Upon the 4th of April, against the counsel and in spite of the apprehensions of nearly all his advisers, Lincoln insisted upon coming down the river from Washington and making his way into the Rebel capital. There was no thought of vaingloriousness or of posing as the victor. He came under the impression that some civil authorities would probably have remained in Richmond with whom immediate measures might be taken to stop unnecessary fighting and to secure for the city and for the State a return of peaceful government. Thomas Nast, who while not a great artist was inspired to produce during the War some of the most graphic and storytelling records in the shape of pictures of events, made a drawing which was purchased later by the New York Union League Club, showing Lincoln on his way through Main Street, with the coloured folks of the town and of the surrounding country crowding about the man whom they hailed as their deliverer, and in their enthusiastic adoration trying to touch so much as the hem of his garment. The picture is history in showing what actually happened and it is pathetic history in recalling how great were the hopes that came to the coloured people from the success of the North and from the certainty of the end of slavery. It is sad to recall the many disappointments that during the forty years since the occupation of Richmond have hampered the uplifting of the race. Lincoln's hope that some representative of the Confederacy might have remained in Richmond, if only for the purpose of helping to bring to a close as rapidly as possible the waste and burdens of continued war, was not realised. The members of the Confederate government seem to have been interested only in getting away from Richmond and to have given no thought to the duty they owed to their own people to cooperate with the victors in securing a prompt return of law and order.
On the 9th of April, came the surrender of Lee at Appomattox, four years, less three days, from the date of the firing of the first gun of the War at Charleston. The muskets turned in by the ragged and starving files of the remnants of Lee's army represented only a small portion of those which a few days earlier had been holding the entrenchments at Petersburg. As soon as it became evident that the army was not going to be able to break through the Federal lines and begin a fresh campaign in North Carolina, the men scattered from the retreating columns right and left, in many cases carrying their muskets to their own homes as a memorial fairly earned by plucky and persistent service. There never was an army that did better fighting or that was better deserving of the recognition, not only of the States in behalf of whose so-called "independence" the War had been waged, but on the part of opponents who were able to realise the character and the effectiveness of the fighting.
The scene in the little farm-house where the two commanders met to arrange the terms of surrender was dramatic in more ways than one. General Lee had promptly given up his own baggage waggon for use in carrying food for the advance brigade and as he could save but one suit of clothes, he had naturally taken his best. He was, therefore, notwithstanding the fatigues and the privations of the past week, in full dress uniform. He was one of the handsomest men of his generation, and his beauty was not only of feature but of expression of character. Grant, who never gave much thought to his personal appearance, had for days been away from his baggage train, and under the urgency of keeping as near as possible to the front line with reference to the probability of being called to arrange terms for surrender, he had not found the opportunity of securing a proper coat in place of his fatigue blouse. I believe that even his sword had been mislaid, but he was able to borrow one for the occasion from a staff officer. When the main details of the surrender had been talked over, Grant looked about the group in the room, which included, in addition to two staff officers who had come with Lee, a group of five or six of his own assistants, who had managed to keep up with the advance, to select the aid who should write out the paper. His eye fell upon Colonel Ely Parker, a brigade commander who had during the past few months served on Grant's staff. "Colonel Parker, I will ask you," said Grant, "as the only real American in the room, to draft this paper." Parker was a full-blooded Indian, belonging to one of the Iroquois tribes of New York.
Grant's suggestion that the United States had no requirement for the horses of Lee's army and that the men might find these convenient for "spring ploughing" was received by Lee with full appreciation. The first matter in order after the completion of the surrender was the issue of rations to the starving Southern troops. "General Grant," said Lee, "a train was ordered by way of Danville to bring rations to meet my army and it ought to be now at such a point," naming a village eight or nine miles to the south-west. General Sheridan, with a twinkle in his eye, now put in a word: "The train from the south is there, General Lee, or at least it was there yesterday. My men captured it and the rations will be available." General Lee turns, mounts his old horse Traveller, a valued comrade, and rides slowly through the ranks first of the blue and then of the grey. Every hat came off from the men in blue as an expression of respect to a great soldier and a true gentleman, while from the ranks in grey there was one great sob of passionate grief and finally, almost for the first time in Lee's army, a breaking of discipline as the men crowded forward to get a closer look at, or possibly a grasp of the hand of, the great leader who had fought and failed but whose fighting and whose failure had been so magnificent.
