JANGLING VOICES
The roar of the Inauguration passed, and Washington was itself again--an
old-fashioned Southern town of sixty thousand inhabitants, no longer
asleep perhaps, but still aristocratic, skeptical, sneering in its
attitude toward the new administration.
Behind the scenes in his Cabinet reigned confusion incredible. The tall
dark backwoodsman who presided over these wrangling giants appeared at
first to their superior wisdom a dazed spectator.
He had called them because they were indispensable. Now that the issues
were to be faced, Mr. Seward, Mr. Chase, Mr. Cameron and Mr. Bates
realized that the country lawyer who had won the Presidency over their
superior claims knew his weakness and relied on their strength,
training, and long experience in public affairs.
Certainly it had not occurred to one of them that his act in calling the
greatest men of his party, and the party of opposition as well, into his
Cabinet was a deed of such intellectual audacity that it scarcely had a
parallel in history.
Mr. Seward, the Secretary of State, had reluctantly consented to enter
the Cabinet at the last moment as an act of patriotism to save the
country from impending ruin too great for any other man to face. His
attitude was a reasonable one. He was the undoubted leader of the
triumphant party.
Without a moment's hesitation on the first day of his service as
Secretary of State he assumed the position of a Prime Minister, whose
duties included a general supervision of all the Departments of
Government, as well as a Regent's supervision over the Executive.
Salmon P. Chase, the Secretary of the Treasury, at once took up the
gauntlet thrown down by his rival. He not only regarded the President
with contempt, but he extended it to the political trickster who dared
to assume the airs of Premiership in a Democratic Republic.
To these Cabinet meetings came no voices of comfort from the country.
The Abolitionist press, which represented the aggressive conscience of
the North, continued to ridicule and denounce the Inaugural address in
unmeasured terms.
The simple truth was soon apparent to the sombre eyes of the President.
He was facing the gravest problem that ever confronted a statesman
without an organized party on which he could depend for support. But two
of his Cabinet had any confidence in his ability or genuine
loyalty--Gideon Welles, a Northern Democrat, and Montgomery Blair, a
Southern aristocrat.
The problem before him was bigger than faction, bigger than party,
bigger than Slavery. Could a government founded on the genuine
principles of Democracy live? Could such a Union be held together
composed of warring sections with vast territories extending over
thousands of miles, washed by two oceans extending from the frozen
mountains of Canada to the endless summers of the tropics?
If the Southern people should unite in a slave-holding Confederacy, it
was not only a question as to whether he could shape an army mighty
enough to conquer them, the more urgent and by far the graver problem
was whether he could mould into unity the warring factions of the
turbulent, passion-torn North. These people who had elected him--could
he ever hope to bind them into a solid fighting unit? If their
representatives in his Cabinet were truly representatives the task was
beyond human power.
And yet the tall, lonely figure calmly faced it without a tremor. In the
depths of his cavernous eyes there burned a steady flame but few of the
men about him saw, or understood if they saw--that flame was something
new in the history of the race--a faith in the common man which dared to
give a new valuation to the individual and set new standards for the
Democracy of the world. He believed that the heart of the masses of the
people North, South, East and West was sound at the core and that as
their Chief Magistrate he could ultimately appeal to them over the heads
of all traditions--all factions, and all accepted leaders.
He was the most advised man and the worst advised man in history. It
became necessary to think for himself or cease to think at all.
General Scott, the venerable hero of Lundy Lane, in command of the army,
had suggested as a solution of the turmoil the division of the country
into four separate Confederacies and had roughly drawn their outlines!
Horace Greeley had made the _Tribune_ the most powerful newspaper in the
history of America. The Republicans throughout the country had been
educated by its teachings and held its authority second only to the Word
of God. And yet from the moment of Lincoln's election the chief
occupation of this powerful paper was to criticize and condemn the
measures and policies of the President.
Over and over he repeated the deadly advice to the Nation:
"If the Cotton States shall decide that they can do better out of the
Union than in it, we insist on letting them go in peace."
He serenely insisted:
"If eight Southern States, having five millions of people, choose to
separate from us, they cannot be permanently withheld from doing so by
Federal cannon. The South has as good right to secede from the Union as
the Colonies had to secede from Great Britain. If they choose to form an
independent Nation they have a clear moral right to do so, and we will
do our best to forward their views."
