply was accepted as fully satisfactory. The English concurred, the Americans concurred, and the danger was over. There was then something of a revulsion of feeling. The feeling between our government and that of England was more cordial than before, and the same is true of the feeling between the two peoples. The South and their sympathizers were bitterly disappointed. The wise management of our President had turned one of the greatest dangers into a most valuable success. There was never again a likelihood that England would form an alliance with the Southern Confederacy.

The result was most fortunate for us and unfortunate for the southern emissaries. They were no longer heroes, they were "gentlemen of eminence," but not public functionaries. They were like other travelers, nothing more. They were not received at either court. They could only "linger around the back doors" of the courts where they expected to be received in triumph, and bear as best they could the studied neglect with which they were treated. The affair, so ominous at one time, became most useful in its practical results to our cause. Lord Palmerston, the British premier, got the four prisoners, but Lincoln won the game.

This is a convenient place to speak of the personal griefs of the President. From his earliest years on, he was wonderfully affected by the presence of death. Very few people have had this peculiar feeling of heart-break with such overwhelming power. The death of his infant brother in Kentucky, the death of his mother in Indiana, impressed him and clouded his mind in a degree entirely unusual. We have seen that in Springfield the death of Ann Rutledge well-nigh unseated his reason. From these he never recovered.

The horror of war was that it meant death, death, death! He, whose heart was tender to a fault, was literally surrounded by death. The first victim of the war, Colonel Ellsworth, was a personal friend, and his murder was a personal affliction. There were others that came near to him. Colonel E. D. Baker, an old friend and neighbor of Lincoln, the man who had introduced him at his inaugural, was killed at Ball's Bluff Oct. 21, 1861. Baker's personal courage made him conspicuous and marked him out as a special target for the enemy's aim. While gallantly leading a charge, he fell, pierced almost simultaneously by four bullets. It fell upon Lincoln like the death of a brother. He was consumed with grief.

The following February his two boys, Willie and Tad, were taken ill. Lincoln's fondness for children was well known. This general love of children was a passion in regard to his own sons. In this sickness he not only shared the duties of night-watching with the nurse, but at frequent intervals he would slip away from callers, and even from cabinet meetings, to visit briefly the little sufferers. Willie died on February 20th, and for several days before his death he was delirious. His father was with him almost constantly.

This is one of the few instances when he could be said to neglect public business. For a few days before, and for a longer period after, Willie's death, he was completely dejected. Though he was a devout Christian, in spirit and temper, his ideas of personal immortality were not at that time sufficiently clear to give him the sustaining help which he needed under his affliction.

J. G. Holland records a pathetic scene. This was communicated to him by a lady whose name is not given. She had gone to Washington to persuade the President to have hospitals for our soldiers located in the North. He was skeptical of the plan and was slow to approve it. His hesitation was the occasion of much anxiety to her. When he finally granted the petition, she thanked him with great earnestness and said she was sure he would be happy that he had done it. He sat with his face in his hands and groaned: "Happy? I shall never be happy again!"

Below all his play of wit and humor, there was an undercurrent of agony. So great were his kindness, gentleness, tenderness of heart, that he could not live in this cruel world, especially in the period when the times were so much out of joint, without being a man of sorrows. The present writer never saw Lincoln's face but twice, once in life and once in death. Both times it seemed to him, and as he remembers it after the lapse of more than a third of a century, it still seems to him, the saddest face his eyes have ever looked upon.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

LINCOLN AND FREMONT.

In a community like that of the United States, where free press and free, speech prevail, where every native-born boy is a possible President, some undesirable results are inevitable. The successful men become egotistic, and it is a common, well-nigh universal, practise for all sorts and conditions of men to speak harshly of the authorities. In the loafers on the street corners, in the illiterate that use the country store as their club, in the very halls of congress, are heard the most unsparing criticisms and denunciations of the administration. These unwarranted comments fell thick and fast on Lincoln, because he was at the post of responsibility in a critical period, a time of general unrest. Self-appointed committees of business men, politicians, clergymen, editors, and what not, were continually telling him what to do and how to do it. Not a few of even the generals caught the infection.

It is not possible nor desirable to tell of Lincoln's relations with many of the eminent men with whom he dealt. But a few will be selected —Fremont, McClellan, Greeley, and Grant—in order to explain some of the difficulties which were continually rising up before him, and by showing how he dealt with them to illustrate certain phases of his character. This chapter will treat of Fremont.

At the outbreak of the war he was the most conspicuous military man in the North. He had earned the gratitude of the country for distinguished services in California, and he was deservedly popular among the republicans for his leadership of the party in 1856. He was at the best period of life, being forty-eight years of age. His abilities were marked, and he possessed in an unusual degree the soldierly quality of inspiring enthusiasm. If he could turn all his powers into the channel of military efficiency, he would be the man of the age. He had the public confidence, and he had such an opportunity as comes to few men.

At the opening of the war he was in Paris and was at once summoned home. He arrived in this country about the first of July and was by the President appointed Major-General in the regular army. On the 3d of July he was assigned to the Western department with headquarters at St. Louis. This department included the state of Illinois and extended as far west as the Rocky Mountains.

