Much has been said about Lincoln's views on religion. Like many other
great men, he was not what might technically be called a Christian. He
was a religious man in spirit and by nature; yet he never joined a
church. Mrs. Lincoln says that he had no religious faith, in the usual
acceptation of the word, but that religion was a sort of poetry in his
nature. "Twice during his life," she said, "he seemed especially to
think about it. Once was when our boy Willie died. Once--and this time
he thought of it more deeply--was when he went to Gettysburg." But
whatever his inner thoughts may have been, no man on earth had a firmer
faith in Providence than Abraham Lincoln. Perhaps he did not himself
know just where he stood. He believed in God--in immortality. He did not
believe in eternal punishment, but was confident of rest and peace after
this life was over. He may not have felt certain of the divine origin of
all parts of the Bible, but he valued its precepts, and his whole life
gave evidence of faith in a higher power than that of man. Mr. Nicolay,
his secretary, testifies that "his nature was deeply religious, but he
belonged to no denomination; he had faith in the eternal justice and
boundless mercy of Providence, and made the Golden Rule of Christ his
practical creed." And Dr. Phillips Brooks, in an eloquent and expressive
passage, calls him "Shepherd of the people--that old name that the best
rulers ever craved. What ruler ever won it like this President of ours?
He fed us faithfully and truly. He fed us with counsel when we were in
doubt, with inspiration when we sometimes faltered, with caution when we
would be rash, with calm, clear, trustful cheerfulness through many an
hour when our hearts were dark. He fed hungry souls all over the country
with sympathy and consolation. He spread before the whole land feasts of
great duty and devotion and patriotism on which the land grew strong. He
fed us with solemn, solid truths. He taught us the sacredness of
government, the wickedness of treason. He made our souls glad and
vigorous with the love of Liberty that was in his. He showed us how to
love truth, and yet be charitable; how to hate wrong and all oppression,
and yet not treasure one personal injury or insult. He fed all his
people, from the highest to the lowest, from the most privileged down to
the most enslaved. 'He fed them with a faithful and true heart.'"
CHAPTER XXIV
Trials of the Administration in 1863--Hostility to War
Measures--Lack of Confidence at the North--Opposition in
Congress--How Lincoln felt about the "Fire in the Rear"--Criticisms
from Various Quarters--Visit of "the Boston Set"--The Government on
a Tight-rope--The Enlistment of Colored Troops--Interview between
Lincoln and Frederick Douglass--Reverses in the Field--Changes of
Military Leaders--From Burnside to Hooker--Lincoln's First Meeting
with "Fighting Joe"--The President's Solicitude--His Warning Letter
to Hooker--His Visit to the Rappahannock--Hooker's Self-confidence
the "Worst Thing about Him"--The Defeat at Chancellorsville--The
Failure of our Generals--"Wanted, a Man."
It is impossible, without a close study of the inner history of the war
and of the acts of the administration, to conceive of the harassing and
baffling difficulties which beset President Lincoln's course in every
direction, and of the jealous, narrow, and bitter opposition which his
more important measures provoked. As the struggle advanced he found in
his front a solid and defiant South, behind him a divided and
distrustful North. What might be called the party of action and of
extreme measures developed a sharp hostility to the President. He would
not go fast enough to suit them; they thought him disposed to
compromise. They began by criticizing his policy, and his methods of
prosecuting the war; from this they passed rapidly to a criticism of the
President himself. In the affectionate admiration felt for him now,
people have forgotten how weak and poor and craven they found him then.
So far had this disapproval and hostility gone, that early in 1863 we
find Mr. Greeley searching everywhere for a fitting successor to Lincoln
for the Presidency at the next term. There were but few men in high
official station in Washington who at that time unqualifiedly sustained
him. In the House of Representatives there were but two members who
could make themselves heard, who stood actively by him. This matter,
long since forgotten, must be recalled to show clearly the President's
straits, and his action and bearing amidst his difficulties. It should
be remembered that party lines, which disappeared at the beginning of
the war, were again clearly drawn; and the Democratic wing of Congress,
under the leadership of Vallandigham of Ohio, actively opposed many of
the necessary measures for the prosecution of the war. The cry had
already been raised in Congress, "The South cannot be subjugated"; and
every fresh disaster to the national arms was hailed as proof of the
assertion.
The effect of this abuse and opposition was exceedingly painful to
Lincoln. He said: "I have been caused more anxiety, I have _passed more
sleepless nights_, on account of the temper and attitude of the
Democratic party in the North regarding the suppression of the rebellion
than by the rebels in the South. I have always had faith that our armies
would ultimately and completely triumph; but these enemies in the North
cause me a great deal of anxiety and apprehension. Can it be that there
are opposing opinions in the North as to the necessity of putting down
this rebellion? How can men hesitate a moment as to the duty of the
Government to restore its authority in every part of the country? It is
incomprehensible to me that men living in their quiet homes under the
protection of laws, in possession of their property, can sympathize with
and give aid and comfort to those who are doing their utmost to
overthrow that Government which makes life and everything they possess
valuable."
