in opinion by your general officers, but I do not see the remedy. Be
cautious, and do not understand that the government or the country is
driving you. I do not yet see how I could profit by changing the command
of the Army of the Potomac, and if I did I would not wish to do it by
accepting the resignation of your commission."
Nevertheless, it was futile for the President to pretend that Burnside's
usefulness as commander of the army was not at an end, and the latter
determined to bring about a crisis himself by recommending for dismissal
from the army General Joseph Hooker for "unjust and unnecessary
criticisms of the actions of his superior officer.... As unfit to hold
an important commission during a crisis like the present when so
much patience, charity, confidence, consideration, and patriotism are
due from every soldier in the field." Burnside also prepared an order
dismissing nine other generals, and with his usual frankness took them
to Washington and asked the President's approval. As an alternative he
tendered his own resignation. Lincoln realized that a commander who
had lost the confidence of his army and the country at large could not
restore it by punishing his critics, so, in the most kindly manner,
he accepted Burnside's resignation and assigned General Hooker to
command. The President was fully aware of Hooker's weakness, and that
the latter's conduct and language concerning Burnside and himself had
been not only indiscreet and insubordinate, but actually insulting. But
he was willing to overlook all that and confer honor and responsibility
upon him because he believed in his ability and patriotism, and knew
that the soldiers held him in higher esteem than any other general in
the East. But accompanying Hooker's commission was a letter which no
man but Abraham Lincoln could have written without giving offence, and
nothing from the pen of the President at that period of his life better
indicates the complete self-control and self-confidence which possessed
him.
"I have placed you at the head of the Army of the Potomac," he said. "Of
course I have done this upon what appears to me sufficient reason, and
yet I think it best for you to know that there are some things in regard
to which I am not quite satisfied with you. I believe you to be a brave
and skilful soldier, which, of course, I like. I also believe you do
not mix politics with your profession, in which you are right. You have
confidence in yourself, which is a valuable, if not an indispensable
quality. You are ambitious, which, within reasonable bounds, does good
rather than harm; but I think that during General Burnside's command
of the army you have taken counsel of your ambition and thwarted him
as much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country
and to a most meritorious and honorable brother officer. I have heard,
in such a way as to believe it, of your recently saying that both the
army and the government needed a dictator. Of course it was not for
this, but in spite of it, that I have given you the command. Only those
generals who gain successes can set up dictators. What I now ask of you
is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship. The government
will support you to the utmost of its ability, which is neither more nor
less than it has done and will do for all commanders. I much fear that
the spirit which you have aided to infuse into the army, of criticising
their commander and withholding confidence from him, will now turn upon
you. I shall assist you as far as I can to put it down. Neither you nor
Napoleon, if he were alive again, could get any good out of an army
while such a spirit prevails in it; and now beware of rashness. Beware
of rashness, but with energy and sleepless vigilance go forward and give
us victories."
General Hooker received this rebuke and admonition in the spirit in
which it was offered; he recognized its justice, and endeavored to
restore himself in the President's estimation; but his first important
movement was defeated by the enemy, and, although it was not so great
a disaster as that of Burnside at Fredericksburg, the battle of
Chancellorsville, in May, 1863, marked the darkest hour in the Civil War
and inspired Lee and the Confederate authorities with confidence of the
ultimate success of the rebellion. Mr. W. O. Stoddard, an inmate of the
White House at that time, has given us the following picture:
"The darkest hour in the Civil War came in the first week of May, 1863,
after the bloody battle of Chancellorsville. The country was weary of
the long war, with its draining taxes of gold and blood. Discontent
prevailed everywhere, and the opponents of the Lincoln administration
were savage in their denunciation. More than a third of each day's mail
already consisted of measureless denunciation; another large part was
made up of piteous appeals for peace.
"There were callers at the White House. Members of the Senate and House
came with gloomy faces; the members of the Cabinet came to consult or
condole. The house was like a funeral, and those who entered or left it
trod softly for fear they might wake the dead.
"That night the last visitors in Lincoln's room were Stanton and
Halleck, and the President was left alone. Not another soul except
the one secretary busy with the mail in his room across the hall. The
ticking of a clock would have been noticeable; but another sound came
that was almost as regular and as ceaseless. It was the tread of the
President's feet as he strode slowly back and forth across his chamber.
That ceaseless march so accustomed the ear to it that when, a little
after twelve, there was a break of several minutes, the sudden silence
made one put down his letters and listen.
"The President may have been at his table writing, or he may--no man
knows or can guess; but at the end of the minutes, long or short,
the tramp began again. Two o'clock and he was walking yet, and when,
a little after three, the secretary's task was done and he slipped
noiselessly out, he turned at the head of the stairs for a moment. It
was so--the last sound he heard as he went down was the footfall in
Lincoln's room.