IX
LINCOLN'S TASK ENDED
On the 11th of April, Lincoln makes his last public utterance. In a brief address to some gathering in Washington, he says, "There will shortly be announcement of a new policy." It is hardly to be doubted that the announcement which he had in mind was to be concerned with the problem of reconstruction. He had already outlined in his mind the essential principles on which the readjustment must be made. In this same address, he points out that "whether or not the seceded States be out of the Union, they are out of their proper relations to the Union." We may feel sure that he would not have permitted the essential matters of readjustment to be delayed while political lawyers were arguing over the constitutional issue. On one side was the group which maintained that in instituting the Rebellion and in doing what was in their power to destroy the national existence, the people of the seceding States had forfeited all claims to the political liberty of their communities. According to this contention, the Slave States were to be treated as conquered territory, and it simply remained for the government of the United States to reshape this territory as might be found convenient or expedient. According to the other view, as secession was itself something which was not to be admitted, being, from the constitutional point of view, impossible, there never had in the legal sense of the term been any secession. The instant the armed rebellion had been brought to an end, the rebelling States were to be considered as having resumed their old-time relations with the States of the North and with the central government. They were under the same obligations as before for taxation, for subordination in foreign relations, and for the acceptance of the control of the Federal government on all matters classed as Federal. On the other hand, they were entitled to the privileges that had from the beginning been exercised by independent States: namely, the control of their local affairs on matters not classed as Federal, and they had a right to their proportionate representation in Congress and to their proportion of the electoral vote for President. It has been very generally recognised in the South as in the North that if Lincoln could have lived, some of the most serious of the difficulties that arose during the reconstruction period through the friction between these conflicting theories would have been avoided. The Southerners would have realised that the head of the government had a cordial and sympathetic interest in doing what might be practicable not only to re-establish their relations as citizens of the United States, but to further in every way the return of their communities to prosperity, a prosperity which, after the loss of the property in their slaves and the enormous destruction of their general resources, seemed to be sadly distant.
On the 14th of April, comes the dramatic tragedy ending on the day following in the death of Lincoln. The word dramatic applies in this instance with peculiar fitness. While the nation mourned for the loss of its leader, while the soldiers were stricken with grief that their great captain should have been struck down, while the South might well be troubled that the control and adjustment of the great interstate perplexities was not to be in the hands of the wise, sympathetic, and patient ruler, for the worker himself the rest after the four years of continuous toil and fearful burdens and anxieties might well have been grateful. The great task had been accomplished and the responsibilities accepted in the first inaugural had been fulfilled.
In March, 1861, Lincoln had accepted the task of steering the nation through the storm of rebellion, the divided opinions and counsels of friends, and the fierce onslaught of foes at home and abroad. In April, 1865, the national existence was assured, the nation's credit was established, the troops were prepared to return to their homes and resume their work as citizens. At no time in history had any people been able against such apparently overwhelming perils and difficulties to maintain a national existence. There was, therefore, notwithstanding the great misfortune, for the people South and North, in the loss of the wise ruler at a time when so many difficulties remained to be adjusted, a dramatic fitness in having the life of the leader close just as the last army of antagonists was laying down its arms. The first problem of the War that came to the administration of 1861 was that of restoring the flag over Fort Sumter. On the 14th of April, the day when Booth's pistol was laying low the President, General Anderson, who four years earlier had so sturdily defended Sumter, was fulfilling the duty of restoring the Stars and Stripes.
The news of the death of Lincoln came to the army of Sherman, with which my own regiment happened at the time to be associated, on the 17th of April. On leaving Savannah, Sherman had sent word to the north to have all the troops who were holding posts along the coasts of North Carolina concentrated on a line north of Goldsborough. It was his dread that General Johnston might be able to effect a junction with the retreating forces of Lee and it was important to do whatever was practicable, either with forces or with a show of forces, to delay Johnston and to make such combination impossible. A thin line of Federal troops was brought into position to the north of Johnston's advance, but Sherman himself kept so closely on the heels of his plucky and persistent antagonist that, irrespective of any opposing line to the north, Johnston would have found it impossible to continue his progress towards Virginia. He was checked at Goldsborough after the battle of Bentonville and it was at Goldsborough that the last important force of the Confederacy was surrendered.
