The improved condition of public affairs, and the increasing
cheerfulness of the President, after the victories at Gettysburg and
Vicksburg, are exhibited in a letter written by him a few weeks later to
friends at Springfield, Illinois, who had urgently invited him to attend
"a mass-meeting of Unconditional Union men" at his old home. In this
letter he took occasion to declare his sentiments on various questions
paramount at the time. Among these was the subject of a compromise with
the South, against which he argued with great force and feeling. Again,
he defended the Emancipation Proclamation, a measure to which many Union
men were still unreconciled. He referred also to the arming of the
negroes as a just and wise expedient; finally concluding with these
expressive and felicitous words:
The signs look better. The Father of Waters again goes unvexed to
the sea. Thanks to the great Northwest for it; nor yet wholly to
them. Three hundred miles up they met New England, Empire,
Keystone, and Jersey, hewing their way right and left. The sunny
South, too, in more colors than one, also lent a helping hand. On
the spot, their part of the history was jotted down in black and
white. The job was a great national one, and let none be slighted
who bore an honorable part in it. And while those who have cleared
the great river may well be proud, even that is not all. It is hard
to say that anything has been more bravely and well done than at
Antietam, Murfreesboro, Gettysburg, and on many fields of less
note. Nor must Uncle Sam's web-feet be forgotten. At all the
watery margins they have been present, not only on the deep sea,
the broad bay, and the rapid river, but also up the narrow, muddy
bayou, and wherever the ground was a little damp they have been and
made their tracks. Thanks to all. For the great Republic--for the
principle it lives by and keeps alive--for man's vast
future--thanks to all. Peace does not appear so distant as it did.
I hope it will come soon and come to stay; and so come as to be
worth the keeping in all future time. It will then have been proved
that among freemen there can be no successful appeal from the
ballot to the bullet, and that they who take such appeal are sure
to lose their case and pay the cost. And there will be some black
men who can remember that, with silent tongue, and clinched teeth,
and steady eye, and well-poised bayonet, they have helped mankind
on to this great consummation; while I fear there will be some
white ones unable to forget that with malignant heart and deceitful
speech they have striven to hinder it. Still, let us not be
over-sanguine of a speedy final triumph. Let us be quite sober. Let
us diligently apply the means, never doubting that a just God, in
His own good time, will give us the rightful result.
In a public proclamation, issued October 3, the President gives more
formal expression to his satisfaction and gratitude, and calls upon the
loyal people of the Union to unite in a day of thanksgiving for the
improved prospects of the country.
The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the
blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these
bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to
forget the source from which they come, others have been added
which are of so extraordinary a nature that they cannot fail to
penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible
to the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a
civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes
seemed to invite and provoke the aggressions of foreign states,
peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been
maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony
has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military
conflict, while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the
advancing armies and navies of the Union. The needful diversion of
wealth and strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the
national defense has not arrested the plough, the shuttle, or the
ship. The axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the
mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have
yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has
steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in
the camp, the siege, and the battle-field; and the country,
rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is
permitted to expect a continuance of years with large increase of
freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand
worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the
Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins,
hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and
proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully
acknowledged, as with one heart and voice, by the whole American
people. I do, therefore, invite my fellow-citizens in every part of
the United States, and also those who are at sea, and those who are
sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last
Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and prayer to
our beneficent Father, who dwelleth in the heavens. And I recommend
to them that, while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him
for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with
humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience,
commend to His tender care all those who have become widows,
orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in
which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the
interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the
nation, and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the
divine purposes, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony,
tranquility, and union.
The brightening prospects of the Union cause quickly produced a better
state of feeling at the North. In the fall elections of 1863, every
State except New Jersey gave solid majorities on the Republican side,
thus strengthening the administration and giving the President welcome
assurances of popular approval. He had awaited with special anxiety the
returns from Ohio, where the contest was fraught with peculiar
significance. The Democrats had chosen for their candidate the notorious
peace-at-any-price Vallandigham, against whom the Republicans had placed
John Brough of Cleveland. On the night of the election, about ten
o'clock, a message clicked on the wires in the telegraph office of the
latter city, saying, "Where is John Brough? A. Lincoln." Brough was at
hand, and directly the electric voice inquired, "Brough, about what is
your majority now?" Brough replied, "Over 30,000." Lincoln requested
Brough to remain at the office during the night. A little past midnight
the question came again from Lincoln, "Brough, what is your majority by
this time?" Brough replied, "Over 50,000." And the question was thus
repeated and answered several times, with rapidly increasing majorities,
till five o'clock in the morning, when the question came again, "Brough,
what is your majority now?" The latter was able to respond, "Over
100,000." As soon as the words could be flashed back over the wire,
there came: "_Glory to God in the highest. Ohio has saved the Nation. A.
Lincoln_."
The day after the election in Ohio (October 14, 1863) Lincoln said to
Secretary Welles that he had felt more anxiety in regard to the results
than he had in 1860 when he was chosen President. He could not have
believed four years ago, he said, that one genuine American would or
could be induced to vote for such a man as Vallandigham. Yet he had been
made the candidate of a large party, and received a vote that is a
discredit to the country. Mr. Welles adds: "The President showed a good
deal of emotion as he dwelt on this subject."
