Close of the War—Distrust of the Administration—Kindlier Feelings after
Mr. Beecher’s Return from England—Growing Confidence—Intimacy with
Secretary Stanton—Fort Sumter—Lee’s Surrender—Lincoln’s Death.
On his return home from England, Mr. Beecher found that there was a
marked change in the feelings of the Administration towards him. It was
the popular verdict, in which Washington concurred, that the series of
speeches just delivered, in conjunction with the successes of our armies
in the field, had switched the English government off from the track
leading to intervention and probably war, and had started it in the
direction of friendliness and peace. Before that time he had succeeded
in creating in the minds of the President and his cabinet a feeling
which, if not hostile, was at least not friendly. With many things that
had occurred or failed to occur during 1861-2 and early in 1863 he had
felt great impatience. He had had no sympathy with the feeling, that
prevailed so generally during the first few months of the war, that it
would be an affair of but a few months, that 75,000 men would be more
than enough to end the rebellion. He felt that the proper policy was for
the government to crush the rebellion by the power of an enormous army,
and that it was but poor economy to send forward troops by driblets. Nor
did he at all believe in the distinction that existed between the United
States regulars and the State troops. He thought that they ought to be
_all_ United States troops. What he felt he was not slow to say. On June
10, 1861, he wrote to the President, urging the government to accept a
regiment raised by Colonel Stockton:
“Ought not such a man as the one whom I send to you, Colonel T. B. W.
Stockton, of Michigan, _a West Point graduate_, a colonel in the
_Mexican war_, to have a chance in this great war, with a thousand men
at his back?
“Do we not need men that have seen fire?
“I am exceedingly desirous, _anxious_ even, that a large demonstration
of power should be made, as a matter of _economy_, of _humanity_, and of
expedition.
“Are we not in danger of being injured by a _Northern_ misconstruction
of State rights, which shall prevent government from taking troops where
it pleases, without being obliged to _come to the people through_ the
machinery of State governments?
”_It is the people’s war._ The people must be allowed to have a fair
chance for the exertion of their will.”
And later, when political expediency was permitted to play so prominent
a part in the selection and action of our generals, his indignation was
intense and outspoken. While he felt great admiration for President
Lincoln and great confidence in him, still he felt that he was making
serious mistakes. As we have seen, Mr. Beecher was then the
editor-in-chief of the New York _Independent_, and through its
editorials he sought to rouse both the President and public sentiment.
Speaking of this time, he says:
“In 1862 the great delay, the want of any success, the masterly
inactivity of our leading generals, roused my indignation, and I wrote a
series of editorials addressed to the President” [to which we have
referred and from which we have largely quoted in a previous chapter],
“and as near as I can recollect they were in the nature of a
mowing-machine—they cut at every revolution—and I was told one day that
the President had received them and read them through with very serious
countenance, and that his only criticism was: ‘Is thy servant a dog?’
They bore down on him very hard.”
Not unnaturally, neither the President nor his cabinet felt especially
pleased at this. They looked upon it as a hostile attack, and did not
regard him with any over-friendly feeling.
But in November, 1863, we find all this changed. The Administration now
could see in past criticism, not personal hostility, but an anxious
desire, through love of country, to prevent mistakes and secure the best
course of action. A far more kindly and confidential relation was
established, which continued through that Administration. When, in 1864,
there was so much talk about compromise, Mr. Beecher went direct to the
President and had a confidential talk with him, which he describes in a
brief sketch (of Lincoln):
[Illustration: Mr. Beecher at the Close of the War.]
“There was some talk early in 1864 of a sort of compromise with the
South. Blair had told the President that he was satisfied, if he could
be put in communication with some of the leading men of the South in
some way or other, that some benefit would accrue. Lincoln had sent a
delegation to meet Alexander Stephens, and that was all the North knew.
