apprehensions of nearly all his advisers, Lincoln insisted upon coming
down the river from Washington and making his way into the Rebel
capital. There was no thought of vaingloriousness or of posing as the
victor. He came under the impression that some civil authorities would
probably have remained in Richmond with whom immediate measures might be
taken to stop unnecessary fighting and to secure for the city and for
the State a return of peaceful government. Thomas Nast, who while not a
great artist was inspired to produce during the War some of the most
graphic and storytelling records in the shape of pictures of events,
made a drawing which was purchased later by the New York Union League
Club, showing Lincoln on his way through Main Street, with the coloured
folks of the town and of the surrounding country crowding about the man
whom they hailed as their deliverer, and in their enthusiastic adoration
trying to touch so much as the hem of his garment. The picture is
history in showing what actually happened and it is pathetic history in
recalling how great were the hopes that came to the coloured people from
the success of the North and from the certainty of the end of slavery.
It is sad to recall the many disappointments that during the forty years
since the occupation of Richmond have hampered the uplifting of the
race. Lincoln's hope that some representative of the Confederacy might
have remained in Richmond, if only for the purpose of helping to bring
to a close as rapidly as possible the waste and burdens of continued
war, was not realised. The members of the Confederate government seem to
have been interested only in getting away from Richmond and to have
given no thought to the duty they owed to their own people to cooperate
with the victors in securing a prompt return of law and order.
On the 9th of April, came the surrender of Lee at Appomattox, four
years, less three days, from the date of the firing of the first gun of
the War at Charleston. The muskets turned in by the ragged and starving
files of the remnants of Lee's army represented only a small portion of
those which a few days earlier had been holding the entrenchments at
Petersburg. As soon as it became evident that the army was not going to
be able to break through the Federal lines and begin a fresh campaign in
North Carolina, the men scattered from the retreating columns right and
left, in many cases carrying their muskets to their own homes as a
memorial fairly earned by plucky and persistent service. There never was
an army that did better fighting or that was better deserving of the
recognition, not only of the States in behalf of whose so-called
"independence" the War had been waged, but on the part of opponents who
were able to realise the character and the effectiveness of the
fighting.
The scene in the little farm-house where the two commanders met to
arrange the terms of surrender was dramatic in more ways than one.
General Lee had promptly given up his own baggage waggon for use in
carrying food for the advance brigade and as he could save but one suit
of clothes, he had naturally taken his best. He was, therefore,
notwithstanding the fatigues and the privations of the past week, in
full dress uniform. He was one of the handsomest men of his generation,
and his beauty was not only of feature but of expression of character.
Grant, who never gave much thought to his personal appearance, had for
days been away from his baggage train, and under the urgency of keeping
as near as possible to the front line with reference to the probability
of being called to arrange terms for surrender, he had not found the
opportunity of securing a proper coat in place of his fatigue blouse. I
believe that even his sword had been mislaid, but he was able to borrow
one for the occasion from a staff officer. When the main details of the
surrender had been talked over, Grant looked about the group in the
room, which included, in addition to two staff officers who had come
with Lee, a group of five or six of his own assistants, who had managed
to keep up with the advance, to select the aid who should write out the
paper. His eye fell upon Colonel Ely Parker, a brigade commander who had
during the past few months served on Grant's staff. "Colonel Parker, I
will ask you," said Grant, "as the only real American in the room, to
draft this paper." Parker was a full-blooded Indian, belonging to one of
the Iroquois tribes of New York.
Grant's suggestion that the United States had no requirement for the
horses of Lee's army and that the men might find these convenient for
"spring ploughing" was received by Lee with full appreciation. The first
matter in order after the completion of the surrender was the issue of
rations to the starving Southern troops. "General Grant," said Lee, "a
train was ordered by way of Danville to bring rations to meet my army
and it ought to be now at such a point," naming a village eight or nine
miles to the south-west. General Sheridan, with a twinkle in his eye,
now put in a word: "The train from the south is there, General Lee, or
at least it was there yesterday. My men captured it and the rations will
be available." General Lee turns, mounts his old horse Traveller, a
valued comrade, and rides slowly through the ranks first of the blue and
then of the grey. Every hat came off from the men in blue as an
expression of respect to a great soldier and a true gentleman, while
from the ranks in grey there was one great sob of passionate grief and
finally, almost for the first time in Lee's army, a breaking of
discipline as the men crowded forward to get a closer look at, or
possibly a grasp of the hand of, the great leader who had fought and
failed but whose fighting and whose failure had been so magnificent.
