Let us pause to consider the actors in that scene. In force of
character, in thoroughness and breadth of culture, in experience of
public affairs, and in national reputation, the Cabinet that sat
around that council-board has had no superior, perhaps no equal in our
history. Seward, the finished scholar, the consummate orator, the
great leader of the Senate, had come to crown his career with those
achievements which placed him in the first rank of modern
diplomatists. Chase, with a culture and a fame of massive grandeur,
stood as the rock and pillar of the public credit, the noble
embodiment of the public faith. Stanton was there, a very Titan of
strength, the great organizer of victory. Eminent lawyers, men of
business, leaders of states and leaders of men, completed the group.
But the man who presided over that council, who inspired and guided
its deliberations, was a character so unique that he stood alone,
without a model in history or a parallel among men. Born on this day,
sixty-nine years ago, to an inheritance of extremest poverty;
surrounded by the rude forces of the wilderness; wholly unaided by
parents; only one year in any school; never, for a day, master of his
own time until he reached his majority; making his way to the
profession of the law by the hardest and roughest road;--yet by force
of unconquerable will and persistent, patient work he attained a
foremost place in his profession,
"And, moving up from high to higher,
Became on Fortune's crowning slope
The pillar of a people's hope,
The centre of a world's desire."
At first, it was the prevailing belief that he would be only the
nominal head of his administration,--that its policy would be directed
by the eminent statesmen he had called to his council. How erroneous
this opinion was may be seen from a single incident.
Among the earliest, most difficult, and most delicate duties of his
administration was the adjustment of our relations with Great Britain.
Serious complications, even hostilities, were apprehended. On the 21st
of May, 1861, the Secretary of State presented to the President his
draught of a letter of instructions to Minister Adams, in which the
position of the United States and the attitude of Great Britain were
set forth with the clearness and force which long experience and great
ability had placed at the command of the Secretary. Upon almost every
page of that original draught are erasures, additions, and marginal
notes in the handwriting of Abraham Lincoln, which exhibit a sagacity,
a breadth of wisdom, and a comprehension of the whole subject,
impossible to be found except in a man of the very first order. And
these modifications of a great state paper were made by a man who but
three months before had entered for the first time the wide theatre of
Executive action.
Gifted with an insight and a foresight which the ancients would have
called divination, he saw, in the midst of darkness and obscurity, the
logic of events, and forecast the result. From the first, in his own
quaint, original way, without ostentation or offense to his
associates, he was pilot and commander of his administration. He was
one of the few great rulers whose wisdom increased with his power, and
whose spirit grew gentler and tenderer as his triumphs were
multiplied.
This was the man, and these his associates, who look down upon us from
the canvas.
The present is not a fitting occasion to examine, with any
completeness, the causes that led to the Proclamation of Emancipation;
but the peculiar relation of that act to the character of Abraham
Lincoln cannot be understood, without considering one remarkable fact
in his history. His earlier years were passed in a region remote from
the centers of political thought, and without access to the great
world of books. But the few books that came within his reach he
devoured with the divine hunger of genius. One paper, above all
others, led him captive, and filled his spirit with the majesty of
its truth and the sublimity of its eloquence. It was the Declaration
of American Independence. The author and the signers of that
instrument became, in his early youth, the heroes of his political
worship. I doubt if history affords any example of a life so early, so
deeply, and so permanently influenced by a single political truth, as
was Abraham Lincoln's by the central doctrine of the Declaration,--the
liberty and equality of all men. Long before his fame had become
national he said, "That is the electric cord in the Declaration, that
links the hearts of patriotic and liberty-loving men together, and
that will link such hearts as long as the love of freedom exists in
the minds of men throughout the world."
That truth runs, like a thread of gold, through the whole web of his
political life. It was the spear-point of his logic in his debates
with Douglas. It was the inspiring theme of his remarkable speech at
the Cooper Institute, New York, in 1860, which gave him the nomination
to the Presidency. It filled him with reverent awe when on his way to
the capital to enter the shadows of the terrible conflict then
impending, he uttered, in Independence Hall, at Philadelphia, these
remarkable words, which were prophecy then but are history now:--
"I have never had a feeling, politically, that did not spring from the
sentiments embodied in the Declaration of Independence. I have often
pondered over the dangers which were incurred by the men who assembled
here, and framed and adopted that Declaration of Independence. I have
pondered over the toils that were endured by the officers and soldiers
of the army who achieved that independence I have often inquired of
myself what great principle or idea it was that kept this confederacy
so long together. It was not the mere matter of the separation of the
Colonies from the mother land, but that sentiment in the Declaration
of Independence which gave liberty, not alone to the people of this
country, but, I hope, to the world for all future time. It was that
which gave promise that, in due time, the weight would be lifted from
the shoulders of all men. This is the sentiment embodied in the
Declaration of Independence. Now, my friends, can this country be
saved upon that basis? If it can, I will consider myself one of the
happiest men in the world if I can help to save it. If it cannot be
saved upon that principle, it will be truly awful. But if this country
cannot be saved without giving up that principle, I was about to say,
I would rather be assassinated on this spot than surrender it."