After the battle of Gettysburg, a portion of the ground on which the
engagement was fought was purchased by the State of Pennsylvania for a
burial-place for the Union soldiers who were slain in that bloody
encounter. The tract included seventeen and a half acres adjoining the
town cemetery. It was planned to consecrate the ground with imposing
ceremonies, in which the President, accompanied by his Cabinet and a
large body of the military, was invited to assist. The day appointed was
the 19th of November; and the chief orator selected was Massachusetts'
eloquent son, Hon. Edward Everett. Following him it was expected that
the President would add some testimonials in honor of the dead.
Lincoln and Everett were representatives of two contrasting phases of
American civilization: the one, an outgrowth of the rough pioneer life
of the West; the other, the product of the highest culture of the East.
They had met for the first time on this memorable day. Everett's oration
was a finished literary production. Smooth, euphonious, and elegant, it
was delivered with the silvery tones and the graceful gestures of a
trained and consummate speaker. When he had finished, and the applause
that greeted him had died away, the multitude called vociferously for an
address from Lincoln. With an unconscious air, the President came
forward at the call, put his spectacles on his nose, and read, in a
quiet voice which gradually warmed with feeling, while his careworn face
became radiant with the light of genuine emotion, the following brief
address:
Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this
continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the
proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a
great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so
conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great
battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of
that field as a final resting-place of those who here gave their
lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and
proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot
dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The
brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated
it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will
little note nor long remember what we _say_ here, but it can never
forget what they _did_ here. It is for us, the living, rather, to
be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here
have thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here
dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these
honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which
they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly
resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this
nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that
government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not
perish from the earth.
The simple and sublime words of this short address shook the hearts of
the listeners, and before the first sentence was ended they were under
the spell of a mighty magician. They stood hushed, awed, and melted, as
the speaker enforced the solemn lesson of the hour, and brought home to
them, in plain unvarnished terms, the duty which remained for them to
do--to finish the work which the dead around them had given their lives
to carry on. It was one of the briefest of the many speeches with which
Lincoln had swayed the impulses and opinions of crowds of his
fellow-men, but it is the one which will be remembered above all others
as hallowed by the truest and loftiest inspiration. As the final
sentence ended, amid the tears and sobs and cheers of the excited
throng, the President turned to Mr. Everett, and, grasping his hand,
exclaimed with sincerity, "I congratulate you on your success." Mr.
Everett responded in the fervor of his emotion, "Ah, Mr. President, how
gladly would I exchange all my hundred pages to have been the author of
your twenty lines!"
Of all Lincoln's public utterances, this is unquestionably the most
remarkable. The oration, brief and unpretending as it is, will remain a
classic of the English language. "The Westminster Review," one of the
foremost of the great English quarterlies, said of it: "It has but one
equal, in that pronounced upon those who fell in the first year of the
Peloponnesian War; and in one respect it is superior to that great
speech. It is not only more natural, fuller of feeling, more touching
and pathetic, but we know with absolute certainty that _it was really
delivered_. Nature here takes precedence of art--even though it be the
art of Thucydides."
"An illustration of the difference between oratory and inspiration" is
Mr. John Bigelow's happy characterization of the Gettysburg address. "It
was," he adds, "one of the most momentous incidents in the history of
the Civil War. It may be doubted whether anything had then, or has
since, been said of that national strife conceived upon a higher and
wiser spiritual plane.... It is perhaps, on the whole, the most enduring
bit of eloquence that has ever been uttered on this continent; and yet
one finds in it none of the tricks of the forum or the stage, nor any
trace of the learning of the scholar, nor the need of it."
Major Harry T. Lee, who was himself a participant in the battle of
Gettysburg and occupied a seat on the platform at the dedication, says
that the people listened with marked attention through the two hours of
Everett's noble and scholarly oration; but that when Lincoln came
forward, and in a voice burdened with emotion uttered his simple and
touching eulogy on "the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here,"
there was scarcely a dry eye in the whole vast audience.
Mr. John Russell Young, afterwards U.S. Minister to China, was present
at the Gettysburg dedication, and says: "I sat behind Mr. Lincoln while
Mr. Everett delivered his oration. I remember the great orator had a way
of raising and dropping his handkerchief as he spoke. He spoke for two
hours, and was very impressive, with his white hair and venerable
figure. He was a great orator, but it was like a bit of Greek
sculpture--beautiful, but cold as ice. It was perfect art, but without
feeling. The art and beauty of it captured your imagination and
judgment. Mr. Everett went over the campaign with resonant, clear,
splendid rhetoric. There was not a word or a sentence or a thought that
could be corrected. You felt that every gesture had been carefully
studied out beforehand. It was like a great actor playing a great
part.... Mr. Lincoln rose, walked to the edge of the platform, took out
his glasses, and put them on. He was awkward. He bowed to the assemblage
in his homely manner, and took out of his coat pocket a page of
foolscap. In front of Mr. Lincoln was a photographer with his camera,
endeavoring to take a picture of the scene. We all supposed that Mr.
