CHAPTER XXIII
THE WAR BEGINS
No President ever assumed office under such circumstances as Abraham Lincoln. Nominally chief magistrate of the whole United States, seven members of the confederation had already seceded. These were South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Texas, Florida, and Louisiana. Some had been hurried out of the Union by a few hot-headed politicians, against the wishes of a considerable part of their inhabitants. It is known that General Lee and Alexander H. Stephens, though they ultimately went with their States, were exceedingly reluctant to array themselves in opposition to the Government.
Mr. Stephens used these patriotic words in an address before the Legislature of Georgia, Nov. 14, 1860, after the result of the election was made known: “The first question that presents itself is, shall the people of the South secede from the Union in consequence of the election of Mr. Lincoln to the Presidency of the United States? My countrymen, I tell you candidly, frankly, and earnestly that I do not think that they ought. In my judgment the election of no man, constitutionally chosen to that high office, is sufficient cause for any State to separate from the Union. It ought to stand by and aid still in maintaining the Constitution of the country. To make a point of resistance to the Government, to withdraw from it because a man has been constitutionally elected, puts us in the wrong… We went into the election with this people. The result was different from what we wished; but the election has been constitutionally held. Were we to make a point of resistance to the Government, and go out of the Union on this account, the record would be made up hereafter against us.”
These wise and moderate counsels did not prevail. There was a feeling of bitterness which impelled Southern men to extreme measures. More over, the temper and firmness of the North were misunderstood. It was thought they would make the most humiliating concessions to preserve the integrity of the Union, while on the other hand the constancy and determination of the Southern people were not sufficiently appreciated at the North.
Mr. Lincoln’s first necessary act was to make choice of a Cabinet. He demonstrated his sagacity in surrounding himself with trained and experienced statesmen, as will be seen at once by the following list:
Secretary of State, William H. Seward, of New York; Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon P. Chase, of Ohio; Secretary of War, Simon Cameron, of Pennsylvania; Secretary of the Navy, Gideon Welles, of Connecticut; Secretary of the Interior, Caleb B. Smith, of Indiana; Postmaster-General, Montgomery Blair, of Maryland; Attorney-General, Edward Bates, of Missouri.
These gentlemen were confirmed, and entered upon the discharge of their duties. Thus the new Administration was complete. Simon Cameron, as Secretary of War, was superseded in less than a year by Edwin M. Stanton, who proved to be the right man in the right place. A man of remarkable executive talent, never shrinking from the heavy burden of labor and care which his office imposed, he worked indefatigably, and though he may have offended some by his brusque manners, and unnecessary sternness, it is doubtful whether a better man could have been selected for his post. He had been a member of Mr. Buchanan’s Cabinet in its last days, and did what he could to infuse something of his own vigor into the timid and vacillating Executive.
It will be seen that Mr. Lincoln called to the most important place in the Cabinet the man who was his most prominent rival for the nomination, William H. Seward. In doing this he strengthened his administration largely in the minds of the people at large, for who was there who was ignorant of Mr. Seward’s great ability and statesmanship? It may be remarked here that the new President left to each of his Secretaries large discretion in their respective departments, and did not interfere with or overrule them except in cases of extreme necessity. A man of smaller nature would have gratified his vanity and sense of importance by meddling with, and so marring the work of his constitutional advisers; but having selected the best men he could find, Mr. Lincoln left them free to act, and held them responsible for the successful management of their departments.
The new President was not long left in uncertainty as to the intentions of the seceding States. On the 13th of March he received a communication from two gentlemen, claiming to be commissioners from a government composed of the seven seceding States, expressing a desire to enter upon negotiations for the adjustment of all questions growing out of the separation. To have received them would have been to admit the fact and right of secession, and therefore their request was denied. On the 11th of April, General Beauregard, in accordance with instructions from the rebel Secretary of War, demanded of Major Anderson, in command at Fort Sumter, the surrender of the fort. Major Anderson declined, but was compelled to do so on the morning of the 4th, after a bombardment of thirty-three hours. Thus the South had taken the initiative, and had made an armed attack upon the Government. Thus far the President had pursued a conciliatory – some thought it a timid – policy, but when he heard that Sumter had been taken forcible possession of by rebellious citizens, he felt that there was no more room for hesitation. The time had come to act.
