THE BEGINNING OF WAR
From the inaugural ceremonies Lincoln drove quietly back through
Pennsylvania Avenue and entered the White House, the President of the
United States,--alas, united no longer. Many an anxious citizen breathed
more freely when the dreaded hours had passed without disturbance. But
burdens a thousand fold heavier than any which were lifted from others
descended upon the new ruler. Save, however, that the thoughtful,
far-away expression of sadness had of late seemed deeper and more
impressive than ever before, Lincoln gave no sign of inward trouble. His
singular temperament armed him with a rare and peculiar strength beneath
responsibility and in the face of duty. He has been seen, with entire
tranquillity, not only seeking, but seeming to assume as his natural due
or destiny, positions which appeared preposterously out of accord alike
with his early career and with his later opportunities for development.
In trying to explain this, it is easier to say what was _not_ the
underlying quality than what it was. Certainly there was no taint
whatsoever of that vulgar self-confidence which is so apt to lead the
"free and equal" citizens of the great republic into grotesque
positions. Perhaps it was a grand simplicity of faith; a profound
instinctive confidence that by patient, honest thinking it would be
possible to know the right road, and by earnest enduring courage to
follow it. Perhaps it was that so-called divine inspiration which seems
always a part of the highest human fitness. The fact which is distinctly
visible is, that a fair, plain and honest method of thinking saved him
from the perplexities which beset subtle dialecticians in politics and
in constitutional law. He had lately said that his course was "as plain
as a turnpike road;" it was, to execute the public laws.
His duty was simple; his understanding of it was unclouded by doubt or
sophistry; his resolution to do it was firm; but whether his hands would
be strengthened sufficiently to enable him to do it was a question of
grave anxiety. The president of a republic can do everything if the
people are at his back, and almost nothing if the people are not at his
back. Where, then, were now the people of the United States? In seven
States they were openly and unitedly against him; in at least seven more
they were under a very strong temptation to range themselves against him
in case of a conflict; and as for the Republican States of the North, on
that fourth day of March, 1861, no man could say to what point they
would sustain the administration. There had as yet come slight
indications of any change in the conceding, compromising temper of that
section. Greeley and Seward and Wendell Phillips, representative men,
were little better than Secessionists. The statement sounds ridiculous,
yet the proof against each comes from his own mouth. The "Tribune" had
retracted none of those disunion sentiments, of which examples have been
given. Even so late as April 10, 1861, Mr. Seward wrote officially to
Mr. C.F. Adams, minister to England: "Only an imperial and despotic
government could subjugate thoroughly disaffected and insurrectionary
members of the state. This federal, republican country of ours is, of
all forms of government, the very one which is the most unfitted for
such a labor." He had been and still was favoring delay and
conciliation, in the visionary hope that the seceders would follow the
scriptural precedent of the prodigal son. On April 9 the rumor of a
fight at Sumter being spread abroad, Mr. Phillips said:[132] "Here are a
series of States, girding the Gulf, who think that their peculiar
institutions require that they should have a separate government. They
have a right to decide that question without appealing to you or me....
Standing with the principles of '76 behind us, who can deny them the
right?... Abraham Lincoln has no right to a soldier in Fort Sumter....
There is no longer a Union.... Mr. Jefferson Davis is angry, and Mr.
Abraham Lincoln is mad, and they agree to fight.... You cannot go
through Massachusetts and recruit men to bombard Charleston or New
Orleans.... We are in no condition to fight.... Nothing but madness can
provoke war with the Gulf States;"--with much more to the same effect.
If the veterans of the old anti-slavery contest were in this frame of
mind in April, Lincoln could hardly place much dependence upon the
people at large in March. If he could not "recruit men" in
Massachusetts, in what State could he reasonably expect to do so?
Against such discouragement it can only be said that he had a singular
instinct for the underlying popular feeling, that he could scent it in
the distance and in hiding; moreover, that he was always willing to run
the chance of any consequences which might follow the performance of a
clear duty. Still, as he looked over the dreary Northern field in those
chill days of early March, he must have had a marvelous sensitiveness in
order to perceive the generative heat and force in the depths beneath
the cheerless surface and awaiting only the fullness of the near spring
season to burst forth in sudden universal vigor. Yet such was his
knowledge and such his faith concerning the people that we may fancy, if
we will, that he foresaw the great transformation. But there were still
other matters which disturbed him. Before his inauguration, he had heard
much of his coming official isolation. One of the arguments reiterated
alike by Southern Unionists and by Northerners had been that the
Republican President would be powerless, because the Senate, the House,
and the Supreme Court were all opposed to him. But the supposed lack of
political sympathy on the part of these bodies, however it might beget
anxiety for the future, was for the present of much less moment than
another fact, viz., that none of the distinguished men, leaders in his
own party, whom Lincoln found about him at Washington, were in a frame
of mind to assist him efficiently. If all did not actually distrust his
capacity and character,--which, doubtless, many honestly did,--at least
they were profoundly ignorant concerning both. Therefore they could not
yet, and did not, place genuine, implicit confidence in him; they could
not yet, and did not, advise and aid him at all in the same spirit and
with the same usefulness as later they were able to do. They were not to
blame for this; on the contrary, the condition had been brought about
distinctly against their will, since certainly few of them had looked
with favor upon the selection of an unknown, inexperienced, ill-educated
man as the Republican candidate for the presidency. How much Lincoln
felt his loneliness will never be known; for, reticent and
self-contained at all times, he gave no outward sign. That he felt it
less than other men would have done may be regarded as certain; for, as
has already appeared to some extent, and as will appear much more in
this narrative, he was singularly self-reliant, and, at least in
appearance, was strangely indifferent to any counsel or support which
could be brought to him by others. Yet, marked as was this trait in him,
he could hardly have been human had he not felt oppressed by the
personal solitude and political isolation of his position when the
responsibility of his great office rested newly upon him. Under all
these circumstances, if this lonely man moved slowly and cautiously
during the early weeks of his administration, it was not at his door
that the people had the right to lay the reproach of weakness or
hesitation.
Mr. Buchanan, for the convenience of his successor, had called an extra
session of the Senate, and on March 5 President Lincoln sent in the
nominations for his cabinet. All were immediately confirmed, as
follows:--
William H. Seward, New York, secretary of state.
Salmon P. Chase, Ohio, secretary of the treasury.
Simon Cameron, Pennsylvania, secretary of war.
Gideon Welles, Connecticut, secretary of the navy.
Caleb B. Smith, Indiana, secretary of the interior.
Edward Bates, Missouri, attorney-general.