Lincoln would make rather a long speech--a half-hour at least. He took
the single sheet of foolscap, held it almost to his nose, and in his
high tenor voice, without the least attempt at effect, delivered that
most extraordinary address which belongs to the classics of literature.
The photographer was bustling about, preparing to take the President's
picture while he was speaking, but Mr. Lincoln finished before the
photographer was ready."
It is stated that when President Lincoln reached the town of Gettysburg,
on his way to attend the exercises at the cemetery, he inquired for "Old
John Burns," the hero of the battle of Gettysburg, who left his farm and
fought with the Union soldiers upon that bloody field. The veteran was
sent for; and on his arrival the President showed him marked attention,
taking him by the arm and walking with him in the procession through the
streets to the cemetery.
Edward Everett, who was associated with Lincoln during these two or
three days, says of the impression the President made on him: "I
recognized in the President a full measure of the qualities which
entitle him to the personal respect of the people. On the only social
occasion on which I ever had the honor to be in his company, viz., the
Commemoration at Gettysburg, he sat at the table of my friend David
Willis, by the side of several distinguished persons, foreigners and
Americans; and in gentlemanly appearance, manners, and conversation, he
was the peer of any man at the table."
CHAPTER XXVI
Lincoln and Grant--Their Personal Relations--Grant's Successes at
Chattanooga--Appointed Lieutenant-general--Grant's First Visit to
Washington--His Meeting with Lincoln--Lincoln's First Impressions
of Grant--The First "General" Lincoln Had Found--"That Presidential
Grub"--True Version of the Whiskey Anecdote--Lincoln Tells Grant
the Story of Sykes's Dog--"We'd Better Let Mr. Grant Have his Own
Way"--Grant's Estimate of Lincoln.
From the hour of Grant's triumph at Vicksburg to the close of the war,
Lincoln never withdrew his confidence from the quiet, persistent,
unpretending man who led our armies slowly but surely along the path of
victory. As soon as the campaign at Vicksburg was over, Grant's sphere
of operations was enlarged by his appointment to the command of the
military division of the Mississippi. In November following he fought
the famous battles of Chattanooga, including Lookout Mountain and
Missionary Ridge; and, aided by his efficient corps commanders, Sherman,
Thomas, and Hooker, gained a succession of brilliant victories for the
Union cause. The wisdom of Grant's policy of concentration and "fighting
it out" had now become apparent.
President Lincoln had watched closely the progress of these events, and
had come to recognize in Grant the master spirit of the war, on the
Northern side. Accordingly he determined to give him general command of
all the Union armies. In December, 1863, a bill was introduced in the
Senate by Hon. E.B. Washburne, of Illinois, and passed both houses of
Congress, creating the rank of Lieutenant-General in the army.
President Lincoln approved the act, and immediately nominated Grant for
the position. The nomination was confirmed; and on the 17th of March,
1864, Grant issued his first order as Lieutenant-General, assuming
command of the armies of the United States, and announcing that his
headquarters would be in the field and until further orders with the
Army of the Potomac. Of this army he shrewdly remarked that it seemed to
him it "had never fought its battles _through_." He proposed, first of
all, to teach that army "not to be afraid of Lee." "I had known him
personally," said Grant, "and _knew that he was mortal_." With
characteristic energy he formed a simple but comprehensive plan of
operations both East and West; sending Sherman on his great march to
Atlanta and the sea, while he, with the Army of the Potomac, pushed
straight for Richmond. These operations were vigorously urged, and when
they were ended the war was ended. It was but little more than a year
from the date of Grant's commission as Lieutenant-General till he
received Lee's surrender at Appomattox.
Immediately upon Grant's appointment as Lieutenant-General, he was
summoned to Washington. It was his first visit to the capital since the
war began, and he was a stranger to nearly everyone from the President
down. He arrived in the city on the 8th of March (1864), taking quarters
at Willard's Hotel, where, when he went in to dinner, none knew "the
quiet, rather stumpy-looking man, who came in leading a little boy--the
boy who had ridden by his father's side through all the campaign of
Vicksburg." But soon it was whispered about who was in the room, and
there was a loud call for three cheers for Ulysses S. Grant, which were
given with a will. In the evening General Grant attended a reception at
the White House, passing in with the throng alone and unannounced. The
quick eye of the President discovered the identity of the modest
soldier, and he was most heartily welcomed. "As soon as it was known
that he was present, the pressure of the crowd to see the hero of
Vicksburg was so great that he was forced to shelter himself behind a
sofa. So irrepressible was the desire to see him that Secretary Seward
finally induced him to mount a sofa, that this curiosity might be
gratified. When parting from the President, he said, 'This has been
rather the warmest campaign I have witnessed during the war.'" A graphic
account of this interesting event is given by Secretary Welles, who
records in his Diary (March 9, 1864): "Went last evening to the
Presidential reception. Quite a gathering; very many that are not
usually seen at receptions were attracted thither, I presume, from the
fact that General Grant was expected to be there. He came about
half-past nine. I was near the centre of the reception-room, when a stir
and buzz attracted attention, and it was whispered that General Grant
had arrived. The room was not full, the crowd having passed through to
the East Room. I saw some men in uniform standing at the entrance, and
one of them, a short, brown, dark-haired man, was talking with the
President. There was hesitation, a degree of awkwardness, in the
General. Soon word was passed around--'Mr. Seward, General Grant is
here,' and Seward, who was just behind me, hurried and took the General
by the hand and led him to Mrs. Lincoln, near whom I was standing. The
crowd gathered around the circle rapidly, and it being intimated that it
would be necessary the throng should pass on, Seward took the General's
arm and went with him to the East Room. There was clapping of hands in
the next room as he passed through, and all in the East Room joined in
it as he entered."
