coats were turned. On the sixth of September, only three days after
Atlanta!--the very day of the great Lincoln rally, the crown of Andrew's
generalship, at Fanuel Hall--a report was sent out from Washington that
"Senator Wade is to take the stump for Mr. Lincoln."(23) Less than a
week later The Washington Chronicle had learned "with satisfaction,
though not with surprise, that Senator Wade, notwithstanding his
signature to a celebrated Manifesto, had enrolled himself among the
Lincoln forces."(24) Exactly two weeks after Atlanta, Wade made his
first speech for Lincoln as President. It was a "terrific assault upon
the Copperhead policy."(25)
The ship of the conspiracy was sinking fast, and on every hand was heard
a scurrying patter of escaping politicians.
XXXIV. "FATHER ABRAHAM"
The key-notes of Lincoln's course with the Executive Committee, his
refusal to do anything that appeared to him to be futile, his firmness
not to cast about and experiment after a policy, his basing of all
his plans on the vision in his own mind of their sure fruitage--these
continued to be his key-notes throughout the campaign. They ruled his
action in a difficult matter with which he was quickly forced to deal.
Montgomery Blair, the Postmaster General, was widely and bitterly
disliked. Originally a radical Republican, he had quarreled with that
wing of the party. In 1863 the Union League of Philadelphia,
which elected all the rest of the Cabinet honorary members of its
organization, omitted Blair. A reference to the Cabinet in the Union
platform of 1864 was supposed to be a hint that the Postmaster General
would serve his country, if he resigned. During the dark days of the
summer of 1864, the President's mail was filled with supplications for
the dismissal of Blair.(1) He was described as an incubus that might
cause the defeat of the Administration.
If the President's secretaries were not prejudiced witnesses, Blair had
worn out his welcome in the Cabinet. He had grown suspicious. He tried
to make Lincoln believe that Seward was plotting with the Copperheads.
Nevertheless, Lincoln turned a deaf ear to the clamor against him.
Merely personal considerations were not compelling. If it was true, as
for a while he believed it was, that his election was already lost, he
did not propose to throw Blair over as a mere experiment. True to his
principles he would not become a juggler with futility.
The turn of the tide in his favor put the matter in a new light. All the
enemies of Blair renewed their attack on a slightly different line. One
of those powerful New Englanders who had come to Lincoln's aid at such
an opportune moment led off. On the second day following the news of
Atlanta, Henry Wilson wrote to him, "Blair, every one hates. Tens of
thousands of men will be lost to you, or will give you a reluctant vote
because of the Blairs."(2)
If this was really true, the selfless man would not hesitate to' require
of Blair the same sort of sacrifice he would, in other conditions,
require of himself. Lincoln debated this in his own mind nearly three
weeks.