In January, 1863, a party of distinguished gentlemen from Boston
visited the national capital, in order to confer with the President on
the workings of the emancipation policy. They made the visit chiefly at
the suggestion of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who during all the trying years
of the war never lost faith in Lincoln's honesty and sense of justice.
Secretary Stanton made no secret of his opposition to these gentlemen,
who were spoken of rather slightingly as "that Boston set." The "Boston
set" were uncompromising abolitionists, and nothing would satisfy them
but immediate and aggressive measures for enforcing the policy of
emancipation. As it was the President's instinct to feel his way slowly
in pushing on the great measures necessary to the safe guidance of the
nation in its perilous crisis, they were naturally dissatisfied with his
conservative methods and tendencies. The visitors--including Senator
Wilson, Wendell Phillips, Francis W. Bird, Elizur Wright, J.H.
Stephenson, George L. Stearns, Oakes Ames, and Moncure D. Conway--called
on the President one Sunday evening, at the White House. "The President
met us," says Mr. Conway, "laughing like a boy, saying that in the
morning one of his children had come to inform him that the cat had
kittens, and now another had just announced that the dog had puppies,
and the White House was in a decidedly sensational state. Some of our
party looked a little glum at this hilarity; but it was pathetic to see
the change in the President's face when he presently resumed his burden
of care. We were introduced by Senator Wilson, who began to speak of us
severally, when Mr. Lincoln said he knew perfectly who we were, and
requested us to be seated. Nothing could be more gracious than his
manner, or more simple. The conversation was introduced by Wendell
Phillips, who, with all his courtesy, expressed our gratitude and joy
at the Proclamation of Emancipation, and asked how it seemed to be
working. The President said that he had not expected much from it at
first, and consequently had not been disappointed; he had hoped, and
still hoped, that something would come of it after awhile. Phillips then
alluded to the deadly hostility which the proclamation had naturally
excited in pro-slavery quarters, and gently hinted that the Northern
people, now generally anti-slavery, were not satisfied that it was being
honestly carried out by all of the nation's agents and Generals in the
South. 'My own impression, Mr. Phillips,' said the President, 'is that
the masses of the country generally are dissatisfied chiefly at our lack
of military successes. Defeat and failure in the field make everything
seem wrong.' His face was now clouded, and his next words were somewhat
bitter. 'Most of us here present,' he said, 'have been nearly all our
lives working in minorities, and many have got into a habit of being
dissatisfied.' Several of those present having deprecated this, the
President said, 'At any rate, it has been very rare that an opportunity
of "running" this administration has been lost.' To this Mr. Phillips
answered, in his sweetest voice: 'If we see this administration
earnestly working to free the country from slavery and its rebellion, we
will show you how we can "run" it into another four years of power.' The
President's good humor was restored by this, and he said: 'Oh, Mr.
Phillips, I have ceased to have any personal feeling or expectation in
that matter--I do not say I never had any--so abused and borne upon as I
have been.' ... On taking our leave we expressed to the President our
thanks for his kindly reception, and for his attention to statements of
which some were naturally not welcome. The President bowed graciously at
this, and, after saying he was happy to have met gentlemen known to him
by distinguished services, if not personally, and glad to listen to
their views, added, 'I must bear this load which the country has
intrusted to me as well as I can, and do the best I can with it.'"
To another self-constituted delegation--this time from the West--who
called at the White House one day, excited and troubled about some of
the commissions or omissions of the administration, the President, after
hearing them patiently, replied: "Gentlemen, suppose all the property
you were worth was in gold, and you had put it in the hands of Blondin
to carry across the Niagara river on a rope; would you shake the cable,
or keep shouting out to him, 'Blondin, stand up a little
straighter!--Blondin, stoop a little more--go a little faster--lean a
little more to the north--lean a little more to the south'? No! you
would hold your breath as well as your tongue, and keep your hands off
until he was safe over. The Government is carrying an immense weight.
Untold treasures are in their hands. They are doing the very best they
can. Don't badger them. Keep silence, and we'll get you safe across."
In 1863 the Government, following logically the policy of the
Emancipation act, began the experiment of introducing colored soldiers
into our armies. This caused not only intense anger at the South, but
much doubt and dissatisfaction at the North. To discuss some of the
practical and difficult questions growing out of this measure, Frederick
Douglass, the most distinguished representative of the race which
America had so long held in chains, was presented to the President. The
account of the conference, given by Douglass, is singularly interesting.
He says: "I was never more quickly or more completely put at ease in the
presence of a great man than in that of Abraham Lincoln. He was seated,
when I entered, in a low arm-chair, with his feet extended on the
floor, surrounded by a large number of documents and several busy
secretaries. The room bore the marks of business, and the persons in it,
the President included, appeared to be much overworked and tired. Long
lines of care were already deeply written on Mr. Lincoln's brow, and his
strong face, full of earnestness, lighted up as soon as my name was
mentioned. As I approached and was introduced to him, he arose and
extended his hand, and bade me welcome. I at once felt myself in the
presence of an honest man--one whom I could love, honor, and trust,
without reserve or doubt. Proceeding to tell him who I was and what I
was doing, he promptly but kindly stopped me, saying: 'I know who you
are, Mr. Douglass; Mr. Seward has told me all about you. Sit down; I am
glad to see you.' I urged, among other things, the necessity of granting
the colored soldiers equal pay and promotion with white soldiers, and
retaliation for colored prisoners killed by the enemy. Mr. Lincoln
admitted the justice of my demand for equal pay and promotion of colored
soldiers, but on the matter of retaliation he differed from me entirely.