IX
LINCOLN'S TASK ENDED
On the 11th of April, Lincoln makes his last public utterance. In a
brief address to some gathering in Washington, he says, "There will
shortly be announcement of a new policy." It is hardly to be doubted
that the announcement which he had in mind was to be concerned with the
problem of reconstruction. He had already outlined in his mind the
essential principles on which the readjustment must be made. In this
same address, he points out that "whether or not the seceded States be
out of the Union, they are out of their proper relations to the Union."
We may feel sure that he would not have permitted the essential matters
of readjustment to be delayed while political lawyers were arguing over
the constitutional issue. On one side was the group which maintained
that in instituting the Rebellion and in doing what was in their power
to destroy the national existence, the people of the seceding States had
forfeited all claims to the political liberty of their communities.
According to this contention, the Slave States were to be treated as
conquered territory, and it simply remained for the government of the
United States to reshape this territory as might be found convenient or
expedient. According to the other view, as secession was itself
something which was not to be admitted, being, from the constitutional
point of view, impossible, there never had in the legal sense of the
term been any secession. The instant the armed rebellion had been
brought to an end, the rebelling States were to be considered as having
resumed their old-time relations with the States of the North and with
the central government. They were under the same obligations as before
for taxation, for subordination in foreign relations, and for the
acceptance of the control of the Federal government on all matters
classed as Federal. On the other hand, they were entitled to the
privileges that had from the beginning been exercised by independent
States: namely, the control of their local affairs on matters not
classed as Federal, and they had a right to their proportionate
representation in Congress and to their proportion of the electoral vote
for President. It has been very generally recognised in the South as in
the North that if Lincoln could have lived, some of the most serious of
the difficulties that arose during the reconstruction period through the
friction between these conflicting theories would have been avoided. The
Southerners would have realised that the head of the government had a
cordial and sympathetic interest in doing what might be practicable not
only to re-establish their relations as citizens of the United States,
but to further in every way the return of their communities to
prosperity, a prosperity which, after the loss of the property in their
slaves and the enormous destruction of their general resources, seemed
to be sadly distant.
On the 14th of April, comes the dramatic tragedy ending on the day
following in the death of Lincoln. The word dramatic applies in this
instance with peculiar fitness. While the nation mourned for the loss of
its leader, while the soldiers were stricken with grief that their great
captain should have been struck down, while the South might well be
troubled that the control and adjustment of the great interstate
perplexities was not to be in the hands of the wise, sympathetic, and
patient ruler, for the worker himself the rest after the four years of
continuous toil and fearful burdens and anxieties might well have been
grateful. The great task had been accomplished and the responsibilities
accepted in the first inaugural had been fulfilled.
In March, 1861, Lincoln had accepted the task of steering the nation
through the storm of rebellion, the divided opinions and counsels of
friends, and the fierce onslaught of foes at home and abroad. In April,
1865, the national existence was assured, the nation's credit was
established, the troops were prepared to return to their homes and
resume their work as citizens. At no time in history had any people been
able against such apparently overwhelming perils and difficulties to
maintain a national existence. There was, therefore, notwithstanding the
great misfortune, for the people South and North, in the loss of the
wise ruler at a time when so many difficulties remained to be adjusted,
a dramatic fitness in having the life of the leader close just as the
last army of antagonists was laying down its arms. The first problem of
the War that came to the administration of 1861 was that of restoring
the flag over Fort Sumter. On the 14th of April, the day when Booth's
pistol was laying low the President, General Anderson, who four years
earlier had so sturdily defended Sumter, was fulfilling the duty of
restoring the Stars and Stripes.