Meanwhile, various other politicians joined the hue and cry. An old
friend of Lincoln's, Ebenezer Peck, came east from Illinois to work upon
him against Blair.(3) Chandler, who like Wade was eager to get out of
the wrong ship, appeared at Washington as a friend of the Administration
and an enemy of Blair.(4) But still Lincoln did not respond. After all,
was it certain that one of these votes would change if Blair did not
resign? Would anything be accomplished, should Lincoln require his
resignation, except the humiliation of a friend, the gratification of
a pack of malcontents? And then some one thought of a mode for giving
definite political value to Blair's removal. Who did it? The anonymous
author of the only biography of Chandler claims this doubtful honor for
the great Jacobin. Lincoln's secretaries, including Colonel Stoddard who
had charge of his correspondence, are ignorant on the subject.(5) It may
well have been Chandler who negotiated a bargain with Fremont, if
the story is to be trusted, which concerned Blair. A long-standing,
relentless quarrel separated these two. That Fremont as a candidate was
nobody had long been apparent; and yet it was worth while to get rid
of him. Chandler, or another, extracted a promise from Fremont that if
Blair were removed, he would resign. On the strength of this promise, a
last appeal was made to Lincoln. Such is the legend. The known fact is
that on September twenty-second Fremont withdrew his candidacy. The next
day Lincoln sent this note to Blair:
"You have generously said to me more than once that whenever your
resignation could be a relief to me, it was at my disposal. The time has
come. You very well know that this proceeds from no dissatisfaction of
mine, with you personally or officially. Your uniform kindness has been
unsurpassed by that of any friend."(6)
No incident displays more clearly the hold which Lincoln had acquired on
the confidence and the affection of his immediate associates. Blair at
once tendered his resignation: "I can not take leave of you," said
he, "without renewing the expression of my gratitude for the uniform
kindness which has marked your course with regard to myself."(7) That
he was not perfunctory, that his great chief had acquired over him an
ascendency which was superior to any strain, was demonstrated a few days
later in New York. On the twenty-seventh, Cooper Institute was filled
with an enthusiastic Lincoln meeting. Blair was a speaker. He was
received with loud cheers and took occasion to touch upon his relations
with the President. "I retired," said he, "on the recommendation of my
own father. My father has passed that period of life when its honors or
its rewards, or its glories have any charm for him. He looks backward
only, and forward only, to the grandeur of this nation and the happiness
of this great people who have grown up under the prosperous condition of
the Union; and he would not permit a son of his to stand in the way of
the glorious and patriotic President who leads us on to success and to
the final triumph that is in store for us."(8)
It was characteristic of this ultimate Lincoln that he offered no
explanations, even in terminating the career of a minister; that he
gave no confidences. Gently inexorable, he imposed his will in
apparent unconsciousness that it might be questioned. Along with his
overmastering kindness, he had something of the objectivity of a natural
force. It was the mood attained by a few extraordinary men who have
reached a point where, without becoming egoists, they no longer
distinguish between themselves and circumstance; the mood of those
creative artists who have lost themselves, in the strange way which the
dreamers have, who have also found themselves.
Even in the new fascination of the probable turn of the tide, Lincoln
did not waver in his fixed purpose to give all his best energies, and
the country's best energies, to the war. In October, there was a new
panic over the draft. Cameron implored him to suspend it in Pennsylvania
until after the presidential election. An Ohio committee went to
Washington with the same request. Why should not the arguments that had
prevailed with him, or were supposed to have prevailed with him, for the
removal of a minister, prevail also in the way of a brief flagging of
military preparation? But Lincoln would not look upon the two cases in
the same spirit. "What is the Presidency worth to me," he asked the Ohio
committee, "if I have no country ?"(9)
From the active campaign he held himself aloof. He made no political
speeches. He wrote no political letters. The army received his constant
detailed attention. In his letters to Grant, he besought him to be
unwavering in a relentless persistency.
As Hay records, he was aging rapidly. The immense strain of his labor
was beginning to tell both in his features and his expression. He was
moving in a shadow. But his old habit of merriment had not left him;
though it was now, more often, a surface merriment. On the night of the
October elections, Lincoln sat in the telegraph room of the War
Office while the reports were coming in. "The President in a lull of
despatches, took from his pocket the Naseby Papers and read several
chapters of the Saint and Martyr, Petroleum V. They were immensely
amusing. Stanton and Dana enjoyed them scarcely less than the President,
who read on, con amore, until nine o'clock."(10)
The presidential election was held on the eighth of November. That
night, Lincoln with his Secretary was again in the War Office. The
early returns showed that the whole North was turning to him in enormous
majorities. He showed no exultation. When the Assistant Secretary of
the Navy spoke sharply of the complete effacement politically of Henry
Winter Davis against whom he had a grudge, Lincoln said, "You have more
of that feeling of personal resentment than I. Perhaps I have too little
of it; but I never thought it paid. A man has no time to spend half his
life in quarrels. If any man ceases to attack me I never remember the
past against him."(11)
"Towards midnight," says Hay in his diary, "we had supper. The President
went awkwardly and hospitably to work shovelling out the fried oysters.