At that time the condition of affairs in Missouri was distressful and extremely threatening. The state of Missouri covers a very large territory, 69,415 square miles, and it was imperfectly provided with railroads and other means of communication. Private bands of marauders and plunderers were numerous and did a great amount of damage among law-abiding citizens. There were also several insurgent armies of no mean dimensions threatening the state from the southwest. There were good soldiers and officers there in defense of the Union, but they were untried, insufficiently armed and accoutered, unprovided with means of transportation, and, above all, they were in need of a commanding general of sagacity, daring, and personal resources. Fremont seemed to be just the man for the important post at that critical hour.

Generals Lyon, Hunter, and others, were sore pressed in Missouri. They needed the presence of their commander and they needed him at once. Fremont was ordered to proceed to his post immediately. This order he did not obey. He could never brook authority, and he was not in the habit of rendering good reasons for his acts of disobedience. Though he was aware that the need of his presence was urgent, he dallied about Washington a long time and then proceeded west with leisure, arriving in St. Louis nearly three weeks later than he should have done. These three weeks were under the circumstances time enough for an incalculable amount of damage, enough to make all the difference between success and failure. It was long enough to insure the death (on August 10th) of that brave soldier, General Lyon, and long enough to account for many other disasters.

One of the most annoying things with which the subordinate generals had to contend, was that about this time the term of service of the men who had enlisted for three months was beginning to expire. Many of these reenlisted, and many did not. It was not possible to plan an expedition of any sort when it was probable that a large portion of the command would be out of service before it was completed. There was need of a master hand at organizing and inspiring loyalty.

Though Fremont had so unaccountably delayed, yet when he came he was received with confidence and enthusiasm. Lincoln gave to him, as he did to all his generals, very nearly a carte blanche. His instructions were general, and the commander was left to work out the details in his own way. All that he required was that something should be done successfully in the prosecution of the war. The country was not a judge of military plans; it was a judge of military success and failure. They expected, and they had a right to expect, that Fremont should do something more than keep up a dress parade. Lincoln laid on him this responsibility in perfect confidence.

The first thing Fremont accomplished in Missouri was to quarrel with his best friends, the Blair family. This is important chiefly as a thermometer,—it indicated his inability to hold the confidence of intelligent and influential men after he had it. About this time Lincoln wrote to General Hunter a personal letter which showed well how things were likely to go:—

"My dear Sir: General Fremont needs assistance which it is difficult to give him. He is losing the confidence of men near him, whose support any man in his position must have to be successful. His cardinal mistake is that he isolates himself and allows no one to see him; and by which he does not know what is going on in the very matter he is dealing with. He needs to have by his side a man of large experience. Will you not, for me, take that place?"

It was Louis XV. who exclaimed, "L'etat? C'est moi!" "The state? I'm the state!" The next move of Fremont can be compared only with that spirit of the French emperor. It was no less than a proclamation of emancipation. This was a civic act, while Fremont was an officer of military, not civil, authority. The act was unauthorized, the President was not even consulted. Even had it been a wise move, Fremont would have been without justification because it was entirely outside of his prerogatives. Even had he been the wisest man, he was not an autocrat and could not have thus transcended his powers.

But this act was calculated to do much mischief. The duty of the hour was to save the Union. Fremont's part in that duty was to drive the rebels out of Missouri. Missouri was a slave state. It had not seceded, and it was important that it should not do so. The same was true of Kentucky and Maryland. It is easy to see, upon reading Fremont's proclamation, that it is the work not of a soldier, but of a politician, and a bungling politician at that.

When this came to the knowledge of the President he took prompt measures to counteract it in a way that would accomplish the greatest good with the least harm. He wrote to the general:

"Allow me, therefore, to ask that you will, as of your own motion, modify that paragraph so as to conform to the first and fourth sections of the act of congress entitled, 'An act to confiscate property used for insurrectionary purposes,' approved August 6, 1861, and a copy of which act I herewith send you. This letter is written in a spirit of caution, and not of censure."

But Fremont was willing to override both President and congress, and declined to make the necessary modifications. This placed him, with such influence as he had, in direct antagonism to the administration. That which ought to have been done by Fremont had to be done by Lincoln, upon whom was thrown the onus of whatever was objectionable in the matter. It did give him trouble. It alienated many of the extreme abolitionists, including even his old neighbor and friend, Oscar H. Browning. They seemed to think that Lincoln was now championing slavery. His enemies needed no alienation, but they made adroit use of this to stir up and increase discontent.

So matters grew no better with Fremont, but much worse for three months. The words of Nicolay and Hay are none too strong: "He had frittered away his opportunity for usefulness and fame; such an opportunity, indeed, as rarely comes."

On October 21st, the President sent by special messenger the following letter to General Curtis at St. Louis:

"DEAR SIR: On receipt of this, with the accompanying enclosures, you will take safe, certain, and suitable measures to have the inclosure addressed to Major-General Fremont delivered to him with all reasonable despatch, subject to these conditions only, that if, when General Fremont shall be reached by the messenger,—yourself or any one sent by you,—he shall then have, in personal command, fought and won a battle, or shall then be in the immediate presence of the enemy in expectation of a battle, it is not to be delivered but held for further orders."

