LINCOLN
1860 to 1864
As days and years pass by and an enlightened humanity studies and
comprehends the real greatness and simplicity of Abraham Lincoln,
he comes nearer and becomes dearer to all. No weak compliment of
words can add to his renown, nor will any petty criticism detract
from the glory which has crowned his memory. The passing of time
has only added brightness to his character; the antagonisms of
bitter war have left no shade upon his name; and the hatred which,
for a brief time, spent itself in harmless words has turned to
reverence and love.
Had he lived until February 12, 1911, he would have been one hundred
and two years old. Less than forty-five years ago, in the very
prime of life, he was the Chief Magistrate of the Nation, guiding
and controlling it in its great struggle for national existence.
Such a vast accumulation of history has been compressed into those
years, and such a wonderful panorama of events has passed before
us in that comparatively brief time, that we are apt to think of
Lincoln as of the long ago, as almost a contemporary of Washington
and of the Revolutionary fathers. The immensity of the history
which has been crowded into those forty-five years has distorted
our mental vision, as ordinary objects are sometimes distorted by
refraction. Yet when we reflect, the distortion disappears. But
the wonder still remains. The years during which the deeds of
Lincoln have been a memory to us do not carry us back to the early
days of our own country. They do not carry us back even to the
time of Jackson, Webster, Clay, or Calhoun; yet the sacred halo of
patriotic veneration invests as completely the name of Lincoln as
of Washington.
The many personal memories of the martyred patriot that I can recall
seem almost a dream to me. It seems almost a vision of the
unsubstantial imagination, when I think that I have known the one
immortal man of the century, and enjoyed his friendship. He was
the very impersonation of humanity; his stature was above and beyond
all others. One hand reached back to the very portals of Mount
Vernon, while the other, giving kindly protection to the oppressed,
still reaches forward to guide, encourage, and sustain the people
of this Nation.
It was my great good-fortune to know something of Abraham Lincoln
from the time I was about twelve years old, and even earlier than
that I have a distinct recollection of hearing my father advising
men to employ Lincoln in important litigation. Lincoln at that
time was about thirty years old, and even then was regarded as a
really great lawyer.
The first time I ever saw him in court he, assisted by Colonel E.
D. Baker (afterwards a senator from Oregon, and killed at Ball's
Bluff), was engaged in the defence of a man on trial for murder.
The conduct of the defence made by those great lawyers produced an
impression on my mind that will never be forgotten. Lincoln became
then my ideal of a great man, and has so remained ever since.
In 1846, Mr. Lincoln was the Whig candidate for Congress, and it
was then that I first heard him deliver a political speech. The
county in which my father resided was a part of his Congressional
district. When Lincoln came to the county my father met him with
his carriage and took him to all his appointments. I went to the
meeting nearest my home--an open-air meeting held in a grove. On
being introduced, he began his speech as follows: "Fellow citizens,
ever since I have been in Tazewell County my old friend, Major
Cullom, has taken me around; he has heard all my speeches, and the
only way I can hope to fool the old Major and make him believe I
am making a new speech is by turning it end for end once in a
while."
When I determined to abandon the hard work on the farm to enter
the study of law at Springfield, my father being so close to Mr.
Lincoln, I went to him for advice. He expressed a willingness to
take me into his own office as a student, but said that he was
absent on the circuit so much that he would advise me to enter the
law office of Stuart and Edwards, two prominent Springfield lawyers,
of whom I have written more at length in an earlier chapter. There
I would have the advantage of the constant supervision of one or
the other member of the firm.
From that time until he left Springfield never to return, I had
constant means of observing Lincoln as a lawyer. I was at times
associated with him as a junior counsel in the trial of law suits.
I was employed in a murder case which Lincoln and Logan were
defending, I being the boy lawyer in the case. They made a wonderful
defence. I do not know whether the defendant was guilty or not,
but I do know that he was acquitted.
During my life I have been acquainted with very many able lawyers,
and I have no hesitation in saying that Lincoln was the greatest
trial lawyer I ever knew. He was a man of wonderful power before
a court or jury. When he was sure he was right, his strength and
resourcefulness were well-nigh irresistible. In the court-room he
was at home. He was frank with the court, the juries, and the
lawyers, to such an extent that he would state the case of the
opposite side as fairly as the opposing counsel could do it; he
would then disclose his client's case so strongly, with such honestly
and candor, that the judge and jury would be almost convinced at
once in advance of the testimony. Judge Davis once said that the
framework of Lincoln's mental and moral being was honesty, and that
a wrong cause was poorly defended by him.
The story is told that a man offered to employ him in a case and
told him the facts, which did not satisfy Lincoln that there was
any merit in it. He said to him: "I can gain your case; I can
set a whole neighborhood at loggerheads; I can distress a widowed
mother and six fatherless children, and thereby get for you six
hundred dollars, which it appears to me as rightfully belongs to
them as to you. I will not take your case, but I will give you a
little advice for nothing. You seem to be a sprightly young man,
and I advise you to try your hand at making six hundred dollars in
some other way."