Montgomery Blair, Maryland, postmaster-general.
It is matter of course that a cabinet slate should fail to give general
satisfaction; and this one encountered fully the average measure of
criticism. The body certainly was somewhat heterogeneous in its
composition, yet the same was true of the Republican party which it
represented. Nor was it by any means so heterogeneous as Mr. Lincoln
had designed to have it, for he had made efforts to place in it a
Southern spokesman for Southern views; and he had not desisted from the
purpose until its futility was made apparent by the direct refusal of
Mr. Gilmer of North Carolina, and by indications of a like unwillingness
on the part of one or two other Southerners who were distantly sounded
on the subject. Seward, Chase, Bates, and Cameron were the four men who
had manifested the greatest popularity, after Lincoln, in the national
convention, and the selection of them, therefore, showed that Mr.
Lincoln was seeking strength rather than amity in his cabinet; for it
was certainly true that each one of them had a following which was far
from being wholly in sympathy with the following of any one of the
others. The President evidently believed that it was of more importance
that each great body of Northern men should feel that its opinions were
fairly presented, than that his cabinet officers should always
comfortably unite in looking at questions from one and the same point of
view. Judge Davis says that Lincoln's original design was to appoint
Democrats and Republicans alike to office. He carried this theory so far
that the radical Republicans regarded the make-up of the cabinet as a
"disgraceful surrender to the South;" while men of less extreme views
saw with some alarm that he had called to his advisory council four
ex-Democrats and only three ex-Whigs, a criticism which he met by saying
that he himself was an "old-line Whig" and should be there to make the
parties even. On the other hand, the Republicans of the middle line of
States grumbled much at the selection of Bates and Blair as
representatives of their section.
The cabinet had not been brought together without some jarring and
friction, especially in the case of Cameron. On December 31 Mr. Lincoln
intimated to him that he should have either the Treasury or the War
Department, but on January 3 requested him to "decline the appointment."
Cameron, however, had already mentioned the matter to many friends,
without any suggestion that he should not be glad to accept either
position, and therefore, even if he were willing to accede to the
sudden, strange, and unexplained request of Mr. Lincoln, he would have
found it difficult to do so without giving rise to much embarrassing
gossip. Accordingly he did not decline, and thereupon ensued much
wire-pulling. Pennsylvania protectionists wanted Cameron in the
Treasury, and strenuously objected to Chase as an ex-Democrat of
free-trade proclivities. On the other hand, Lincoln gradually hardened
into the resolution that Chase should have the Treasury. He made the
tender, and it was accepted. He then offered consolation to Pennsylvania
by giving the War portfolio to Cameron, which was accepted with
something of chagrin. How far this Cameron episode was affected by the
bargain declared by Lamon to have been made at Chicago cannot be told.
Other biographers ignore this story, but I do not see how the direct
testimony furnished by Lamon and corroborated by Colonel McClure can
justly be treated in this way; neither is the temptation so to treat it
apparent, since the evidence entirely absolves Lincoln from any
complicity at the time of making the alleged "trade," while he could
hardly be blamed if he felt somewhat hampered by it afterward.
Seward also gave trouble which he ought not to have given. On December 8
Lincoln wrote to him that he would nominate him as secretary of state.
Mr. Seward assented and the matter remained thus comfortably settled
until so late as March 2, 1861, when Seward wrote a brief note asking
"leave to withdraw his consent." Apparently the Democratic complexion of
the cabinet, and the suggestions of suspicious friends, made him fear
that his influence in the ministry would be inferior to that of Chase.
Coming at this eleventh hour, which already had its weighty burden of
many anxieties, this brief destructive note was both embarrassing and
exasperating. It meant the entire reconstruction of the cabinet. Never
did Lincoln's tranquil indifference to personal provocation stand him in
better stead than in this crisis,--for a crisis it was when Seward, in
discontent and distrust, desired to draw aloof from the administration.
He held the note of the recalcitrant politician for two days unanswered,
then he wrote a few lines: "Your note," he said, "is the subject of the
most painful solicitude with me; and I feel constrained to beg that you
will countermand the withdrawal. The public interest, I think, demands
that you should; and my personal feelings are deeply enlisted in the
same direction." These words set Mr. Seward right again; on March 5 he
withdrew his letter of March 2, and in a few hours was appointed.
Immediately after the installation of the new government three
commissioners from the Confederacy came to Washington, and requested an
official audience. They said that seven States of the American Union had
withdrawn therefrom, had reassumed sovereign power, and were now an
independent nation in fact and in right; that, in order to adjust upon
terms of amity and good-will all questions growing out of this political
separation, they were instructed to make overtures for opening
negotiations, with the assurance that the Confederate government
earnestly desired a peaceful solution and would make no demand not
founded in strictest justice, neither do any act to injure their late
confederates. From the Confederate point of view these approaches were
dignified and conciliatory; from the Northern point of view they were
treasonable and insolent. Probably the best fruit which Mr. Davis hoped
from them was that Mr. Seward, who was well known to be desirous of
finding some peace-assuring middle course, might be led into a
discussion of the situation, inevitably provoking divisions in the
cabinet, in the Republican party, and in the country. But though
Seward's frame of mind about this time was such as to put him in great
jeopardy of committing hurtful blunders, he was fortunate enough to
escape quite doing so. To the agent of the commissioners he replied that
he must "consult the President," and the next day he wrote, in terms of
personal civility, that he could not receive them. Nevertheless they
remained in Washington a few weeks longer, gathering and forwarding to
the Confederate government such information as they could. In this they
were aided by Judge Campbell of Alabama, a Secessionist, who still
retained his seat upon the bench of the Supreme Court. This gentleman
now became a messenger between the commissioners and Mr. Seward, with
the purpose of eliciting news and even pledges from the latter for the
use of the former. His errands especially related to Fort Sumter, and he
gradually drew from Mr. Seward strong expressions of opinion that Sumter
would in time be evacuated, even declarations substantially to the
effect that this was the arranged policy of the government. Words which
fell in so agreeably with the wishes of the judge and the commissioners
were received with that warm welcome which often outruns correct
construction, and later were construed by them as actual assurances, at
least in substance, whereby they conceived themselves to have been
"abused and overreached," and they charged the government with
"equivocating conduct." In the second week in April, contemporaneously
with the Sumter crisis, they addressed to Mr. Seward a high-flown
missive of reproach, in which they ostentatiously washed the hands of
the South, as it were, and shook from their own departing feet the dust
of the obdurate North, where they had not been met "in the conciliatory
and peaceful spirit" in which they had come. They invoked "impartial
history" to place the responsibility of blood and mourning upon those
who had denied the great fundamental doctrine of American liberty; and
they declared it "clear that Mr. Lincoln had determined to appeal to the
sword to reduce the people of the Confederate States to the will of the
section or party whose President he is." In this dust-cloud of glowing
rhetoric vanished the last deceit of peaceful settlement.