The inclosure mentioned was an order relieving General Fremont and placing Hunter temporarily in command. It is plain that the President expected that there would be difficulties, in the way of delivering the order,—that Fremont himself might prevent its delivery. General Curtis, who undertook its delivery, evidently expected the same thing, for he employed three different messengers who took three separate methods of trying to reach Fremont. The one who succeeded in delivering the order did so only because of his successful disguise, and when it was accomplished Fremont's words and manner showed that he had expected to head off any such order. This incident reveals the peril which would have fallen to American institutions had he been more successful in his aspirations to the presidency.

Fremont had one more chance. He was placed in command of a corps in Virginia. There he disobeyed orders in a most atrocious manner, and by so doing permitted Jackson and his army to escape. He was superseded by Pope, but declining to serve under a junior officer, resigned. And that was the end of Fremont as a public man. The fact that he had ceased to be a force in American life was emphasized in 1864. The extreme abolitionists nominated him as candidate for the presidency in opposition to Lincoln. But his following was so slight that he withdrew from the race and retired permanently to private life.

Yet he was a man of splendid abilities of a certain sort. Had he practised guerilla warfare, had he had absolute and irresponsible command of a small body of picked men with freedom to raid or do anything else he pleased, he would have been indeed formidable. The terror which the rebel guerilla General, Morgan, spread over wide territory would easily have been surpassed by Fremont. But guerilla warfare was not permissible on the side of the government. The aim of the Confederates was destruction; the aim of the administration was construction. It is always easier and more spectacular to destroy than to construct.

One trouble with Fremont was his narrowness of view. He could not work with others. If he wanted a thing in his particular department, it did not concern him that it might injure the cause as a whole. Another trouble was his conceit. He wanted to be "the whole thing," President, congress, general, and judiciary. Had Lincoln not possessed the patience of Job, he could not have borne with him even so long. The kindness of the President's letter, above quoted, is eloquent testimony to his magnanimity.



CHAPTER XXIX.

LINCOLN AND MCCLELLAN.

McClellan was a very different man from Fremont. Though he was as nearly as possible opposite in his characteristics, still it was not easier to get along with him. He was a man of brilliant talents, fine culture, and charming personality. Graduating from West Point in 1846, he went almost immediately into the Mexican War, where he earned his captaincy. He later wrote a manual of arms for use in the United States army. He visited Europe as a member of the commission of officers to gather military information.

His greatest genius was in engineering, a line in which he had no superior. He went to Illinois in 1857 as chief engineer of the Central Railroad, the following year he became vice-president, and the year after that president of the St. Louis and Cincinnati Railway. At the outbreak of the war this captain was by the governor of Ohio commissioned as major-general, and a few days later he received from Lincoln the commission of major-general in the United States army.

He was sent to West Virginia with orders to drive out the rebels. This he achieved in a brief time, and for it he received the thanks of congress. He was, after the disaster at Bull Run, called to Washington and placed in command of that portion of the Army of the Potomac whose specific duty was the defense of the capital. He was rapidly promoted from one position to another until age and infirmity compelled the retirement of that grand old warrior, Winfield Scott, whereupon he was made general-in-chief of the United States army. All this occurred in less than four months. Four months ago, this young man of thirty-five years was an ex-captain. To-day he is general-in-chief, not of the largest army, but probably of the most intelligent army, the world has ever seen. He would be almost more than human if such a sudden turn of the wheel of fortune did not also turn his head.

It was Lincoln's habit to let his generals do their work in their own ways, only insisting that they should accomplish visible and tangible results. This method he followed with McClellan, developing it with great patience under trying circumstances. On this point there is no better witness than McClellan himself. To his wife he wrote, "They give me my way in everything, full swing and unbounded confidence." Later he expressed contempt for the President who "showed him too much deference." He was a universal favorite, he became known as "the young Napoleon," he had the confidence of the country and the loyal devotion of the army, and the unqualified support of the administration. Of him great things were expected, and reasonably so. In the power of inspiring confidence and enthusiasm he was second only to Napoleon.

As an organizer and drill-master he was superb. The army after Bull Run was as demoralized as an army could be. The recruits soon began to arrive from the North, every day bringing thousands of such into Washington. These required care and they must be put into shape for effective service. This difficult task he accomplished in a way that fully met the public expectation and reflected great credit upon himself.

In defense he was a terrible fighter. That is to say, when he fought at all—for he fought only in defense—he fought well. A distinguished Confederate soldier said, "There was no Union general whom we so much dreaded as McClellan. He had, as we thought, no equal." And they declared they could always tell when McClellan was in command by the way the men fought.

An illustrious comment on this is the splendid fighting at Antietam. That was one of the greatest battles and one of the most magnificent victories of the war. It showed McClellan at his best.

We know what the Army of the Potomac was previous to the accession of McClellan. Let us see what it was after his removal. "McClellan was retired," says the Honorable Hugh McCulloch, "and what happened to the Army of the Potomac? Terrible slaughter under Burnside at Fredericksburg; crushing defeat at Chancellorsville under Hooker." All this shows that McClellan narrowly missed the fame of being one of the greatest generals in history. But let us glance at another page in the ledger.

His first act, when in command at Cincinnati, was to enter into an agreement with General Buckner that the state of Kentucky should be treated as neutral territory. That agreement put that state into the position of a foreign country, like England or China, when the very purpose of the war was to insist that the United States was one nation. This act was a usurpation of authority, and further, it was diametrically wrong even had he possessed the authority.