Is it to be wondered at that the Southern people were absolutely clear
in their conception of the right to secede if such doctrines were taught
in the North by the highest authority within the party which had elected
Abraham Lincoln?
If his own party leaders were boldly proclaiming such treason to the
Union how could he hope to stem the tide that had set in for its ruin?
The thousands of conservative men North and South who voted for Bell and
Everett demanded peace at any price. An orator in New York at a great
mass meeting dared to say:
"If a revolution of force is to begin it shall be inaugurated at home!
It will be just as brutal to send men to butcher our brothers of the
South as it will be to massacre them in the Northern States."
The business interests of the Northern cities were bitterly and
unanimously arrayed against any attempt to use force against the South.
The city of New York was thoroughly imbued with Secession sentiment, and
its Mayor, through Daniel E. Sickles, one of the members of Congress,
demanded the establishment of a free and independent Municipal State on
the island of Manhattan.
Seward had just written to Charles F. Adams, our 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."
This letter could only mean one of two things, either that the first
member of the Cabinet was a Secessionist and meant to allow the South to
go unmolested, or he planned to change our form of Government by a _coup
d'état_ in the crisis and assume the Dictatorship. In either event his
attitude boded ill for the new President and his future.
Wendell Phillips, the eloquent friend of Senator Winter, declared in
Boston in a public address:
"Here are a series of states who think their peculiar institutions
require that they should have a separate government. They have the 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. You can not go through Massachusetts and recruit men to bombard
Charleston or New Orleans. Nothing but madness can provoke a war with
the Gulf States."
The last member of his distracted, divided, passion-ridden Cabinet had
gone at the close of its first eventful sitting. The dark figure of the
President stood beside the window looking over the mirror-like surface
of the Potomac to the hills of Virginia.
The shadow of a great sorrow shrouded his face and form. The shoulders
drooped. But the light in the depths of his sombre eyes was growing
steadily in intensity.
Old Edward, the veteran hallman, appeared at the door with his endless
effort to wash his hands without water.
"A young gentleman wishes to see you, sir, a reporter I think--Mr. Ned
Vaughan, of the _Daily Republican_."
Without lifting his eyes from the Virginia hills, the quiet voice said:
"Let him in."
In vain the wily diplomat of the press sought to obtain a declaration of
policy on the question of the relief of Fort Sumter. In his easy,
friendly way the President made him welcome, but only smiled and slowly
shook his head in answer to each pointed question, or laughed aloud at
the skillful traps he was invited to enter.
"It's no use, my boy," he said at last, with a weary gesture. "I'm not
going to tell you anything to-day----" he paused, and the light suddenly
flashed from beneath his shaggy brows, "----except this--you can say to
your readers that my course is as plain as a turnpike road. It is marked
out by the Constitution. I am in no doubt which way to go. I am going to
try to save the Union."
"In short," Ned laughed, "you propose to stand by your Inaugural?"
"That's a pretty good guess, young man! I'm surprised that you paid such
close attention to my address."
"Perhaps I had an interpreter?"
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"A very beautiful young woman, Mr. President," Ned answered serenely.
The hazel-grey eyes twinkled:
"What's her name, sir?"
"Miss Betty Winter."
"Not the daughter of that old grizzly bear who's always camping on my
trail?"
"The same, sir."
The swarthy face lighted with a radiant smile:
"What did she say about my Inaugural?"
"That it was the utterance of a wise, patient, great man."
Two big hands suddenly closed on Ned's and the tall figure bent low.
"Thank you for telling me that, my boy. It helps me after a hard day!"
"She said many other things, too, sir," Ned added.
"Did she?"
"With enthusiasm."
"Tell her to come to me," the President said slowly. "I want to talk to
her."
He paused, turned to his desk and seized a pen:
"I'll send a subpoena for her--that's better."
On one of his cards he quickly wrote:
"MY DEAR MISS WINTER:
"You are hereby summoned to immediately appear before the Chief
Magistrate to testify concerning grave matters of State.
A. LINCOLN."
He slipped his long arm around Ned's shoulder and walked with him to the
door:
"Serve that on her for me, will you, right away?"
With a nod and a smile, the reporter bowed and turned his steps toward
the Senator's house.