daringly applied Lincoln's own maxim "stand with any one who stands
right," and momentarily joined the Democrats in their battle against
the two proclamations. But in American politics, with a few glorious
exceptions, courage of this sort has never been the order of the day.
The Jacobins kept their party line; bowed their heads to the storm; and
bided their time. In the Senate, an indiscreet resolution commending
the Emancipation Proclamation was ordered to be printed, and laid on the
table.(2) In the House, party exigencies were more exacting. Despite
the Democratic successes, the Republicans still had a majority. When the
Democrats made the repudiation of the President a party issue, arguing
on those very grounds that had aroused the eloquence of Stevens and the
rest--why, what's the Constitution between friends! Or between political
enemies? The Democrats forced all the Republicans into one boat by
introducing a resolution "That the policy of emancipation as indicated
in that Proclamation is an assumption of powers dangerous to the rights
of citizens and to the perpetuity of a free people." The resolution was
rejected. Among those who voted NO was Stevens.(3) Indeed, the star of
the Jacobins was far down on the horizon.
But the Jacobins were not the men to give up the game until they were
certainly in the last ditch. Though their issues had been slipped out of
their hands; though for the moment at least, it was not good policy
to fight the President on a principle; it might still be possible to
recover their prestige on some other contention. The first of January
was approaching. The final proclamation of emancipation would bring
to an end the temporary alliance of the Administration and the
Abolitionists. Who could say what new pattern of affairs the political
kaleidoscope might not soon reveal? Surely the Jacobin cue was to busy
themselves, straightway, making trouble for the President. Principles
being unavailable, practices might do. And who was satisfied with the
way the war was going? To rouse the party against the Administration
on the ground of inefficient practices, of unsatisfactory military
progress, might be the first step toward regaining their former
dominance.
There was a feather in the wind that gave them hope. The ominous
first paragraph of the Emancipation Proclamation was evidence that
the President was still stubbornly for his own policy; that he had not
surrendered to the opposite view. But this was not their only strategic
hope. Lincoln's dealings with the army between September and December
might, especially if anything in his course proved to be mistaken,
deliver him into their hands.
Following Antietam, Lincoln had urged upon McClellan swift pursuit
of Lee. His despatches were strikingly different from those of the
preceding spring. That half apologetic tone had disappeared. Though they
did not command, they gave advice freely. The tone was at least that
of an equal who, while not an authority in this particular matter, is
entitled to express his views and to have them taken seriously.
"You remember my speaking to you of what I called your overcautiousness?
Are you not over-cautious when you assume that you can not do what the
enemy is constantly doing? Should you not claim to be at least his equal
in prowess and act upon that claim . . . one of the standard maxims of
war, as you know, is to operate upon the enemy's communications as
much as possible without exposing your own. You seem to act as if this
applies against you, but can not apply in your favor. Change positions
with the enemy and think you not he would break your communications with
Richmond within the next twenty-four hours. . . .
"If he should move northward, I would follow him closely, holding his
communications. If he should prevent your seizing his communications
and move toward Richmond; I would press closely to him, fight him if a
favorable opportunity should present, and at least try to beat him to
Richmond on the inside track. I say 'try'; if we never try we shall
never succeed. . . . We should not operate so as to merely drive him
away. . . . This letter is in no sense an order."(4)
But once more the destiny that is in character intervened, and
McClellan's tragedy reached its climax. His dread of failure hypnotized
his will. So cautious were his movements that Lee regained Virginia with
his army intact. Lincoln was angry. Military amateur though he was, he
had filled his spare time reading books on strategy, Von Clausewitz
and the rest, and he had grasped the idea that war's aim is not to win
technical victories, nor to take cities, but to destroy armies. He felt
that McClellan had thrown away an opportunity of first magnitude. He
removed him from command.(5)
This was six weeks after the two proclamations. The country was ringing
with Abolition plaudits. The election had given the Democrats a new
lease of life. The anti-Lincoln Republicans were silent while their
party enemies with their stolen thunder rang the changes on the
presidential abuse of the war powers. It was a moment of crisis in party
politics. Where did the President stand? What was the outlook for those
men who in the words of Senator Wilson "would rather give a policy to
the President of the United States than take a policy from the President
of the United States."
Lincoln's situation was a close parallel to the situation of July, 1861,
when McDowell failed. Just as in choosing a successor to McDowell, he
revealed a political attitude, now, he would again make a revelation
choosing a successor to McClellan. By passing over Fremont and by
elevating a Democrat, he had spoken to the furious politicians in the
language they understood. Whatever appointment he now made would be
interpreted by those same politicians in the same way. In the atmosphere
of that time, there was but one way for Lincoln to rank himself as
a strict party man, to recant his earlier heresy of presidential
independence, and say to the Jacobins, "I am with you." He must appoint
a Republican to succeed McClellan. Let him do that and the Congressional
Cabal would forgive him. But he did not do it. He swept political
considerations aside and made a purely military appointment Burnside, on
whom he fixed, was the friend and admirer of McClellan and might fairly
be considered next to him in prestige. He was loved by his troops. In
the eyes of the army, his elevation represented "a legitimate succession
rather than the usurpation of a successful rival."(6) He was modest.