We soldiers learned only later some of the complications that preceded that surrender. President Davis and his associates in the Confederate government had, with one exception, made their way south, passing to the west of Sherman's advance. The exception was Post-master-General Reagan, who had decided to remain with General Johnston. He appears to have made good with Johnston the claim that he, Reagan, represented all that was left of the Confederate government. He persuaded Johnston to permit him to undertake the negotiations with Sherman, and he had, it seems, the ambition of completing with his own authority the arrangements that were to terminate the War. Sherman, simple-hearted man that he was, permitted himself, for the time, to be confused by Reagan's semblance of authority. He executed with Reagan a convention which covered not merely the surrender of Johnston's army but the preliminaries of a final peace. This convention was of course made subject to the approval of the authorities in Washington. When it came into the hands of President Johnson, it was, under the counsel of Seward and Stanton, promptly disavowed. Johnson instructed Grant, who had reported to Washington from Appomattox, to make his way at once to Goldsborough and, relieving Sherman, to arrange for the surrender of Johnston's army on the terms of Appomattox. Grant's response was characteristic. He said in substance: "I am here, Mr. President, to obey orders and under the decision of the Commander-in-chief I will go to Goldsborough and will carry out your instructions. I prefer, however, to act as a messenger simply. I am entirely unwilling to take out of General Sherman's hands the command of the army that is so properly Sherman's army and that he has led with such distinctive success. General Sherman has rendered too great a service to the country to make it proper to have him now humiliated on the ground of a political blunder, and I at least am unwilling to be in any way a party to his humiliation."
Stanton was disposed to approve of Johnson's first instruction and to have Sherman at once relieved, but the man who had just come from Appomattox was too strong with the people to make it easy to disregard his judgment on a matter which was in part at least military. The President was still new to his office and he was still prepared to accept counsel. The matter was, therefore, arranged as Grant desired. Grant took the instructions and had his personal word with Sherman, but this word was so quietly given that none of the men in Sherman's army, possibly no one but Sherman himself, knew of Grant's visit. Grant took pains so to arrange the last stage of his journey that he came into the camp at Goldsborough well after dark, and, after an hour's interview with Sherman, he made his way at once northward outside of our lines and of our knowledge.
On Grant's arrival, Sherman at once assumed that he was to be superseded. "No, no," said Grant; "do you not see that I have come without even a sword? There is here no question of superseding the commander of this army, but simply of correcting an error and of putting things as they were. This convention must be cancelled. You will have no further negotiation with Mr. Reagan or with any civilian claiming to represent the Confederacy. Your transactions will be made with the commander of the Confederate army, and you will accept the surrender of that army on the terms that were formulated at Appomattox." Sherman was keen enough to understand what must have passed in Washington, and was able to appreciate the loyal consideration shown by General Grant in the successful effort to protect the honour and the prestige of his old comrade. The surrender was carried out on the 26th of April, eleven days after the death of Lincoln. Johnston's troops, like those of Lee, were distributed to their homes. The officers retained their side-arms, and the men, leaving their rifles, took with them not only such horses and mules as they still had with them connected with the cavalry or artillery, but also a number of horses and mules which had been captured by Sherman's army and which had not yet been placed on the United States army roster. Sherman understood, as did Grant, the importance of giving to these poor farmers whatever facilities might be available to enable them again to begin their home work. Word was at once sent to General Johnston after Grant's departure that the, only terms that could be considered was a surrender of the army, and that the details of such surrender Sherman would himself arrange with Johnston. Reagan slipped away southward and is not further heard of in history.