We were all very much excited over that. The war lasted so long that I
was afraid Lincoln would be so anxious for peace, and I was afraid he
would accept something that would be of advantage to the South, so I
went to Washington and called upon him. We were alone in his
receiving-room. His hair was ‘every way for Sunday.’ It looked as though
it was an abandoned stubble-field. He had on slippers, and his vest was
what was called ‘going free.’ He looked wearied, and, when he sat down
in a chair, looked as though every limb wanted to drop off his body. And
I said to him: ‘Mr. Lincoln, I come to you to know whether the public
interest will permit you to explain to me what this Southern commission
means?’ Well, he listened very patiently, and looked up to the ceiling
for a few moments, and said: ‘Well, I am almost of a mind to show you
all the documents.’
“‘Well, Mr. Lincoln, I should like to see them if it is proper.’ He went
to his little secretary, and came out and handed me a little card as
long as my finger and an inch wide, and on that was written—
“‘You will pass the bearer through the lines’ (or something to that
effect).
‘A. LINCOLN.’
“‘There,’ he said, ‘is all there is of it. Now, Blair thinks something
can be done, but I don’t, but I have no objection to have him try his
hand. He has no authority whatever, but to go and see what he can do.’
“‘Well,’ said I, ‘you have lifted a great burden off my mind.’”
During the last year of the President’s life they became very intimate,
and the respect and admiration which Mr. Beecher shared, in common with
the general feeling of the North, deepened into a strong personal love.
In one of his Friday night prayer-meetings, shortly after Mr. Lincoln’s
death, he refers to their intimacy:
“I am sure no one more than I, can feel the personal affliction, outside
of those that were immediately associated with President Lincoln. I need
not say to you how my public relations have brought me, not only to the
most constant study of his course and of his character, but into some
personal relations with him that have given me more knowledge of him
than otherwise I should have had. I was reading to-night, before I came
here, the last letter that I received from him. It had reference to an
interview which I had had with him on a particular subject. It is a
precious letter to me. During the time that I was with him (it was
between eleven and twelve o’clock at night, in Washington) his great
kindness, his great simplicity, and his great frankness opened him to
me, and I saw him more fully than ever before, as very wise, as shrewd
as well as wise, as far-reaching and sagacious as well as shrewd, and,
above all, as faithful to the great interests that were committed to
him. That interview has come up to me over and over and over again. It
seemed as though it was but yesterday. And when the tidings that he was
gone came to me, I know not how I shall describe the sense that I had of
a strange personal loss.”
During this period Mr. Beecher formed the acquaintance of Stanton, which
speedily ripened into a very strong friendship, largely through an
impulsive act of sympathy by Mr. Beecher:
“I came up Wall Street one day and met a friend, who said: ‘I have just
come back from Washington. Stanton is breaking down; he won’t hold out
much longer.’
“Well, it just struck me all into a heap. I walked into an office in
Wall Street and said, ‘Will you allow me pen and ink?’ and wrote to him
just what I had heard—that he was sick and broken down and desponding. I
wrote that he need not despond, that the country was saved, and, if he
did not do another thing, he had done enough. I sent the letter, and in
the course of a few days I got back a letter, and if it had been a woman
writing in answer to a proposal it could not have been more tender. And
when I went to Washington he treated me with great tenderness, as if I
had been his son.”
From this letter of Secretary Stanton, which is before us, we quote:
“How deeply your kind note has affected me is beyond my power to
tell.... The approbation, confidence, and sympathy of any man was never
more highly prized than yours is by me. Your friendly words are a
cordial that strengthens me, and your kind sympathy will serve to dispel
the gloom and despondency that, as you rightly judged, does sometimes,
in moments of physical weariness, gather upon my brain and press heavily
upon my heart. Let me tell you that often and often, in dark hours, you
have come before me, and I have longed to hear your voice, feeling that
above all other men you could cheer, strengthen, guide, and uphold me in
this great battle, where, by God’s Providence, it has fallen upon me to
hold a post and perform a duty beyond my own strength. But, being a
stranger, I had no right to claim your confidence or ask for help, and
so have been forced to struggle on patiently as I might from day to day,
supported only by fervent faith in our sacred cause, and the
consciousness that prayers were being offered up by good people for aid.