The next day at noon the General waited on the President to receive his
commission. The interview took place in the Cabinet room. There were
present, besides the members of the Cabinet, General Halleck, a member
of Congress, two of General Grant's staff-officers, his eldest son,
Frederick D. Grant, and the President's private secretary. The ceremony
was simple, the President saying, as he proffered the papers: "The
nation's appreciation of what you have done, and its reliance upon you
for what remains to be done in the existing great struggle, are now
presented with this commission, constituting you Lieutenant-General in
the Army of the United States. With this high honor devolves upon you
also a corresponding responsibility. As the country herein trusts you,
so, under God, it will sustain you. I scarcely need to add that with
what I here speak for the nation goes my own hearty personal
concurrence." The General responded briefly, promising to "accept the
commission with gratitude for the high honor conferred. With the aid of
the noble armies that have fought on so many fields for our common
country, it will be my earnest endeavor not to disappoint your
expectations. I feel the full weight of the responsibilities now
devolving on me, and I know that if they are met it will be due to those
armies, and above all to the favor of that Providence which leads both
nations and men."
Before assuming personal command of the Army of the Potomac, as he had
determined to do, General Grant found it necessary to return once more
to the West. In his parting interview with Lincoln, he was urged to
remain to dinner the next day and meet a brilliant party whom the lady
of the White House had invited to do him special honor. The General
answered, apologetically: "Mrs. Lincoln must excuse me. I must be in
Tennessee at a given time." "But we can't excuse you," said the
President. "Mrs. Lincoln's dinner without you would be Hamlet with
Hamlet left out." "I appreciate the honor Mrs. Lincoln would do me,"
said the General, "but time is very important now. I ought to be at the
front, and a dinner to me means a million dollars a day lost to the
country." Lincoln was pleased with this answer, and said cheerfully,
"Well, we'll have the dinner without you."
After Lincoln's first meeting with General Grant he was asked regarding
his personal impressions of the new commander. He replied, "Well, I
hardly know what to think of him. He's the quietest little fellow you
ever saw. He makes the least fuss of any man I ever knew. I believe on
several occasions he has been in this room a minute or so before I knew
he was here. It's about so all around. The only evidence you have that
he's in any particular place is that he makes things move." To a
subsequent inquiry as to his estimate of Grant's military capacities,
Lincoln responded, with emphasis: "Grant is the first General I've had.
_He's a General_." "How do you mean, Mr. Lincoln?" his visitor asked.
"Well, I'll tell you what I mean," replied Lincoln. "You know how it's
been with all the rest. As soon as I put a man in command of the army,
he'd come to me with the plan of a campaign, and about as much as to
say: 'Now I don't believe I can do it, but if you say so I'll try it
on,' and so put the responsibility of success or failure on me. They all
wanted _me_ to be the General. Now, it isn't so with Grant. He hasn't
told me what his plans are. I don't know and I don't want to know. I am
glad to find a man who can go ahead without me. When any of the rest set
out on a campaign they'd look over matters and pick out some one thing
they were short of and they knew I couldn't give them, and tell me they
couldn't hope to win unless they had it--and it was most generally
cavalry. Now when Grant took hold I was waiting to see what his pet
impossibility would be, and I reckoned it would be cavalry, of course,
for we hadn't horses enough to mount what men we had. There were fifteen
thousand men, or thereabouts, up near Harper's Ferry, and no horses to
put them on. Well, the other day Grant sent to me about these very men,
just as I expected; but what he wanted to know was whether he could make
infantry of 'em or disband 'em. He doesn't ask impossibilities of me,
and he's the first General I've had that didn't." On another occasion
Lincoln said of Grant: "The great thing about him is his cool
persistency of purpose. He is not easily excited, and he has the grip of
a bulldog. _When he once gets his teeth in, nothing can shake him off_."
The President's satisfaction with the new commander was speedily
communicated to him in a characteristically frank manner, in a letter
dated April 30, 1864.
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL GRANT:--
Not expecting to see you before the Spring campaign opens, I wish
to express in this way my entire satisfaction with what you have
done up to this time, so far as I understand it. The particulars of
your plan I neither know nor seek to know. You are vigilant and
self-reliant; and, pleased with this, I wish not to obtrude any
restraints or constraints upon you. While I am very anxious that
any great disaster or capture of our men in great numbers shall be
avoided, I know that these points are less likely to escape your
attention than they would be mine. If there be anything wanting
which is in my power to give, do not fail to let me know it. And
now, with a brave army and a just cause, may God sustain you.