His next notable act, one which has already been mentioned, was to issue a proclamation in defense of slavery, promising to assist [the rebels] to put down any attempt at insurrection by the slaves. This was wrong. His duty was to conquer the enemy. It was no more his duty to defend slavery than it was Fremont's to emancipate the slaves.

The next development of McClellan was the hallucination, from which he never freed himself, that the enemy's numbers were from five to ten times as great as they really were. "I am here," he wrote August 16, 1861, "in a terrible place; the enemy have from three to four times my force. The President, the old general, cannot or will not see the true state of affairs." At that time the "true state of affairs" was that the enemy had from one-third to one-half his force. That is a fair specimen of the exaggeration of his fears. That is, McClellan's estimate was from six to twelve times too much.

At Yorktown he faced the Confederate Magruder, who commanded 11,000 all told. Of this number, 6,000 were spread along a line of thirteen miles of defense across the peninsula, leaving 5,000 for battle. McClellan's imagination, or fears, magnified this into an enormous army. With his 58,000 effective troops he industriously prepared for defense, and when the engineering work was accomplished thought he had done a great act in defending his army. All the while he was calling lustily for reinforcements from Washington. When Magruder was ready he retired with his little army and McClellan's opportunity was gone.

At Antietam he won a brilliant victory, but he failed to follow it up. There was a chance to annihilate the Confederate army and end the war. To do that was nearly as important as it had been to win the victory. To be sure his troops were worn, but as compared with the shattered condition of the enemy, his army was ready for dress parade. So the enemy was allowed to cross the Potomac at leisure, reform, reorganize, and the war was needlessly prolonged. It was this neglect which, more than any other one thing, undermined the general confidence in McClellan.

Later, at second Bull Run he left Pope to suffer. It was clearly his duty to reinforce Pope, but he only said that Pope had got himself into the fix and he must get out as he could. He seemed to forget that there never was a time when he was not calling for reinforcements himself. This wanton neglect was unsoldierly, inhuman. He also forgot that this method of punishing Pope inflicted severe punishment on the nation.

His chronic call for reinforcements, were it not so serious, would make the motive of a comic opera. When he was in Washington, he wanted all the troops called in for the defense of the city. When he was in Virginia, he thought the troops which were left for the defense of the city ought to be sent to reinforce him,—the city was safe enough! He telegraphed to Governor Denison of Ohio to pay no attention to Rosecrans' request for troops. He thought that 20,000, with what could be raised in Kentucky and Tennessee, was enough for the Mississippi Valley, while he needed 273,000. When he was insisting that Washington should be stripped in order to furnish him with 50,000 additional men, the President asked what had become of his more than 160,000; and in his detailed reply he gave the item of 38,500 absent on leave. Here was nearly the number of 50,000 which he asked for, if he would only call them in.

Incidentally to all this were persistent discourtesies to the President. He would sit silent in the cabinet meetings pretending to have secrets of great importance. Instead of calling on the President to report, he made it necessary for the President to call on him. At other times he would keep the President waiting while he affected to be busy with subordinates. Once indeed he left the President waiting while he went to bed. All this Lincoln bore with his accustomed patience. He playfully said, when remonstrated with, that he would gladly hold McClellan's horse if he would only win the battles. This he failed to do. And when he was finally relieved, he had worn out the patience not only of the President, but of his army, and of the entire country. One writer of the day said with much bitterness, but with substantial truth, that "McClellan, with greater means at his command than Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, or Wellington, has lost more men and means in his disasters than they in their victories."

What were the defects of this remarkable man? In the first place, he believed in slavery. At this late day it is difficult to realize the devotion which some men had for slavery as a "divine institution," before which they could kneel down and pray, as if it was the very ark of God. McClellan was one such. And it is not improbable that he early had more than a suspicion that slavery was the real cause of all the trouble. This would in part account for his hesitation.

Then there was a bitter personal hatred between him and Stanton. This led him to resent all suggestions and orders emanating from the War Department. It also made him suspicious of Stanton's associates, including the President.

Then he seemed to lack the nerve for a pitched battle. He could do everything up to the point of action, but he could not act. This lack of nerve is a more common fact in men in all walks of life than is usually recognized. He was unconquerable in defense, he did not know the word aggressive. Had he possessed some of the nerve of Sheridan, Hooker, Sherman, or any one of a hundred others, he would have been one of the four great generals of history. But he could not be persuaded or forced to attack. His men might die of fever, but not in battle. So far as he was concerned, the Army of the Potomac might have been reorganizing, changing its base, and perfecting its defenses against the enemy, to this day.

A fatal defect was the endeavor to combine the military and the political. Few men have succeeded in this. There were Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon,—but all came to an untimely end; the first met an early death in a foreign land, the second was assassinated, the third died a prisoner in exile. McClellan and Fremont, with all their splendid talents, made the fatal mistake. They forgot that for the time they were only military men. Grant was not a politician until after his military duties were ended.

The conclusion of the relations between Lincoln and McClellan was not generally known until recently made public by Lincoln's intimate friend Lamon. McClellan was nominated in 1864 for President by the democrats. As election day approached it became increasingly clear that McClellan had no chance whatever of being elected. But Lincoln wanted something more than, and different from, a reelection. His desires were for the welfare of the distracted country. He wanted peace, reconstruction, prosperity. A few days before election he sent a remarkable proposition through a common friend, Francis P. Blair, to McClellan. Mr. Blair was in hearty sympathy with the plan.

