omission of part of the original draft of the first of these
two paragraphs. After "defend it," Lincoln had written, "You
can forbear the assault upon it. I can not shrink from the
defense of it. With you and not with me is the solemn
question 'Shall it be peace or a sword?'" Having struck this
out, he accepted Seward's advice to add "some words of
affection--some of calm and cheerful confidence."
The original version of the concluding paragraph was prepared by Seward
and read as follows: "I close. We are not, we must not he aliens or
enemies, but fellow-countrymen and brethren. Although passion has
strained our bonds of affection too hardly, they must not, I am sure,
they will not, be broken. The mystic chords which, proceeding from
so many battlefields and so many patriot graves, pass through all the
hearts and all hearths in this broad continent of ours, will yet again
harmonize in their ancient music when breathed upon by the guardian
angel of the nation."
These words, now so famous, were spoken in the east portico of the
Capitol on "one of our disagreeable, clear, windy, Washington spring
days."(10) Most of the participants were agitated; many were alarmed.
Chief Justice Taney who administered the oath could hardly speak, so
near to uncontrollable was his emotion. General Scott anxiously kept
his eye upon the crowd which was commanded by cannon. Cavalry were in
readiness to clear the streets in case of riot. Lincoln's carriage on
the way to the Capitol had been closely guarded. He made his way to
the portico between files of soldiers. So intent--overintent--were his
guardians upon his safety that they had been careless of the smaller
matter of his comfort. There was insufficient room for the large company
that had been invited to attend. The new President stood beside a
rickety little table and saw no place on which to put his hat. Senator
Douglas stepped forward and relieved him of the burden. Lincoln was
"pale and very nervous," and toward the close of his speech, visibly
affected. Observers differ point-blank as to the way the inaugural was
received. The "Public Man" says that there was little enthusiasm. The
opposite version makes the event an oratorical triumph, with the crowd,
at the close, completely under his spell.(11)
On the whole, the inauguration and the festivities that followed appear
to have formed a dismal event. While Lincoln spoke, the topmost peak of
the Capitol, far above his head, was an idle derrick; the present dome
was in process of construction; work on it had been arrested, and who
could say when, if ever, the work would be resumed? The day closed with
an inaugural ball that was anything but brilliant. "The great tawdry
ballroom . . . not half full--and such an assemblage of strange costumes,
male and female. Very few people of any consideration were there. The
President looked exhausted and uncomfortable, and most ungainly in his
dress; and Mrs. Lincoln all in blue, with a feather in her hair and a
highly flushed face."(12)
XV. PRESIDENT AND PREMIER
The brilliant Secretary, who so promptly began to influence the
President had very sure foundations for that influence. He was inured
to the role of great man; he had a rich experience of public life;
while Lincoln, painfully conscious of his inexperience, was perhaps
the humblest-minded ruler that ever took the helm of a ship of state in
perilous times. Furthermore, Seward had some priceless qualities
which, for Lincoln, were still to seek. First of all, he had
audacity--personally, artistically, politically. Seward's instantaneous
gift to Lincoln was by way of throwing wide the door of his gathering
literary audacity. There is every reason to think that Seward's personal
audacity went to Lincoln's heart at once. To be sure, he was not yet
capable of going along with it. The basal contrast of the first month of
his administration lies between the President's caution and the boldness
of the Secretary. Nevertheless, to a sensitive mind, seeking guidance,
surrounded by less original types of politicians, the splendid
fearlessness of Seward, whether wise or foolish, must have rung like
a trumpet peal soaring over the heads of a crowd whose teeth were
chattering. While the rest of the Cabinet pressed their ears to the
ground, Seward thought out a policy, made a forecast of the future, and
offered to stake his head on the correctness of his reasoning. This
may have been rashness; it may have been folly; but, intellectually
at least, it was valor. Among Lincoln's other advisers, valor at that
moment was lacking. Contrast, however, was not the sole, nor the surest
basis of Seward's appeal to Lincoln. Their characters had a common
factor. For all their immeasurable difference in externals, both at
bottom were void of malice. It was this characteristic above all others
that gave them spiritually common ground. In Seward, this quality had
been under fire for a long while. The political furies of "that iron
time" had failed to rouse echoes in his serene and smiling soul.