Yours very truly, A. LINCOLN.
General Grant himself wrote, on this point: "In my first interview with
Mr. Lincoln alone, he stated to me that he had never professed to be a
military man, or to know how campaigns should be conducted, and never
wanted to interfere in them; but that procrastination on the part of
commanders, and the pressure of the people at the North and Congress,
_which was always with him_, forced him into issuing his series of
'Military Orders'--one, two, three, etc. He did not know but they were
all wrong, and did know that some of them were. All he wanted or had
ever wanted was someone who would take the responsibility and act, and
call on him for all the assistance needed, pledging himself to use all
the power of the government in rendering such assistance.... The
President told me he did not want to know what I proposed to do. But he
submitted a plan of campaign of his own which he wanted me to hear and
then do as I pleased about. He brought out a map of Virginia on which he
had evidently marked every position occupied by the Federal and
Confederate armies up to that time. He pointed out on the map two
streams which empty into the Potomac, and suggested that the army might
be moved on boats and landed between the mouths of these streams. We
would then have the Potomac to bring our supplies, and the tributaries
would protect our flanks while we moved out. I listened respectfully,
but did not suggest that the same streams would protect Lee's flanks
while he was shutting us up."
General Horace Porter, for some time Grant's chief of staff, says: "The
nearest Mr. Lincoln ever came to giving General Grant an order for the
movement of troops was during Early's raid upon Washington. On July 10,
1864, he telegraphed a long despatch from Washington, which contained
the following language: 'What I think is that you should provide to
retain your hold where you are, certainly, and bring the rest with you
personally, and make a vigorous effort to defeat the enemy's force in
this vicinity. I think there is really a fair chance to do this, if the
movement is prompt. This is what I think--given upon your
suggestion,--and is not an order.' Grant replied that on reflection he
thought it would have a bad effect for him to leave City Point, then his
headquarters, in front of Richmond and Petersburg; and the President was
satisfied with the dispositions which Grant made for the repulse of
Early without taking command against him in person."
A curious incident revealing the intense interest with which Lincoln
watched the career of Grant is related by Mr. J. Russell Jones, an old
and trusted friend of the President, who joined the army at Vicksburg in
time to witness its final triumph. Soon after Mr. Jones's return to
Chicago, the President summoned him to Washington. With eager haste,
after the first salutations were over, Lincoln declared the object for
which he had secured the interview: "'I have sent for you, Mr. Jones, to
know if that man Grant wants to be President.' Mr. Jones, although
somewhat astonished at the question and the circumstances under which it
was asked, replied at once, 'No, Mr. President.' 'Are you sure?' queried
the latter. 'Yes,' said Mr. Jones, 'perfectly sure. I have just come
from Vicksburg. I have seen General Grant frequently, and talked fully
and freely with him about that and every other question; and I know he
has no political aspirations whatever, and certainly none for the
Presidency. His only desire is to see you re-elected and to do what he
can under your orders to put down the rebellion and restore peace to the
country.' 'Ah, Mr. Jones,' said Lincoln, 'you have lifted a great weight
off my mind, and done me an immense amount of good; for I tell you, my
friend, no man knows how deeply that Presidential grub gnaws till he has
had it himself.'" We cannot believe that Lincoln cherished any feeling
of jealousy of the rising commander, or desired to interfere with
whatever political ambition he might nourish. It was rather his desire
to be assured of the single-hearted purpose of a military leader whom he
had trusted and to whom he wished to confide still more important
services in the conduct of the war.
It may be remembered that early in the war an anecdote went the rounds
of the press to the effect that, in reply to a complaint that Grant had
been guilty of drunkenness in the campaigns in the West, Lincoln
remarked that he would "like to find out what kind of liquor Grant
drank," so that he might "send some of it to the other Generals." The
true version of that characteristic anecdote is this, as given by the
late Judge T. Lyle Dickey, who was a Judge of the Illinois Supreme Court
at the time of his death, and at the time of Grant's famous Vicksburg
campaign was on the General's staff as chief of cavalry. Judge (then
Colonel) Dickey had been sent to Washington with private despatches for
the President and the Secretary of War. Lincoln and Dickey had been
intimate friends for years, and during the latter's visit to the former
on that occasion, Dickey remarked, "I hear that some one has been trying
to poison you against Grant by reporting that he gets drunk. I wish to
assure you, Mr. President, that there is not a scintilla of truth in the
report." "Oh, Colonel," replied the President, "we get all sorts of
reports here, but I'll say this to you: that if those accusing General
Grant of getting drunk will tell me _where he gets his whiskey_, I will
get a lot of it and send it around to some of the other Generals, who
are badly in need of something of the kind."
After Lincoln and General Grant had become personally intimate, they had
many enjoyable conversations and exchanges of anecdotes. Lincoln
especially enjoyed telling the General of the various persons who had
come to him with complaints and criticisms about the Vicksburg campaign.