"The young man was there again before eight o'clock. The President's
room was open. There sat Lincoln eating his breakfast alone. He had not
been out of his room; but there was a kind of cheery, hopeful morning
light on his face. He had watched all night, but beside his cup of
coffee lay his instructions to General Hooker to push forward. There was
a decisive battle won that night in that long vigil with disaster and
despair. Only a few weeks later the Army of the Potomac fought it over
again as desperately--and they won it--at Gettysburg."
From the time when Hooker took command the President kept closer
watch than ever upon the movements of the Army of the Potomac, and
his directions were given with greater detail than before. He had no
confidence in Hooker's ability to plan, although he felt that he was a
good fighter.
Early in June, 1863, Hooker reported his opinion that Lee intended to
move on Washington, and asked orders to attack the Confederate rear. To
this Lincoln answered in quaint satire, "In case you find Lee coming
north of the Rappahannock I would by no means cross to the south of
it. If he should leave a rear force at Fredericksburg, tempting you
to fall upon it, it would fight you in entrenchments and have you at
a disadvantage, while his main force would in some way be getting an
advantage of you northward. In one word, I would not take any risk of
being entangled upon the river, like an ox would jump half over a fence
and be liable to be torn by dogs front and rear, without a fair chance
to gore one way or kick the other."
To illustrate how dependent was the commander of the Army of the Potomac
upon Lincoln I give another despatch, sent by the President to Hooker
when the latter proposed to make a dash upon Richmond while Lee was
moving his army westward towards the Shenandoah Valley.
"If left to me, I would not go south of the Rappahannock upon Lee's
moving north of it. If you had Richmond invested to-day, you would
not be able to take it in twenty days; meanwhile your communications,
and with them your army, would be ruined. I think Lee's army, and not
Richmond, is your true objective point. If he comes towards the upper
Potomac, follow on his flank and on his inside track, shortening your
lines while he lengthens his. Fight him, too, when opportunity offers.
If he stays where he is, fret him and fret him."
A few days later Lincoln telegraphed Hooker, "If the head of Lee's
army is at Martinsburg and the tail of it on the plank road between
Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, the animal must be very slim
somewhere. Could you not break him?" But Hooker made no attempt to do
so, and merely followed Lee northward through Virginia and Maryland
into Pennsylvania, keeping on the "inside track," as Mr. Lincoln
suggested, between the Confederate army and Washington. Before the
battle of Gettysburg, which ended the most aggressive campaign of the
Confederates, a long-standing feud between Hooker and Halleck became
so acute that the President saw that one or the other of them must be
relieved. Hooker, in a fit of irritation because Halleck had declined
to comply with some unimportant request, asked to be relieved from the
command, and the President selected George G. Meade to succeed him. A
few days later the battle of Gettysburg was fought. The vain ambition
of Lee and Davis to raise the Confederate flag over Independence Hall
and establish the head-quarters of the Confederate government in
Philadelphia was dissipated and Lee fell back, leaving two thousand six
hundred killed, twelve thousand wounded, and five thousand prisoners.
Lincoln's military instincts taught him that the war could be
practically ended there if the advantages gained at Gettysburg were
properly utilized, and so implored Meade to renew his attack. But Meade
held back, Lee escaped, and for once the President lost his patience. In
the intensity of his disappointment he wrote Meade as follows:
"You fought and beat the enemy at Gettysburg, and, of course, his loss
was as great as yours. He retreated, and you did not, as it seemed
to me, pressingly pursue him; but a flood in the river detained him
till, by slow degrees, you were again upon him. You had at least twenty
thousand veteran troops directly with you and as many more raw ones
within supporting distance, all in addition to those who fought with
you at Gettysburg, while it was not possible that he had received a
single recruit, and yet you stood and let the flood run down, bridges be
built, and the enemy move away at his leisure, without attacking him.
Again, my dear general, I do not believe you appreciate the magnitude
of the misfortune involved in Lee's escape. He was within your easy
grasp, and to have closed upon him would, in connection with our other
late successes, have ended the war. As it is, the war will be prolonged
indefinitely. If you could not safely attack Lee last Monday, how can
you possibly do so south of the river, when you can take with you very
few more than two-thirds of the force you then had in hand? I would be
unreasonable to expect, and I do not expect (that) you can now effect
much. Your golden opportunity is gone, and I am distressed immeasurably
because of it."
Before the mails left that night Lincoln's wrath was spent, his
amiability was restored, and this letter was never sent.