The record of Lincoln's relations to the events of the War would not be complete without a reference to the capture of Jefferson Davis. On returning to Washington after his visit to Richmond, Lincoln had been asked what should be done with Davis when he was captured. The answer was characteristic: "I do not see," said Lincoln, "that we have any use for a white elephant." Lincoln's clear judgment had at once recognised the difficulties that would arise in case Davis should become a prisoner. The question as to the treatment of the ruler of the late Confederacy was very different from, and much more complicated than, the fixing of terms of surrender for the Confederate armies. If Davis had succeeded in getting out of the country, it is probable that the South, or at least a large portion of the South, would have used him as a kind of a scapegoat. Many of the Confederate soldiers were indignant with Davis for his bitter animosities to some of their best leaders. Davis was a capable man and had in him the elements of statesmanship. He was, however, vain and, like some other vain men, placed the most importance upon the capacities in which he was the least effective. He had had a brief and creditable military experience, serving as a lieutenant with Scott's army in Mexico, and he had impressed himself with the belief that he was a great commander. Partly on this ground, and partly apparently as a result of general "incompatibility of temper," Davis managed to quarrel at different times during the War with some of the generals who had shown themselves the most capable and the most serviceable. He would probably have quarrelled with Lee, if it had been possible for any one to make quarrel relations with that fine-natured gentleman, and if Lee had not been too strongly entrenched in the hearts of his countrymen to make any interference with him unwise, even for the President. Davis had, however, managed to interfere very seriously with the operations of men like Beauregard, Sidney Johnson, Joseph Johnston, and other commanders whose continued leadership was most important for the Confederacy. It was the obstinacy of Davis that had protracted the War through the winter and spring of 1865, long after it was evident from the reports of Lee and of the other commanders that the resources of the Confederacy were exhausted and that any further struggle simply meant an inexcusable loss of life on both sides. As a Northern soldier who has had experience in Southern prisons, I may be excused also from bearing in mind the fearful responsibility that rests upon Davis for the mismanagement of those prisons, a mismanagement which caused the death of thousands of brave men on the frozen slopes of Belle Isle, on the foul floors of Libby and Danville, and on the rotten ground used for three years as a living place and as a dying place within the stockade at Andersonville. Davis received from month to month the reports of the conditions in these and in the other prisons of the Confederacy. Davis could not have been unaware of the stupidity and the brutality of keeping prisoners in Richmond during the last winter of the War when the lines of road still open were absolutely inadequate to supply the troops in the trenches or the people of the town. Reports were brought to Davis more than once from Andersonville showing that a large portion of the deaths that were there occurring were due to the vile and rotten condition of the hollow in which for years prisoners had been huddled together; but the appeal made to Richmond for permission to move the stockade to a clean and dry slope was put to one side as a matter of no importance. The entire authority in the matter was in the hands of Davis and a word from him would have remedied some of the worst conditions. He must share with General Winder, the immediate superintendent of the prisons, the responsibility for the heedless and brutal mismanagement, – a mismanagement which brought death to thousands and which left thousands of others cripples for life.
As a result of the informal word given by Lincoln, it was generally understood, by all the officers, at least, in charge of posts and picket lines along the eastern slope, that Davis was not to be captured. Unfortunately it had not proved possible to get this informal expression of a very important piece of policy conveyed throughout the lines farther west. An enterprising and over-zealous captain of cavalry, riding across from the Mississippi to the coast, heard of Davis's party in Florida and, "butting in," captured, on May 10th, "the white elephant."
The last commands of the Confederate army were surrendered with General Taylor in Louisiana on the 4th of May and with Kirby Smith in Texas on the 26th of May. As Lincoln had foreshadowed, not a few complications resulted from this unfortunate capture of Davis, complications that were needlessly added to by the lack of clear-headedness or of definite policy on the part of a confused and vacillating President. During the months in which Davis was a prisoner at Fortress Monroe, and while the question of his trial for treason was being fiercely debated in Washington, the sentiment of the Confederacy naturally concentrated upon its late President. He was, as the single prisoner, the surviving emblem of the contest. His vanities, irritability, and blunders were forgotten. It was natural that, under the circumstances, his people, the people of the South, should hold in memory only the fact that he had been their leader and that he had through four strenuous years borne the burdens of leadership with unflagging zeal, with persistent courage, and with an almost foolhardy hopefulness. He had given to the Confederacy the best of his life, and he was entitled to the adoration that the survivors of the Confederacy gave to him as representing the ideal of the lost cause.
The feeling with which Lincoln was regarded by the men in the front, for whom through the early years of their campaigning he had been not only the leader but the inspiration, was indicated by the manner in which the news of his death was received. I happened myself on the day of those sad tidings to be with my division in a little village just outside of Goldsborough, North Carolina. We had no telegraphic communication with the North, but were accustomed to receive despatches about noon each day, carried across the swamps from a station through which connection was made with Wilmington and the North. In the course of the morning, I had gone to the shanty of an old darky whom I had come to know during the days of our sojourn, for the purpose of getting a shave. The old fellow took up his razor, put it down again and then again lifted it up, but his arm was shaking and I saw that he was so agitated that he was not fitted for the task. "Massa," he said, "I can't shave yer this mornin'." "What is the matter?" I inquired. "Well," he replied, "somethin's happened to Massa Linkum." "Why!" said I, "nothing has happened to Lincoln. I know what there is to be known. What are you talking about?" "Well!" the old man replied with a half sob, "we coloured folks – we get news or we get half news sooner than you-uns. I dun know jes' what it is, but somethin' has gone wrong with Massa Linkum." I could get nothing more out of the old man, but I was sufficiently anxious to make my way to Division headquarters to see if there was any news in advance of the arrival of the regular courier. The coloured folks were standing in little groups along the village street, murmuring to each other or waiting with anxious faces for the bad news that they were sure was coming. I found the brigade adjutant and those with him were puzzled like myself at the troubled minds of the darkies, but still sceptical as to the possibility of any information having reached them which was not known through the regular channels.