About the same time, April 13, sundry commissioners from the Virginia
convention waited upon Lincoln with the request that he would
communicate the policy which he intended to pursue towards the
Confederate States. Lincoln replied with a patient civility that cloaked
satire: "Having at the beginning of my official term expressed my
intended policy as plainly as I was able, it is with deep regret and
some mortification I now learn that there is great and injurious
uncertainty in the public mind as to what that policy is, and what
course I intend to pursue." To this ratification of the plain position
taken in his inaugural, he added that he might see fit to repossess
himself of the public property, and that possibly he might withdraw the
mail service from the seceding States.
The inauguration of Mr. Lincoln was followed by a lull which endured for
several weeks. A like repose reigned contemporaneously in the
Confederate States. For a while the people in both sections received
with content this reaction of quiescence. But as the same laws of human
nature were operative equally at the North and at the South, it soon
came about that both at the North and at the South there broke forth
almost simultaneously strong manifestations of impatience. The genuine
President at Washington and the sham President at Montgomery were
assailed by the like pressing demand: Why did they not do something to
settle this matter? Southern irascibility found the situation
exceedingly trying. The imposing and dramatic attitude of the
Confederate States had not achieved an appropriate result. They had
organized a government and posed as an independent nation, but no power
in the civilized world had yet recognized them in this character; on the
contrary, Abraham Lincoln, living hard by in the White House, was
explicitly denying it, contumaciously alleging himself to be their
lawful ruler, and waiting with an exasperating patience to see what they
were really going to do in the business which they had undertaken. They
must make some move or they would become ridiculous, and their
revolution would die and their confederacy would dissolve from sheer
inanition. The newspapers told their leaders this plainly; and a
prominent gentleman of Alabama said to Mr. Davis: "Sir, unless you
sprinkle blood in the face of the people of Alabama, they will be back
in the Union in ten days." On the other hand, the people of the North
were as energetic as the sons of the South were excitable, and with
equal urgency they also demanded a conclusion. If the Union was to be
enforced, why did not Mr. Lincoln enforce it? How long did he mean
placidly to suffer treason and a rival government to rest undisturbed
within the country?
With this state of feeling growing rapidly more intense in both
sections, action was inevitable. Yet neither leader wished to act first,
even for the important purpose of gratifying the popular will. As where
two men are resolved to fight, yet have an uneasy vision of a judge and
jury in waiting for them, each seeks to make the other the assailant and
himself to be upon his defense, so these two rulers took prudent thought
of the tribunal of public sentiment not in America alone but in Europe
also, with perhaps a slight forward glance towards posterity. If Mr.
Lincoln did not like to "invade" the Southern territory, Mr. Davis was
equally reluctant to make the Southern "withdrawal" actively belligerent
through operations of military offense. Both men were capable of
statesmanlike waiting to score a point that was worth waiting for; Davis
had been for years biding the ripeness of time, but Lincoln had the
capacity of patience beyond any precedent on record.
The spot where the strain came, where this question of the first blow
must be settled, was at Fort Sumter, in the mid-throat of Charleston
harbor. On December 27, 1860, by a skillful movement at night, Major
Anderson, the commander at Fort Moultrie, had transferred his scanty
force from that dilapidated and untenable post on the shore to the more
defensible and more important position of Fort Sumter. Thereafter a
precarious relationship betwixt peace and war had subsisted between him
and the South Carolinians. It was distinctly understood that, sooner or
later, by negotiation or by force, South Carolina intended to possess
herself of this fortress. From her point of view it certainly was
preposterous and unendurable that the key to her chief harbor and city
should be permanently held by a "foreign" power. Gradually she erected
batteries on the neighboring mainland, and kept a close surveillance
upon the troops now more than half besieged in the fort.
Under the Buchanan régime the purpose of the United States government
had been less plain than it became after Mr. Lincoln's accession; for
Buchanan had not the courage either to order a surrender, or to provoke
real warfare by reinforcing the place. In vain did the unfortunate Major
Anderson seek distinct instructions; the replies which he received were
contradictory and more obscure than Delphic oracles. This unfair,
vacillating, and contemptible conduct indicated the desire to lay upon
him alone the whole responsibility of the situation, with a politic and
selfish reservation to the government of the advantage of disavowing and
discrediting him, whatever he might do. On January 9 a futile effort at
communication was made by the steamer Star of the West; it failed, and
left matters worse rather than better. On March 3, 1861, the Confederate
government put General Beauregard in command at Charleston, thereby
emphasizing the resolution to have Sumter ere long. Such was the
situation on March 4, when Mr. Lincoln came into control and declared a
policy which bound him to "hold, occupy, and possess" Sumter. On the
same day there came a letter from Major Anderson, describing his
position. There were shut up in the fort together a certain number of
men and a certain quantity of biscuit and of pork; when the men should
have eaten the biscuit and the pork, which they would probably do in
about four weeks, they would have to go away. The problem thus became
direct, simple, and urgent.
Lincoln sought an opinion from Scott, and was told that "evacuation
seems almost inevitable." He requested a more thorough investigation,
and a reply to specific questions: "To what point of time can Anderson
maintain his position in Sumter? Can you, with present means, relieve
him in that time? What additional means would enable you to do so?" The
general answered that four months would be necessary to prepare the
naval force, and an even longer time to get together the 5000 regular
troops and 20,000 volunteers that would be needed, to say nothing of
obtaining proper legislation from Congress. Equally discouraging were
the opinions of the cabinet officers. On March 15 Lincoln put to them
the question: "Assuming it to be possible to now provision Fort Sumter,
under all the circumstances is it wise to attempt it?" Only Chase and
Blair replied that it would be wise; Seward, Cameron, Wells, Smith, and
Bates were against it.
The form of this question indicated that Lincoln contemplated a
possibility of being compelled to recede from the policy expressed in
his inaugural. Yet it was not his temperament to abandon a purpose
deliberately matured and definitely announced, except under absolute
necessity. To determine now this question of necessity he sent an
emissary to Sumter and another to Charleston, and meantime stayed
offensive action on the part of the Confederates by authorizing Seward
to give assurance through Judge Campbell that no provisioning or
reinforcement should be attempted without warning. Thus he secured, or
continued, a sort of truce, irregular and informal, but practical.