Therefore, many men who accepted him as leader because, indeed, they
could not do without him--because none other in their camp had
his genius for management, for the glorification of political
intrigue--these same men followed him doubtfully, with bad grace,
willing to shift to some other leader whenever he might arise. The clue
to their distrust was Seward's amusement at the furious. Could a man
who laughed when you preached on the beauty of the hewing of Agag, could
such a man be sincere? And that Seward in some respects was not sincere,
history generally admits. He loved to poke fun at his opponents by
appearing to sneer at himself, by ridiculing the idea that he was ever
serious. His scale of political values was different from that of most
of his followers. Nineteen times out of twenty, he would treat what they
termed "principles" as mere political counters, as legitimate subjects
of bargain. If by any deal he could trade off any or all of these
nineteen in order to secure the twentieth, which for him was the only
vital one, he never scrupled to do so. Against a lurid background of
political ferocity, this amused, ironic figure came to be rated by the
extremists, both in his own and in the enemy camp as Mephistopheles.
No quality could have endeared him more certainly to Lincoln than the
very one which the bigots misunderstood. From his earliest youth Lincoln
had been governed by this same quality. With his non-censorious mind,
which accepted so much of life as he found it, which was forever
stripping principles of their accretions, what could be more inevitable
than his warming to the one great man at Washington who like him held
that such a point of view was the only rational one. Seward's ironic
peacefulness in the midst of the storm gained in luster because all
about him raged a tempest of ferocity, mitigated, at least so far as the
distracted President could see, only by self-interest or pacifism.
As Lincoln came into office, he could see and hear many signs of a
rising fierceness of sectional hatred. His secretary records with
disgust a proposal to conquer the Gulf States, expel their white
population, and reduce the region to a gigantic state preserve, where
negroes should grow cotton under national supervision.(1) "We of the
North," said Senator Baker of Oregon, "are a majority of the Union, and
we will govern our Union in our own way."(2) At the other extreme was
the hysterical pacifism of the Abolitionists. Part of Lincoln's abiding
quarrel with the Abolitionists was their lack of national feeling. Their
peculiar form of introspection had injected into politics the idea of
personal sin. Their personal responsibility for slavery--they being
part of a country that tolerated it--was their basal inspiration.
Consequently, the most distinctive Abolitionists welcomed this
opportunity to cast off their responsibility. If war had been proposed
as a crusade to abolish slavery, their attitude might have been
different But in March, 1860, no one but the few ultra-extremists, whom
scarcely anybody heeded, dreamed of such a war. A war to restore the
Union was the only sort that was considered seriously. Such a war, the
Abolitionists bitterly condemned. They seized upon pacifism as their
defense. Said Whittier of the Seceding States:
They break the links of Union: shall we light
The fires of hell to weld anew the chain,
On that red anvil where each blow is pain?
The fury and the fear offended Lincoln in equal measure. After long
years opposing the political temper of the extremists, he was not the
man now to change front. To one who believed himself marked out for a
tragic end, the cowardice at the heart of the pacifism of his time was
revolting. It was fortunate for his own peace of mind that he could here
count on the Secretary of State. No argument based on fear of pain would
meet in Seward with anything but derision. "They tell us," he had once
said, and the words expressed his constant attitude, "that we are to
encounter opposition. Why, bless my soul, did anybody ever expect to
reach a fortune, or fame, or happiness on earth or a crown in heaven,
without encountering resistance and opposition? What are we made men for
but to encounter and overcome opposition arrayed against us in the line
of our duty?"(3)
But if the ferocity and the cowardice were offensive and disheartening,
there was something else that was beneath contempt. Never was
self-interest more shockingly displayed. It was revealed in many
ways, but impinged upon the new President in only one. A horde of
office-seekers besieged him in the White House. The parallel to this
amazing picture can hardly be found in history. It was taken for granted
that the new party would make a clean sweep of the whole civil list,
that every government employee down to the humblest messenger boy too
young to have political ideas was to bear the label of the victorious
party. Every Congressman who had made promises to his constituents,
every politician of every grade who thought he had the party in his
debt, every adventurer who on any pretext could make a showing of party
service rendered, poured into Washington. It was a motley horde.