On the day succeeding the evacuation of the fort, he issued a proclamation calling for 75,000 soldiers to recover possession of the “forts, places, and property which have been seized from the Union,” and at the same time summoned an extra session of both Houses of Congress, to assemble on Thursday, the fourth day of July, “to consider and determine such measures as, in their wisdom, the public safety and interest may seem to demand.”
It is needless to say that the evacuation of Fort Sumter, and the President’s proclamation, created a whirlwind of excitement. The South was jubilant, the North was deeply stirred, and the proclamation was generally approved and promptly responded to. These spirited lines of the poet Whittier are well called
THE VOICE OF THE NORTH
Up the hill-side, down the glen
Rouse the sleeping citizen;
Summon out the might of men!
Like a lion growling low —
Like a night-storm rising slow —
Like the tread of unseen foe —
It is coming – it is nigh!
Stand your homes and altars by,
On your own free threshold die!
Clang the bells in all your spires,
On the grey hills of your sires
Fling to heaven your signal fires!
Oh! for God and duty stand,
Heart to heart, and hand to hand,
Round the old graves of the land.
Who so shrinks or falters now,
Who so to the yoke would bow,
Brand the craven on his brow.
Freedom’s soil has only place
For a free and fearless race —
None for traitors false and base.
Perish party – perish clan,
Strike together while you can,
Like the strong arm of one man.
Like the angel’s voice sublime,
Heard above a world of crime,
Crying for the end of Time.
With one heart and with one mouth
Let the North speak to the South;
Speak the word befitting both.
In contrast with this, I will cite a poem, which might be called, not inappropriately,
THE VOICE OF THE SOUTH
Rebels! ’tis a holy name!
The name our fathers bore,
When battling in the cause of Right
Against the tyrant in his might,
In the dark days of yore.
Rebels! ’tis our family name!
Our father, Washington,
Was the arch rebel in the fight,
And gave the name to us – aright
Of father unto son.
Rebels! ’tis our given name!
Our mother Liberty
Received the title with her fame,
In days of grief, of fear and shame,
When at her breast were we.
Rebels! ’tis our sealed name!
A baptism of blood!
The war – ay, and the din of strife —
The fearful contest, life for life —
The mingled crimson flood!
Rebels! ’tis a patriot’s name!
In struggles it was given;
We bore it then when tyrants raved,
And through their curses ’twas engraved
On the doomsday book of heaven.
Rebels! ’tis our fighting name!
For peace rules o’er the land,
Until they speak of craven woe —
Until our rights received a blow,
From foes’ or brother’s hand.
Rebels! ’tis our dying name!
For although life is dear,
Yet freemen born and freemen bred,
We’d rather live as freemen dead
Than live in slavish fear.
Then call us Rebels if you will —
We glory in the name;
For bending under unjust laws,
And swearing faith to an unjust cause.
We count a greater shame.
CHAPTER XXIV
MR. LINCOLN IN THE WHITE HOUSE
And thus commenced the great war of the Rebellion – a war which in some respects has never had its parallel. Commencing but a few weeks after Mr. Lincoln’s administration began, it was at its last gasp when upon the 4th of March, 1865, he was for the second time inaugurated.
If I were to write a full account of Mr. Lincoln’s administration, it must include a history of the war. I propose to do neither. As my title imports, I have aimed only to show by what steps a backwoods boy, born and brought up on the Western prairies, with the smallest possible advantages of education and fortune, came to stand in the foremost place among his fellow-citizens. I might, therefore, consider my task accomplished; but, if I should stop here, I should have failed to set forth fully the character and traits of this remarkable man; for it was only in the years of his Presidency that the world, and, I may add, his friends, came to know him as he was. I doubt even if he knew himself until the responsibilities of office fell upon him; and, under the burden, he expanded to the full stature of a providential man. There are some aspects in which I shall consider him, and, in the incidents and anecdotes I may have to relate, I shall not attempt to preserve the order of time.