Meantime he was encouraged by the earnest propositions of Mr. G.V. Fox,
until lately an officer of the navy, who was ready to undertake the
relief of the fort. Eager discussions ensued, wherein naval men backed
the project of Mr. Fox, and army men condemned it. Such difference of
expert opinion was trying, for the problem was of a kind which Mr.
Lincoln's previous experience in life did not make it easy for him to
solve with any confidence in the correctness of his own judgment.
Amid this puzzlement day after day glided by, and the question remained
unsettled. Yet during this lapse of time sentiment was ripening, and
perhaps this was the real purpose of Lincoln's patient waiting. On March
29 his ministers again put their opinions in writing, and now Chase,
Welles, and Blair favored an effort at reinforcement; Bates modified his
previous opposition so far as to say that the time had come either to
evacuate or relieve the fort; Smith favored evacuation, but only on the
ground of military necessity; and Seward alone advocated evacuation in
part on the ground of policy; he deemed it unwise to "provoke a civil
war," especially "in rescue of an untenable position."
Was it courtesy or curiosity that induced the President to sit and
listen to this warm debate between his chosen advisers? They would have
been angry had they known that they were bringing their counsel to a
chief who had already made his decision. They did not yet know that upon
every occasion of great importance Lincoln would make up his mind for
and by himself, yet would not announce his decision, or save his
counselors the trouble of counseling, until such time as he should see
fit to act. So in this instance he had already, the day before the
meeting of the cabinet, directed Fox to draw up an order for such ships,
men, and supplies as he would require, and when the meeting broke up he
at once issued formal orders to the secretaries of the navy and of war
to enter upon the necessary preparation.
Contemporaneously with this there was also undertaken another enterprise
for the relief of Fort Pickens at Pensacola. It was, however, kept so
strictly secret that the President did not even communicate it to Mr.
Welles. Apparently his only reason for such extreme reticence lay in the
proverb: "If you wish your secret kept, keep it." But proverbial wisdom
had an unfortunate result upon this occasion. Both the President and Mr.
Welles set the eye of desire upon the warship Powhatan, lying in New
York harbor. The secretary designed her for the Sumter fleet; the
President meant to send her to Pensacola. Of the Sumter expedition she
was an absolutely essential part; for the Pensacola plan she was not
altogether indispensable.
On April 6 Captain Mercer, on board the Powhatan as his flagship, and on
the very point of weighing anchor to sail in command of the Sumter
reinforcement, under orders from Secretary Welles, was astounded to find
himself dispossessed and superseded by Lieutenant Porter, who suddenly
came upon the deck bringing an order signed by the President himself. A
few hours later, at Washington, a telegram startled Mr. Welles with the
news. Utterly confounded, he hastened, in the early night-time, to the
White House, and obtained an audience of the President. Then Mr. Lincoln
learned what a disastrous blunder he had made; greatly mortified, he
requested Mr. Seward to telegraph with all haste to New York that the
Powhatan must be immediately restored to Mercer for Sumter. Lieutenant
Porter was already far down the bay, when he was overtaken by a swift
tug bringing this message. But unfortunately Mr. Seward had so phrased
the dispatch that it did not purport to convey an order either from the
President or the secretary of the navy, and he had signed his own name:
"Give up the Powhatan to Mercer. SEWARD." To Porter, hurriedly
considering this unintelligible occurrence, it seemed better to go
forward under the President's order than to obey the order of an
official who had no apparent authority to command him. So he steamed on
for Pensacola.
On April 8, discharging the obligation of warning, Mr. Lincoln notified
General Beauregard that an attempt would be made to put provisions into
Sumter, but not at present to put in men, arms, or ammunition, unless
the fort should be attacked. Thereupon Beauregard, at two o'clock P.M.
on April 11, sent to Anderson a request for a surrender. Anderson
refused, remarking incidentally that he should be starved out in a few
days. At 3.20 A.M., on April 12, Beauregard notified Anderson that he
should open fire in one hour. That morning the occupants of Sumter, 9
commissioned officers, 68 non-commissioned officers and privates, 8
musicians, and 43 laborers, breakfasted on pork and water, the last
rations in the fort. Before daybreak the Confederate batteries were
pouring shot and shell against the walls. Response was made from as many
guns as the small body of defenders could handle. But the fort was more
easily damaged than were the works on the mainland, and on the morning
of the 13th, the officers' quarters having caught fire, and the magazine
being so imperiled that it had to be closed and covered with earth, the
fort became untenable. Early in the evening terms of capitulation were
agreed upon.
Meantime three transports of the relief expedition were lying outside
the bar. The first arrived shortly before the bombardment began, the
other two came only a trifle later. All day long these vessels lay to,
wondering why the Powhatan did not appear. Had she been there upon the
critical night of the 12th, the needed supplies could have been thrown
into the fort, for the weather was so dark that the rebel patrol was
useless, and it was actually believed in Charleston that the relief had
been accomplished. But the Powhatan was far away steaming at full speed
for Pensacola. For this sad blunder Lincoln generously, but fairly
enough, took the blame to himself. The only excuse which has ever been
advanced in behalf of Mr. Lincoln is that he allowed himself to be led
blindfold through this important business by Mr. Seward, and that he
signed such papers as the secretary of state presented to him without
learning their purport and bearing. But such an excuse, even if it can
be believed, seems fully as bad as the blunder which it is designed to
palliate.
Other blame also has been laid upon Lincoln on the ground that he was
dilatory in reaching the determination to relieve the fort. That the
decision should have been reached and the expedition dispatched more
promptly is entirely evident; but whether or not Lincoln was in fault is
quite another question. Three facts are to be considered: 1. The highest
military authority in the country advised him, a civilian, that
evacuation was a necessity. 2. Most of his ministers were at first
against reinforcement, and they never unanimously recommended it;
especially his secretary of state condemned it as bad policy. 3. The
almost universal feeling of the people of the North, so far as it could
then be divined, was compromising, conciliatory, and thoroughly opposed
to any act of war. Under such circumstances it was rather an exhibition
of independence and courage that Lincoln reached the conclusion of
relieving the fort at all, than it was a cause of fault-finding that he
did not come to the conclusion sooner. He could not know in March how
the people were going to feel after the 13th of April; in fact, if they
had fancied that he was provoking hostilities, their feeling might not
even then have developed as it did. Finally, he gained his point in
forcing the Confederacy into the position of assailant, and there is
every reason to believe that he bought that point cheaply at the price
of the fortress.
The news of the capture of Sumter had an instant and tremendous effect.