"Hark, hark, the dogs do bark,
The beggars are coming to town."
They converted the White House into a leaguer. They swarmed into the
corridors and even the private passages. So dense was the swarm that
it was difficult to make one's way either in or out. Lincoln described
himself by the image of a man renting rooms at one end of his house
while the other end was on fire.(4) And all this while the existence of
the Republic was at stake! It did not occur to him that it was safe to
defy the horde, to send it about its business. Here again, the figure of
Seward stood out in brilliant light against the somber background. One
of Seward's faculties was his power to form devoted lieutenants. He had
that sure and nimble judgment which enables some men to inspire their
lieutenants rather than categorically to instruct them. All the sordid
side of his political games he managed in this way. He did not appear
himself as the bargainer. In the shameful eagerness of most of the
politicians to find offices for their retainers, Seward was conspicuous
by contrast. Even the Cabinet was not free from this vice of catering to
the thirsty horde.(5) Alone, at this juncture, Seward detached himself
from the petty affairs of the hour and gave his whole attention to
statecraft.
He had a definite policy. Another point of contact with Lincoln was the
attitude of both toward the Union, supplemented as it was by their
views of the place of slavery in the problem they confronted. Both were
nationalists ready to make any sacrifices for the national idea. Both
regarded slavery as an issue of second importance. Both were prepared
for great concessions if convinced that, ultimately, their concessions
would strengthen the trend of American life toward a general exaltation
of nationality.
On the other hand, their differences--
Seward approached the problem in the same temper, with the same
assumptions, that were his in the previous December. He still believed
that his main purpose was to enable a group of politicians to save their
faces by effecting a strategic retreat. Imputing to the Southern leaders
an attitude of pure self-interest, he believed that if allowed to play
the game as they desired, they would mark time until circumstances
revealed to them whether there was more profit for them in the Union or
out; he also believed that if sufficient time could be given, and if no
armed clash took place, it would be demonstrated first, that they did
not have so strong a hold on the South as they had thought they had;
and second, that on the whole, it was to their interests to patch up the
quarrel and come back into the Union. But he also saw that they had a
serious problem of leadership, which, if rudely handled, might make it
impossible for them to stand still. They had inflamed the sentiment of
state-patriotism. In South Carolina, particularly, the popular demand
was for independence. With this went the demand that Fort Sumter in
Charleston Harbor, garrisoned by Federal troops, should be surrendered,
or if not surrendered, taken forcibly from the United States. A few
cannon shots at Sumter would mean war. An article in Seward's creed of
statecraft asserted that the populace will always go wild over a war. To
prevent a war fever in the North was the first condition of his policy
at home. Therefore, in order to prevent it, the first step in saving his
enemies' faces was to safeguard them against the same danger in their
own calm. He must help them to prevent a war fever in the South. He saw
but one way to do this. The conclusion which became the bed rock of his
policy was inevitable. Sumter must be evacuated.