"After the place had actually surrendered," said the President, "I
thought it was about time to shut down on this sort of thing. So one
day, when a delegation came to see me, and had spent half an hour trying
to show me the fatal mistake you had made in paroling Pemberton's army,
and insisting that the rebels would violate their paroles and in less
than a month confront you again in the ranks and have to be whipped all
over again, I thought I could get rid of them best by telling them a
story about Sykes's dog. 'Have you ever heard about Sykes's yellow dog?'
said I to the spokesman of the delegation. He said he hadn't. 'Well, I
must tell you about him,' said I. 'Sykes had a yellow dog he set great
store by, but there were a lot of small boys around the village, and
that's always a bad thing for dogs, you know. These boys didn't share
Sykes's views, and they were not disposed to let the dog have a fair
show. Even Sykes had to admit that the dog was getting unpopular; in
fact, it was soon seen that a prejudice was growing up against that dog
that threatened to wreck all his future prospects in life. The boys,
after meditating how they could get the best of him, finally fixed up a
cartridge with a long fuse, put the cartridge in a piece of meat,
dropped the meat in the road in front of Sykes's door, and then perched
themselves on a fence a good distance off with the end of the fuse in
their hands. Then they whistled for the dog. When he came out he scented
the bait, and bolted the meat, cartridge and all. The boys touched off
the fuse with a cigar, and in about a second a report came from that dog
that sounded like a small clap of thunder. Sykes came bouncing out of
the house, and yelled: "What's up! Anything busted?" There was no
reply, except a snicker from the small boys roosting on the fence; but
as Sykes looked up he saw the whole air filled with pieces of yellow
dog. He picked up the biggest piece he could find--a portion of the
back, with a part of the tail still hanging to it, and, after turning it
around and looking it all over, he said, "Well, I guess he'll never be
much account again--_as a dog_." And I guess Pemberton's forces will
never be much account again--_as an army._' The delegation began looking
around for their hats before I had quite got to the end of the story,
and I was never bothered any more about superseding the commander of the
Army of the Tennessee."
When General Grant was ready to begin active operations with the Army of
the Potomac, he sent forward all available men from Washington.
Secretary Stanton, anxious about the safety of the city, said to Grant
one day: "General, I suppose you have left us enough men to strongly
garrison the forts?" "No, I can't do that," was Grant's quiet answer.
"Why not? Why not?" repeated the Secretary nervously. "Because I have
already sent the men to the front." Said the Secretary, still more
nervously: "That won't do. It's contrary to my plans. I cannot allow it.
I will order the men back." To this Grant returned with quiet
determination: "I shall need the men there, and you cannot order them
back." "Why not? Why not?" cried the Secretary. "I believe that I rank
the Secretary in this matter," remarked Grant. "Very well, we will see
the President about that," responded the Secretary sharply. "I will have
to take you to the President." "That is right. The President ranks us
both." So they went to the President; and the Secretary, turning to
General Grant, said, "Now, General, state your case." But the General
calmly replied, "I have no case to state. I am satisfied as it is."
This threw the burden of statement on Secretary Stanton, and was
excellent strategy. Meanwhile, General Grant had the men. When the
Secretary had concluded, Lincoln crossed his legs, rested his elbow on
his knee, and said in his quaint way and with a twinkle in his eye:
"Now, Mr. Secretary, you know we have been trying to manage this army
for nearly three years, and you know we haven't done much with it. We
sent over the mountains and brought Mr. Grant, as Mrs. Grant calls him,
to manage it for us; and now I guess we'd better let Mr. Grant _have his
own way_." And Mr. Grant had it.
The favorable opinion which Lincoln held of Grant was strongly
reciprocated. A short time before the former's death, Grant said: "I
regard Lincoln as one of the greatest of men. He is unquestionably the
greatest man I have ever encountered. The more I see of him and exchange
views with him, the more he impresses me. I admire his courage, and
respect the firmness he always displays. Many think from the gentleness
of his character that he has a yielding nature; but while he has the
courage to change his mind when convinced that he is wrong, he has all
the tenacity of purpose which could be desired in a great statesman. His
quickness of perception often astonishes me. Long before the statement
of a complicated question is finished, his mind will grasp the main
points, and he will seem to comprehend the whole subject better than the
person who is stating it. He will take rank in history alongside of
Washington."
CHAPTER XXVII
Lincoln's Second Presidential Term--His Attitude toward it--Rival
Candidates for the Nomination--Chase's Achillean Wrath--Harmony
Restored--The Baltimore Convention--Decision "not to Swap Horses
while Crossing a Stream"--The Summer of 1864--Washington again
Threatened--Lincoln under Fire--Unpopular Measures--The President's
Perplexities and Trials--The Famous Letter "To Whom It May
Concern"--Little Expectation of Re-election--Dangers of
Assassination--"A Thrilling Experience"--Lincoln's Forced
Serenity--"The Saddest Man in the World"--A Break in the
Clouds--Lincoln Vindicated by Re-election--Cheered and
Reassured--More Trouble with Chase--Lincoln's Final Disposal of
him--The President's Fourth Annual Message--His Position toward the
Rebellion and Slavery Reaffirmed--Colored Folks' Reception at the
White House--Passage of the Amendment Prohibiting Slavery--Lincoln
and the Southern Peace Commissioners--The Meeting in Hampton
Roads--Lincoln's Impression of A H. Stephens--The Second
Inauguration--Second Inaugural Address--"With Malice toward None,
with Charity for All"--An Auspicious Omen.