The States which had seceded were thrown into a pleasurable ferment of
triumph; the Northern States arose in fierce wrath; the Middle States,
still balancing dubiously between the two parties, were rent with
passionate discussion. For the moment the North seemed a unit; there had
been Southern sympathizers before, and Southern sympathizers appeared in
considerable numbers later, but for a little while just now they were
very scarce. Douglas at once called upon the President, and the
telegraph carried to his numerous followers throughout the land the news
that he had pledged himself "to sustain the President in the exercise of
all his constitutional functions to preserve the Union, and maintain the
government, and defend the Federal capital." By this prompt and generous
action he warded off the peril of a divided North. Douglas is not in
quite such good repute with posterity as he deserves to be; his attitude
towards slavery was bad, but his attitude towards the country was that
of a zealous patriot. His veins were full of fighting blood, and he was
really much more ready to go to war for the Union than were great
numbers of Republicans whose names survive in the strong odor of
patriotism. During the presidential campaign he had been speaking out
with defiant courage regardless of personal considerations, and in this
present juncture he did not hesitate an instant to bring to his
successful rival an aid which at the time and under the circumstances
was invaluable.
In every town and village there were now mass meetings, ardent speeches,
patriotic resolutions, a confusing stir and tumult of words that would
become deeds as fast as definite plans could furnish opportunity. The
difficulty lay in utilizing this abundant, this exuberant zeal.
Historians say rhetorically that the North sprang to arms; and it really
would have done so if there had been any arms to spring to; but muskets
were scarce, and that there were any at all was chiefly due to the fact
that antiquated and unserviceable weapons had been allowed to accumulate
undestroyed. Moreover, no one knew even the manual of arms; and there
were no uniforms, or accoutrements, or camp equipment of any sort. There
was, however, the will which makes the way. Simultaneously with the
story of Sumter came also the President's proclamation of April 15. He
called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to serve for three
months,--an insignificant body of men, as it now seems, and a period of
time not sufficient to change them from civilians into soldiers. Yet for
the work immediately visible the demand seemed adequate. Moreover, as
the law stood, a much longer term could not have been named,[133] and
an apparently disproportionate requisition in point of numbers might
have been of injurious effect; for nearly every one was cheerfully
saying that the war would be no such very great affair after all. In his
own mind the President may or may not have forecast the future more
accurately than most others were doing; but his idea plainly was to ask
no more than was necessary for the visible occasion. He stated that the
troops would be used to "repossess the forts, places, and property which
had been seized from the Union," and that great care would be taken not
to disturb peaceful citizens. Amid all the prophesying and theorizing,
and the fanciful comparisons of the respective fighting qualities of the
Northern and Southern populations, a sensible remark is attributed to
Lincoln: "We must not forget that the people of the seceded States, like
those of the loyal States, are American citizens with essentially the
same characteristics and powers. Exceptional advantages on one side are
counterbalanced by exceptional advantages on the other. We must make up
our minds that man for man the soldier from the South will be a match
for the soldier from the North, and _vice versa_." This was good common
sense, seasonably offsetting the prevalent but foolish notion that the
Southerners were naturally a better fighting race than the Northerners.
Facts ultimately sustained Lincoln's just estimate of equality; for
though the North employed far greater numbers than did the South, it was
because the North had the burdens of attack and conquest upon exterior
lines of great extent, because it had to detail large bodies of troops
for mere garrison and quasi-police duty, and because during the latter
part of the war it took miserable throngs of bounty-bought foreigners
into its ranks. Man for man, as Lincoln said at the outset, the war
proved that Northern Americans and Southern Americans were closely
matched.[134]
By the same instrument the President summoned Congress to assemble in
extra session on July 4. It seemed a distant date; and many thought that
the Executive Department ought not to endeavor to handle alone all the
possible novel developments of so long a period. But Mr. Lincoln had his
purposes. By July 4 he and circumstances, together, would have wrought
out definite conditions, which certainly did not exist at present;
perhaps also, like most men who find themselves face to face with
difficult practical affairs, he dreaded the conclaves of the
law-makers; but especially he wished to give Kentucky a chance to hold a
special election for choosing members of this Congress, because the
moral and political value of Kentucky could hardly be overestimated, and
the most tactful manoeuvring was necessary to control her.
The Confederate cabinet was said to have greeted Mr. Lincoln's
proclamation with "bursts of laughter." The governors of Kentucky, North
Carolina, Arkansas, Tennessee, and Missouri telegraphed that no troops
would be furnished by their respective States, using language clearly
designed to be offensive and menacing. The Northern States, however,
responded promptly and enthusiastically. Men thronged to enlist.
Hundreds of thousands offered themselves where only 75,000 could be
accepted. Of the human raw material there was excess; but discipline and
equipment could not be created by any measure of mere willingness. Yet
there was great need of dispatch. Both geographically and politically
Washington lay as an advanced outpost in immediate peril. General Scott
had been collecting the few companies within reach; but all, he said on
April 8, "may be too late for this place." By April 15, however, he
believed himself able to hold the city till reinforcements should
arrive. The total nominal strength of the United States army, officers
and men, was only 17,113, of whom not two thirds could be counted upon
the Union side, and even these were scattered over a vast expanse of
country, playing police for Indians, and garrisoning distant posts.
Rumors of Southern schemes to attack Washington caused widespread alarm;
the government had no more definite information than the people, and all
alike feared that there was to be a race for the capital, and that the
South, being near and prepared, would get there first. As matter of
fact, the Southern leaders had laid no military plan for this
enterprise, and the danger was exaggerated. The Northerners, however,
did not know this, and made desperate haste.
The first men to arrive came from Philadelphia, 460 troops, as they were
called, though they came "almost entirely without arms." In
Massachusetts, Governor Andrew, an anti-slavery leader, enthusiastic,
energetic, and of great executive ability, had been for many months
preparing the militia for precisely this crisis, weeding out the holiday
soldiers and thoroughly equipping his regiments for service in the
field. For this he had been merrily ridiculed by the aristocracy of
Boston during the winter; but inexorable facts now declared for him and
against the local aristocrats. On April 15 he received the call from
Washington, and immediately sent forth his own summons through the
State. All day on the 16th, amid a fierce northeasterly storm, the
troops poured into Boston, and by six o'clock on that day three full
regiments were ready to start.[135] Three days before this the governor
had asked Secretary Cameron for 2000 rifled muskets from the national
armory at Springfield, in the State. The secretary refused, and the
governor managed to supply his regiment with the most improved arms[136]
without aid from the national government. On the forenoon of the 17th,
the Sixth Regiment started for Washington. Steamers were ready to take
it to Annapolis; but the secretary of war, with astonishing ignorance of
facts easily to be known, ordered it to come through Baltimore.