He did not want promotion. Nevertheless, Lincoln forced him to take
McClellan's place against his will, in spite of his protest that he had
not the ability to command so large an army.(7)
When Congress assembled and the Committee resumed its inquisition,
Burnside was moving South on his fated march to Fredericksburg. The
Committee watched him like hungry wolves. Woe to Burnside, woe to
Lincoln, if the General failed! Had the Little Men possessed any sort
of vision they would have seized their opportunity to become the
President's supporters. But they, like the Jacobins, were partisans
first and patriots second. In the division among the Republicans they
saw, not a chance to turn the scale in the President's favor, but
a chance to play politics on their own account. A picturesque Ohio
politician known as "Sunset" Cox opened the ball of their fatuousness
with an elaborate argument in Congress to the effect that the President
was in honor bound to regard the recent elections as strictly analogous
to an appeal to the country in England; that it was his duty to remodel
his policy to suit the Democrats. Between the Democrats and the Jacobins
Lincoln was indeed between the devil and the deep blue sea with no one
certainly on his side except the volatile Abolitionists whom he did not
trust and who did not trust him. A great victory might carry him over.
But a great defeat--what might not be the consequence!
On the thirteenth of December, through Burnside's stubborn incompetence,
thousands of American soldiers flung away their lives in a holocaust of
useless valor at Fredericksburg. Promptly the Jacobins acted. They set
up a shriek: the incompetent President, the all-parties dreamer, the
man who persists in coquetting with the Democrats, is blundering into
destruction! Burnside received the dreaded summons from the Committee.
So staggering was the shock of horror that even moderate Republicans
were swept away in a new whirlpool of doubt.
But even thus it was scarcely wise, the Abolitionists being still
fearful over the emancipation policy, to attack the President direct.
Nevertheless, the resourceful Jacobins found a way to begin their new
campaign. Seward, the symbol of moderation, the unforgivable enemy of
the Jacobins, had recently earned anew the hatred of the Abolitionists.
Letters of his to Charles Francis Adams had appeared in print. Some of
their expressions had roused a storm. For example: "extreme advocates of
African slavery and its most vehement exponents are acting in concert
together to precipitate a servile war."(8) To be sure, the date of
this letter was long since, before he and Lincoln had changed ground on
emancipation, but that did not matter. He had spoken evil of the cause;
he should suffer. All along, the large number that were incapable of
appreciating his lack of malice had wished him out of the Cabinet. As
Lincoln put it: "While they seemed to believe in my honesty, they also
appeared to think that when I had in me any good purpose or intention,
Seward contrived to suck it out of me unperceived."(9)
The Jacobins were skilful politicians. A caucus of Republican
Senators was stampeded by the cry that Seward was the master of the
Administration, the chief explanation of failure. It was Seward who had
brought them to the verge of despair. A committee was named to demand
the reorganization of the Cabinet Thereupon, Seward, informed of this
action, resigned. The Committee of the Senators called upon Lincoln. He
listened; did not commit himself; asked them to call again; and turned
into his own thoughts for a mode of saving the day.
During twenty months, since their clash in April, 1861, Seward and
Lincoln had become friends; not merely official associates, but genuine
comrades. Seward's earlier condescension had wholly disappeared. Perhaps
his new respect for Lincoln grew out of the President's silence after
Sumter. A few words revealing the strange meddling of the Secretary
of State would have turned upon Seward the full fury of suspicion that
destroyed McClellan. But Lincoln never spoke those words. Whatever blame
there was for the failure of the Sumter expedition, he quietly accepted
as his own. Seward, whatever his faults, was too large a nature, too
genuinely a lover of courage, of the nonvindictive temper, not to
be struck with admiration. Watching with keen eyes the unfolding of
Lincoln, Seward advanced from admiration to regard. After a while he
could write, "The President is the best of us." He warmed to him;
he gave out the best of himself. Lincoln responded. While the other
secretaries were useful, Seward became necessary. Lincoln, in these dark
days, found comfort in his society.(10) Lincoln was not going to allow
Seward to be driven out of the Cabinet. But how could he prevent it?
He could not say. He was in a quandary. For the moment, the Republican
leaders were so nearly of one mind in their antagonism to Seward, that
it demanded the greatest courage to oppose them. But Lincoln does not
appear to have given a thought to surrender. What puzzled him was the
mode of resistance.