Now, my dear sir, your voice has reached me, and your hand is stretched
forth as to a friend, and henceforth I shall look to you and lean upon
you with a sure and abiding trust. Already my heart feels renewed
strength and is inspired with fresh hope. There are some points involved
in, or developed by, this present contest, on which I wish to commune
with you before long.”
Early in 1865, and shortly after the surrender of Charleston, in reply
to a letter received from Mr. Beecher making some suggestions, the
Secretary wrote:
“It will not be in my power to go to Charleston just now, but I would be
glad to send you, and as many school-teachers as will go.... Your idea
of raising the flag over a colored school and making our banner the
banner of civilization is indeed a noble one, and heartily my feelings
respond to the suggestion. Soon after the 4th of March I may be able to
go to South Carolina and do what may be done in that direction.... We
received this morning the news of the capture of Wilmington yesterday.
Surely the end cannot be afar off. The battle of physical force is
nearly won, and now we must fight for civilization, including therein
legal protection to the rights of all, and universal education. What of
strength, heart, and hope is left to me I am willing to spend with you
in that cause. Please let me know if you will go to Charleston without
waiting for me. The sooner you go the better.”
Shortly after this it was decided to celebrate the anniversary of the
fall of Fort Sumter (April 14) by an imposing military and naval
demonstration, and by raising again the old flag over its parapet, and
the project of sending to Charleston a delegation headed by Mr. Beecher
was abandoned.
As soon as the general plan of the Fort Sumter celebration had been
decided upon, the President invited Mr. Beecher to be present and
deliver the address.
On March 27, 1865, the following general order was issued:
“GENERAL ORDERS, } WAR DEPARTMENT,
No. 50. } ADJUTANT-GENERAL’S OFFICE,
} WASHINGTON, March 27, 1865.
“ORDERED—
”_First._ That at the hour of noon, on the 14th day of April, 1865,
Brevet Major-General Anderson will raise and plant upon the ruins of
Fort Sumter, in Charleston Harbor, the same United States flag which
floated over the battlements of that fort during the rebel assault, and
which was lowered and saluted by him and the small force of his command
when the works were evacuated on the 14th day of April, 1861.
“_Second._ That the flag, when raised, be saluted by one hundred guns
from Fort Sumter, and by a national salute from every fort and rebel
battery that fired upon Fort Sumter.
”_Third._ That suitable ceremonies be had upon the occasion, under the
direction of Major-General William T. Sherman, whose military operations
compelled the rebels to evacuate Charleston, or, in his absence, under
the charge of Major-General Q. A. Gillmore, commanding the Department.
Among the ceremonies will be the delivery of a public address by the
Reverend Henry Ward Beecher.
“_Fourth._ That the naval forces at Charleston, and their commander on
that station, be invited to participate in the ceremonies of the
occasion.
“By order of the President of the United States.
”EDWIN M. STANTON,
“_Secretary of War_.”
The steamer _Arago_ was sent by the government to New York to transport
the invited guests to Charleston. As soon as the formal invitations to
the guests of the government had been issued and accepted, Secretary
Stanton telegraphed Mr. Beecher:
“A list of the persons who have accepted invitations on the _Arago_ has
been forwarded to General Van Vliet. I do not exactly understand the
extent of the accommodations on the _Arago_, but think there may perhaps
be room for a few more; if you will see him and find that more can be
accommodated, you are authorized to fill up the number with such persons
as you may wish to accompany you. On presentation of this telegram he
will give them free transportation and subsistence as if this were a
formal order....
“EDWIN M. STANTON,
“_Secretary of War_.”
During this spring the Secretary was in constant telegraphic
communication with Mr. Beecher, keeping him informed of each victory or
successful move of our army as it occurred.