Accordingly the regiment reached Baltimore on the 19th, the anniversary
of the battle of Lexington. Seven companies were transported in
horse-cars from the northern to the southern station without serious
hindrance; but then the tracks of the street railway were torn up, and
the remaining four companies had to leave the cars and march. A furious
mob of "Plug Uglies" and Secessionists assailed them with paving-stones,
brickbats, and pistol-shots. The mayor and the marshal of the police
force performed fairly their official duty, but were far from quelling
the riot. The troops, therefore, thrown on their own resources,
justifiably fired upon their assailants. The result of the conflict was
that 4 soldiers were killed and 36 were wounded, and of the rioters 12
were killed, and the number of wounded could not be ascertained. The
troops reached Washington at five o'clock in the afternoon, the first
armed rescuers of the capital; their presence brought a comforting
sense of relief, and they were quartered in the senate chamber itself.
* * * * *
What would be the effect of the proclamation, of the mustering of troops
in the capital, and of the bloodshed at Baltimore upon the slave States
which still remained in the Union, was a problem of immeasurable
importance. The President, who had been obliged to take the
responsibility of precipitating the crisis in these States, appreciated
more accurately than any one else the magnitude of the stake involved in
their allegiance. He watched them with the deepest anxiety, and brought
the utmost care and tact of his nature to the task of influencing them.
The geographical position of Maryland, separating the District of
Columbia from the loyal North, made it of the first consequence. The
situation there, precarious at best, seemed to be rendered actually
hopeless by what had occurred. A tempest of uncontrollable rage whirled
away the people and prostrated all Union feeling. Mayor Brown admits
that "for some days it looked very much as if Baltimore had taken her
stand decisively with the South;" and this was putting it mildly, when
the Secessionist Marshal Kane was telegraphing: "Streets red with
Maryland blood. Send express over the mountains of Maryland and Virginia
for the riflemen to come without delay." Governor Hicks was opposed to
secession, but he was shaken like a reed by this violent blast. Later
on this same April 19, Mayor Brown sent three gentlemen to President
Lincoln, bearing a letter from himself, in which he said that it was
"not possible for more soldiers to pass through Baltimore unless they
fight their way at every step." That night he caused the northward
railroad bridges to be burned and disabled; and soon afterward the
telegraph wires were cut.
The President met the emergency with coolness and straightforward
simplicity, abiding firmly by his main purpose, but conciliatory as to
means. He wrote to the governor and the mayor: "For the future troops
_must_ be brought here, but I make no point of bringing them _through_
Baltimore;" he would "march them _around_ Baltimore," if, as he hoped,
General Scott should find it feasible to do so. In fulfillment of this
promise he ordered a detachment, which had arrived at a station near
Baltimore, to go all the way back to Philadelphia and come around by
water. He only demurred when the protests were extended to include the
whole "sacred" soil of Maryland,--for it appeared that the presence of
slavery accomplished the consecration of soil! His troops, he said,
could neither fly over the State, nor burrow under it; therefore they
must cross it, and the Marylanders must learn that "there was no piece
of American soil too good to be pressed by the foot of a loyal soldier
on his march to the defense of the capital of his country." For a while,
however, until conditions in Baltimore changed, Eastern regiments came
by way of Annapolis, though with difficulty and delay. Yet, even upon
this route, conflict was narrowly avoided.
Soon, however, these embarrassments came to an end, and the President's
policy was vindicated by its fruits. It had been strictly his own; he
alone ruled the occasion, and he did so in the face of severe pressure
to do otherwise, some of which came even from members of his cabinet.
Firmness, reasonableness, and patience brought things right; Lincoln
spoke sensibly to the Marylanders, and gave them time to consider the
situation. Such treatment started a reaction; Unionism revived and
Unionists regained courage. Moreover, the sure pressure of material
considerations was doing its work. Baltimore, as an isolated secession
outpost, found, even in the short space of a week, that business was
destroyed and that she was suffering every day financial loss. In a
word, by the end of the month, "the tide had turned." Baltimore, if not
quite a Union city, at least ceased to be secessionist. On May 9
Northern troops passed unmolested through it. On May 13 General Butler
with a body of troops took possession of Federal Hill, which commands
the harbor and city, and fortified it. If the Baltimore question was
still open at that time, this settled it. Early in the same month the
state legislature came together, Mr. Lincoln refusing to accept the
suggestion of interfering with it. This body was by no means Unionist,
for it "protested against the war as unjust and unconstitutional,
announced a determination to take no part in its prosecution, and
expressed a desire for the immediate recognition of the Confederate
States." Yet practically it put a veto on secession by voting that it
was inexpedient to summon a convention; it called on all good citizens
"to abstain from violent and unlawful interference with the troops."
Thus early in May this brand, though badly scorched, was saved from the
conflagration; and its saving was a piece of good fortune of which the
importance cannot be exaggerated; for without Maryland Washington could
hardly have been held, and with the national capital in the hands of the
rebels European recognition probably could not have been prevented.
These momentous perils were in the mind of the administration during
those anxious days, and great indeed was the relief when the ultimate
turn of affairs became assured. For a week officials in Washington were
painfully taught what it would mean to have Baltimore a rebel city and
Maryland a debatable territory and battle-ground. For a week Mr. Lincoln
and his advisers lived almost in a state of siege; they were utterly cut
off from communication with the North; they could get no news; they
could not learn what was doing for their rescue, nor how serious were
the obstructions in the way of such efforts; in place of correct
information they heard only the most alarming rumors. In a word, they
were governing a country to which they really had no access. The
tension of those days was awful; and it was with infinite comfort that
they became certain that, whatever other strain might come, this one at
least could not be repeated. Henceforth the loyalty of Maryland, so
carefully nurtured, gradually grew in strength to the end. Many
individuals long remained in their hearts disloyal, and thousands[137]
joined the Confederate ranks; but they had to leave their State in order
to get beneath a secessionist standard, for Maryland was distinctly and
conclusively in the Union.