At noon, the courier made his appearance riding by the wood lane across the fields; and the instant he was seen we all realised that there was bad news. The man was hurrying his pony and yet seemed to be very unwilling to reach the lines where his report must be made. In this instance (as was, of course, not usually the case) the courier knew what was in his despatches. The Division Adjutant stepped out on the porch of the headquarters with the paper in his hand, but he broke down before he could begin to read. The Division Commander took the word and was able simply to announce: "Lincoln is dead." The word "President" was not necessary and he sought in fact for the shortest word. I never before had found myself in a mass of men overcome by emotion. Ten thousand soldiers were sobbing together. No survivor of the group can recall the sadness of that morning without again being touched by the wave of emotion which broke down the reserve and control of these war-worn veterans on learning that their great captain was dead.
The whole people had come to have with the President a relation similar to that which had grown up between the soldiers and their Commander-in-chief. With the sympathy and love of the people to sustain him, Lincoln had over them an almost unlimited influence. His capacity for toil, his sublime patience, his wonderful endurance, his great mind and heart, his out-reaching sympathies, his thoughtfulness for the needs and requirements of all, had bound him to his fellow-citizens by an attachment of genuine sentiment. His appellation throughout the country had during the last year of the war become "Father Abraham." We may recall in the thought of this relation to the people the record of Washington. The first President has come into history as the "Father of his Country," but for Washington this rôle of father is something of historic development. During Washington's lifetime, or certainly at least during the years of his responsibilities as General and as President, there was no such general recognition of the leader and ruler as the father of his country. He was dear to a small circle of intimates; he was held in respectful regard by a larger number of those with whom were carried on his responsibilities in the army, and later in the nation's government. To many good Americans, however, Washington represented for years an antagonistic principle of government. He was regarded as an aristocrat and there were not a few political leaders, with groups of voters behind them, who dreaded, and doubtless honestly dreaded, that the influence of Washington might be utilised to build up in this country some fresh form of the monarchy that had been overthrown. The years of the Presidency had to be completed and the bitter antagonisms of the seven years' fighting and of the issues of the Constitution-building had to be outgrown, before the people were able to recognise as a whole the perfect integrity of purpose and consistency of action of their great leader, the first President. Even then when the animosities and suspicions had died away, while the people were ready to honour the high character and the accomplishments of Washington, the feeling was one of reverence rather than of affection. This sentiment gave rise later to the title of the "Father of his Country"; but there was no such personal feeling towards Washington as warranted, at least during his life, the term father of the people. Thirty years later, the ruler of the nation is Andrew Jackson, a man who was, like Lincoln, eminently a representative of the common people. His fellow-citizens knew that Jackson understood their feelings and their methods and were ready to have full confidence in Jackson's patriotism and honesty of purpose. His nature lacked, however, the sweet sympathetic qualities that characterised Lincoln; and while to a large body of his fellow-citizens he commended himself for sturdiness, courage, and devotion to the interests of the state, he was never able for himself to overcome the feeling that a man who failed to agree with a Jackson policy must be either a knave or a fool. He could not place himself in the position from which the other fellow was thinking or acting. He believed that it was his duty to maintain what he held to be the popular cause against the "schemes of the aristocrats," the bugbear of that day. He was a fighter from his youth up and his theory of government was that of enforcing the control of the side for which he was the partisan. Such a man could never be accepted as the father of the people.
Lincoln, coming from those whom he called the common people, feeling with their feelings, sympathetic with their needs and ideals, was able in the development of his powers to be accepted as the peer of the largest intellects in the land. While knowing what was needed by the poor whites of Kentucky, he could understand also the point of view of Boston, New York, or Philadelphia. In place of emphasising antagonisms, he held consistently that the highest interest of one section of the country must be the real interest of the whole people, and that the ruler of the nation had upon him the responsibility of so shaping the national policy that all the people should recognise the government as their government. It was this large understanding and width of sympathy that made Lincoln in a sense which could be applied to no other ruler of this country, the people's President, and no other ruler in the world has ever been so sympathetically, so effectively in touch with all of the fellow-citizens for whose welfare he made himself responsible. The Latin writer, Aulus Gellius, uses for one of his heroes the term "a classic character." These words seem to me fairly to apply to Abraham Lincoln.