Mr. Lincoln was for a time employed by the Illinois Central Railroad
as one of its attorneys. In a case in one of the counties of Judge
Davis's circuit to which the railroad was a party, it was announced
that the company was not ready for trial, and the court inquired
the reason; to which Mr. Lincoln replied that Captain McClellan
was absent. The court asked, "Who is Captain McClellan?" Lincoln
replied that all he knew about him was that he was the engineer of
the Illinois Central Railroad.
What a strange juggling of destiny and of fate! In little more
than two years McClellan's fame had become world-wide as the general
in charge of all the armies of the Republic, only to prove in the
estimation of many people the most stupendous failure as a commander
in all our military history; Davis had become a Justice of the
Supreme Court of the United States; and Lincoln had reached the
Presidency.
In the trial of the murder case to which I have referred, I never
saw more striking evidence of Mr. Lincoln's power over a court.
There came a question of the advisability of certain testimony
which was very vital to the defendant. The question was thoroughly
argued by Judge Logan and Mr. Lincoln until the court took a recess
for dinner at noon. The Judge announced that he would render his
decision when the court reconvened. The courthouse was filled on
the reconvening of court in the afternoon, and the Judge began
rendering his opinion on the point in dispute. It seemed to Mr.
Lincoln and those present that he was about to decide against the
admissibility of the evidence. Lincoln sprang to his feet.
Apparently he towered over the Judge, overawing him. He made such
a tremendous impression that the court apparently gave way, and
decided the point in the defendant's favor.
Mr. Lincoln was not only a great statesman, but he was one of the
ablest, most astute, and shrewdest politicians whom I have ever
known. From my earliest recollection of him he took keen interest
in public affairs and was the foremost public man or politician in
his section of the State. He was not among the first to join the
Republican party. He clung to the old Whig party as long as a
vestige of it remained. Almost immediately after he drifted into
the Republican party, he became its recognized leader in Illinois,
and his public utterances attracted the attention of the Nation to
him.
I recollect having heard him utter the memorable words in the
Republican Convention of my State in 1858:
"A house divided against itself cannot stand. This Government
cannot permanently endure half slave and half free. I do not expect
the Union to be dissolved--I do not expect the house to fall--but
I do expect that it will cease to be divided. It will become all
one thing, or all the other."
What words of wisdom! He looked through the veil between him and
the future and saw the end more clearly than any other man in public
life. This was a carefully prepared speech, in which every word
was weighed. Some of his friends, to whom it was read, advised
him not to use the clause I have quoted, "a house divided against
itself." He was wiser than any of them. With a self-reliance born
of earnest conviction he said that the time had come when the
sentiments should be uttered, and that if he should go down because
of their utterance by him, then he would go down linked with the
truth.
I listened to much of the great debate between Lincoln and Douglas,
the greatest political debate which ever took place in this country.
I have always felt that Lincoln never expected to be elected to
the Senate in 1858. I think he saw more clearly than any of us
that the advanced position which he took in that debate made his
election to the Senate at that time impossible. He was then fighting
for a great principle. He did carry a majority of the popular
vote, but Douglas secured a majority of the Legislature.
His defeat apparently affected him little, if at all. I felt very
badly when it became apparent that Douglas had secured a majority
of the Legislature. I met Lincoln on the street one day, and said:
"Mr. Lincoln, is it true that Douglas has a majority of the
Legislature?" His reply was an affirmative. I then expressed the
great sorrow and disappointment that I felt. He placed a hand upon
my shoulder, and said: "Never mind, my boy; it will all come
right." I believe that he then felt certain that the position he
took in that memorable debate would make him the logical candidate
of the Republican party for the Presidency in 1860, which it did.
And two years from that very day the Republican party celebrated
its first national victory in his election as President of the
United States.
It has been said that Mr. Lincoln never went to school; and he
never did to any great extent, but in a broad sense of the word,
he was an educated man. He was a student, a thinker; he educated
himself, and mastered any question which claimed his attention.
There was no man in this country who possessed to a greater degree
the power of analyzation.
He was a student all his life. One incident that occurred in
Springfield, some years before he finally left, will serve as an
illustration.
An old German came through the town and claimed that he could teach
us all to read and speak German in a few weeks. A class was
organized for the purpose of studying German. Lincoln became a
member of the class, and I also was in it, and I can see him yet
going about with the German book in his pocket, studying it during
his leisure moments in court and elsewhere. None of the rest of
us learned much, but Lincoln mastered it, as he did every other
subject which engaged his attention.
His home life was a pleasant one. I often visited at his home,
and so far as my observation went, I do not hesitate to say that
not the slightest credence should be given to the many false stories
that have from time to time appeared, manufactured largely by those
who desired to write something new and sensational concerning the
life of President Lincoln in his home, and concerning Mrs. Lincoln.