The situation, resources, and prestige of Virginia made her next to
Maryland in importance among the doubtful States. Her Unionists were
numerically preponderant; and accordingly the convention, which
assembled early in January, was opposed to secession by the overwhelming
majority of 89 to 45. But the Secessionists here as elsewhere in the
South were propagandists, fiery with enthusiasm and energy, and they
controlled the community although they were outnumbered by those who
held, in a more quiet way, contrary opinions. When the decisive conflict
came it was short and sharp and carried with a rush. By intrigue, by
menace, by passionate appeals seasonably applied with sudden intensity
of effort at the time of the assault upon Sumter, the convention was
induced to pass an ordinance of secession. Those who could not bring
themselves to vote in the affirmative were told that they might "absent
themselves or be hanged." On the other hand, there were almost no lines
along which the President could project any influence into the State to
encourage the Union sentiment. He sought an interview with a political
leader, but the gentleman only sent a substitute, and the colloquy
amounted to nothing. He fell in with the scheme of General Scott
concerning Robert E. Lee, which might have saved Virginia; but this also
miscarried. General Lee has always been kindly spoken of at the North,
whether deservedly or not is a matter not to be discussed here. Only a
few bare facts and dates can be given: April 17, by a vote of 88 to 55,
the dragooned convention passed an "ordinance to repeal the ratification
of the Constitution of the United States," but provided that this action
should for the present be kept secret, and that it might be annulled by
the people at a popular voting, which should be had upon it on the
fourth Thursday in May. The injunction of secrecy was immediately
broken, and before the polls were to be opened for the balloting
Virginia was held by the military forces of the Confederacy, so that the
vote was a farce. April 18 Mr. F.P. Blair, Jr., had an interview in
Washington with Lee, in which he intimated to Lee that the President and
General Scott designed to place him in command of the army which had
just been summoned.[138] Accounts of this conversation, otherwise
inconsistent, all agree that Lee expressed himself as opposed to
secession,[139] but as unwilling to occupy the position designed for
him, because he "could take no part in an invasion of the Southern
States." April 20 he tendered his resignation of his commission in the
army, closing with the words, "Save in defense of my native State, I
never desire again to draw my sword."[140] On April 22-23 he was
appointed to, and accepted, the command of the state forces. In so
accepting he said: "I devote myself to the service of my native State,
in whose behalf alone will I ever again draw my sword."[141] April 24 a
military league was formed between Virginia and the Confederate States,
and her forces were placed under the command of Jefferson Davis; also an
invitation was given, and promptly accepted, to make Richmond the
Confederate capital. May 16 Virginia formally entered the Confederacy,
and Lee became a general--the third in rank--in the service of the
Confederate States, though the secession of his State was still only
inchoate and might never become complete, since the day set for the
popular vote had not arrived, and it was still a possibility that the
Unionists might find courage to go to the polls. Thus a rapid succession
of events settled it that the President could save neither Virginia nor
Robert E. Lee for the Union. Yet the failure was not entire. The
northwestern counties were strongly Union in their proclivities, and
soon followed to a good end an evil example; for they in turn seceded
from Virginia, established a state government, sought admission into the
Union, and became the State of West Virginia.
Next in order of importance came Kentucky. The Secessionists, using here
the tactics so successful in other States, endeavored to drive through
by rush and whirl a formal act of secession. But the Unionists of
Kentucky were of more resolute and belligerent temper than those of
Georgia and Virginia, and would not submit to be swept away by a torrent
really of less volume than their own.[142] Yet in spite of the spirited
head thus made by the loyalists the condition in the State long remained
such as to require the most skillful treatment by the President; during
several critical weeks one error of judgment, a single imprudence, upon
his part might have proved fatal. For the condition was anomalous and
perplexing, and the conflict of opinion in the State had finally led to
the evolution of a theory or scheme of so-called "neutrality." A
similar notion had been imperfectly developed in Maryland, when her
legislature declared that she would take no part in a war. The idea was
illogical to the point of absurdity, for by it the "neutral" State would
at once stay in the Union and stand aloof from it. Neutrality really
signified a refusal to perform those obligations which nevertheless were
admitted to be binding, and it made of the State a defensive barrier for
the South, not to be traversed by Northern troops on an errand of
hostility against Confederate Secessionists. It was practical
"non-coercion" under a name of fairer sound, and it involved the
inconsequence of declaring that the dissolution of an indissoluble Union
should not be prevented; it was the proverbial folly of being "for the
law but ag'in the enforcement of it." In the words of a resolution
passed by a public meeting in Louisville: it was the "duty" of Kentucky
to maintain her "independent position," taking sides neither with the
administration nor with the seceding States, "_but with the Union
against them both_."
Nevertheless, though both logic and geography made neutrality
impracticable, yet at least the desire to be neutral indicated a
wavering condition, and therefore it was Mr. Lincoln's task so to
arrange matters that, when the State should at last see that it could by
no possibility avoid casting its lot with one side or the other, it
should cast it with the North. For many weeks the two Presidents played
the game for this invaluable stake with all the tact and skill of which
each was master. It proved to be a repetition of the fable of the sun
and the wind striving to see which could the better make the traveler
take off his cloak, and fortunately the patience of Mr. Lincoln
represented the warmth of the sun. He gave the Kentuckians time to learn
by observation and the march of events that neutrality was an
impossibility, also to determine with which side lay the probable
advantages for themselves; also he respected the borders of the State
during its sensitive days, though in doing so he had to forego some
military advantages of time and position. Deliberation brought a sound
conclusion. Kentucky never passed an ordinance of secession, but
maintained her representation in Congress and contributed her quota to
the armies; and these invaluable results were largely due to this wise
policy of the President. Many of her citizens, of course, fought upon
the Southern side, as was the case in all these debatable Border States,
where friends and even families divided against each other, and each man
placed himself according to his own convictions. It may seem, therefore,
in view of this individual independence of action, that the ordinance of
secession was a formality which would not have greatly affected
practical conditions; and many critics of Mr. Lincoln at the time could
not appreciate the value of his "border-state policy," and thought that
he was making sacrifices and paying prices wholly against wisdom, and
out of proportion to anything that could be gained thereby. But he
understood the situation and comparative values correctly. Loyalty to
the State governed multitudes; preference of the State over the United
States cost the nation vast numbers of would-be Unionists in the
seceding States, and in fact made secession possible; and the same
feeling, erroneous though it was from the Unionist point of view, yet
saved for the Unionist party very great numbers in these doubtful States
which never in fact seceded. Mr. Davis appreciated this just as much as
Mr. Lincoln did; both were shrewd men, and were wasting no foolish
efforts when they strove so hard to carry or to prevent formal state
action. They appreciated very well that success in passing an ordinance
would gain for the South throngs of adherents whose allegiance was, by
their peculiar political creed, due to the winner in this local contest.