I shall never forget the benignant expression of his face, the tearful
look of his eye, and the quiver in his voice, when he deprecated a
resort to retaliatory measures. 'Once begun,' said he, 'I do not know
where such a measure would stop.' He said he could not take men out and
kill them in cold blood for what was done by others. If he could get
hold of the persons who were guilty of killing the colored prisoners in
cold blood, the case would be different; but he could not kill the
innocent for the guilty. Afterwards we discussed the means most
desirable to be employed outside the army to induce the slaves in the
rebel States to come within the Federal lines. The increasing opposition
to the war in the North, and the mad cry against it because it was
being made an abolition war, alarmed Mr. Lincoln, and made him
apprehensive that a peace might be forced upon him which would leave
still in slavery all who had not come within our lines. What he wanted
was to make his proclamation as effective as possible in the event of
such a peace. He said, in a regretful tone, 'The slaves are not coming
into our lines as rapidly and numerously as I had hoped.' I replied that
the slaveholders knew how to keep such things from their slaves, and
probably very few knew of his proclamation. 'Well,' he said, 'I want you
to set about devising some means of making them acquainted with it, and
for bringing them into our lines.' What he said showed a deeper moral
conviction against slavery than I had ever seen before in anything
spoken or written by him. I listened with the deepest interest and
profoundest satisfaction, and, at his suggestion, agreed to undertake
the organizing of a band of scouts, composed of colored men, whose
business should be, somewhat after the original plan of John Brown, to
go into the rebel States beyond the lines of our armies, carry the news
of emancipation, and urge the slaves to come within our boundaries."
Frederick Douglass once remarked that Lincoln was one of the few white
men he ever passed an hour with who failed to remind him in some way,
before the interview terminated, that he was a negro. "He always
impressed me as a strong, earnest man, having no time or disposition to
trifle; grappling with all his might the work he had in hand. The
expression of his face was a blending of suffering with patience and
fortitude. Men called him homely, and homely he was; but it was
manifestly a human homeliness. His eyes had in them the tenderness of
motherhood, and his mouth and other features the highest perfection of a
genuine manhood."
As though the political difficulties that beset President Lincoln in
the first half of 1863 were not discouragement enough, they were
attended by disheartening reverses to our arms. It will be remembered
that on the removal of General McClellan from command of the Army of the
Potomac, in November, 1862, General Burnside succeeded him. The change
proved an unfortunate one. General Burnside was an earnest and gallant
soldier, but was not equal to the vast responsibilities of his new
position. It is said, to his credit, that he was three times offered the
command of the Army of the Potomac, and three times he declined. Finally
it was pressed upon him by positive orders, and he could no longer,
without insubordination, refuse it. In addressing General Halleck, after
his appointment, he said: "Had I been asked to take it, I should have
declined; but being ordered, I cheerfully obey." After his fearful
defeat at Fredericksburg (December 13, 1862), he said: "_The fault was
mine_. The entire responsibility of failure must rest on my shoulders."
By his manly and courageous bearing, and the strong sincerity of his
character, he retained the respect and sympathy of the President and of
the country. He immediately retired from command of the Army of the
Potomac, which, under his brief leadership, had fought the most bloody
and disastrous battle in its history.
General Joseph Hooker, the fourth commander of the heroic but
unfortunate Army of the Potomac, was appointed to that position by
President Lincoln in January, 1863. The two men had met briefly early in
the war, when Hooker, then living in California, hastened to Washington
to offer his services to the Government; but for some reason General
Scott disliked him, and his offer was not accepted. After some months,
Hooker, giving up the idea of getting a command, decided to return to
California; but before leaving he called to pay his respects to the
President. He was introduced as "Captain Hooker." The President, being
pressed for time, was about to dismiss him with a few civil phrases;
when, to his surprise, Hooker began the following speech: "Mr.
President, my friend makes a mistake. I am not 'Captain Hooker,' but was
once 'Lieutenant-Colonel Hooker' of the regular army. I was lately a
farmer in California. Since the rebellion broke out I have been trying
to get into the service; but I find I am not wanted. I am about to
return home; but before going, I was anxious to pay my respects to you,
and to express my wishes for your personal welfare and success in
quelling this rebellion. And I want to say one word more. I was at Bull
Run the other day, Mr. President, and it is no vanity in me to say _am a
d----d sight better general than you had on that field_." This was said,
not in the tone of a braggart, but of a man who knew what he was talking
about; and, as the President afterward said, he appeared at that moment
as if perfectly able to make good his words. Lincoln seized his hand,
making him sit down, and began an extended chat. The result was that
Hooker did not return to California, but in a few weeks _Captain_ Hooker
was _Brigadier-General_ Hooker. He served with distinction under
McClellan in the Peninsular campaign and at Antietam, and commanded the
right wing of the army at Fredericksburg. He had come to be known as
"Fighting Joe Hooker," and was generally regarded as one of the most
vigorous and efficient Generals of the Union army.