This proposition set forth the hopelessness of McClellan's chances for the presidency, which he knew perfectly well. It was then suggested that McClellan withdraw from the contest and let the President be chosen by a united North, which would bring the war to a speedy close and stop the slaughter of men on both sides. The compensations for this concession were to be: McClellan was to be promoted immediately to be General of the Army, his father-in-law Marcy was to be appointed major- general, and a suitable recognition of the democratic party would be made in other appointments.

At first blush McClellan was in favor of the arrangement. It is probable that if left to himself he would have acceded. The imagination can hardly grasp the fame that would have come to "little Mac," and the blessings that would have come to the reunited country, had this wise plan of Lincoln been accepted. But McClellan consulted with friends who advised against it. The matter was dropped,—and that was the end of the history of McClellan. He had thrown away his last chance of success and fame. All that followed may be written in one brief sentence: On election day he resigned from the army and was overwhelmingly defeated at the polls.



CHAPTER XXX.

LINCOLN AND GREELEY.

Much of the mischief of the world is the work of people who mean well. Not the least of the annoyances thrust on Lincoln came from people who ought to have known better. The fact that such mischief-makers are complacent, as if they were doing what was brilliant, and useful, adds to the vexation.

One of the most prominent citizens of the United States at the time of the civil war was Horace Greeley. He was a man of ardent convictions, of unimpeachable honesty, and an editorial writer of the first rank. He did a vast amount of good. He also did a vast amount of mischief which may be considered to offset a part of the good he accomplished.

His intellectual ability made it impossible for him to be anywhere a nonentity. He was always prominent. His paper, the New York Tribune, was in many respects the ablest newspaper of the day. Large numbers of intelligent republicans took the utterances of the Tribune as gospel truth.

It is not safe for any man to have an excess of influence. It is not surprising that the wide influence which Greeley acquired made him egotistic. He apparently came to believe that he had a mortgage on the republican party, and through that upon the country. His editorial became dictatorial. He looked upon Lincoln as a protege of his own who required direction. This he was willing to give,—mildly but firmly. All this was true of many other good men and good republicans. But it was emphatically true of Greeley.

If there is anything worse than a military man who plumes himself upon his statesmanship, it is the civilian who affects to understand military matters better than the generals, the war department, and the commander-in-chief. This was Greeley. He placed his military policy in the form of a war-cry,—"On to Richmond!"—at the head of his editorial page, and with a pen of marvelous power rung the changes on it.

This is but one sample of the man's proneness to interfere in other matters. With all the infallibility of an editor he was ever ready to tell what the President ought to do as a sensible and patriotic man. He would have saved the country by electing Douglas, by permitting peaceable secession, by persuading the French ambassador to intervene, by conference and argument with the Confederate emissaries, and by assuming personal control of the administration. At a later date he went so far as to propose to force Lincoln's resignation. He did not seem to realize that Lincoln could be most effective if allowed to do his work in his own way. He did not grasp the truth that he could be of the highest value to the administration only as he helped and encouraged, and that his obstructions operated only to diminish the efficiency of the government. If Greeley had put the same degree of force into encouraging the administration that he put into hindering its work, he would have merited the gratitude of his generation.

He was singularly lacking in the willingness to do this, or in the ability to recognize its importance. Like hundreds of others he persisted in expounding the duties of the executive, but his patronizing advice was more harmful in proportion to the incisiveness of his literary ability. This impertinence of Greeley's criticism reached its climax in an open letter to Lincoln. This letter is, in part, quoted here. It shows something of the unspeakable annoyances that were thrust upon the already overburdened President, from those who ought to have delighted in holding up his hands, those of whom better things might have been expected. The reply shows the patience with which Lincoln received these criticisms. It further shows the skill with which he could meet the famous editor on his own ground; for he also could wield a trenchant pen.

Greeley's letter is very long and it is not necessary to give it in full. But the headings, which are given below, are quite sufficient to show that the brilliant editor dipped his pen in gall in order that he might add bitterness to the man whose life was already filled to the brim with the bitter sorrows, trials, and disappointments of a distracted nation. The letter is published on the editorial page of the New York Tribune of August 20, 1862.

"THE PRAYER OF TWENTY MILLIONS:

"To ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States:

"DEAR SIR: I do not intrude to tell you—for you must know already— that a great proportion of those who triumphed in your election, and of all who desire the unqualified suppression of the Rebellion now desolating our country, are sorely disappointed and deeply pained by the policy you seem to be pursuing with regard to the slaves of the Rebels. I write only to set succinctly and unmistakably before you what we require, what we think we have a right to expect, and of what we complain.

"I. We require of you, as the first servant of the Republic, charged especially and preeminently with this duty, that you EXECUTE THE LAWS...."

"II. We think you are strangely and disastrously remiss in the discharge of your official and imperative duty with regard to the emancipating provisions of the new Confiscation Act...."

"III. We think you are unduly influenced by the counsels, the representations, the menaces, of certain fossil politicians hailing from the Border States...."

"IV. We think the timid counsels of such a crisis calculated to prove perilous and probably disastrous...."