Mr. Lincoln was regarded generally as an ungainly man, and so he
was; and yet on occasions he appeared to me to be superior in
dignity and nobility to almost any other man whom I have ever seen.
I was present when the committee from the National Convention, that
gave his first nomination for President, came to Springfield to
notify him of his nomination. He stood in the rear of a double
parlor in his home, and as the Hon. George F. Ashmun, president of
the convention, presented the members of the delegation one by one
to him, I thought that he looked what he was--the superior of any
man present. Many of the eminent men composing that delegation
had believed that Lincoln was some sort of a monster. I stood
among them after they had met him and listened to their comments.
The lofty character, the towering strength, the majesty of the man
had made a great impression upon them. They had come expecting to
see a freak; they discovered one of the princes of men.
In this connection, I must be permitted to refer to another occasion.
It so happened that I was in Washington when the President's son
Willie died. The funeral ceremony took place in the East Room of
the White House, in the presence of the President and his cabinet
and a few other friends. When the ceremony was about concluded
and President Lincoln stood by the bier of his dead boy, with tear-
drops falling from his face, surrounded by Seward, Chase, Bates,
and others, I thought I never beheld a nobler-looking man. He was
at that time truly, as he appeared, a man of sorrow, acquainted
with grief, possessing the power and responsibilities of a President
of a great Nation, yet with quivering lips and face bedewed with
tears, from personal sorrow.
The morning that Abraham Lincoln left his home in Springfield never
to return is not to be forgotten. It was early on the morning of
the eleventh of February, dark and gloomy, with a light snow falling.
There was a large crowd of his neighbors and friends at the station
to bid him good-bye. He held a sort of impromptu reception in the
little railroad station. There was no noisy demonstration. As I
recollect it now, it was a solemn leave-taking. Just before the
train pulled out, Mr. Lincoln appeared on the rear platform of his
car. Every head was bared, as if to receive a benediction, as he
uttered his farewell address:
"My Friends: No one not in my situation can appreciate my feeling
of sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of
these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a
century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my
children have been born and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing
when or whether ever I may return, with a task before me greater
than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of
that Divine Being who ever attended him, I cannot succeed; with
that assistance, I cannot fail. Trusting in Him, who can go with
me, and remain with you, and be everywhere for good, let us
confidently hope that all will yet be well. To His care commending
you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an
affectionate farewell."
I was not present at the first inauguration of President Lincoln,
but I visited Washington many times during the years that he was
President, and, knowing him as well as I did, and having known both
Nicolay and Hay, his secretaries, in Springfield, I naturally spent
much time around the executive offices. I had many conversations
with him during the early years of the war. He had no military
education, but he soon demonstrated that he was in fact the real
commander-in-chief. He liked General McClellan, and stuck to him
until McClellan had demonstrated his absolute inefficiency for
command. McClellan was a great organizer. He made the Army of
the Potomac the most perfect fighting machine, I might almost say,
that was ever known in military history. But there he stopped.
He could organize, but he could not and did not, despite the urging
and the anxiety of Mr. Lincoln, push forward his army to victory.
I knew something of Mr. Lincoln's anxiety at the failure of McClellan
to inaugurate an aggressive campaign.
The late O. M. Hatch of Illinois told me of a rather interesting
incident which occurred on one occasion when the President,
accompanied by Mr. Hatch, visited McClellan's army a few days prior
to the battle of Antietam in September, 1862. They spent the night
in a tent, and, rising very early, at the President's suggestion
they took a walk before sunrise about the great camp, inspecting
the field, the artillery, the quarters, and all the appurtenances
of the army. Lincoln was in a pensive mood, and scarcely a word
was spoken. Finally, just as the sun was rising, they reached a
commanding point; the President stopped, placed his left hand upon
Mr. Hatch's shoulder, and slowly waving his right in the direction
of the great city of tents, seriously inquired: "Mr. Hatch, what
is all this before us?"
"Why, Mr. President," was the surprised reply, "this is General
McClellan's army."
"No, Mr. Hatch, no," returned Lincoln soberly, "this is General
McClellan's body-guard."
It will be understood what these utterances signified: they
expressed perfectly the prevailing belief that McClellan had failed
to appreciate the purpose for which that magnificent fighting
machine had been created.
I think I am justified in saying that after the earlier contests
of the war had proven that great soldiers and great generals were
not always great leaders, President Lincoln became the able director,
the actual commander-in-chief of the forces of the United States.
He planned and ordered the larger movements of the War, and he held
the reins above and about all his armies, scarcely relaxing his
watchful care for a moment,--until events demonstrated the wisdom
with which he confided the military interests of our beloved country
and the conduct of the war to Ulysses S. Grant.