Such was the man who, in one of the darkest hours of the Union cause,
was selected to lead once more the Army of the Potomac against the
enemy. This army, since its defeat at Fredericksburg, had remained
disorganized and ineffective. Its new commander, unlike his predecessor
Burnside, was full of confidence. The President, made cautious by
experience, deemed it his duty to accompany the appointment by some
timely words of warning; and accordingly he addressed to General Hooker
the following frank, manly, and judicious letter.
EXECUTIVE MANSION WASHINGTON, D.C.
January 26, 1863.
MAJOR-GENERAL HOOKER.
GENERAL:--I have placed you at the head of the Army of the Potomac.
Of course, I have done this upon what appear to me to be sufficient
reasons; and yet I think it best for you to know that there are
some things in regard to which I am not satisfied with you. I
believe you to be a brave and skilful soldier, which of course I
like. I also believe that you do not mix politics with your
profession, in which you are right. You have confidence in
yourself, which is a valuable if not indispensable quality. You are
ambitious, which, within reasonable bounds, does good rather than
harm; but I think that during General Burnside's command of the
army you have taken counsel with your ambition, and thwarted him as
much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country
and to a most meritorious and honorable brother officer. I have
heard, in such a way as to believe it, of your recently saying that
both the army and the Government needed a dictator. Of course, it
was not for this, but in spite of it, that I have given you the
command. Only those generals who gain success can be dictators.
What I now ask from you is military success, and I will risk the
dictatorship. The Government will support you to the utmost of its
ability, which is neither more nor less than it has done and will
do for all commanders. I much fear that the spirit which you have
aided to infuse into the army, of criticizing their commander and
withholding confidence from him, will now turn upon you. I shall
assist you, as far as I can, to pull it down. Neither you nor
Napoleon, if he were alive again, could get any good out of an
army while such a spirit prevails in it. And now, beware of
rashness. _Beware of rashness_; but with energy and sleepless
vigilance, go forward and give us victories.
Yours very truly,
A. LINCOLN.
In all Lincoln's writings there are few things finer than this letter.
In its candor and friendliness, its simplicity and deep wisdom, and its
clearness of expression, it is almost perfect; and the President's deep
solicitude for the safety of the army and anxiety for its success give a
pathetic touch to the closing sentences. This solicitude found partial
relief in a personal inspection of the Army of the Potomac, which was
made in April, just before the battle of Chancellorsville, and occupied
five or six days. The President was accompanied by Attorney-General
Bates, Mrs. Lincoln, his son Tad, and Mr. Noah P. Brooks. The first
night out was spent on the little steamer which conveyed the party to
their destination. After all had retired to rest except the anxious
President and one or two others, Lincoln gave utterance to his
deep-seated apprehensions in the whispered query to his friend, "How
many of our monitors will you wager are at the bottom of Charleston
Harbor?" "I essayed," writes Mr. Brooks, "to give a cheerful view of the
Charleston situation. But he would not be encouraged. He then went on to
say that he did not believe that an attack by water on Charleston could
ever possibly succeed. He talked a long time about his 'notions,' as he
called them; and at General Halleck's headquarters next day, the first
inquiries were for 'rebel papers,' which were usually brought in from
the picket lines. These he examined with great anxiety, hoping that he
might find an item of news from Charleston. One day, having looked all
over a Richmond paper several times without finding a paragraph which he
had been told was in it, he was mightily pleased to have it pointed out
to him, and said, 'It is plain that newspapers are made for newspaper
men; being only a layman, it was impossible for me to find that.'"
The out-door life, the constant riding, and the respite from the
monstrous burdens at the capital, appeared to afford mental and physical
benefit to the worn President. But in answer to a remark expressing this
conviction, he replied sadly, "I don't know about 'the rest' as you call
it. I suppose it is good for the body. But the tired part of me is
_inside_ and out of reach." "He rode a great deal," says Mr. Brooks,
"while with the army, always preferring the saddle to the elegant
ambulance which had been provided for him. He sat his horse well, but he
rode hard, and during his stay I think he regularly used up at least one
horse each day. Little Tad invariably followed in his father's train;
and, mounted on a smaller horse, accompanied by an orderly, the
youngster was a conspicuous figure, as his gray cloak flew in the wind
while we hung on the flanks of Hooker and his generals."
General Hooker was now planning his great movement against Richmond, and
talked freely of the matter with the President, In the course of a
conversation, Lincoln casually remarked, "If you get to Richmond,
General." But Hooker interrupted him with--"Excuse me, Mr. President,
but there is no 'if' in the case. _I am going straight to Richmond, if I
live_!" Later in the day, Lincoln, privately referring to this
self-confidence of the General, said to Mr. Brooks, rather mournfully,
"It is about the worst thing I have seen since I have been down here."