The year 1864 witnessed another Presidential election, and one which
was attended by the most novel and extraordinary circumstances. It was
held while a considerable portion of the people were engaged in armed
rebellion against the authority of the National Government; and it was
not participated in by the voters of several entire States. Aside from
these unique features, it marked a most critical epoch in the history
of the country, and in that of Abraham Lincoln as well. The policy and
acts of the administration, even the question of the further
prosecution of the war, were to be submitted to the sovereign tribunal
of the people; and with their verdict would be recorded also the
popular measure of approval or disapproval of President Lincoln. Those
who knew him best during his first official term pronounce him
singularly free from plans and calculations regarding his own
political future. He was too absorbed in public cares and duties, too
nearly crushed by the great burdens resting upon him, to give thought
or attention to questions of personal ambition. It had never been his
aim, during his Presidential life, to look far ahead. He was content
to deal wisely and soberly with important questions as they arose from
day to day and hour to hour; to adapt himself and his actions to the
exigencies of the present, and in that way to earn security for the
future. He himself said, using a forcible and apt illustration
borrowed from his early life: "The pilots on our Western rivers steer
from _point to point_, as they call it--setting the course of the boat
no farther than they can see; and that is all I propose to do in the
great problems that are set before me."
Such a policy as that outlined by Lincoln, embraced in his homely and
characteristic phrase of "pegging away," caused him to be greatly
misunderstood and even distrusted in some quarters. As the time for the
new election drew near, there was very pronounced dissatisfaction with
him, particularly in New England. It was said of him, among other
things, that he "lacked the essential qualities of a leader." Mr. Henry
Greenleaf Pearson, the biographer of Governor Andrew of Massachusetts,
illuminates this point in a few instructive sentences. "To comprehend
this objection, which to us seems so astonishingly wide of the mark,"
says Mr. Pearson, "we must realize that whenever a New Englander of that
generation uttered the word 'leader' his mind's eye was filled with the
image of Daniel Webster. Even those who called the fallen statesman
'Ichabod' could not forget his commanding presence, his lofty tone about
affairs of state, his sonorous professions of an ideal, his whole _ex
cathedra_ attitude. All these characteristics supplied the aristocratic
connotation of the word 'leader.' Of the broad democratic meaning of the
term, the world had as yet received no demonstration. That Lincoln was
in very truth the 'new birth of a new soil,' Lowell, with the advantage
of literary detachment, was one of the first to discover and proclaim,
both in his political essays and in the splendid stanzas of the
'Commemoration Ode.'"
While Lincoln seemingly gave little heed to the question of a second
Presidential term, it must not be inferred that he was indifferent
regarding it. His nature was one of those strong ones which, though
desiring approbation, are yet able to live without it. His whole life
had been a schooling in self-reliance and independence, and the last
three years especially had rendered him an adept in that stern
philosophy. But he was thoroughly human, and deep down in his nature was
a craving for human sympathy and support. Knowing that he had done his
best and was entitled to the full approval of his countrymen, he no
doubt felt that it would be a pleasant thing to receive that approval by
being called to serve them for another term. To one friend he remarked,
using his old figure of "the people's attorney," "If the people think I
have managed their case for them well enough to trust me to _carry it up
to the next term_, I am sure I shall be glad to take it." He evidently
dreaded the rebuke that would be implied in a failure to be renominated;
yet it seemed unbecoming to him, in the critical condition of the
country, to make any personal effort to that end. To these
considerations were added his extreme weariness and longing for release
from his oppressive burdens. He was also, as Mr. Welles records in his
Diary, "greatly importuned and pressed by cunning intrigues."
From these various complications, Lincoln's embarrassment and
perplexity as the time for holding the Republican Convention drew near
were extreme. A journalistic friend (Mr. J.M. Winchell), who had a
lengthy conversation with him on the subject, gives what is no doubt a
correct idea of his state of mind at that period. "Mr. Lincoln received
me," says Mr. Winchell, "kindly and courteously; but his manner was
quite changed. It was not now the country about which his anxiety
prevailed, but himself. There was an embarrassment about him which he
could not quite conceal. I thought it proper to state in the outset that
I wished simply to know whatever he was free to tell me in regard to his
own willingness or unwillingness to accept a renomination. The reply was
a monologue of an hour's duration, and one that wholly absorbed me, as
it seemed to absorb himself. He remained seated nearly all the time. He
was restless, often changing position, and occasionally, in some intense
moment, wheeling his body around in his chair and throwing a leg over
the arm. This was the only grotesque thing I recollect about him; his
voice and manner were very earnest, and he uttered no jokes and told no
anecdotes. He began by saying that as yet he was not a candidate for
renomination. He distinctly denied that he was a party to any effort to
that end, notwithstanding I knew that there were movements in his favor
in all parts of the Northern States. These movements were, of course,
without his prompting, as he positively assured me that with one or two
exceptions he had scarcely conversed on the subject with his most
intimate friends. He was not quite sure whether he desired a
renomination. Such had been the responsibility of the office--so
oppressive had he found its cares, so terrible its perplexities--that he
felt as though the moment when he could relinquish the burden and
retire to private life would be the sweetest he could possibly
experience. But, he said, he would not deny that a re-election would
also have its gratification to his feelings. He did not seek it, nor
would he do so; he did not desire it for any ambitious or selfish
purpose; but after the crisis the country was passing through under his
Presidency, and the efforts he had made conscientiously to discharge the
duties imposed upon him, it would be a very sweet satisfaction to him to
know that he had secured the approval of his fellow citizens and earned
the highest testimonial of confidence they could bestow. This was the
gist of the hour's monologue; and I believe he spoke sincerely. His
voice, his manner, gave his modest and sensible words a power of
conviction. He seldom looked me in the face while he was talking; he
seemed almost to be gazing into the future. I am sure it was not a
pleasant thing for him to seem to be speaking in his own behalf. For
himself, he affirmed that he should make no promises of office to anyone
as an inducement for support. If nominated and elected, he should be
grateful to his friends; but the interests of the country must always be
first considered."