He was most agreeable and genial all the evening. . . . Captain Thomas
came up with a band about half-past two and made some music. The
President answered from a window with rather unusual dignity and effect,
and we came home."(12)
"I am thankful to God," Lincoln said, in response to the serenade, "for
this approval of the people; but while grateful for this mark of their
confidence in me, if I know my heart, my gratitude is free from any
taint of personal triumph. I do not impugn the motives of any one
opposed to me. It is no pleasure to me to triumph over any one, but I
give thanks to the Almighty for this evidence of the people's resolution
to stand by free government and the rights of humanity."(13)
During the next few days a torrent of congratulations came pouring
in. What most impressed the secretaries was his complete freedom from
elation. "He seemed to deprecate his own triumph and sympathize rather
with the beaten than the victorious party." His formal recognition of
the event was a prepared reply to a serenade on the night of November
tenth. A great crowd filled the space in front of the north portico of
the White House. Lincoln appeared at a window. A secretary stood at his
side holding a lighted candle while he read from a manuscript. The brief
address is justly ranked among his ablest occasional utterances. As to
the mode of the deliverance, he said to Hay, "Not very graceful, but
I am growing old enough not to care much for the manner of doing
things."(14)
XXXV. THE MASTER OF THE MOMENT
In Lincoln's life there are two great achievements.
One he brought to pass in time for him to behold his own victory. The
other he saw only with the eyes of faith. The first was the drawing
together of all the elements of nationalism in the American people
and consolidating them into a driving force. The second was laying
the foundation of a political temper that made impossible a permanent
victory for the Vindictives. It was the sad fate of this nation, because
Lincoln's hand was struck from the tiller at the very instant of the
crisis, to suffer the temporary success of that faction he strove so
hard to destroy. The transitoriness of their evil triumph, the eventual
rally of the nation against them, was the final victory of the spirit of
Lincoln.
The immediate victory he appreciated more fully and measured more
exactly, than did any one else. He put it into words in the fifth
message. While others were crowing with exaltation over a party triumph,
he looked deeper to the psychological triumph. Scarcely another saw that
the most significant detail of the hour was in the Democratic attitude.
Even the bitterest enemies of nationalism, even those who were believed
by all others to desire the breaking of the Union, had not thought
it safe to say so. They had veiled their intent in specious words.
McClellan in accepting the Democratic nomination had repudiated the idea
of disunion. Whether the Democratic politicians had agreed with him or
not, they had not dared to contradict him. This was what Lincoln put the
emphasis on in his message: "The purpose of the people within the
loyal States to maintain the Union was never more firm nor more nearly
unanimous than now. . . . No candidate for any office, high or low,
has ventured to seek votes on the avowal that he was for giving up
the Union. There have been much impugning of motive and much heated
controversy as to the proper means and best mode of advancing the Union
cause; but on the distinct issue of Union or No Union the politicians
have shown their instinctive knowledge that there is no diversity among
the people. In affording the people the fair opportunity of showing one
to another and to the world, this firmness and unanimity of purpose, the
election has been of vast value to the national cause."(1)
This temper of the final Lincoln, his supreme detachment, the kind
impersonality of his intellectual approach, has no better illustration
in his state papers. He further revealed it in a more intimate way. The
day he sent the message to Congress, he also submitted to the Senate a
nomination to the great office of Chief Justice. When Taney died in the
previous September, there was an eager stir among the friends of Chase.
They had hopes but they felt embarrassed. Could they ask this great
honor, the highest it is in the power of the American President to
be-stow, for a man who had been so lacking in candor as Chase had been?