"V. We complain that the Union cause has suffered and is now suffering immensely, from mistaken deference to Rebel Slavery. Had you, Sir, in your Inaugural Address, unmistakably given notice that, in case the Rebellion already commenced were persisted in, and your efforts to preserve the Union and enforce the laws should be resisted by armed force, you would recognize no loyal person as rightfully held in Slavery by a traitor, we believe that the Rebellion would have received a staggering, if not fatal blow...."

"VI. We complain that the Confiscation Act which you approved is habitually disregarded by your Generals, and that no word of rebuke for them from you has yet reached the public ear...."

"VII. Let me call your attention to the recent tragedy in New Orleans, whereof the facts are obtained entirely through Pro-Slavery channels...."

"VIII. On the face of this wide earth, Mr. President, there is not one disinterested, determined, intelligent champion of the Union Cause who does not feel that all attempts to put down the Rebellion and at the same time uphold its inciting cause are preposterous and futile—that the Rebellion, if crushed out to-morrow, would be renewed within a year if Slavery were left in full vigor—that the army of officers who remain to this day devoted to Slavery can at best be but half way loyal to the Union—and that every hour of deference to Slavery is an hour of added and deepened peril to the Union...."

"IX. I close as I began with the statement that what an immense majority of the Loyal Millions of your countrymen require of you is a frank, declared, unqualified, ungrudging execution of the laws of the land, more especially of the Confiscation Act.... As one of the millions who would gladly have avoided this struggle at any sacrifice but that of Principle and Honor, but who now feel that the triumph of the Union is indispensable not only to the existence of our country, but to the well-being of mankind, I entreat you to render a hearty and unequivocal obedience to the law of the land."

"Yours,"

"HORACE GREELEY."

"NEW YORK, August 19, 1862."

Those who are familiar with the eccentricities of this able editor will not be slow to believe that, had Lincoln, previous to the writing of that letter, done the very things he called for, Greeley would not improbably, have been among the first to attack him with his caustic criticism. Lincoln was not ignorant of this. But he seized this opportunity to address a far wider constituency than that represented in the subscription list of the Tribune. His reply was published in the Washington Star. He puts the matter so temperately and plainly that the most obtuse could not fail to see the reasonableness of it. As to Greeley, we do not hear from him again, and may assume that he was silenced if not convinced. The reply was as follows:

"EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, August 22, 1862.

"HON. HORACE GREBLEY,

"DEAR SIR: I have just read yours of the 19th, addressed to myself through the New York Tribune. If there be in it any statements, or assumptions of fact, which I may know to be erroneous, I do not, now and here, controvert them. If there be in it any inferences which I may believe to be falsely drawn, I do not, now and here, argue against them. If there be perceptible in it an impatient and dictatorial tone, I waive it in deference to an old friend, whose heart I have always supposed to be right. As to the policy I 'seem to be pursuing,' as you say, I have not meant to leave any one in doubt. I would save the Union. I would save it the shortest way under the Constitution. The sooner the national authority can be restored, the nearer the Union will be 'the Union as it was.' If there be those who would not save the Union unless they could at the same time save slavery, I do not agree with them. If there be those who would not save the Union unless they could at the same time destroy slavery, I do not agree with them. My paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save or to destroy slavery. If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it; if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that. What I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I believe it helps to save the Union: and what I forbear, I forbear because I do not believe it would help to save the Union. I shall do less whenever I shall believe what I am doing hurts the cause, and I shall do more whenever I shall believe doing more will help the cause. I shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors, and I shall adopt new views so fast as they shall appear to be true views. I have here stated my purpose according to my view of official duty; and I intend no modification of my oft expressed personal wish that all men everywhere could be free."

"Yours,

A. LINCOLN."

Not the least interesting fact connected with this subject is that at this very time Lincoln had the Emancipation Proclamation in mind. But not even the exasperating teasing that is fairly represented by Greeley's letter caused him to put forth that proclamation prematurely. It is no slight mark of greatness that he was able under so great pressure to bide his time.

This was not the last of Greeley's efforts to control the President or run the machine. In 1864 he was earnestly opposed to his renomination but finally submitted to the inevitable.

In July of that year, 1864, two prominent Confederates, Clay of Alabama, and Thompson of Mississippi, managed to use Greeley for their purposes. They communicated with him from Canada, professing to have authority to arrange for terms of peace, and they asked for a safe- conduct to Washington. Greeley fell into the trap but Lincoln did not. There is little doubt that their real scheme was to foment discontent and secure division throughout the North on the eve of the presidential election. Lincoln wrote to Greeley as follows:

"If you can find any person, anywhere, professing to have authority from Jefferson Davis, in writing, embracing the restoration of the Union and the abandonment of slavery, whatever else it embraces, say to him that he may come to me with you."

Under date of July 18, he wrote the following:

"To whom it may concern:"

"Any proposition which embraces the restoration of peace, the integrity of the whole Union, and the abandonment of slavery, and which comes by and with an authority that can control the armies now at war with the United States, will be received and considered by the Executive government of the United States, and will be met on liberal terms on substantial and collateral points; and the bearer or bearers thereof shall have safe-conduct both ways."

"ABRAHAM LINCOLN."