Some of us remember with what persistence during the Winter of 1862
and 1863 many newspapers and a large share of the Northern people
joined in the cry of "On to Richmond!" Censure and criticism ran
riot even among Northern Republicans. In a three-line memorandum
the President showed the fallacy of that outcry, when he wrote:
"Our prime object is the enemy's army in front of us, and not with
or about Richmond at all, unless it be incidental to the main
object." At a later day he said to Hooker: "I think Lee's army,
and not Richmond, is your sure objective point."
Modest and simple as he always was, never seeking power with
inordinate ambition, simply that he might use power; still he was
never afraid to assume responsibility when it was his duty to assume
it.
I called on him one evening at the Soldiers' Home. We spent the
evening together, and naturally we talked of the war. He discussed
almost all of his generals, beginning with McClellan. At that time
McClellan was down on the James, and Pope was in the saddle in
Virginia. Pope, he feared, would be whipped, unless he could get
more troops, and he was trying to get McClellan back in order to
save Pope. At that time he had not yet lost his faith in McClellan,
but he was complaining that McClellan was never ready for battle.
After making all possible preparations, and with the enemy in front,
he would overestimate the size of the enemy's force, and demand
more troops. Yet Mr. Lincoln said that he would rather trust
McClellan to get his army out of a tight place than any other
general that he had.
After his election he invited his principal competitors for the
nomination to enter his cabinet. He had not the slightest jealousy
of any living man. He was not afraid, as some of our Presidents
have been, to have his cabinet composed of the greatest men of his
time. He was a bigger man than any of them, and no thought of
jealousy ever entered his mind. Both Seward and Chase fancied they
were greater men than Lincoln, and each of them, at the beginning
at least, entertained the idea that on him rested the responsibility
of the administration. Seward felt that he should have been the
nominee of his party. Chase felt perfectly sure that he, and not
Lincoln, should have been President.
Before many months had passed, Seward was compelled to acknowledge
that Mr. Lincoln was the superior of any of them, as he expressed
it in a letter to his wife. He soon became one of the most devoted
friends and loyal supporters of the President. The publication of
the diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy from 1861 to
1865, shows that Mr. Lincoln was the leader of them all, and was
in fact the real head of every department of his administration.
Chase was an able man, and loyal to the Union; but, unlike Seward,
he was never loyal to the President personally, and was constantly
plotting in his own interest to supplant Lincoln as the nominee of
his party in 1864,--a most reprehensible course on the part of a
cabinet officer. This did not give concern to Mr. Lincoln in the
slightest degree. He cared very little what Mr. Chase said or
thought of him personally, so long as he was doing his duty as
Secretary of the Treasury.
I was in Washington the latter part of February, 1864, before he
was nominated the second time. I happened to hear of the Pomeroy
letter in behalf of Mr. Chase, and I learned with amazement that
Chase was conspiring with his friends to secure the nomination for
the Presidency, and was untrue and unloyal to his chief. I felt
justly indignant. I saw Mr. Lincoln and talked with him about it
with great earnestness. I told him that Chase should be turned
out. He answered by saying: "Let him alone; he can do no more
harm in here than he can outside."
If things did not go to suit him, Chase was in the habit of tendering
his resignation every few days. It was not accepted; but he offered
it once too often, and, very much to his surprise and chagrin, it
was promptly accepted; and Chase was relegated to private life,
where he belonged, and where he should have remained.
Chief Justice Taney passed away unmourned, the most pathetic and
desolate figure in the Civil War, with his long, faithful, and
distinguished service on the bench forgotten. Chase's friends,
and Chase himself, at once commenced overtures of friendship toward
Mr. Lincoln, in the interest, solely, of securing Chase's appointment
as Chief Justice. Considerable pressure was brought to bear in
behalf of Chase. The President would give no intimation as to what
he intended to do, although I myself believe that he all the time
intended appointing him to the vacant position, and that the so-
called pressure on the part of Sumner and other radicals had little,
if any, influence with him.
During this period, after the death of Chief Justice Taney, Chase
was not at all averse to writing the President the most friendly
letters. One day his secretary brought him a letter from Mr. Chase.
The President asked, "What is it about?" "Simply a kind and friendly
letter," the secretary answered. Mr. Lincoln, without reading it,
replied with his shrewd smile: "File it with his other recommendations."
Chase was finally appointed Chief Justice of the United States.
After his conduct as a member of the cabinet, I do not believe we
have ever had another President, except Lincoln, magnanimous enough
to have made that appointment under similar circumstances. Lincoln
entertained a very exalted opinion of Chase's ability as a lawyer
and a man. He believed that he possessed the qualifications of a
great Chief Justice, and the appointment was made entirely free
from any personal feelings or prejudices.
I happened to be alone in Mr. Nicolay's room in the White House
when Mr. Chase called to thank the President for his nomination.