This led to a thrilling incident in Plymouth Church. During the month of
March of this year it became very plain that the war was surely drawing
to a close. Lee, hemmed in by Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan, obviously
could not hold out very much longer.
The whole country watched and waited with almost breathless interest as
slowly but surely the end drew on, the intensity of feeling growing
stronger as the end seemed nearer. It was in this condition of the
public mind, and on Sunday, April 2, that, just after Mr. Beecher had
finished his sermon and had given out a hymn, a telegram was handed up
to him on the platform.
Catching the feeling in the air that something of importance had
happened, every eye was turned to the platform and a silence like death
fell upon the three thousand gathered there. Eagerly the telegram was
opened, and as the flash of joy lit up Mr. Beecher’s face a thrill ran
through the congregation, instantly hushed as he said:
“The congregation will turn to ‘America’ while I read the following
telegram:
“‘WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON,
“‘April 2, 1865.
“‘TO REV. H. W. BEECHER, _Brooklyn_:
“‘A despatch just received from General Grant’s adjutant-general at City
Point announces the triumphant success of our armies after three days of
hard fighting, during which the forces on both sides exhibited
unsurpassed valor:
“‘CITY POINT, VA., April 2, 1865,
“‘5.30 A.M.
“‘A despatch from General Grant states that General Sheridan, commanding
cavalry and infantry, has carried everything before him. He captured
three brigades of infantry, a wagon-train, and several batteries of
artillery. The prisoners captured will amount to several thousand.
“‘(Signed) T. S. BOWERS, _A. A. G._
“‘EDWIN M. STANTON,
“‘_Secretary of War_.’”
As he ceased speaking the great throng rose and, as one man, with
streaming eyes joined in the triumphant anthem,
“My country, ’tis of thee!”
The organist drew the trumpet stops, and turned the full power of the
great organ into the hymn, but it was drowned by the voices raised in
solemn thanksgiving. Not a voice was silent, not an eye was dry. As the
last notes of the hymn died out many a strong man dropped into his seat
and sobbed with thankfulness. The beginning of the end had come.
* * * * *
On the 8th of April the _Arago_ sailed from New York for Charleston. The
day after she sailed came the surrender of Lee’s army.
Of course no word of the news was received aboard the _Arago_ until she
arrived off Charleston Harbor.
“It was when I was tossing upon the sea,” said Mr. Beecher, “off the
harbor of Charleston, that we were spoken, and the tidings were
communicated to us from another ship, ‘Lee has surrendered!’ And the
wild outcry, the strange caprices and exultations of that moment, they
never will forget who were present. We were far off from the scene of
war; we saw no signs nor tokens; it was as if the heaven had imparted it
to us; but oh! what gladness, what ecstasy there was in that news no man
can know but those who have suffered as we had suffered.”
Of his speech at the raising of the flag we can only quote a few brief
extracts:
“On this solemn and joyful day we again lift to the breeze our fathers’
flag, now again the banner of _the United States_, with the fervent
prayer that God will crown it with honor, protect it from treason, and
send it down to our children with all the blessings of civilization,
liberty, and religion. Terrible in battle, may it be beneficent in
peace! Happily no bird or beast of prey has been inscribed upon it. The
stars that redeem the night from darkness, and the beams of red light
that beautify the morning, have been united upon its folds. As long as
the sun or the stars endure may it wave over a nation neither enslaved,
nor enslaving. Once, and but once, has treason dishonored it. In that
insane hour, when the guiltiest and bloodiest rebellion of time hurled
its fires upon this fort, you, sir [turning to General Anderson], and a
small heroic band, stood within these now crumbled walls, and did
gallant and just battle for the honor and defence of the nation’s
banner....
“After a vain resistance, with trembling hand and sad heart you withdrew
the banner from its height, closed its wings, and bore it far away to
sleep amid the tumults of rebellion and the thunder of battle....