Chase's course during the summer had made things worse. He had played
the time-server. No one was more severe upon Lincoln in July; in August,
he hesitated, would not quite commit himself to the conspiracy but would
not discourage it; almost gave it his blessing; in September, but not
until it was quite plain that the conspiracy was failing, he came
out for Lincoln. However, his friends in the Senate overcame their
embarrassment--how else could it be with Senators?--and pressed his
case. And when Senator Wilson, alarmed at the President's silence, tried
to apologize for Chase's harsh remarks about the President, Lincoln cut
him short. "Oh, as to that, I care nothing," said he. The embarrassment
of the Chase propaganda amused him. When Chase himself took a hand and
wrote him a letter, Lincoln said to his secretary, "What is it about?"
"Simply a kind and friendly letter," replied the secretary. Lincoln
smiled. "File it with the other recommendations," said he.(2)
He regarded Chase as a great lawyer, Taney's logical successor. All
the slights the Secretary had put upon the President, the intrigues to
supplant him, the malicious sayings, were as if they had never occurred.
When Congress assembled, it was Chase's name that he sent to the Senate.
It was Chase who, as Chief Justice, administered the oath at Lincoln's
second inauguration.
Long since, Lincoln had seen that there had ceased to any half-way
house in the matter of emancipation. His thoughts were chiefly upon the
future. And as mere strategy, he saw that slavery had to be got out of
the way. It was no longer a question, who liked this, who did not. To
him, the ultimate issue was the restoration of harmony among the States.
Those States which had been defeated in the dread arbitrament of battle,
would in any event encounter difficulties, even deadly perils, in the
narrow way which must come after defeat and which might or might not
lead to rehabilitation.
Remembering the Vindictive temper, remembering the force and courage
of the Vindictive leaders, it was imperative to clear the field of the
slavery issue before the reconstruction issue was fairly launched. It
was highly desirable to commit to the support of the governments the
whole range of influences that were in earnest about emancipation.
Furthermore, the South itself was drifting in the same direction. In his
interview with Gilmore and Jaquess, Davis had said: "You have already
emancipated nearly two millions of our slaves; and if you will take care
of them, you may emancipate the rest. I had a few when the war began. I
was of some use to them; they never were of any to me."(3)
The Southern President had "felt" his constituency on the subject of
enrolling slaves as soldiers with a promise of emancipation as the
reward of military service.
The fifth message urged Congress to submit to the States an amendment to
the Constitution abolishing slavery. Such action had been considered
in the previous session, but nothing had been done. At Lincoln's
suggestion, it had been recommended in the platform of the Union
party. Now, with the President's powerful influence behind it, with
his prestige at full circle, the amendment was rapidly pushed forward.
Before January ended, it had been approved by both Houses. Lincoln had
used all his personal influence to strengthen its chances in Congress
where, until the last minute, the vote was still in doubt.(4)
While the amendment was taking its way through Congress, a shrewd old
politician who thought he knew the world better than most men, that
Montgomery Blair, Senior, who was father of the Postmaster General,
had been trying on his own responsibility to open negotiations between
Washington and Richmond. His visionary ideas, which were wholly without
the results he intended, have no place here. And yet this fanciful
episode had a significance of its own. Had it not occurred, the
Confederate government probably would not have appointed commissioners
charged with the hopeless task of approaching the Federal government for
the purpose of negotiating peace between "the two countries."
Now that Lincoln was entirely in the ascendent at home, and since the
Confederate arms had recently suffered terrible reverses, he was
no longer afraid that negotiation might appear to be the symptom
of weakness. He went so far as to consent to meet the Commissioners
himself. On a steamer in Hampton Roads, Lincoln and Seward had a
long conference with three members of the Confederate government,
particularly the Vice-President, Alexander H. Stephens.