He came into Mr. Nicolay's room first, and inquired of me if the
President was in. I told him I did not know, but his room was next
to the one we were in, and he might ascertain for himself. Knowing
of Chase's disparaging remarks concerning Mr. Lincoln, and of his
disloyalty as a member of his cabinet, I was very curious to hear
what he would have to say to the President. He left the door ajar,
and I overheard the conversation. Mr. Chase proceeded to thank
the President for his nomination. Mr. Lincoln's reply was brief,
merely that he hoped Mr. Chase would get along well and would do
his duty. Very few words passed between them, and the interview
closed.
Montgomery Blair was Postmaster-General in President Lincoln's
cabinet. He was appointed from the District of Columbia. He was
a man of considerable ability, and was thoroughly loyal to the
President. Montgomery Blair became exceedingly unpopular among
certain classes, not only on his own account, but because of his
brother Frank, whose home was in Missouri. I thought his remaining
in the cabinet was injuring the Administration, and I told Mr.
Lincoln, in a conversation I had with him at the White House, that
under all the circumstances Montgomery Blair should be relieved
from office; that he was unpopular; that the people were not for
him. Mr. Lincoln seemed annoyed, even to the extent of petulance
(a rare thing with him), that I should say anything against Montgomery
Blair. He asserted that Blair was a loyal man, was doing his full
duty as Postmaster-General, and that he would not turn him out.
Later, Montgomery Blair, always loyal under all circumstances, told
the President that he was ready to tender his resignation whenever,
in the judgment of the President, his remaining in the cabinet
would be an embarrassment; and Mr. Lincoln in a very kindly note
sometime afterwards said that he felt himself compelled to accept
Mr. Blair's offer and ask for his resignation. They continued
personal friends until the President's death.
The year 1862, on account of the proclamation of President Lincoln,
in September, that he would free the slaves in those States or
parts of States whose people continued in rebellion on and after
January 1, 1863, was a disastrous year to the Republican party;
but the final effect of the proclamation was beneficial to the
cause of the Union. It stimulated greater enthusiasm on the part
of those who desired to see the end of slavery in this country.
Many people so hated that institution that they were more desirous
of having it abolished than to have the Union preserved with it.
While President Lincoln was always opposed to slavery, unequivocally
opposed to it, yet his oath called upon him to preserve the
Constitution and the Union. He said that his paramount object was
to save the Union and not to save or destroy slavery.
In 1862 President Lincoln appointed three men, namely, Governor
George S. Boutwell, the Hon. Stephen T. Logan, and the Hon. Charles
A. Dana, a commission to go to Cairo, Illinois, and settle the
claims of numerous persons against the Government, arising from
property purchased by commissary officers and quartermasters in
the volunteer service before the volunteers knew anything about
military rules or regulations. Judge Logan went to Cairo, remained
a few days, became ill, tendered his resignation, and returned
home. The President telegraphed me an appointment, and asked me
to go at once to Cairo for duty, which I did. I had not known
either Boutwell or Dana before. The commission finished its work
in about a month, and forwarded to Washington all papers, with its
report. The claims were paid on the basis of our allowance, and
justice was done to all concerned.
Early in 1862 an old friend of President Lincoln's, James Lamb,
came to see me, stating that he had been furnishing beef cattle to
the army; that he had received orders to furnish a given number on
the hoof at a certain place in the South, which he had done; but
before his cattle arrived the army had gone, and he had thereby
suffered great loss. He asked me to look after his claim when I
went to the National capital, and I agreed to do so. I knew nothing
about such things in Washington, nor how such business with the
Government was transacted. I went to the President as the only
official with whom I was acquainted, and stated to him, "Uncle
Jimmie Lamb, your old friend, has a claim," setting forth the same
in full. "You know he is a good man," I urged, "and he ought to
have his money." Lincoln answered me by saying: "Cullom, there
is this difference in dealing between two individuals and between
an individual and the Government: if an individual does not do as
he agreed and the other person is injured thereby, he can sue the
one responsible for the injury, and recover damages; but in the
case of the Government, if it does not do right, the individual
can't help himself." He gave me a note, however, to the proper
officer and the matter was arranged.
The gossip around the Capitol in Washington among Senators and
Representatives is a very poor gauge of public sentiment in the
country toward a President. I was in Washington a few months before
the second nomination. I talked with numerous Representatives and
Senators, and it really seemed to me as if there was hardly any
one in favor of the renomination of Mr. Lincoln. I felt much
discouraged over the circumstance. When I was about to leave for
home, I called at the White House. I asked the President if he
permitted anybody to talk to him about himself. He replied that
he did. I said: "I would like to talk to you about yourself."
He asked me to be seated. Whereupon I told him that I had been in
Washington some ten days or more, and that everybody seemed to be
against him.
"Well, it is not quite so bad as that," he said. He took down his
directory, and I soon discovered that he had a far more intimate
knowledge of the situation than I had. He had every one marked,
knew how he stood, and the list made a better showing than I had
expected.