“To-day you are returned again. The heavens over you are the same; the
same shores are here; morning and evening come as they did. All else how
changed! What grim batteries crowd the burdened shores! What scenes have
filled this air and disturbed these waters! These shattered heaps of
shapeless stone are all that is left of Fort Sumter. Desolation broods
in yonder sad city; solemn retribution hath avenged our dishonored
banner. You, who departed hence four years ago, leaving the air sultry
with fanaticism, have come back with honor. The surging crowds that
rolled up their frenzied shouts, as the flag came down, are dead, or
scattered, or silent, and their habitations are desolate. Ruin sits in
the cradle of treason. Rebellion has perished. But there flies the same
flag that was insulted. With starry eyes it looks all over this bay for
that banner that supplanted it, and sees it not. You that then, for the
day, were humbled, are here again, to triumph once and for ever. In the
storm of that assault this glorious ensign was often struck; but,
memorable fact, not one of its _stars_ was torn out by shot or shell. It
was a prophecy. It said, ‘Not one State shall be struck from this nation
by treason.’ The fulfilment is at hand. Lifted to the air to-day, it
proclaims that, after four years of war, ‘not a State is blotted
out!’...
“Wherefore have we come hither, pilgrims from distant places? Are we
come to exult that Northern hands are stronger than Southern? No; but to
rejoice that the hands of those who defend a just and beneficent
government are mightier than the hands that assaulted it! Do we exult
over fallen cities? We exult that a nation has not fallen. We sorrow
with the sorrowful. We sympathize with the desolate. We look upon this
shattered fort and yonder dilapidated city, with sad eyes, grieved that
men should have committed such treason, and glad that God hath set such
a mark upon treason that all ages shall dread and abhor it.
“We exult, not for a passion gratified, but for a sentiment victorious;
not for temper, but for conscience; not, as we devoutly believe, that
_our_ will is done, but that God’s will hath been done! We should be
unworthy of that liberty entrusted to our care if, on such a day as
this, we sullied our hearts by feelings of aimless vengeance; and
equally unworthy if we did not devoutly thank Him who hath said,
‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,’ that He hath set a
mark upon arrogant Rebellion, ineffaceable while time lasts!...
“That long night is ended! And for this returning day we have come from
afar, to rejoice and give thanks. No more war. No more accursed
secession! _No more slavery, that spawned them both!_
“Let no man misread the meaning of this unfolding flag! It says,
‘Government hath returned hither.’ It proclaims, in the name of
vindicated government, peace and protection to loyalty, humiliation and
pains to traitors. This is the flag of sovereignty. The nation, _not the
States_, is sovereign. Restored to authority, this flag commands, not
supplicates.
“There may be pardon, but no concession. There may be amnesty and
oblivion, but no honeyed compromises. The nation to-day has peace for
the peaceful, and war for the turbulent. The only condition of
submission, is, _to submit_! There is the Constitution, there are the
laws, there is the government. They rise up like mountains of strength
that shall not be moved. _They are the conditions of peace._
”_One nation, under one government, without slavery_, has been ordained
and shall stand. There can be peace on no other basis. On this basis
reconstruction is easy, and needs neither architect nor engineer.
Without this basis no engineer or architect shall ever reconstruct these
rebellious States....
“I charge the whole guilt of this war upon the ambitious, educated,
plotting political leaders of the South. They have shed this ocean of
blood. They have desolated the South. They have poured poverty through
all her towns and cities. They have bewildered the imagination of the
people with phantasms, and led them to believe that they were fighting
for their homes and liberty, whose homes were unthreatened, and whose
liberty was in no jeopardy....
”_But for the people misled_, for the multitudes drafted and driven into
this civil war, _let not a trace of animosity remain_. The moment their
willing hand drops the musket and they return to their allegiance, then
stretch out your own honest right hand to greet them. Recall to them the
old days of kindness. Our hearts wait for their redemption. All the
resources of a renovated nation shall be applied to rebuild their
prosperity and smooth down the furrows of war.”