Greeley met these "commissioners" at Niagara, but it turned out that they had no authority whatever from the Confederate government. The whole affair was therefore a mere fiasco. But Greeley, who had been completely duped, was full of wrath, and persistently misrepresented, not to say maligned, the President. According to Noah Brooks, the President said of the affair:

"Well, it's hardly fair to say that this won't amount to anything. It will shut up Greeley, and satisfy the people who are clamoring for peace. That's something, anyhow." The President was too hopeful. It did not accomplish quite that, for Greeley was very persistent; but it did prevent a serious division of the North.



CHAPTER XXXI.

EMANCIPATION.

The institution of slavery was always and only hateful to the earnest and honest nature of Lincoln. He detested it with all the energy of his soul. He would, as he said, gladly have swept it from the face of the earth. Not even the extreme abolitionists, Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Whittier, abominated slavery with more intensity than Lincoln. But he did not show his hostility in the same way. He had a wider scope of vision than they. He had, and they had not, an appreciative historical knowledge of slavery in this country. He knew that it was tolerated by the Constitution and laws enacted within the provisions of the Constitution, though he believed that the later expansion of slavery was contrary to the spirit and intent of the men who framed the Constitution. And he believed that slaveholders had legal rights which should be respected by all orderly citizens. His sympathy with the slave did not cripple his consideration for the slave-owner who had inherited his property in that form, and under a constitution and laws which he did not originate and for which he was not responsible.

He would destroy slavery root and branch, but he would do it in a manner conformable to the Constitution, not in violation of it. He would exterminate it, but he would not so do it as to impoverish law- abiding citizens whose property was in slaves. He would eliminate slavery, but not in a way to destroy the country, for that would entail more mischief than benefit. To use a figure, he would throw Jonah overboard, but he would not upset the ship in the act.

Large numbers of people have a limited scope of knowledge. Such overlooked the real benefits of our civilization, and did not realize that wrecking the constitution would simply destroy the good that had thus far been achieved, and uproot the seeds of promise of usefulness for the centuries to come. They wanted slavery destroyed at once, violently, regardless of the disastrous consequences. On the other hand, Lincoln wanted it destroyed, but by a sure and rational process. He wished—and from this he never swerved—to do also two things: first, to compensate the owners of the slaves, and second to provide for the future of the slaves themselves. Of course, the extreme radicals could not realize that he was more intensely opposed to slavery than themselves.

Let us now glance at his record. We have already seen (in chapter V.) how he revolted from the first view of the horrors of the institution, and the youthful vow which he there recorded will not readily be forgotten. That was in 1831 when he was twenty-two years of age.

Six years later, or in 1837, when he was a youthful member of the Illinois legislature, he persuaded Stone to join him in a protest against slavery. There was positively nothing to be gained by this protest, either personally or in behalf of the slave. The only possible reason for it was that he believed that slavery was wrong and could not rest until he had openly expressed that belief. "A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong."

When he was in congress, in 1846, the famous Wilmot Proviso came up. This was to provide "that, as an express and fundamental condition to the acquisition of any territory from the republic of Mexico by the United States ... neither slavery nor involuntary servitude shall ever exist in any part of the said territory." By reason of amendments, this subject came before the house very many times, and Lincoln said afterwards that he had voted for the proviso in one form or another forty-two times.

On the 16th day of January, 1849, he introduced into congress a bill for the emancipation of slavery in the District of Columbia. This was a wise and reasonable bill. It gave justice to all, and at the same time gathered all the fruits of emancipation in the best possible way. The bill did not pass, there was no hope at the time that it would pass. But it compelled a reasonable discussion of the subject and had a certain amount of educational influence.

It is interesting that, thirteen years later, April 10, 1862, he had the privilege of fixing his presidential signature to a bill similar to his own. Congress had moved up to his position. When he signed the bill, he said: "Little did I dream, in 1849, when I proposed to abolish slavery in this capital, and could scarcely get a hearing for the proposition, that it would be so soon accomplished."

After the expiration of his term in congress he left political life, as he supposed, forever. He went into the practise of the law in earnest, and was so engaged at the time of the repeal of the Missouri Compromise which called him back to the arena of politics.

In the early part of the war there were certain attempts at emancipation which Lincoln held in check for the reason that the time for them had not arrived. "There's a tide in the affairs of men." It is of prime importance that this tide be taken at the flood. So far as emancipation was concerned, this came in slower than the eagerness of Generals Fremont and Hunter. But it was coming, and in the meantime Lincoln was doing what he could to help matters on. The difficulty was that if the Union was destroyed it would be the death-blow to the cause of emancipation. At the same time not a few loyal men were slaveholders. To alienate these by premature action would be disastrous. The only wise plan of action was to wait patiently until a sufficient number of these could be depended on in the emergency of emancipation. This was what Lincoln was doing.

The first part of the year 1862 was very trying. The North had expected to march rapidly and triumphantly into Richmond. This had not been accomplished, but on the contrary disaster had followed disaster in battle, and after many months the two armies were encamped facing each other and almost in sight of Washington, while the soldiers from the North were rapidly sickening and dying in the Southern camps. Small wonder if there was an impatient clamor.