The truth is, however, that many of the strong men in Congress,
especially the radicals, were against his renomination, and would
have rejoiced to see some one else the nominee of the party; but
they knew full well, that the great body of the people of the North
were with him, and that it would be useless to attempt to prevent
his renomination.
The next time I called at the White House after the convention, he
reminded me of our previous conversation, and remarked that it did
not turn out so badly after all.
He was reminded of a little story. A couple of Irishmen came to
America and started out on foot into the country. They travelled
along until they came to a piece of woods. They thought they heard
a noise, but did not know what it was. They deployed on either
side of the road to find out, but were unable to do so, and finally
one called to the other, "Pat, Pat, let's go on; this is nothing
by a domned noise." So the opposition to him, he said, was apparently
nothing but a noise.
But if he never had any doubts as to his renomination, he at one
time almost despaired of being re-elected, as did many of his
closest and most intimate friends. The Democrats had not yet
selected their candidates, and as he remarked: "At this period we
had no adversary, and seemed to have no friends."
An incident in this connection is related by the late Secretary,
John Hay. The President felt that the campaign was going against
him, and he had made up his mind deliberately as to the course he
should pursue. He resolved to lay down for himself a course of
action demanded by his then conviction of duty. He wrote on the
twenty-third of August the following memorandum:
"This morning, as for some days past, it seems exceedingly probable
that this administration will not be re-elected. Then it will be
my duty to so co-operate with the President-elect as to save the
Union between the election and the inauguration; as he will have
secured his election on such grounds that he cannot possibly save
it afterwards."
He then folded and pasted the sheet in such manner that its contents
could not be read, and as the cabinet came together he handed this
paper to each member successively, requesting him to write his name
across the back of it, without intimating to any member of the
cabinet what the note contained. In this manner he pledged himself
to accept loyally the anticipated verdict of the people against him.
Mr. Hay's diary relates what took place at the next cabinet meeting
after the election, as follows:
"At the meeting of the cabinet to-day the President took out a
paper from his desk and said: 'Gentlemen, do you remember last
summer I asked you all to sign your names to the back of a paper
of which I did not show you the inside? This is it. Now, Mr. Hay,
see if you can open this without tearing it.' He had pasted it up
in so singular a style that it required some cutting to get it
open. He then read this memorandum (quoted above).
"The President said: 'You will remember that this was written at
the time, six days before the Chicago nominating convention, when
as yet we had no adversary and seemed to have no friends. I then
solemnly resolved on the course of action indicated in this paper.
I resolved in the case of the election of General McClellan, being
certain that he would be the candidate, that I would see him and
talk matters over with him. I would say, "General, the election
has demonstrated that you are stronger, have more influence with
the American people than I. Now let us together, you with your
influence, and I with all the executive power of the Government,
try to save the country. You raise as many troops as you possibly
can for the final trial, and I will devote all my energies to assist
and finish the war."'
"Seward said: 'And the General would have answered you, "Yes,
yes," and the next day when you saw him again and pressed these
views upon him, he would have said, "Yes, yes," and so on forever,
and would have done nothing at all.'
"'At least,' rejoined Lincoln, 'I should have done my duty and have
stood clear before my own conscience.'"
Not the least of his troubles and embarrassments during the trying
period preceding his second election was the overzealous advice,--
persistence, I might say--on the part of certain New Yorkers and
New Englanders who seemed to think that they had the interest of
the Union and the country more at heart than had Mr. Lincoln.
Horace Greeley was one of the most troublesome of this lot. He
was an honest and a most loyal man, but was willing to temporize
upon the most vital questions. At one time he advised that the
"erring sisters" should be permitted to depart in peace. At this
particular time of which I speak he had devised a plan for a peace
conference, with certain prominent Confederates, Clement C. Clay,
among others, to be held in Canada. Mr. Lincoln felt sure that
the conference would do no good, and that the Confederates were
fooling Mr. Greeley, and that they had no real power to act.
This turned out to be exactly the truth. I was with the President
just as he was sending Mr. Hay to Niagara with written instructions,
which were given to see that nothing which threatened the interests
of the Government should be done. The President was very much
annoyed, and he remarked to me: "While Mr. Greeley means right,
he makes me almost as much trouble as the whole Southern
Confederacy."
While, as I have previously observed, Greeley was intensely loyal
to the country, yet he was so nervous and unstable in his mind that
he could not resist the effort to bring about a condition of peace.
I think he would have consented to almost anything in order to
secure it. He was very anxious for the issuance of a proclamation
abolishing slavery, and on the nineteenth of August, 1862, addressed
a very arrogant open letter to President Lincoln on the subject.
Lincoln's reply was so good, so perfect, and so conclusive that I
give it, as follows:
"Executive Mansion,
"Washington, _Friday, August 22, 1863_.
"Hon. Horace Greeley:
"Dear Sir: I have just read yours of the nineteenth instant,
addressed to myself through _The New York Tribune_.