Now that he was wholly himself, having confidence in whatever mode of
procedure his own thought approved, he had begun using methods that the
politicians found disconcerting. The second conference with the Senators
was an instance. Returning in the same mood in which they had left
him, with no suspicion of a surprise in store, the Senators to their
amazement were confronted by the Cabinet--or most of it, Seward being
absent.(11) The Senators were put out. This simple maneuver by the
President was the beginning of their discomfiture. It changed their
role from the ambassadors of an ultimatum to the participants in a
conference. But even thus, they might have succeeded in dominating the
event, though it is hardly conceivable that they could have carried
their point; they might have driven Lincoln into a corner; had it
not been for the make-up of one man. Again, the destiny that is in
character! Lincoln was delivered from a quandary by the course which the
Secretary of the Treasury could not keep himself from pursuing.
Chase, previous to this hour, may truly be called an imposing figure.
As a leader of the extreme Republicans, he had earned much fame. Lincoln
had given him a free hand in the Treasury and all the financial measures
of the government were his. Hitherto, Vindictives of all sorts had loved
him. He was a critic of the President's mildness, and a severe critic of
Seward. But Chase was not candid. Though on the surface he scrupulously
avoided any hint of cynicism, any point of resemblance to Seward, he was
in fact far more devious, much more capable of self-deception. He had
little of Seward's courage, and none of his aplomb. His condemnation of
Seward had been confided privately to Vindictive brethren.
When the Cabinet and the Senators met, Chase was placed in a situation
of which he had an instinctive horror. His caution, his secretiveness,
his adroit confidences, his skilful silences, had created in these two
groups of men, two impressions of his character. The Cabinet knew him as
the faithful, plausible Minister who found the money for the President.
The Senators, or some of them, knew him as the discontented Minister who
was their secret ally. For the two groups to compare notes, to check up
their impressions, meant that Chase was going to be found out. And it
was the central characteristic of Chase that he had a horror of being
found out.
The only definite result of the conference was Chase's realization when
the Senators departed that mischance was his portion. In the presence of
the Cabinet he had not the face to stick to his guns. He feebly defended
Seward. The Senators opened their eyes and stared. The ally they had
counted on had failed them. Chase bit his lips and was miserable.
The night that followed was one of deep anxiety for Lincoln. He was
still unable to see his way out. But all the while the predestination in
Chase's character was preparing the way of escape. Chase was desperately
trying to discover how to save his face. An element in him that
approached the melodramatic at last pointed the way. He would resign.
What an admirable mode of recapturing the confidence of his disappointed
friends, carrying out their aim to disrupt the Cabinet! But he could
not do a bold thing like this in Seward's way--at a stroke, without
hesitation. When he called on Lincoln the next day with the resignation
in his hand, he wavered. It happened that Welles was in the room.
"Chase said he had been painfully affected," is Welles' account, "by
the meeting last evening, which was a surprise, and after some not very
explicit remarks as to how he was affected, informed the President he
had prepared his resignation of the office of Secretary of the Treasury.
'Where is it,' said the President, quickly, his eye lighting up in a
moment. 'I brought it with me,' said Chase, taking the paper from his
pocket. 'I wrote it this morning.' 'Let me have it,' said the President,
reaching his long arm and fingers toward Chase, who held on seemingly
reluctant to part with the letter which was sealed and which he
apparently hesitated to surrender. Something further he wished to
say, but the President was eager and did not perceive it, but took and
hastily opened the letter.
"'This,' said he, looking towards me with a triumphal laugh, 'cuts the
Gordian knot.' An air of satisfaction spread over his countenance such
as I had not seen for some time. 'I can dispose of this subject now
without difficulty,' he added, as he turned in his chair; 'I see my way
clear.'"(12) In Lincoln's distress during this episode, there was much
besides his anxiety for the fate of a trusted minister. He felt he must
not permit himself to be driven into the arms of the Vindictives by
disgracing Seward. Seward had a following which Lincoln needed. But to
proclaim to the world his confidence in Seward without at the same time
offsetting it by some display of confidence, equally significant in the
enemies of Seward, this would have amounted to committing himself to
Seward's following alone. And that would not do. Should either faction
appear to dominate him, Lincoln felt that "the whole government must
cave in. It could not stand, could not hold water; the bottom would be
out."(13)
The incredible stroke of luck, the sheer good fortune that Chase was
Chase and nobody else,--vain, devious, stagey and hypersensitive,--was
salvation. Lincoln promptly rejected both resignations and called upon
both Ministers to resume their portfolios. They did so. The incident was
closed. Neither faction could say that Lincoln had favored the other.
He had saved himself, or rather, Chase's character had saved him, by the
margin of a hair.
For the moment, a rebuilding of the Vindictive Coalition was impossible.