After the ceremonies of the 14th Mr. Beecher and his party spent two
days in visiting the various historic points in the city and harbor of
Charleston, then went to Hilton Head, where the steamer _Sua Nada_ was
placed at his disposal by the government.
From Hilton Head Mr. Beecher and his party went on an excursion visit to
Beaufort. The day, which opened so bright and beautiful, was to close in
the gloom which overshadowed the nation. The near points of interest
about Beaufort had all been seen, and the party, full of the joyous
brightness of the day, were sauntering back to the boat which was to
take them to Hilton Head, when a telegram was handed to Senator Wilson
that drove the smile from every lip. Lincoln had fallen, struck down by
an assassin! Dazed and bewildered, for a few moments all stood silent;
then Mr. Beecher exclaimed, “It’s time all good men were at home,” and
in mournful silence they hastened back to Hilton Head. The _Sua Nada_
was ordered to get under weigh at once. In sadness and gloom the party,
that but a few days before had left New York with hearts filled with joy
and thankfulness, now hastened back through dreary rain-storms—nature’s
sympathetic mourning.
We can best describe that awful sorrow by quoting from Mr. Beecher’s
sermon preached in memory of the martyr:
“Never did two such orbs of experience meet in one hemisphere as the joy
and the sorrow of the same week in this land. The joy was as sudden as
if no man had expected it, and as entrancing as if it had fallen a
sphere from heaven. It rose up over sobriety, and swept business from
its moorings, and ran down through the land in irresistible course. Men
embraced each other in brotherhood that were strangers in the flesh.
They sang, or prayed, or, deeper yet, many could only think thanksgiving
and weep gladness. That peace was sure; that government was firmer than
ever; that the land was cleansed of plague; that the ages were opening
to our footsteps, and we were to begin a march of blessings; that blood
was stanched, and scowling enmities were sinking like storms beneath the
horizon; that the dear fatherland, nothing lost, much gained, was to
rise up in unexampled honor among the nations of the earth—these
thoughts, and that undistinguishable throng of fancies, and hopes, and
desires, and yearnings that filled the soul with tremblings like the
heated air of midsummer days, all these kindled up such a surge of joy
as no words may describe.
“In one hour joy lay without a pulse, without a gleam or breath. A
sorrow came that swept through the land as huge storms sweep through the
forest and field, rolling thunder along the sky, dishevelling the
flowers, daunting every singer in thicket or forest, and pouring
blackness and darkness across the land and up the mountains. Did ever so
many hearts, in so brief a time, touch two such boundless feelings? It
was the uttermost of joy: it was the uttermost of sorrow—noon and
midnight, without a space between.
“The blow brought not a sharp pang. It was so terrible that at first it
stunned sensibility. Citizens were like men awakened at midnight by an
earthquake, and bewildered to find everything that they were accustomed
to trust wavering and falling. The very earth was no longer solid. The
first feeling was the least. Men waited to get straight to feel. They
wandered in the streets as if groping after some impending dread, or
undeveloped sorrow, or some one to tell them what ailed them. They met
each other as if each would ask the other, ‘Am I awake, or do I dream?’
There was a piteous helplessness. Strong men bowed down and wept. Other
and common griefs belonged to some one in chief: this belonged to all.
It was each and every man’s. Every virtuous household in the land felt
as if its first-born were gone. Men were bereaved, and walked for days
as if a corpse lay unburied in their dwellings. There was nothing else
to think of. They could speak of nothing but that; and yet of that they
could speak only falteringly. All business was laid aside. Pleasure
forgot to smile. The city for nearly a week ceased to roar. The great
Leviathan lay down and was still. Even avarice stood still, and greed
was strangely moved to generous sympathy and universal sorrow. Rear to
his name monuments, found charitable institutions and write his name
above their lintels; but no monument will ever equal the universal,
spontaneous, and sublime sorrow that in a moment swept down lines and
parties, and covered up animosities, and in an hour brought a divided
people into unity of grief and indivisible fellowship of anguish.”