First, then, the consciousness of official rank never appeared present to Mr. Lincoln. In the White House, as in his modest Western home, he was the same plain, unpretending Abraham Lincoln. Nor did he lose his sympathy for the humble class from which he had himself sprung. Upon this point I quote from Mr. F. B. Carpenter’s very interesting volume, already referred to:
“The Hon. Mr. Odell gave me a deeply interesting incident which occurred in the winter of 1864 at one of the most crowded of the Presidential levees, illustrating very perfectly Mr. Lincoln’s true politeness and delicacy of feeling.
“On the occasion referred to the pressure became so great that the usual ceremony of hand-shaking was for once discontinued. The President had been standing for some time, bowing his acknowledgments to the thronging multitude, when his eye fell upon a couple who had entered unobserved – a wounded soldier and his plainly-dressed mother. Before they could pass out he made his way to where they stood, and, taking each of them by the hand, with a delicacy and cordiality which brought tears to many eyes, he assured them of his interest and welcome. Governors, Senators, and diplomats passed with simply a nod; but that pale, young face he might never see again. To him and to others like him did the nation owe his life; and Abraham Lincoln was not the man to forget this, even in the crowded and brilliant assembly of the distinguished of the land.”
“Mr. Lincoln’s heart was always open to children,” says the same writer. “I shall never forget his coming into the studio one day and finding my own little boy of two summers playing on the floor. A member of the Cabinet was with him, but, laying aside all restraint, he took the little fellow at once in his arms, and they were soon on the best of terms.
“Old Daniel gave me a touching illustration of this element in his character. A poor woman from Philadelphia had been waiting with a baby in her arms for several days to see the President. It appeared by her story that her husband had furnished a substitute for the army, but some time afterward, in a state of intoxication, was induced to enlist. When reaching the post assigned his regiment he deserted, thinking the Government was not entitled to his services. Returning home he was arrested, tried, convicted, and sentenced to be shot. The sentence was to be executed on a Saturday. On Monday his wife left her home with her baby to endeavor to see the President.
“Said Daniel, ‘She had been waiting here three days, and there was no chance for her to get in. Late in the afternoon of the third day, the President was going through the passage to his private room to get a cup of tea. On the way he heard the baby cry. He instantly went back to his office and rang the bell.
“ ’ “Daniel,” said he, “is there a woman with a baby in the anteroom?”
“ ‘I said there was, and if he would allow me to say it, it was a case he ought to see; for it was a matter of life and death.
“ ’ “Send her to me at once,” said he.
“ ‘She went in, told her story, and the President pardoned her husband. As the woman came out from his presence her eyes were lifted and her lips moving in prayer, the tears streaming down her cheeks.’ Said Daniel, ‘I went up to her, and, pulling her shawl, said, “Madam, it was the baby that did it.” ’ ”
It may readily be supposed that a man of Mr. Lincoln’s democratic tastes and training might on some occasions act very unconventionally, and in a way to shock those who are sticklers for etiquette. Certainly, he was very far from aping royalty, as may be judged from the following incident:
When the Prince of Wales was betrothed to the Princess Alexandra, Queen Victoria announced the fact to each of the European sovereigns and to the rulers of other countries by an autograph letter. Lord Lyons, the British ambassador at Washington, who was a bachelor, called upon President Lincoln to present this important document in person.
“May it please your Excellency,” said the ambassador, with formal dignity, “I hold in my hand an autograph letter from my royal mistress, Queen Victoria, which I have been commanded to present to your Excellency. In it she informs your Excellency that her son, His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, is about to contract a matrimonial alliance with Her Royal Highness, the Princess Alexandra, of Denmark.”
The President’s eye twinkled as he answered, briefly, “Lord Lyons, go thou and do likewise.”
Says Dr. Holland: “Mr. Lincoln’s habits at the White House were as simple as they were at his old home in Illinois. He never alluded to himself as ‘President,’ or as occupying ‘the Presidency.’ His office he always designated as ‘this place.’ ‘Call me Lincoln,’ said he to a friend. ‘Mr. President’ had become so very tiresome to him. ‘If you see a newsboy down the street, send him up this way,’ said he to a passenger as he stood waiting for the morning news at his gate.