Even before the inauguration, he had broached this idea to Lincoln. He
had tried to keep Lincoln from inserting in the inaugural the words,
"The power confided to me will be used to hold, occupy and possess
the property and places belonging to the government." He had proposed
instead, "The power confided in me shall be used indeed with efficacy,
but also with discretion, in every case and exigency, according to
the circumstances actually existing, and with a view and a hope of
a peaceful solution of the national troubles, and the restoration of
fraternal sympathies and affections."(6) With the rejection of Seward's
proffered revision, a difference between them in policy began to
develop. Lincoln, says one of his secretaries, accepted Seward's main
purpose but did not share his "optimism."(7) It would be truer to say
that in this stage of his development, he was lacking in audacity. In
his eager search for advice, he had to strike a balance between the
daring Seward who at this moment built entirely on his own power of
political devination, and the cautious remainder of the Cabinet who
had their ears to the ground trying their best to catch the note of
authority in the rumblings of vox populi. For his own part, Lincoln
began with two resolves: to go very cautiously,--and not give something
for nothing. Far from him, as yet, was that plunging mood which in
Seward pushed audacity to the verge of a gamble. However, just previous
to the inauguration, he took a cautious step in Seward's direction.
Virginia, like all the other States of the upper South, was torn by the
question which side to take. There was a "Union" party in Virginia, and
a "Secession" party. A committee of leading Unionists conferred with
Lincoln. They saw the immediate problem very much as Seward did. They
believed that if time were allowed, the crisis could be tided over and
the Union restored; but the first breath of war would wreck their hopes.
The condition of bringing about an adjustment was the evacuation of
Sumter. Lincoln told them that if Virginia could be kept in the Union
by the evacuation of Sumter, he would not hesitate to recall the
garrison.(8) A few days later, despite what he had said in the
inaugural, he repeated this offer. A convention was then sitting at
Richmond in debate upon the relations of Virginia to the Union. If
it would drop the matter and dissolve--so Lincoln told another
committee--he would evacuate Sumter and trust the recovery of the lower
South to negotiation.(9) No results, so far as is known, came of either
of those offers.
During the first half of March, the Washington government marked time.
The office-seekers continued to besiege the President. South Carolina
continued to clamor for possession of Sumter. The Confederacy sent
commissioners to Washington whom Lincoln refused to recognize. The
Virginia Convention swayed this way and that.
Seward went serenely about his business, confident that everything was
certain to come his way soon or late. He went so far as to advise an
intermediary to tell the Confederate Commissioners that all they had
to do to get possession of Sumter was to wait. The rest of the Cabinet
pressed their ears more tightly than ever to the ground. The rumblings
of vox populi were hard to interpret. The North appeared to be in two
minds. This was revealed the day following the inauguration, when a
Republican Club in New York held a high debate upon the condition of the
country. One faction wanted Lincoln to declare for a war-policy; another
wished the Club to content itself with a vote of confidence in the
Administration. Each faction put its views into a resolution and as a
happy device for maintaining harmony, both resolutions were passed.(10)
The fragmentary, miscellaneous evidence of newspapers, political
meetings, the talk of leaders, local elections, formed a confused clamor
which each listener interpreted according to his predisposition. The
members of the Cabinet in their relative isolation at Washington found
it exceedingly difficult to make up their minds what the people were
really saying. Of but one thing they were certain, and that was that
they represented a minority party. Before committing themselves any way,
it was life and death to know what portion of the North would stand by
them.(11)
At this point began a perplexity that was to torment the President
almost to the verge of distraction. How far could he trust his military
advisers? Old General Scott was at the head of the army. He had once
been a striking, if not a great figure. Should his military advice be
accepted as final? Scott informed Lincoln that Sumter was short of food
and that any attempt to relieve it would call for a much larger force
than the government could muster. Scott urged him to withdraw the
garrison. Lincoln submitted the matter to the Cabinet. He asked for
their opinions in writing.(12) Five advised taking Scott at his word and
giving up all thought of relieving Sumter. There were two dissenters.
The Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon Portland Chase, struck the
key-note of his later political career by an elaborate argument on
expediency. If relieving Sumter would lead to civil war, Chase was not
in favor of relief; but on the whole he did not think that civil
war would result, and therefore, on the whole, he favored a relief
expedition. One member of the Cabinet, Montgomery Blair, the Postmaster
General, an impetuous, fierce man, was vehement for relief at all costs.