It is impossible in the limits of this volume to relate the details
of the war, but from the detached incidents that have been given, and
the narrative of his relations with Scott, McClellan, Frémont, Grant,
and other generals referred to in this chapter, the reader may form
a clear and accurate conception of Abraham Lincoln's military genius
and the unselfish and often ill-advised consideration with which he
invariably treated his commanders. During the last year of the war
the right men seem to have found the right places, and in all the
voluminous correspondence of the President from the White House and
the War Department with Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, and Thomas there
appears to have been a perfect understanding and complete unity of
opinion and purpose between them. He allowed them greater liberty than
other commanders had enjoyed, evidently because they had his confidence
to a higher degree; he never was compelled to repeat the entreaties,
admonitions, and rebukes with which the pages of his correspondence
during the earlier part of the war were filled. His relations with
Sherman cannot better be defined than by the following brief letter:
"MY DEAR GENERAL SHERMAN: Many, many thanks for your
Christmas gift, the capture of Savannah. When you were about
leaving Atlanta for the Atlantic coast I was anxious, if not
fearful; but feeling that you were the better judge, and
remembering that 'nothing risked, nothing gained,' I did not
interfere. Now, the undertaking being a success, the honor
is all yours, for I believe none of us went farther than to
acquiesce. And taking the work of General Thomas into the count,
as it should be taken, it is, indeed, a great success. Not only
does it afford the obvious and immediate military advantages,
but in showing to the world that your army could be divided,
putting the stronger part to an important new service, and
yet leaving enough to vanquish the old opposing force of the
whole--Hood's army--it brings those who sat in darkness to see a
great light. But what next? I suppose it will be safe if I leave
General Grant and yourself to decide. Please make my grateful
acknowledgments to your whole army, officers and men."
[Illustration: Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.
GRAND REVIEW OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC BY PRESIDENT LINCOLN AT
FALMOUTH, VIRGINIA, IN APRIL, 1863]
Lincoln's relations with Sheridan were limited. They never met but
twice, and there was very little correspondence between them, the most
notable being the laconic despatch after Sheridan's fight with Ewell at
Sailor's Creek, near the Appomattox. That was one of the last blows
struck at the Confederacy, and Sheridan, realizing the situation, made a
hasty report, ending with the words,--
"If the thing is pressed I think Lee will surrender."
Grant forwarded the despatch to President Lincoln, who instantly
replied,--
"Let the thing be pressed."
When he had read the telegram describing Sheridan's last fight with
Early in the Shenandoah Valley, he remarked that he once knew a man
who loaded a piece of punk with powder, lighted it, clapped it inside
a biscuit, and tossed it to a savage dog that was snarling at him. In
an instant the dog snapped it up and swallowed it. Presently the fire
touched the powder and away went the dog, his head in one place, a leg
here and another there, and the different parts scattered all over the
country. "And," said the man, "as for the dog, as a dog, I was never
able to find him." "And that," remarked the President, "is very much the
condition of Early's army, as an army."
President Lincoln's appearance in Richmond after the Confederacy fell
to pieces was one of the most dramatic scenes in all history because of
its extreme simplicity and the entire absence of rejoicing or parade.
There was no triumphant entrance, as the world might have expected
when a conqueror occupies the capital of the conquered. Never before
or since has an event of such transcendent significance occurred with
so little ostentation or ceremony. Lincoln was at City Point, the
head-quarters of General Grant, and was lodged upon a little steamer
called the "River Queen" when he heard of the capture of Richmond and
the fire that consumed a large part of that city. The same day he went
up the river without escort of any kind, landed at a wharf near Libby
Prison, found a guide among the colored people that were hanging around
the place, and walked a mile or more to the centre of the city. The
loafers at the wharf soon identified the President and surrounded him,
striving to touch the hem of his garment. To protect the President and
open a passage for him, Admiral Porter called sailors from his boat, who
marched in front and behind him to the town. Lincoln did not realize
the danger that surrounded him; he did not remember that he was in the
midst of a community with whom he was still at war, or that they held
him responsible for the sorrows they had suffered, the distress they had
endured, and the destruction of their property. But, although within an
hour from the time he landed every man, woman, and child knew of his
presence, not a hand was lifted against him, not an unkind word was
said; and, after visiting the head-quarters of General Weitzel, who was
in command of the Union troops, the Capitol of the State which had been
the seat of the Confederate government, the mansion which Jefferson
Davis had occupied, Libby Prison, where so many officers had starved and
died, and holding two important interviews with John A. Campbell, the
Confederate Secretary of War, who had remained in Richmond when the rest
of the government fled, he went leisurely back to his boat, returned to
the steamer, and sailed for Washington, where, only a few days later,
surrounded by his loyal friends and in the midst of an ovation, he was
stricken by the bullet of an assassin.
Lincoln's personal courage was demonstrated early in life. He never
showed a sense of fear. He never refused a challenge for a trial of
strength, nor avoided an adventure that was attended by danger; and
while President he had no fear of assassination, although he had many
warnings and was quite superstitious. He was accustomed to ridicule
the anxiety of his friends, and when the threats of his enemies were
repeated to him he changed the subject of conversation. Senator Sumner
was one of those who believed that he was in continual danger of
assassination, and frequently cautioned him about going out at night.