“Friends cautioned him against exposing himself so openly in the midst of enemies, but he never heeded them. He frequently walked the streets at night entirely unprotected, and he felt any check upon his free movements as a great annoyance. He delighted to see his familiar Western friends, and he gave them always a cordial welcome. He met them on the old footing, and fell at once into the accustomed habits of talking and story-telling. An old acquaintance with his wife visited Washington. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln proposed to these friends a ride in the Presidential carriage. It should be stated in advance that the two men had probably never seen each other with gloves on in their lives, unless when they were used as protection from the cold. The question of each – Mr. Lincoln at the White House and his friend at the hotel – was whether he should wear gloves. Of course, the ladies urged gloves; but Mr. Lincoln only put his in his pocket, to be used or not, according to circumstances.
“When the Presidential party arrived at the hotel to take in their friends, they found the gentleman, overcome by his wife’s persuasions, very handsomely gloved. The moment he took his seat he began to draw off the clinging kids, while Mr. Lincoln began to draw his on.
“ ‘No, no, no!’ protested his friend, tugging at his gloves; ‘it is none of my doings. Put up your gloves, Mr. Lincoln.’
“So the two old friends were on even and easy terms, and had their ride after their old fashion.”
The President of the United States can afford to be more unconventional than kings and emperors, but I should not be surprised to learn that they too, at times, would be glad to escape from the rigid rules of etiquette and enjoy the freedom of a private citizen. Even Queen Victoria, it is related, can unbend when she meets her early friends, and forget for the time that she must maintain the dignity of a Queen.
CHAPTER XXV
MR. LINCOLN AND THE LITTLE BOY – A GROUP OF ANECDOTES
Ex-Governor Rice, of Massachusetts, tells a story of President Lincoln, which will prove of especial interest to my young readers. I transcribe it from the Union Signal:
On an occasion (while he was in Congress) he and Senator Wilson found it necessary to visit the President on business, he says:
“We were obliged to wait some time in the anteroom before we could be received; and, when at length the door was opened to us, a small lad, perhaps ten or twelve years old, who had been waiting for admission several days without success, slipped in between us, and approached the President in advance.
“The latter gave the Senator and myself a cordial but brief salutation, and turning immediately to the lad, said, ‘And who is the little boy?’
“During their conference the Senator and myself were apparently forgotten. The boy soon told his story, which was in substance that he had come to Washington seeking employment as a page in the House of Representatives, and he wished the President to give him such an appointment. To this the President replied that such appointments were not at his disposal, and that application must be made to the door-keeper of the House at the Capitol.
“ ‘But, sir,’ said the lad, still undaunted, ‘I am a good boy, and have a letter from my mother, and one from the supervisors of my town, and one from my Sunday-school teacher; they all told me that I could earn enough in one session of Congress to keep my mother and the rest of us comfortable all the remainder of the year.’
“The President took the lad’s papers and ran his eye over them with that penetrating and absorbent look so familiar to all who knew him, and then took his pen and wrote upon the back of one of them. ‘If Capt. Goodnow can give a place to this good little boy, I shall be gratified,’ and signed it ‘A. Lincoln.’
“The boy’s face became radiant with hope, and he walked out of the room with a step as light as though all the angels were whispering their congratulations.
“Only after the lad had gone did the President seem to realize that a Senator and another person had been for some time waiting to see him.
“Think for a moment of the President of a great nation, and that nation engaged in one of the most terrible wars waged against men, himself worn down with anxiety and labor, subjected to the alternations of success and defeat, racked by complaints of the envious, the disloyal, and the unreasonable, pressed to the decision of grave questions of public policy, and encumbered by the numberless and nameless incidents of civil and martial responsibility, yet able so far to forget them all as to give himself up for the time being to the errand of a little boy, who had braved an interview uninvited, and of whom he knew nothing, but that he had a story to tell of his mother and of his ambition to serve her.”
Of a different character, but equally characteristic of Mr. Lincoln, is a story told by General Charles G. Dahlgren, brother of Admiral Dahlgren:
“As Mr. Lincoln and my brother were about to go to dinner, and while the President was washing his hands, Secretary Stanton entered excitedly with a telegram in his hand and said, ‘Mr. President, I have just received a dispatch from Portland that Jake Thompson is there waiting to take the steamer to England and I want to arrest him.’ Mr. Lincoln began to wipe his hands on a towel, and said, in a long, drawling voice, ‘Better let him slide.’