"If there be any statements or assumptions of facts which I may
know to be erroneous, I do not now and here controvert them.
"If there may be any inferences which I may to believe to be falsely
drawn, I do not now and here argue against them.
"If there be perceptible in it an impatient and dictatorial tone,
I waive it in deference to an old friend whose heart I have always
supposed to be right.
"As to the policy 'I seem to be pursuing,' as you say, I have not
meant to leave any one in doubt. I would save the Union. I would
save it in the shortest way under the Constitution.
"The sooner the National authority can be restored, the nearer the
Union will be--the Union as it was.
"If there be those who would not save the Union unless they could
at the same time save slavery, I do not agree with them.
"If there be those who would not save the Union unless they could
at the same time destroy slavery, I do not agree with them.
"_My paramount object is to save the Union, and not either to save
or destroy slavery_.
"If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do
it; and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do
it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone,
I would do that.
"What I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I
believe it helps to save the Union, and what I forbear, I forbear
because I do not believe it would help to save the Union.
"I shall do less whenever I shall believe what I am doing hurts
the cause, and shall do more whenever I believe doing more will
help the cause.
"I shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors, and I shall
adopt new views so fast as they will appear to be true views.
"I have here stated my purpose according to my view of official
duty, and I intend no modifications of my oft-expressed personal
wish that all men everywhere could be free.
"Yours,
"A. Lincoln."
It is said that Mr. Greeley remarked after reading the letter that
he had been knocked out by one letter from Mr. Lincoln, and that
he "would be damned if he ever wrote him another."
There was more personal bitterness evinced against Mr. Lincoln in
the campaign of 1864 than ever before or since in a Presidential
campaign. He was denounced in the most intemperate language as a
tyrant, a dictator, whose administration had proven a failure. A
certain element of so-called "high class" New Englanders, men of
the Wendell Phillips type, were particularly bitter in their
denunciation. And I may remark in passing that the New England
men of letters never did have a proper appreciation of the worth
of Abraham Lincoln.
He was triumphantly re-elected amid the universal rejoicing of the
friends of liberty throughout the North. He took the election very
quietly. He apparently felt no sense of personal triumph over his
opponents and those who had so bitterly attacked him during the
campaign. He seemed only to have a feeling of deep gratitude to
his fellow citizens who had testified their confidence in his
administration. On the evening of election day, when it became
evident that he was re-elected to the Presidency, in response to
a serenade he said:
"I am thankful to God for this approval by the people. While deeply
grateful for this mark of their confidence in me, if I know my
heart, my gratitude is free from any taint of personal triumph,
but I give thanks to the Almighty for this evidence of the people's
resolution to stand by free government and the rights of humanity."
And again in that eloquent, simple little response which he made
to the joint committee of Congress appointed to wait upon him to
notify him of his second election, after the count of the electoral
votes by a joint session of the Senate and House of Representatives
in Congress, he said:
"With deep gratitude to my countrymen for this mark of their
confidence; with a distrust of my own ability to perform the duty
required under the most favorable circumstances, and now rendered
doubly difficult by existing national perils; yet with a firm
reliance on the strength of our free Government, and the eventual
loyalty of the people to the just principles upon which it is
founded, and, above all, with an unshaken faith in the Supreme
Ruler of Nations, I accept this trust. Be pleased to signify this
to the respective Houses of Congress."
These utterances show more clearly than any one else can describe
the state of mind in which the President received his re-election,
and in which he was about to enter his second term as President of
the Republic. Without any personal feeling of pride, he was certain
in his own mind that his re-election was necessary in order to save
the Union.
I attended the second inauguration, March 4, 1865. I have a
particularly vivid recollection of the scene which took place in
the Senate chamber when Mr. Johnson took the oath as Vice-President.
The simple truth is, and it was plain to every one present in that
chamber, Mr. Johnson was intoxicated. Johnson delivered a rambling,
senseless address. I sat next to Senator Lane of Indiana, and I
remarked that somebody should stop him. Lane sent up a note to
the Secretary of the Senate, telling him to get Johnson to cease
speaking and take the oath. We felt Johnson was making an exhibition
of himself in the presence of the President, the Cabinet, the
Foreign Representatives, and two Houses of Congress, and a gathering
of the most distinguished men of the Nation. The Secretary wrote
some lines and placed them before Mr. Johnson, who did not appear
to notice them. Finally he was made to understand that he must
take the oath, as the time had come when the President, according
to usual custom, would have to go to the east front of the Capitol
to take the oath as President of the United States. Johnson, with
a sort of wild sweep of his arm said, "I will take the oath, but
I regard my devotion to the Union as greater evidence of my loyalty
than any oath I could take."