When the Senator's anxiety was referred to by friends one evening, the
President said, "Sumner declined to stand up with me, back to back, to
see which was the tallest man, and made a fine speech about this being
the time for uniting our fronts against the enemy and not our backs. But
I guess he was afraid to measure, though he is a good piece of a man. I
have never had much to do with bishops where I live, but, do you know?
Sumner is my idea of a bishop."
In his reminiscences, General Butler says, "He was personally a very
brave man and gave me the worst fright of my life. He came to my
head-quarters and said,--
"'General, I should like to ride along your lines and see them, and see
the boys and how they are situated in camp.'
"I said, 'Very well, we will go after breakfast.'
"I happened to have a very tall, easy-riding, pacing horse, and, as the
President was rather long-legged, I tendered him the use of him while
I rode beside him on a pony. He was dressed, as was his custom, in a
black suit, a swallow-tail coat, and tall silk hat. As there rode on
the other side of him at first Mr. Fox, the Secretary of the Navy, who
was not more than five feet six inches in height, he stood out as a
central figure of the group. Of course the staff-officers and orderly
were behind. When we got to the line of intrenchment, from which the
line of rebel pickets was not more than three hundred yards, he towered
high above the works, and as we came to the several encampments the boys
cheered him lustily. Of course the enemy's attention was wholly directed
to this performance, and with the glass it could be plainly seen that
the eyes of their officers were fastened upon Lincoln; and a personage
riding down the lines cheered by the soldiers was a very unusual thing,
so that the enemy must have known that he was there. Both Mr. Fox and
myself said to him,--
"'Let us ride on the side next to the enemy, Mr. President. You are in
fair rifle-shot of them, and they may open fire; and they must know you,
being the only person not in uniform, and the cheering of the troops
directs their attention to you.'
"'Oh, no,' he said, laughing; 'the commander-in-chief of the army must
not show any cowardice in the presence of his soldiers, whatever he
may feel.' And he insisted upon riding the whole six miles, which was
about the length of my intrenchments, in that position, amusing himself
at intervals, where there was nothing more attractive, in a sort of
competitive examination of the commanding general in the science of
engineering, much to the amusement of my engineer-in-chief, General
Weitzel, who rode on my left, and who was kindly disposed to prompt me
while the examination was going on, which attracted the attention of Mr.
Lincoln, who said,--
"'Hold on, Weitzel, I can't beat you, but I think I can beat Butler.'
"In the later summer (1863)," continues General Butler, "I was invited
by the President to ride with him in the evening out to the Soldiers'
Home, some two miles, a portion of the way being quite lonely. He had no
guard--not even an orderly on the box. I said to him,--
"'Is it known that you ride thus alone at night out to the Soldiers'
Home?'
"'Oh, yes,' he answered, 'when business detains me until night. I do go
out earlier, as a rule.'
"I said, 'I think you peril too much. We have passed a half-dozen places
where a well-directed bullet might have taken you off.'
"'Oh,' he replied, 'assassination of public officers is not an American
crime.'
"When he handed me the commission (as major-general), with some kindly
words of compliment, I replied, 'I do not know whether I ought to accept
this. I received my orders to prepare my brigade to march to Washington
while trying a cause to a jury. I stated the fact to the court and
asked that the case might be continued, which was at once consented to,
and I left to come here the second morning after, my business in utter
confusion.'
"He said, 'I guess we both wish we were back trying cases,' with a
quizzical look upon his countenance.
"I said, 'Besides, Mr. President, you may not be aware that I was the
Breckenridge candidate for Governor in my State in the last campaign,
and did all I could to prevent your election.'
"'All the better,' said he; 'I hope your example will bring many of the
same sort with you.'
"'But,' I answered, 'I do not know that I can support the measures of
your administration, Mr. President.'
"'I do not care whether you do or not,' was his reply, 'if you will
fight for the country.'
"'I will take the commission and loyally serve while I may, and bring it
back to you when I can go with you no further.'
"'That is frank; but tell me wherein you think my administration wrong
before you resign,' said he. 'Report to General Scott.'
"'Yes, Mr. President, the bounties which are now being paid to new
recruits cause very large desertions. Men desert and go home, and get
the bounties and enlist in other regiments.'
"'That is too true,' he replied, 'but how can we prevent it?'
"'By vigorously shooting every man who is caught as a deserter until it
is found to be a dangerous business.'
"A saddened, weary look came over his face which I had never seen
before, and he slowly replied,--
"'You may be right--probably are so; but, God help me! how can I have a
butcher's day every Friday in the Army of the Potomac?'"
VII
HOW LINCOLN APPEARED IN THE WHITE HOUSE