A serious result of this delay was the danger arising from European sources. The monarchies of Europe had no sympathy with American freedom. They became impatient with the reports of "no progress" in the war, and at this time some of them were watching for a pretext to recognize the Southern Confederacy. This came vividly to the knowledge of Carl Schurz, minister to Spain. By permission of the President he returned to this country—this was late in January, 1862—to lay the matter personally before him. With the help of Schurz, Lincoln proceeded to develop the sentiment for emancipation. By his request Schurz went to New York to address a meeting of the Emancipation Society on March 6th. It need not be said that the speaker delivered a most able and eloquent plea upon "Emancipation as a Peace Measure." Lincoln also made a marked contribution to the meeting. He telegraphed to Schurz the text of his message to congress recommending emancipation in the District of Columbia,—which resulted in the law already mentioned,—and this message of Lincoln was read to the meeting. The effect of it, following the speech of Schurz, was overwhelming. It was quite enough to satisfy the most sanguine expectations. This was not a coincidence, it was a plan. Lincoln's hand in the whole matter was not seen nor suspected for many years after. It gave a marked impetus to the sentiment of emancipation.

To the loyal slaveholders of the border states he made a proposal of compensated emancipation. To his great disappointment they rejected this. It was very foolish on their part, and he cautioned them that they might find worse trouble.

All this time, while holding back the eager spirits of the abolitionists, he was preparing for his final stroke. But it was of capital importance that this should not be premature. McClellan's failure to take Richmond and his persistent delay, hastened the result. The community at large became impatient beyond all bounds. There came about a feeling that something radical must be done, and that quickly. But it was still necessary that he should be patient. As the bravest fireman is the last to leave the burning structure, so the wise statesman must hold himself in check until the success of so important a measure is assured beyond a doubt.

An event which occurred later may be narrated here because it illustrates the feeling which Lincoln always had in regard to slavery. The item was written out by the President himself and given to the newspapers for publication under the heading,

"THE PRESIDENT'S LAST, SHORTEST, AND BEST SPEECH."

"On Thursday of last week, two ladies from Tennessee came before the President, asking the release of their husbands, held as prisoners of war at Johnson's Island. They were put off until Friday, when they came again, and were again put off until Saturday. At each of the interviews one of the ladies urged that her husband was a religious man. On Saturday, when the President ordered the release of the prisoners, he said to this lady: You say your husband is a religious man; tell him when you meet him that I say I am not much of a judge of religion, but that, in my opinion, the religion that sets men to rebel and fight against their government because, as they think, that government does not sufficiently help some men to eat their bread in the sweat of other men's faces, is not the sort of religion upon which people can get to heaven."

As the dreadful summer of 1862 advanced, Lincoln noted surely that the time was at hand when emancipation would be the master stroke. In discussing the possibilities of this measure he seemed to take the opposite side. This was a fixed habit with him. He drew out the thoughts of other people. He was enabled to see the subject from all sides. Even after his mind was made up to do a certain thing, he would still argue against it. But in any other sense than this he took counsel of no one upon the emancipation measure. The work was his work. He presented his tentative proclamation to the cabinet on the 22d of July, 1862. The rest of the story is best told in Lincoln's own words: —

"It had got to be midsummer, 1862. Things had gone on from bad to worse, until I felt that we had reached the end of our rope on the plan of operations we had been pursuing; that we had about played our last card, and must change our tactics or lose the game. I now determined upon the adoption of the emancipation policy; and without consultation with, or knowledge of, the cabinet, I prepared the original draft of the proclamation, and after much anxious thought called a cabinet meeting upon the subject.... I said to the cabinet that I had resolved upon this step, and had not called them together to ask their advice, but to lay the subject-matter of a proclamation before them, suggestions as to which would be in order after they had heard it read."

The members of the cabinet offered various suggestions, but none which Lincoln had not fully anticipated. Seward approved the measure but thought the time not opportune. There had been so many reverses in the war, that he feared the effect. "It may be viewed," he said, "as the last measure of an exhausted government, a cry for help; the government stretching forth its hands to Ethiopia, instead of Ethiopia stretching forth her hands to the government." He then suggested that the proclamation be not issued until it could be given to the country supported by military successes. This seemed to Lincoln a wise suggestion, and he acted on it. The document was laid away for the time.

It was not until September 17th that the looked-for success came. The Confederate army had crossed the Potomac with the intention of invading the North. They were met and completely defeated in the battle of Antietam. Lincoln said of it: "When Lee came over the river, I made a resolution that if McClellan drove him back I would send the proclamation after him. The battle of Antietam was fought Wednesday, and until Saturday I could not find out whether we had gained a victory or lost a battle. It was then too late to issue the proclamation that day; and the fact is I fixed it up a little Sunday, and Monday I let them have it."

This was the preliminary proclamation and was issued September 22d. The supplementary document, the real proclamation of emancipation, was issued January 1, 1863. As the latter covers substantially the ground of the former, it is not necessary to repeat both and only the second one is given.

EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION.

Whereas, on the twenty-second day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, a proclamation was issued by the President of the United States, containing, among other things, the following, to wit:—

That on the first day of January in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any state, or designated part of a state, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward and forever free, and the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.

That the Executive will, on the first day of January aforesaid by proclamation, designate the states and part of states, if any, in which the people thereof respectively shall then be in rebellion against the United States; and the fact that any state, or the people thereof, shall on that day be in good faith represented in the congress of the United States by members chosen thereto at elections wherein a majority of the qualified voters of such state shall have participated, shall, in the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such state and the people thereof are not then in rebellion against the United States:—