I was close to Mr. Lincoln at the solemn moment when Chief Justice
Chase administered to him the oath of office. There was a vast
crowd of people, great enthusiasm and rejoicing, and the war was
practically over,--a far different scene from the one which took
place just four years before, when Chief Justice Taney in the same
place administered the same oath. At that time there was no noisy
demonstration. There was a solemn hush, as every one realized that
the country was about to be plunged into one of the mightiest civil
wars of all history. Indeed many men believed that there was a
concerted plot to assassinate Mr. Lincoln at that time, and that
he would never be permitted to enter upon the duties of his office.
I heard him deliver his second inaugural address,--one of his two
greatest speeches.
The last time I saw Abraham Lincoln alive was about three weeks
before his assassination, as I now recollect. He was at the White
House. There had been constant rumors throughout his first term
that he was in danger of some such outrage, but as the war drew to
a close, with the natural bitter and resentful feeling in the South,
these rumors seemed to increase. I told him what I had heard, and
urged him to be careful. It did not seem to concern him much, and
the substance of his reply was that he must take his chances; that
he could not live in an iron box, as he expressed it, and do his
duty as President of the United States.
It is difficult for one who did not live in those terrible days
from 1861 to 1865 to realize the awful shock of horror that went
through the whole Nation on the morning of April 15, 1865, when
the message came, "Abraham Lincoln is dead." In his old home at
Springfield, it seemed the whole population assembled in the public
square, and the duty devolved upon me to announce to the assembled
people that the great President had passed away. There was intense
suppressed excitement. No one dared utter a word in disparagement
of Abraham Lincoln. The crowd was in the humor for hanging to the
limb of the first convenient tree any one who dared to make a
slighting suggestion. It was not alone in Springfield, but it was
throughout the entire North that this feeling prevailed. There
was fear that the Government would go to pieces, almost that the
end of the world was at hand.
Soon the news came from different sources that he was to be buried
in Washington, or somewhere in the East. The people of Springfield
became very much worked up. A committee was appointed to go to
Washington to insist that the remains should be taken to Springfield.
I was a member of this committee. We left immediately, but before
we arrived at Harrisburg it had been determined that the only
fitting final resting place of all that remained of the immortal
Lincoln was at his old home in Springfield; and the funeral train
had already left Washington. The committee waited at Harrisburg
for its arrival. Through the courtesy of Governor Curtin, of
Pennsylvania, we were permitted to board the train, and we accompanied
the remains from there to Philadelphia, New York, Albany, Buffalo,
Cleveland, Indianapolis, Chicago, and finally to Springfield. At
each place the remains lay in state and were viewed by hundreds of
thousands of people.
In all, the entire journey consumed some twelve days from the time
the party left Washington until it arrived in Springfield. It was
determined that the funeral train should follow the same route and
stop at practically the same places that Lincoln visited on his
way to Washington to be inaugurated as the first Republican President
of the United States. The country was so wrought up no one seemed
certain what was to happen; no one knew but that there would be a
second and bloodier revolution, in which the Government might fall
into the hands of a dictator; and it was thought the funeral trip
would serve to arouse the patriotism of the people, which it did.
I never witnessed anything like the universal demonstration of
sorrow, not only at every city where the remains lay in state but
all during the entire route, at every little village and hamlet;
even at cross-roads thousands of people would be gathered to catch
a glimpse of the funeral train as it passed by. In Philadelphia
the casket rested in Independence Hall. In New York I suppose not
less than half a million people passed by to view the body. General
Scott came down with the procession to the station, and to him I
introduced our Illinois friends. His response was given in a most
dignified and ponderous style: "Gentlemen, you do me great honor."
The farther west we proceeded, drawing constantly nearer to the
home of Lincoln, the more wrought up the people seemed to be. In
the West there were not only expressions of deep sorrow, but of
vengeance as well, especially toward the South. Before the facts
became fully known, it was thought that the assassination was the
result of a Southern conspiracy, and there was a feeling that the
whole South should be punished for the act of one of her misguided
sons. The body lay in state for two days in Chicago, and then came
the last stage of the journey to Springfield. It first was taken
to the State House, and was afterwards placed in the old vault at
the foot of the hill in Oak Ridge Cemetery, where it remained until
the monument was completed. Bishop Simpson, one of the most eloquent
men in the Methodist Church, and a devoted friend of Mr. Lincoln
during his life, preached the funeral sermon. The services at
Springfield were simple in the extreme, just as Mr. Lincoln would
have wished. Steps were at once taken for the erection of the
monument, which stands in Oak Ridge Cemetery to-day.
So far as I can learn, every member of the funeral party that
accompanied the remains of Abraham Lincoln from Washington to
Springfield, with the exception of Mr. E. F. Leonard and myself,
has passed away.
It was my good fortune to know Abraham Lincoln in all the walks of
life. I knew him as President, and I was permitted to know him in
the sacred precincts of his family at home. I have studied the
lives of the great men of the world, and I do not hesitate to say
now, after nearly fifty years have passed away since his death,
that Abraham Lincoln was the peer in all that makes a man great,
useful, and noble, of any man in all the world's history.