In further illustration of Hooker's confidence in himself, Mr. Brooks
says: "One night, Hooker and I being alone in his hut, the General
standing with his back to the fireplace, alert, handsome, full of
courage and confidence, said laughingly, 'The President says you know
about that letter he wrote me on taking command.' I acknowledged that
the President had read it to me. The General seemed to think that the
advice was well-meant, but unnecessary. Then he added, with that
charming assurance which became him so well, 'After I have been to
Richmond, I am going to have that letter printed.'" But all that came of
Hooker's confidence, after three months of elaborate preparation, was a
grand forward movement into Virginia and another bloody and humiliating
defeat for the heroic but unfortunate army under his command.
The first of May, 1863, the Army of the Potomac under Hooker met the
Army of Northern Virginia under Lee and Jackson, near Chancellorsville,
Virginia. It was here that Jackson executed his brilliant and successful
flank movement around the Union right, ensuring a victory for his side
but losing his own life. After a contest of several days, involving the
fruitless sacrifice of thousands of gallant soldiers, Hooker's army fell
back and recrossed the Rappahannock.[G]
The news of this fresh disaster was an almost stunning shock to
President Lincoln. During the progress of the battle he was under a
cruel strain of anxiety and suspense. Secretary Welles, who was with
him a part of the time, says: "He had a feverish eagerness for facts;
was constantly up and down, for nothing reliable came from the front."
Mr. Noah Brooks relates that in company with an old friend of Lincoln's
he was waiting in one of the family rooms of the White House. "A door
opened and Lincoln appeared, holding an open telegram in his hand. The
sight of his face and figure was frightful. He seemed stricken with
death. Almost tottering to a chair, he sat down; and then I mechanically
noticed that his face was of the same color as the wall behind him--not
pale, not even sallow, but gray, like ashes. Extending the despatch to
me, he said, with a hollow, far-off voice, 'Read it--news from the
army.' The telegram was from General Butterfield, I think, then chief of
staff to Hooker. It was very brief, simply saying that the Army of the
Potomac had 'safely recrossed the Rappahannock,' and was now at its old
position on the north bank of that stream. The President's friend, Dr.
Henry, an old man and somewhat impressionable, burst into tears,--not so
much, probably, at the news as on account of its effect upon Lincoln.
The President regarded the old man for an instant with dry eyes, and
said, '_What will the country say? Oh, what will the country say_?' He
seemed hungry for consolation and cheer, and sat a little while talking
about the failure. Yet it did not seem that he was disappointed so much
for himself, but that he thought the country would be."
Lincoln's anxiety regarding the effect at the North of these repeated
reverses was not without sufficient cause. Aside from those who were
positively opposed to the war, the loyal people were wearying of the
useless slaughter, the unavailing struggles, of the gallant soldiers.
The growing distrust of the capacity of their military leaders was also
keenly felt. The feeling of that time is so well expressed in a stirring
poem entitled "Wanted, a Man," written by Mr. E.C. Stedman, that it is
given place here. It has an additional personal interest connected with
President Lincoln in the fact that he was so impressed with the piece
that he read it aloud to his assembled Cabinet.
Back from the trebly crimsoned field
Terrible words are thunder-tost;
Full of the wrath that will not yield,
Full of revenge for battles lost!
Hark to their echo, as it crost
The Capital, making faces wan:
End this murderous holocaust;
Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!
Give us a man of God's own mould,
Born to marshal his fellow-men;
One whose fame is not bought and sold
At the stroke of a politician's pen;
Give us the man of thousands ten,
Fit to do as well as to plan;
Give us a rallying-cry, and then,
Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!
No leader to shirk the boasting foe,
And to march and countermarch our brave
Till they fall like ghosts in the marshes low,
And swamp-grass covers each nameless grave;
Nor another, whose fatal banners wave
Aye in Disaster's shameful van;
Nor another, to bluster, and lie, and rave,--
Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!
Hearts are mourning in the North,
While the sister rivers seek the main,
Red with our life-blood flowing forth--
Who shall gather it up again?
Though we march to the battle-plain
Firmly as when the strife began,
Shall all our offerings be in vain?--
Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!
Is there never one in all the land,
One on whose might the Cause may lean?
Are all the common ones so grand,
And all the titled ones so mean?
What if your failure may have been
In trying to make good bread from bran,
From worthless metal a weapon keen?--
Abraham Lincoln, find us a MAN!
O, we will follow him to the death,
Where the foeman's fiercest columns are!
O, we will use our latest breath,
Cheering for every sacred star!
His to marshal us high and far;
Ours to battle, as patriots can
When a Hero leads the Holy War!--
Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!