It has become a tradition that Lincoln wrote at the top of a sheet of
paper the one word "Union"; that he pushed it across the table and said,
"Stephens, write under that anything you want" There appears to be no
foundation for the tale in this form. The amendment had committed the
North too definitely to emancipation. Lincoln could not have proposed
Union without requiring emancipation, also. And yet, with this
limitation, the spirit of the tradition is historic. There can be no
doubt that he presented to the commissioners about the terms which the
year before he had drawn up as a memorandum for Gilmore and Jaquess:
Union, the acceptance of emancipation, but also instantaneous
restoration of political autonomy to the Southern States, and all the
influence of the Administration in behalf of liberal compensation for
the loss of slave property. But the commissioners had no authority to
consider terms that did not recognize the existence of "two countries."
However, this Hampton Roads Conference gave Lincoln a new hope. He
divined, if he did not perceive, that the Confederates were on the verge
of despair. If he had been a Vindictive, this would have borne fruit
in ferocious telegrams to his generals to strike and spare not. What
Lincoln did was to lay before the Cabinet this proposal:--that they
advise Congress to offer the Confederate government the sum of four
hundred million dollars, provided the war end and the States in
secession acknowledge the authority of the Federal government previous
to April 1, 1865. But the Cabinet, complete as was his domination in
some respects, were not ripe for such a move as this. "'You are all
against me,' said Lincoln sadly and in evident surprise at the want of
statesmanlike liberality on the part of the executive council," to
quote his Secretary, "folded and laid away the draft of his message."(5)
Nicolay believes that the idea continued vividly in his mind and that it
may be linked with his last public utterance--"it may be my duty to make
some new announcement to the people of the South. I am considering and
shall not fail to act when satisfied that action is proper."
It was now obvious to every one outside the Confederacy that the war
would end speedily in a Northern victory. To Lincoln, therefore, the
duty of the moment, overshadowing all else, was the preparation for
what should come after. Reconstruction. More than ever it was of first
importance to decide whether the President or Congress should deal with
this great matter. And now occurred an event which bore witness at once
to the beginning of Lincoln's final struggle with the Vindictives and to
that personal ascendency which was steadily widening. One of those three
original Jacobins agreed to become his spokesman in the Senate. As the
third person of the Jacobin brotherhood, Lyman Trumbull had always been
out of place. He had gone wrong not from perversity of the soul but from
a mental failing, from the lack of inherent light, from intellectual
conventionality. But he was a good man. One might apply to him Mrs.
Browning's line: "Just a good man made a great man." And in his case, as
in so many others, sheer goodness had not been sufficient in the midst
of a revolution to save his soul. To quote one of the greatest of the
observers of human life: "More brains, O Lord, more brains." Though
Trumbull had the making of an Intellectual, politics had very nearly
ruined him. For all his good intentions it took him a long time to
see what Hawthorne saw at first sight-that Lincoln was both a powerful
character and an original mind. Still, because Trumbull was really a
good man, he found a way to recover his soul. What his insight was not
equal to perceiving in 1861, experience slowly made plain to him in
the course of the next three years. Before 1865 he had broken with
the Vindictives; he had come over to Lincoln. Trumbull still held the
powerful office of Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee. He now
undertook to be the President's captain in a battle on the floor of the
Senate for the recognition of Louisiana.
The new government in Louisiana had been in actual operation for nearly
a year. Though Congress had denounced it; though the Manifesto had held
it up to scorn as a monarchial outrage; Lincoln had quietly, steadily,
protected and supported it. It was discharging the function of a regular
State government. A governor had been elected and inaugurated-that
Governor Hahn whom Lincoln had congratulated as Louisiana's first Free
State Governor. He could say this because the new electorate which his
mandate had created had assembled a constitutional convention and had
abolished slavery. And it had also carried out the President's views
with regard to the political status of freedmen. Lincoln was not a
believer in general negro suffrage. He was as far as ever from the
theorizing of the Abolitionists. The most he would approve was the
bestowal of suffrage on a few Superior negroes, leaving the rest to
be gradually educated into citizenship. The Louisiana Convention had
authorized the State Legislature to make, when it felt prepared to do
so, such a limited extension of suffrage.(6)