Deep and strong was his devotion to liberty; yet deeper and stronger
still was his devotion to the Union; for he believed that without the
Union permanent liberty for either race on this continent would be
impossible. And because of this belief, he was reluctant, perhaps more
reluctant than most of his associates, to strike slavery with the
sword. For many months, the passionate appeals of millions of his
associates seemed not to move him. He listened to all the phases of
the discussion, and stated, in language clearer and stronger than any
opponent had used, the dangers, the difficulties, and the possible
futility of the act. In reference to its practical wisdom, Congress,
the Cabinet and the country were divided. Several of his generals had
proclaimed the freedom of slaves within the limits of their commands.
The President revoked their proclamations. His first Secretary of War
had inserted a paragraph in his annual report advocating a similar
policy. The President suppressed it.
On the 19th of August, 1862, Horace Greeley published a letter,
addressed to the President, entitled "The Prayer of Twenty Millions,"
in which he said, "On the face of this wide earth, Mr. President,
there is not one disinterested, determined, intelligent champion of
the Union cause who does not feel that all attempts to put down the
rebellion and at the same time uphold its inciting cause are
preposterous and futile."
To this the President responded in that ever-memorable reply of August
22, in which he said:--
"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
to destroy slavery.
"If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it.
If I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it,--and if
I could do it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also
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 that what I am doing hurts the cause, and I shall do
more whenever I believe doing more will help the cause."
Thus, against all importunities on the one hand and remonstrances on
the other, he took the mighty question to his own heart, and, during
the long months of that terrible battle-summer, wrestled with it
alone. But at length he realized the saving truth, that great,
unsettled questions have no pity for the repose of nations. On the
22nd of September, he summoned his Cabinet to announce his conclusion.
It was my good fortune, on that same day, and a few hours after the
meeting, to hear, from the lips of one who participated, the story of
the scene. As the chiefs of the Executive Departments came in, one by
one, they found the President reading a favorite chapter from a
popular humorist. He was lightening the weight of the great burden
which rested upon his spirit. He finished the chapter, reading it
aloud. And here I quote, from the published Journal of the late Chief
Justice, an entry, written immediately after the meeting, and bearing
unmistakable evidence that it is almost a literal transcript of
Lincoln's words.
"The President then took a graver tone, and said: 'Gentlemen, I have,
as you are aware, thought a great deal about the relation of this war
to slavery; and you all remember that, several weeks ago, I read to
you an order I had prepared upon the subject, which, on account of
objections made by some of you, was not issued. Ever since then my
mind has been much occupied with this subject, and I have thought all
along that the time for acting on it might probably come. I think the
time has come now. I wish it was a better time. I wish that we were in
a better condition. The action of the army against the rebels has not
been quite what I should have best liked. But they have been driven
out of Maryland, and Pennsylvania is no longer in danger of invasion.
When the rebel army was at Frederick, I determined as soon as it
should be driven out of Maryland to issue a proclamation of
emancipation, such as I thought most likely to be useful. I said
nothing to any one, but I made a promise to myself and (hesitating a
little) to my Maker. The rebel army is now driven out, and I am going
to fulfil that promise. I have got you together to hear what I have
written down. I do not wish your advice about the main matter, for
that I have determined for myself. This I say without intending
anything but respect for any one of you. But I already know the views
of each on this question. They have been heretofore expressed, and I
have considered them as thoroughly and carefully as I can. What I have
written is that which my reflections have determined me to say. If
there is anything in the expressions I use, or in any minor matter
which any one of you thinks had best be changed, I shall be glad to
receive your suggestions. One other observation I will make. I know
very well that many others might, in this matter as in others, do
better than I can; and if I was satisfied that the public confidence
was more fully possessed by any one of them than by me, and knew of
any constitutional way in which he could be put in my place, he should
have it. I would gladly yield it to him. But though I believe I have
not so much of the confidence of the people as I had some time since,
I do not know that, all things considered, any other person has more;
and, however this may be, there is no way in which I can have any
other man put where I am. I must do the best I can and bear the
responsibility of taking the course which I feel I ought to take.'
"The President then proceeded to read his Emancipation Proclamation,
making remarks on the several parts as he went on, and showing that he
had fully considered the subject in all the lights under which it had
been presented to him."
The Proclamation was amended in a few matters of detail. It was signed
and published that day. The world knows the rest, and will not forget
it till "the last syllable of recorded time."