CHAPTER XXV
The Battle-summer of 1863--A Turn of the Tide--Lee's Invasion of
Pennsylvania--A Threatening Crisis--Change of Union
Commanders--Meade succeeds Hooker--The Battle of
Gettysburg--Lincoln's Anxiety during the Fight--The Retreat of
Lee--Union Victories in the Southwest--The Capture of
Vicksburg--Lincoln's Thanks to Grant--Returning
Cheerfulness--Congratulations to the Country--Improved State of
Peeling at the North--State Elections of 1863--The Administration
Sustained--Dedication of the National Cemetery at
Gettysburg--Lincoln's Address--Scenes and Incidents at the
Dedication--Meeting with Old John Burns--Edward Everett's
Impressions of Lincoln.
Midsummer of 1863 brought a turn in the tide of military affairs. It
came none too soon for the safety of the nation. The repeated reverses
to the Union arms ending with the shocking disasters at Fredericksburg
and Chancellorsville--although slightly relieved by the costly success
of Stone River--had seemed to throw the chances of war in favor of the
South; and the Union cause was at the crisis of its fate. But now
fortune smiled upon the North, and its lost hope and lost ground were
regained at Gettysburg and Vicksburg. These great battles are justly
regarded as marking the turning-point of the war. It was yet far from
finished; there remained nearly two years of desperate fighting, with
heroic struggles and terrible sacrifice of life, before the end should
come. But from this time the character of the struggle seemed to change.
The armies of the South fought, not less desperately, but more on the
defensive; and their final overthrow was in all human probability
chiefly a question of time.
Emboldened by his success at Chancellorsville in May, General Lee again
assumed the offensive, and recrossed the Potomac river into Maryland.
Late in June he invaded Pennsylvania, and occupied a position
threatening Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington. The situation was
most critical. If Lee could once more beat the Army of the Potomac, as
he had done so many times, these three great cities, and even New York,
might be at his mercy. The feeling in Washington is reflected in entries
made at the time in Mr. Welles's Diary. "Something of a panic pervades
the city," says Mr. Welles. "Singular rumors reach us of Rebel advances
into Maryland. It is said they have reached Hagerstown, and some of them
have penetrated as far as Chambersburg in Pennsylvania.... The city is
full of strange, wild rumors of Rebel raids in the vicinity and of
trains seized in sight of the Capital. The War Department is wholly
unprepared for an irruption here, and J.E.B. Stuart might have dashed
into the city to-day [June 28] with impunity.... I have a panic
telegraph from Governor Curtin of Pennsylvania, who is excitable and
easily alarmed, entreating that guns and gunners may be sent from the
Navy Yard at Philadelphia to Harrisburg without delay.... I went again,
at a late hour, to the War Department, but could get no facts or
intelligence from the Secretary. All was vague, opaque, thick darkness.
I really think Stanton is no better posted than myself, and from what
Stanton says am afraid Hooker does not comprehend Lee's intentions nor
know how to counteract them. It looks to me as if Lee was putting forth
his whole energy and force in one great and desperate struggle which
shall be decisive."
Following Lee, the Army of the Potomac, under General Hooker, also
recrossed the Potomac, and pursued the enemy by a somewhat parallel
route, but keeping carefully between him and Washington. The occasion
was one calling for the best resources of a great military commander;
and General Hooker, realizing his unfitness for the responsibility,
asked to be relieved of the command. Thus was thrown upon the President
the hazardous necessity of changing commanders upon the very eve of a
great battle. It was a terrible emergency. Even the stout-hearted
Stanton was appalled. He afterward stated that when he received the
despatch from Hooker, asking to be relieved, his heart sank within him,
and he was more depressed than at any other moment of the war. "I could
not say," said Mr. Stanton, "that any other officer knew General
Hooker's plans, or the position even of the various divisions of the
army. I sent for the President to come at once to the War Office. It was
in the evening, but the President soon appeared. I handed him the
despatch. As he read it his face became like lead, and I said, 'What
shall be done?' He replied instantly, '_Accept his resignation._'"
Immediately an order was sent to Major-General George G. Meade, one of
the most efficient of the corps commanders of the Army of the Potomac,
appointing him to the chief command. Meade was a quiet, unassuming man,
very unlike Hooker. Three days after assuming command, he led his army
against the Southern host at Gettysburg, where, after a most bloody and
memorable battle of three days' duration (July 1, 2, and 3, 1863), was
won the first decisive victory in the history of the gallant Army of the
Potomac. Lee retired, with disastrous losses, across the Potomac to
Virginia; and Washington and the North breathed free again.
Senator Chandler of Michigan, speaking of the terrible strain on Lincoln
during the progress of the battle of Gettysburg, said: "I shall never
forget the painful anxiety of those few days when the fate of the nation
seemed to hang in the balance; nor the restless solicitude of Mr.
Lincoln, as he paced up and down the room, reading despatches,
soliloquizing, and often stopping to trace the position of the
contending armies on the map which hung on the wall; nor the relief we
all felt when the fact was established that victory, though gained at
such fearful cost, was indeed on the side of the Union."