In Tennessee the Unionist majority, as indicated early in February, was
overwhelming. Out of a total vote of less than 92,000, more than 67,000
opposed a state convention. The mountaineers of the eastern region
especially were stalwart loyalists, and later held to their faith
through the severe ordeal of a peculiarly cruel invasion. But the
political value of these scattered settlements was small; and in the
more populous parts the Secessionists pursued their usual aggressive and
enterprising tactics with success. Ultimately the governor and the
legislature despotically compelled secession. It was not decreed by a
popular vote, not even by a convention, but by votes of the legislature
cast in secret session, a proceeding clearly _ultra vires_ of that body.
Finally, on June 8, when a popular vote was taken, the State was in the
military control of the Confederacy.
Very similar was the case of North Carolina. The people of the uplands,
like their neighbors of Tennessee, were Unionists, and in the rest of
the State there was a prevalent Union sentiment; but the influence of
the political leaders, their direct usurpations of power, and the
customary energetic propagandism, ultimately won. After a convention had
been once voted down by popular vote, a second effort to bring one
together was successfully made, and an ordinance of secession was passed
on May 20. Arkansas was swept along with the stream, seceding on May 6,
although prior to that time the votes both for holding a state
convention and afterward in the convention itself had shown a decided
Unionist preponderance. These three States, Tennessee, North Carolina,
and Arkansas, were entirely beyond the reach of the President. He had
absolutely no lines of influence along which he could work to restrain
or to guide them.
Missouri had a career peculiar to herself. In St. Louis there was a
strong Unionist majority, and especially the numerous German population
was thoroughly anti-slavery, and was vigorously led by F.P. Blair, Jr.
But away from her riverfront the State had a sparse population
preserving the rough propensities of frontiersmen; these men were not
unevenly divided between loyalty and secession and they were an
independent, fighting set of fellows, each one of whom intended to
follow his own fancy. The result was that Missouri for a long while
carried on a little war of her own within her own borders, on too large
a scale to be called "bushwhacking," and yet with a strong flavor of
that irregular style of conflict. The President interested himself a
good deal in the early efforts of the loyalists, and amid a puzzling
snarl of angry "personal politics" he tried to extend to them aid and
countenance, though with imperfect success. It was fortunate that
Missouri was away on the outskirts, for she was the most vexatious and
perplexing part of the country. Her population had little feeling of
state allegiance, or, indeed, of any allegiance at all, but what small
amount there was fell upon the side of the Union; for though the
governor and a majority of the legislature declared for secession, yet
the state convention voted for the Union by a large majority. It is true
that a sham convention passed a sham ordinance, but this had no weight
with any except those who were already Secessionists.
Thus by the close of May, 1861, President Lincoln looked forth upon a
spectacle tolerably definite at last, and certainly as depressing as
ever met the eyes of a great ruler. Eleven States, with area,
population, and resources abundant for constituting a powerful nation
and sustaining an awful war, were organized in rebellion; their people
were welded into entire unity of feeling, were enthusiastically
resolute, and were believed to be exceptionally good fighters. The
population of three Border States was divided between loyalty and
disloyalty. The Northern States, teeming with men and money, had
absolutely no experience whatsoever to enable them to utilize their vast
resources with the promptitude needful in the instant emergency. There
was a notion, prevalent even among themselves, that they were by
temperament not very well fitted for war; but this fancy Mr. Lincoln
quietly set aside, knowing better. He also had confidence in the
efficiency of Northern men in practical affairs of any kind whatsoever,
and he had not to tax his patience to see this confidence vindicated.
His appeal for military support seemed the marvelous word of a magician,
and wrought instant transformation throughout the vast loyal territory.
One half of the male population began to practice the manual, to drill,
and to study the text-books of military science; the remainder put at
least equal energy into the preparations for equipment; every
manufacturer in the land set the proverbial Yankee enterprise and
ingenuity at work in the adaptation of his machinery to the production
of munitions of war and all the various outfit for troops. Every
foundry, every mill, and every shipyard was at once diverted from its
accustomed industries in order to supply military demands; patriotism
and profit combined to stimulate sleepless toil and invention. In a
hard-working community no one had ever before worked nearly so hard as
now. The whole North was in a ferment, and every human being strained
his abilities of mind and of body to the utmost in one serviceable
direction or another; the wise and the foolish, the men of words and the
men of deeds, the projectors of valuable schemes and the venders of
ridiculous inventions, the applicants for military commissions and the
seekers after the government's contracts, all hustled and crowded each
other in feverish eagerness to get at work in the new condition of
things. It was going to take time for all this energy to produce
results,--yet not a very long time; the President had more patience than
would be needed, and the spirit of his people reassured him. If the
lukewarm, compromising temper of the past winter had caused him to feel
any lurking anxious doubts as to how the crisis would be met, such
illusive mists were now cleared away in a moment before the sweeping
gale of patriotism.
FOOTNOTES:
[132] At New Bedford, in a lecture "which was interrupted by frequent
hisses." Schouler, _Hist. of Mass. in the Civil War_, i. 44-47.
[133] The Act of 1795 only permitted the use of the militia until thirty
days after the next session of Congress; this session being now summoned
for July 4, the period of service extended only until August 3.
[134] When General Grant took command of the Eastern armies he said that
the country should be cautioned against expecting too great success,
because the loyal and rebel armies were made up of men of the same race,
having about the same experience in war, and neither able justly to
claim any great superiority over the other in endurance, courage, or
discipline. Chittenden, _Recoll._ 320.
[135] The third, fourth, and sixth. Schouler, _Mass. in the Civil War_,
i. 52.
[136] Schouler, _Mass. in the Civil War_, i. 72.
[137] Mayor Brown thinks that the estimate of these at 20,000 is too
great. Brown, _Baltimore and Nineteenth April_, 1861, p. 85.
[138] N. and H. iv. 98; Chittenden, 102; Lee's biographer, Childe, says
that "President Lincoln offered him the effective command of the Union
Army," and that Scott "conjured him ... not to quit the army." Childe,
_Lee_, 30.
[139] Shortly before this time he had written to his son that it was
"idle to talk of secession," that it was "nothing but revolution" and
"anarchy." N. and H. iv. 99.
[140] Childe, _Lee_, 32; Mr. Childe, p. 33, says that Lee's resignation
was accepted on the 20th (the very day on which his letter was dated!),
so that he "ceased to be a member of the United States Army" before he
took command of the state forces. _Per contra_, N. and H. iv. 101.
[141] Childe, _Lee_, 34.
[142] Greeley in his _Amer. Conflict_, i. 349, says that the "open
Secessionists were but a handful." This, however, is clearly an
exaggerated statement.