“ ‘But, Mr. President,’ said Secretary Stanton, ‘this man is one of the chief traitors – was one of Buchanan’s Cabinet, betrayed the country then, and has fought against us ever since. He should be punished.’
“ ‘W-e-l-l,’ said the President, ‘if Jake Thompson is satisfied with the issue of the war, I am. B-e-t-t-e-r let him slide.’
“ ‘Such men should be punished to the full extent of the law,’ said Mr. Stanton. ‘Why, if we don’t punish the leaders of the rebellion, what shall we say to their followers?’
“B-e-t-t-e-r let them slide, Stanton,” said the President, laying aside his towel.
“Mr. Stanton went out, evidently annoyed, and Mr. Lincoln, turning to my brother, said: ‘Dahl, that is one of the things I don’t intend to allow. When the war is over, I want it to stop, and let both sides go to work and heal the wounds, which, Heaven knows, are bad enough; but jogging and pulling them is not the best way to heal a sore.’
“And the old General, turning to his work, said, with a sigh, ‘If that policy had been carried out, the wounds would have healed long ago.’ ”
The following story, told by M. J. Ramsdell, shows that Mr. Lincoln judged men sometimes by their spirit rather than their military qualifications:
“A sergeant of infantry, whom I shall call Dick Gower, commanded his company in a great many battles in the West in the early days of the war. His company officers had all been killed, but right royally did Dick handle his men. At the first lull in the campaign, the officers of his regiment, of his brigade, and of his division, united in recommending him for a lieutenancy in the regular army. The commanding officer joined in the recommendation. Mr. Lincoln ordered the appointment. Forthwith, Sergeant Dick was ordered before an examining board here in Washington, for the regular army officers were tenacious of what they thought their superiority. Dick presented himself in a soiled and faded sergeant’s uniform, his face and hands bronzed and cracked by the winds and suns of a hot campaign.
“The curled darling of Washington society, the perfumed graduates of West Point, who had never seen a squadron set in the field, conducted the examination to ascertain if Dick was fit to be an officer in the regular army. They asked him questions as to engineering, mathematics, philosophy, and ordnance, of harbor warfare, of field campaigns, and all such stuff. Not a single question could Dick answer. ‘What is an echelon?’ was asked. ‘I don’t know,’ answered Dick; ‘I never saw one.’ ‘What is an abbattis?’ was the next question? Dick answered: ‘You’ve got me again. We haven’t got ’em in the West.’ ‘Well, what is a hollow square?’ continued his tormentors. ‘Don’t know,’ said Dick sorrowfully; ‘I never heard of one.’ ‘Well,’ finally said a young snip in eye-glasses, ‘what would you do in command of a company if the cavalry should charge on you?’ They had at last got down to Dick’s comprehension, and he answered with a resolute face and a flashing eye, ‘I’d give them Jesse, that’s what I’d do, and I’d make a hollow square in every mother’s son of them.’ A few more technical questions were asked, but poor Dick was not able to answer them, and the examination closed.
“The report was duly sent to the Secretary of War, who submitted it to Mr. Lincoln, saying that evidently Dick would not do for an officer. Mr. Lincoln, when through with the report, and found that Dick had not answered a single question, but he came to where Dick said what he would do if attacked by cavalry, and then he did what sensible Abe Lincoln did in all such matters, he threw the report on his table and made a little memorandum in pencil ordering the Secretary of War to appoint Dick Gower a lieutenant in the regular army. Dick achieved distinction afterward, and was everywhere known in the army as a man without fear, who never made a mistake.”