Amidst the murk and gloom of those dark days in Washington, when the
suspense was breathless and the heart of the nation responded in muffled
beats to the dull booming of the cannon of Meade and Lee at Gettysburg,
an episode occurred, with Lincoln as the central figure, which reveals
perhaps more poignantly than any other in his whole career the depths of
feeling in that tender and reverential soul. On Sunday evening, July
4,--the fourth day of that terrible battle, with nothing definite yet
known of the result,--the President drove out in a carriage, in company
with two daughters of Secretary Stanton, to the line of defenses near
Arlington. It was toward sundown; and a brigade of troops were forming
in position for an evening parade or review. The commander of the
brigade, General Tannatt, recognizing the President and his party, rode
up to the carriage and invited them to witness the parade. The President
assented. His face was drawn and haggard in its expression of anxiety
and sorrow. As it was Sunday evening, some of the regimental bands
played familiar religious pieces. The President, hearing them, inquired
of General Tannatt if any of his bands could play "Lead Kindly Light."
Then in a low voice and with touching accents he repeated, as if to
himself, the familiar lines--never more expressive or appropriate than
now,--
Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on.
* * * * *
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene,--one step enough for me.
As the sweet strains of the familiar hymn floated on the evening air,
Lincoln's sad face became sadder still, and tears were seen coursing
down his cheeks. What emotions were his, who can tell, as he thought of
that great battle-field not far away, its issues yet unknown, its ground
still covered with dead and wounded soldiers whose heroic deeds--to use
his noble words spoken a few months later on that historic field--"have
consecrated it far above our power to add or detract."
General Tannatt, who knew Lincoln well and had spoken with him many
times, never saw him again; and his view of that tragic, tear-wet face
remains to him a vivid and precious memory.[H]
While the eyes of the nation were fastened upon the great drama being
enacted near the capital, events scarcely less momentous were occurring
in the Southwest. The campaign against Vicksburg, the great Confederate
stronghold on the Mississippi river, had been in active progress, under
the personal command of General Grant, for several months. The
importance of this strategic point was fully understood by the enemy,
and it was defended most stubbornly. At first Grant's plans proved
unsuccessful; the cutting of canals and opening of bayous failed--as
President Lincoln had expected and predicted. But these failures only
served to develop the unsuspected energy of Grant's character and the
extent of his military resources. He boldly changed his entire plan of
operations, abandoned his line of communication, removed his army to a
point _below_ Vicksburg and attacked the city in the rear. With dogged
persistence he pressed forward, gaining point by point, beating off
General Johnston's forces on one side and driving Pemberton before him
into Vicksburg; until finally, by the aid of Admiral Porter's gunboats
on the Mississippi, he had entirely invested the city. Gradually and
persistently his lines closed in, pushed forward by assault and siege;
until Vicksburg accepted its doom, and on the 4th of July, 1863,--the
day of Lee's retreat from Gettysburg,--the city and garrison surrendered
to the victorious Grant.
Lincoln's exuberant joy over the capture of Vicksburg is revealed in an
entry made at the time in Mr. Welles's Diary. "I was handed a despatch
from Admiral Porter, communicating the fall of Vicksburg on the Fourth
of July," says Mr. Welles. "I immediately returned to the Executive
Mansion. The President was detailing certain points relative to Grant's
movements on the map to Chase and two or three others, when I gave him
the tidings. Putting down the map he rose at once, said he would drop
these topics, and added, 'I myself will telegraph this news to General
Meade.' He seized his hat, but suddenly stopped, his countenance beaming
with joy; he caught my hand, and throwing his arm around me, exclaimed,
'What can we do for the Secretary of the Navy for this glorious
intelligence? He is always giving us good news. I cannot, in words, tell
you my joy over this result. It is great, Mr. Welles, it is great!' ...
We walked the lawn together. 'This,' said he, 'will relieve Banks. It
will inspire me.'"
The Union victories at Vicksburg and Gettysburg caused great rejoicing
at the North, and gave added zest to the celebration of the national
patriotic holiday. President Lincoln, mindful of the "almost
inestimable services," as he termed them, of General Grant, and as it
was his wont to do in such circumstances, made haste to acknowledge his
own and the country's indebtedness to the man who had accomplished a
great deed. He addressed to the conqueror of Vicksburg the following
letter:
EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, D.C.
July 13, 1863.
MAJOR-GENERAL GRANT.
MY DEAR GENERAL:--I do not remember that you and I ever met
personally. I write this now as a grateful acknowledgment for the
almost inestimable services you have done the country. I write to
say a word further. When you first reached the vicinity of
Vicksburg, I thought you should do what you finally did--march the
troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and
thus go below; and I never had any faith, except a general hope
that you knew better than I, that the Yazoo Pass expedition, and
the like, could succeed. When you got below, and took Port Gibson,
Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I thought you should go down the river,
and join General Banks, and when you turned northward, east of the
Big Black, I feared it was a mistake. I now wish to make the
personal acknowledgment that you were right and I was wrong.
Yours truly, A. LINCOLN.