The principal candidates talked of as successors to Lincoln were
Secretary Chase, General Fremont, and General Grant. Of the latter,
Lincoln said, with characteristic frankness and generosity: "If he could
be more useful as President in putting down the rebellion, I would be
content. He is pledged to our policy of emancipation and the employment
of negro soldiers; and if this policy is carried out, it will not make
much difference who is President." But General Grant's good sense
prevailed over his injudicious advisers, and he promptly refused to
allow his name to be presented to the convention.
The most formidable candidate for the Republican nomination was
Secretary Chase. The relations between him and the President had not
latterly been very harmonious; and the breach was greatly widened by a
bitter personal assault on Mr. Chase by General F.P. Blair, a newly
elected Congressman from Missouri, made on the floor of the House, about
the middle of April, under circumstances which led Mr. Chase to believe
that the President inspired, or at least approved, the attack. Mr. Chase
was very angry, and an open rupture between his friends and those of the
President was narrowly averted. Mr. Riddle, Congressman from Mr. Chase's
State (Ohio), relates that on the evening after General Blair's
offensive speech he was to accompany Mr. Chase on a visit to Baltimore.
"I was shown," says Mr. Riddle, "to the Secretary's private car, where I
found him alone and in a frenzy of rage. A copy of Blair's speech had
been shown him at the station, and I was the sole witness of his
Achillean wrath. He threatened to leave the train at once and send the
President his resignation; but was persuaded to go on to Baltimore. He
wished to forward his resignation from there, but concluded to withhold
it till his return to Washington the next day. At Baltimore," continues
Mr. Riddle, "I excused myself, and took the return train for Washington.
I did not overestimate the danger to the Union cause. It would be a
fatal error to defeat Mr. Lincoln at the Baltimore Convention; yet how
could he succeed, with the angry resignation of Mr. Chase, and the
defection of his friends--the powerful and aggressive radicals? Reaching
Washington, I went to the White House direct. I knew the President could
not have been a party to Blair's assault, and I wanted his personal
assurances to communicate to Mr. Chase at the earliest moment. I was
accompanied by Judge Spaulding, an eminent member of the House, fully
sharing Mr. Chase's confidence, and somewhat cool toward the President.
We found Mr. Lincoln drawn up behind his table, with papers before him,
quite grim, evidently prepared for the battle which he supposed awaited
him. Without taking a seat, hat in hand, I stated frankly, not without
emotion, the condition of affairs,--the public danger, my entire
confidence in him, my sole purpose there, the reason of Judge
Spaulding's presence, and that we were there in no way as
representatives of Mr. Chase. Mr. Lincoln was visibly affected. The
tones of confidence, sympathy, personal regard, were strangers to him at
that time. Softening, almost melting, he came round to us, shook our
hands again and again, returned to his place, and standing there, took
up and opened out, from their remote origin, the whole web of matters
connected with the present complication. He spoke an hour--calm, clear,
direct, simple. He reprehended Blair severely, and stated that he had no
knowledge of his speech until after Blair left Washington. We were
permitted to communicate this to Mr. Chase. He was satisfied with the
President's explanation, and at the Baltimore Convention my large
acquaintance enabled me to open the way for Governor Dennison of Ohio to
become its presiding officer. All recognized the good effect of the
organization of that body by the friends of Mr. Chase."
The National Republican Convention which met at Baltimore on the 8th of
June adopted resolutions heartily approving the course of the
administration and especially the policy of emancipation, and completed
its good work by nominating Abraham Lincoln as its candidate for
President for another term. Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, was nominated
for Vice-President. That Lincoln was gratified at this proof of
confidence and esteem there can be no doubt. In his acceptance of the
nomination, he said, with the most delicate modesty: "I view this call
to a second term as in no wise more flattering to myself than as an
expression of the public judgment that I may better finish a difficult
work than could one less severely schooled to the task." And with
characteristic humor, he thanked a visiting delegation for their good
opinion of him, saying, "I have not permitted myself to conclude that I
am the best man in the country; but I am reminded of the old Dutch farmer who remarked to a companion that _it was not best to swap horses while crossing a stream_." |
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