Nevertheless, the Jacobins, again balked of their prey, had it in their
power, through the terrible Committee, to do immense mischief. The
history of the war contains no other instance of party malice quite
so fruitless and therefore so inexcusable as their next move. After
severely interrogating Burnside, they published an exoneration of his
motives and revealed the fact that Lincoln had forced him into command
against his will. The implication was plain.
January came in. The Emancipation Proclamation was confirmed. The
jubilation of the Abolitionists became, almost at once, a propaganda for
another issue upon slavery. New troubles were gathering close about the
President The overwhelming benefit which had been anticipated from
the new policy had not clearly arrived. Even army enlistments were
not satisfactory. Conscription loomed on the horizon as an eventual
necessity. A bank of returning cloud was covering the political horizon,
enshrouding the White House in another depth of gloom.
However, out of all this gathering darkness, one clear light solaced
Lincoln's gaze. One of his chief purposes had been attained. In contrast
to the doubtful and factional response to his policy at home, the
response abroad was sweeping and unconditional. He had made himself the
hero of the "Liberal party throughout the world." Among the few cheery
words that reached him in January, 1863, were New Year greetings of
trust and sympathy sent by English working men, who, because of the
blockade, were on the verge of starvation. It was in response to one of
these letters from the working men of Manchester that Lincoln wrote:
"I have understood well that the duty of self-preservation rests solely
with the American people; but I have at the same time been aware that
the favor or disfavor of foreign nations might have a material influence
in enlarging or prolonging the struggle with disloyal men in which
the country is engaged. A fair examination of history has served to
authorize a belief that the past actions and influences of the United
States were generally regarded as having been beneficial toward
mankind. I have therefore reckoned upon the forbearance of nations.
Circumstances--to some of which you kindly allude--induce me especially
to expect that if justice and good faith should be practised by the
United States they would encounter no hostile influence on the part
of Great Britain. It is now a pleasant duty to acknowledge the
demonstration you have given of your desire that a spirit of amity and
peace toward this country may prevail in the councils of your Queen, who
is respected and esteemed in your own country only more than she is, by
the kindred nation which has its home on this side of the Atlantic.
"I know and deeply deplore the sufferings which the working men at
Manchester, and in all Europe, are called on to endure in this crisis.
It has been often and studiously represented that the attempt to
overthrow this government which was built upon the foundation of human
rights, and to substitute for it one which should rest exclusively on
the basis of human slavery, was likely to obtain the favor of Europe.
Through the action of our disloyal citizens, the working men of Europe
have been subjected to severe trials for the purpose of forcing their
sanction to that attempt. Under the circumstances, I can not but regard
your decisive utterances upon the question as an instance of sublime
Christian heroism which has not been surpassed in any age or in any
country. It is indeed an energetic and reinspiring assurance of the
inherent power of the truth, and of the ultimate and universal triumph
of justice, humanity and freedom. I do not doubt that the sentiments you
have expressed will be sustained by your great nation; and on the
other hand, I have no hesitation in assuring you that they will excite
admiration, esteem, and the most reciprocal feelings of friendship among
the American people. I hail this interchange of sentiment, therefore, as
an augury that whatever else may happen, whatever misfortune may befall
your country or my own, the peace and friendship which now exist
between the two nations, will be, as it shall be my desire to make them,
perpetual."(14)
XXVI. THE DICTATOR, THE MARPLOT AND THE LITTLE MEN
While the Jacobins were endeavoring to reorganize the Republican
antagonism to the President, Lincoln was taking thought how he could
offset still more effectually their influence. In taking up the
emancipation policy he had not abandoned his other policy of an
all-parties Administration, or of something similar to that. By this
time it was plain that a complete union of parties was impossible. In
the autumn of 1862, a movement of liberal Democrats in Michigan for the
purpose of a working agreement with the Republicans was frustrated by
the flinty opposition of Chandler.(1) However, it still seemed possible
to combine portions of parties in an Administration group that should
forswear the savagery of the extreme factions and maintain the war in a
merciful temper. The creation of such a group was Lincoln's aim at the
close of the year.
The Republicans were not in doubt what he was driving at. Smarting over
their losses in the election, there was angry talk that Lincoln and
Seward had "slaughtered the Republican party."(2) Even as sane a man as
John Sherman, writing to his brother on the causes of the apparent turn
of the tide could say "the first is that the Republican organization was
voluntarily abandoned by the President and his leading followers, and
a no-party union was formed to run against an old, well-drilled party
organization."(3) When Julian returned to Washington in December, he
found that the menace to the Republican machine was "generally admitted
and (his) earnest opposition to it fully justified in the opinion of
the Republican members of Congress."(4) How fully they perceived their
danger had been shown in their attempt to drive Lincoln into a corner on
the issue of a new Cabinet.