An officer who was the first from Grant's army to reach Washington after
the surrender of Vicksburg, has recorded the circumstances of his
interview with the President. "Mr. Lincoln received me very cordially,"
says this officer, "and drawing a chair near to himself and motioning me
to be seated said, 'Now I want to hear all about Vicksburg.' I gave him
all the information I could, though he appeared to be remarkably well
posted himself. He put to me a great many questions in detail touching
the siege, the losses, the morale of the army, its sanitary condition,
the hospital service, and General Grant. Said he: 'I guess I was right
in standing by Grant, although there was great pressure made after
Pittsburg Landing to have him removed. I thought I saw enough in Grant
to convince me that he was one on whom the country could depend. That
'unconditional surrender' message to Buckner at Donelson suited me. It
indicated the spirit of the man."
It is interesting to note that before the capture of Vicksburg the
protracted campaign had occasioned no little dissatisfaction with
General Grant; the President had been importuned to remove him, and had
much formidable opposition to encounter in his determination to stand by
him. Only a few days before the capitulation of the beleaguered city,
Senator Wade of Ohio--"Bluff Ben Wade," as he was termed--called upon
the President and urged Grant's dismissal; to which Lincoln
good-naturedly replied, "Senator, that reminds me of a story." "Yes,
yes," rejoined Wade petulantly, "that is the way it is with you, sir,
all _story--story_! You are the father of every military blunder that
has been made during the war. You are on your road to h--l, sir, with
this Government, and you are not a mile off this minute." Lincoln calmly
retorted, "Senator, that is just about the distance from here to the
Capitol, is it not?" The exasperated Wade grabbed his hat and rushed
angrily from the White House.
It is not pleasant to record that the cordial and generous
congratulations to Grant for his achievements at Vicksburg were in
marked contrast to the rather grudging recognition of Meade's much more
important and hard-won victory at Gettysburg. In the latter case the
despatches from Washington took the form not so much of acknowledgments
of what had been done as of complaints at what had not been done. It is
hard to believe that the President dictated, or even authorized, the
ill-timed and peevish despatch sent to General Meade[I] by the
inopportune Halleck, a few days after the battle of Gettysburg, in which
the victor on that desperate field is officially informed that "the
escape of Lee's army has created great dissatisfaction in the mind of
the President, and it will require an active and energetic pursuit to
remove the impression that it has not been sufficiently active before."
To this extraordinary message Meade at once made a simple and manly
rejoinder in which he said: "Having performed my duty conscientiously
and to the best of my ability, the censure of the President, as conveyed
in your despatch, is in my judgment so undeserved that I feel compelled
most respectfully to ask to be immediately relieved from the command of
this army." Halleck replied, rather ineptly, that his despatch had not
been intended as a censure, but as a "stimulus," and was not regarded as
a sufficient cause for Meade's request to be relieved. When one thinks
of the ill-fortunes of the Army of the Potomac under previous
commanders, and of the unlikelihood of finding a successor to Meade as
capable as he had shown himself to be, one shudders at the chances of
what might have happened had another change of leaders been forced upon
that long-suffering and now victorious army. General Meade did not press
his resignation after Halleck's conciliatory telegrams, and remained in
immediate command of the Army of the Potomac until the close of the
war--Grant's accession to the chief command of all the armies having
marked the end of the well-meant but often ill-advised and troublesome
interference with military affairs from Washington.
Mr. Isaac R. Pennypacker, in his Life of General Meade, speaks of
Halleck and other prominent officials in Washington in these terms:
"Possessing much of the skill of the lawyer and disputant, Halleck was
without military ability. The Secretary of War, like many other men who
exercise vast power, was not great enough to refrain from the use of his
authority in matters where his knowledge and experience did not qualify
him to form the soundest views. Acting with these military authorities
were men like Wade and Chandler, whose patriotism was of the exuberant
kind, whose judgment in military affairs was without value, but whose
personal energy impelled them to have a controlling hand, if possible,
in the conduct of the war."
Lincoln's dissatisfaction with General Meade after the battle of
Gettysburg was due, as we now see, to his elation over the splendid
victory for the Union, his intense desire for further and overwhelming
successes, and his failure (a quite natural one) to realize that what
might seem desirable and feasible viewed from Washington might look very
different to the practical and experienced men actually on the ground
and familiar as he could not be with all the factors in the
situation.[J] "He thought," wrote General Halleck in an explanatory
letter sent to Meade two weeks after his despatch of censure, "that
Lee's defeat was so certain that he felt no little impatience at his
unexpected escape." Among military authorities, such a retreat as that
of Lee after Gettysburg is hardly regarded as an "escape." If it were,
then great must be the fault of Lee as a general in allowing the
defeated armies of Burnside and Hooker to "escape" after the battles of
Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, where their repulse was much worse
than was Lee's at Gettysburg. That Lincoln's first feelings of
disappointment and dissatisfaction with General Meade were greatly
modified with fuller knowledge of the actual situation after the battle
of Gettysburg is shown by a remark made by him to Senator Cameron,
referring to Meade: "Why should we censure a man who has done so much
for his country because he did not do a little more?" And if any debt
of recognition or of gratitude yet remained due from him, it was more
than paid a few months later in the unsurpassed tribute at Gettysburg to
"the brave men, living and dead," who gained the victory on that hallowed field. |
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