A correspondent of the Boston Traveller furnishes a humorous story told by President Lincoln, to show the embarrassment which he felt as to the disposal of Jefferson Davis:
“A gentleman told me a story recently which well illustrates Lincoln’s immense fund of anecdotes. Said he: ‘Just after Jeff Davis had been captured I called over at the White House to see President Lincoln. I was ushered in, and asked him: “Well, Mr. President, what are you going to do with Jeff Davis?” Lincoln looked at me for a moment, and then said, in his peculiar, humorous way: “That reminds me of a story. A boy ’way out West caught a coon and tamed it to a considerable extent, but the animal created such mischief about the house that his mother ordered him to take it away and not to come home until he could return without his pet. The boy went down-town with the coon, secured with a strong piece of twine, and in about an hour he was found sitting on the edge of the curbstone, holding the coon with one hand and crying as though his heart would break. A big-hearted gentleman, who was passing, stopped and kindly inquired: ‘Say, little boy, what is the matter?’ The boy wiped a tear from his eye with his sleeve, and in an injured tone, howled: ‘Matter! Ask me what’s the matter! You see that coon there? Well, I don’t know what to do with the darn thing. I can’t sell it, I can’t kill it, and ma won’t let me take it home.’ That,” continued Lincoln, “is precisely my case. I am like the boy with the coon. I can’t sell him, I can’t kill him, and I can’t take him home!” ’ ”
I have already remarked that Mr. Lincoln was superstitious. He seemed to be deeply impressed by dreams, and claimed to be notified in this way of the approach of important events.
“On the Friday of his death he called his Cabinet together at noon, and he seemed dispirited. He said: ‘I wish I could hear from Sherman.’ General Grant, who was present, said: ‘You will hear well from Sherman.’ He said: ‘I don’t know. I have had a dream, the same that I had before the battles of Bull Run, of Chancellorsville, and of Swan River. It has,’ he said, ‘always boded disaster.’ It made a great impression on all of the Cabinet and on General Grant. Mr. Lincoln had been remonstrated with for going about unattended, but he said: ‘What is the use of precautions? If they want to kill me they will kill me.’ He was killed, but history will place him next to Washington in the list of beloved Presidents. The skill displayed by him in managing Chase, Stanton, Sumner, Fessenden, Wade, Seward, and other candidates for the Presidency, was wonderful, and when there was any hitch he was reminded of a story, illustrating the situation. His stories were, in short, ‘parables.’ ” —Boston Budget.
Even in the hour of victory he was thoughtful, not jubilant.
“When General Weitzel escorted President Lincoln and his companions through the Capitol at Richmond the day after the occupation, in April, 1865, they reached what the rebels called the Cabinet room of the great President of the Southern Confederacy. General Weitzel said: ‘This, Mr. President, is the chair which has been so long occupied by President Davis.’ He pulled it from the table and motioned the President to sit down. Mr. Lincoln’s face took an extra look of care and melancholy. The narrator says ‘he looked at it a moment and slowly approached and wearily sat down. It was an hour of exultation with the soldiers; we felt that the war was ended, and we knew that all over the North bells were pealing, cannon booming, and the people were delirious with joy over the prospect of peace. I expected to see the President manifest some spirit of triumph as he sat in the seat so long occupied by the rebel Government; but his great head fell into his broad hand and a sigh that seemed to come from the soul of a nation, escaped his lips and saddened every man present. His mind seemed to be travelling back through the dark years of the war, and he was counting the cost in treasure, life, and blood that made it possible for him to sit there. As he rose without a word and left the room slowly and sadly, tears involuntarily came to the eyes of every man present, and we soldiers realized that we had not done all the suffering nor made all the sacrifices.’ ”
Where Abraham Lincoln obtained some of his anti-slavery ideas may be learned from a recent article in the Century, by Leonard W. Bacon, who describes the effects of his father’s writings upon this subject on the mind of the future President:
“ ‘These essays’ – from the preface to which I have just quoted – had been written at divers times from 1833 onward, and were collected, in 1846, into a volume which has had a history. It is a book of exact definitions, just discriminations, lucid and tenacious arguments; and it deals with certain obstinate and elusive sophistries in an effective way. It is not to be wondered at that when it fell into the hands of a young Western lawyer, Abraham Lincoln, – whose characteristic was ‘not to be content with an idea until he could bound it north, east, south, and west,’ – it should prove to be a book exactly after his mind. It was to him not only a study on slavery, but a model in the rhetoric of debate. It is not difficult to trace the influence of it in that great stump-debate with Douglas, in which Lincoln’s main strength lay in his cautious wisdom in declining to take the extreme positions into which his wily antagonist tried to provoke or entice him. When, many years after the little book had been forgotten by the public, and after slavery had fallen before the President’s proclamation, it appeared from Lincoln’s own declaration to Dr. Joseph P. Thompson that he owed to that book his definite, reasonable, and irrefragable views on the slavery question, my father felt to sing the Nunc dimittis.”