Lincoln wanted to agree with Chase and Blair. He reasoned that if the
fort was given up, the necessity under which it was done would not
be fully understood; that by many it would be construed as part of a
voluntary policy, that at home it would discourage the friends of the
Union, embolden its adversaries, and go far to insure to the matter a
recognition abroad.
Nevertheless, with the Cabinet five to two against him, with his
military adviser against him, Lincoln put aside his own views. The
government went on marking time and considering the credentials of
applicants for country post-offices.
By this time, Lincoln had thrown off the overpowering gloom which
possessed him in the latter days at Springfield. It is possible he
had reacted to a mood in which there was something of levity. His
oscillation of mood from a gloom that nothing penetrated to a sort of
desperate mirth, has been noted by various observers. And in 1861 he
had not reached his final poise, that firm holding of the middle
way,---which afterward fused his moods and made of him, at least in
action, a sustained personality.
About the middle of the month he had a famous interview with Colonel W.
T. Sherman who had been President of the University of Louisiana and had
recently resigned. Senator John Sherman called at the White House with
regard to "some minor appointments in Ohio." The Colonel went with him.
When Colonel Sherman spoke of the seriousness of the Secession movement,
Lincoln replied, "Oh, we'll manage to keep house." The Colonel was so
offended by what seemed to him the flippancy of the President that he
abandoned his intention to resume the military life and withdrew from
Washington in disgust.(13)
Not yet had Lincoln attained a true appreciation of the real difficulty
before him. He had not got rid of the idea that a dispute over slavery
had widened accidentally into a needless sectional quarrel, and that as
soon as the South had time to think things over, it would see that it
did not really want the quarrel. He had a queer idea that meanwhile he
could hold a few points on the margin of the Seceded States, open custom
houses on ships at the mouths of harbors, but leave vacant all Federal
appointments within the Seceded States and ignore the absence of their
representatives from Washington.(14) This marginal policy did not seem
to him a policy of coercion; and though he was beginning to see that the
situation from the Southern point of view turned on the right of a State
to resist coercion, he was yet to learn that idealistic elements of
emotion and of political dogma were the larger part of his difficulty.
Meanwhile, the upper South had been proclaiming its idealism. Its
attitude was creating a problem for the lower South as well as for the
North. The pro-slavery leaders had been startled out of a dream. The
belief in a Southern economic solidarity so complete that the secession
of any one Slave State would compel the secession of all the others,
that belief had been proved fallacious. It had been made plain that
on the economic issue, even as on the issue of sectional distrust,
the upper South would not follow the lower South into secession. When
delegates from the Georgia Secessionists visited the legislature of
North Carolina, every courtesy was shown to them; the Speaker of the
House assured them of North Carolina's sympathy and of her enduring
friendliness; but he was careful not to suggest an intention to secede,
unless (the condition that was destiny!) an attempt should be made to
violate the sovereignty of the State by marching troops across her soil
to attack the Confederates. Then, on the one issue of State sovereignty,
North Carolina would leave the Union.(15) The Unionists in Virginia
took similar ground. They wished to stay in the Union, and they were
determined not to go out on the issue of slavery. Therefore they laid
their heads together to get that issue out of the way. Their problem
was to devise a compromise that would do three things: lay the Southern
dread of an inundation of sectional Northern influence; silence the
slave profiteers; meet the objections that had induced Lincoln to
wreck the Crittenden Compromise. They felt that the first and second
objectives would be reached easily enough by reviving the line of the
Missouri Compromise. But something more was needed, or again, Lincoln
would refuse to negotiate. They met their crucial difficulty by boldly
appealing to the South to be satisfied with the conservation of its
present life and renounce the dream of unlimited Southern expansion.
Their Compromise proposed a death blow to the filibuster and all he
stood for. It provided that no new territory other than naval stations
should be acquired by the United States on either side the Missouri Line
without consent of a majority of the Senators from the States on the
opposite side of that line.(16)