The news of the death of Lincoln came to the army of Sherman, with
which my own regiment happened at the time to be associated, on the 17th
of April. On leaving Savannah, Sherman had sent word to the north to
have all the troops who were holding posts along the coasts of North
Carolina concentrated on a line north of Goldsborough. It was his dread
that General Johnston might be able to effect a junction with the
retreating forces of Lee and it was important to do whatever was
practicable, either with forces or with a show of forces, to delay
Johnston and to make such combination impossible. A thin line of Federal
troops was brought into position to the north of Johnston's advance, but
Sherman himself kept so closely on the heels of his plucky and
persistent antagonist that, irrespective of any opposing line to the
north, Johnston would have found it impossible to continue his progress
towards Virginia. He was checked at Goldsborough after the battle of
Bentonville and it was at Goldsborough that the last important force of
the Confederacy was surrendered.
We soldiers learned only later some of the complications that preceded
that surrender. President Davis and his associates in the Confederate
government had, with one exception, made their way south, passing to
the west of Sherman's advance. The exception was Post-master-General
Reagan, who had decided to remain with General Johnston. He appears to
have made good with Johnston the claim that he, Reagan, represented all
that was left of the Confederate government. He persuaded Johnston to
permit him to undertake the negotiations with Sherman, and he had, it
seems, the ambition of completing with his own authority the
arrangements that were to terminate the War. Sherman, simple-hearted man
that he was, permitted himself, for the time, to be confused by Reagan's
semblance of authority. He executed with Reagan a convention which
covered not merely the surrender of Johnston's army but the
preliminaries of a final peace. This convention was of course made
subject to the approval of the authorities in Washington. When it came
into the hands of President Johnson, it was, under the counsel of Seward
and Stanton, promptly disavowed. Johnson instructed Grant, who had
reported to Washington from Appomattox, to make his way at once to
Goldsborough and, relieving Sherman, to arrange for the surrender of
Johnston's army on the terms of Appomattox. Grant's response was
characteristic. He said in substance: "I am here, Mr. President, to
obey orders and under the decision of the Commander-in-chief I will go
to Goldsborough and will carry out your instructions. I prefer, however,
to act as a messenger simply. I am entirely unwilling to take out of
General Sherman's hands the command of the army that is so properly
Sherman's army and that he has led with such distinctive success.
General Sherman has rendered too great a service to the country to make
it proper to have him now humiliated on the ground of a political
blunder, and I at least am unwilling to be in any way a party to his
humiliation."
Stanton was disposed to approve of Johnson's first instruction and to
have Sherman at once relieved, but the man who had just come from
Appomattox was too strong with the people to make it easy to disregard
his judgment on a matter which was in part at least military. The
President was still new to his office and he was still prepared to
accept counsel. The matter was, therefore, arranged as Grant desired.
Grant took the instructions and had his personal word with Sherman, but
this word was so quietly given that none of the men in Sherman's army,
possibly no one but Sherman himself, knew of Grant's visit. Grant took
pains so to arrange the last stage of his journey that he came into the
camp at Goldsborough well after dark, and, after an hour's interview
with Sherman, he made his way at once northward outside of our lines and
of our knowledge.
On Grant's arrival, Sherman at once assumed that he was to be
superseded. "No, no," said Grant; "do you not see that I have come
without even a sword? There is here no question of superseding the
commander of this army, but simply of correcting an error and of putting
things as they were. This convention must be cancelled. You will have no
further negotiation with Mr. Reagan or with any civilian claiming to
represent the Confederacy. Your transactions will be made with the
commander of the Confederate army, and you will accept the surrender of
that army on the terms that were formulated at Appomattox." Sherman was
keen enough to understand what must have passed in Washington, and was
able to appreciate the loyal consideration shown by General Grant in the
successful effort to protect the honour and the prestige of his old
comrade. The surrender was carried out on the 26th of April, eleven days
after the death of Lincoln. Johnston's troops, like those of Lee, were
distributed to their homes. The officers retained their side-arms, and
the men, leaving their rifles, took with them not only such horses and
mules as they still had with them connected with the cavalry or
artillery, but also a number of horses and mules which had been captured
by Sherman's army and which had not yet been placed on the United States
army roster. Sherman understood, as did Grant, the importance of giving
to these poor farmers whatever facilities might be available to enable
them again to begin their home work. Word was at once sent to General
Johnston after Grant's departure that the, only terms that could be
considered was a surrender of the army, and that the details of such
surrender Sherman would himself arrange with Johnston. Reagan slipped
away southward and is not further heard of in history.
The record of Lincoln's relations to the events of the War would not be
complete without a reference to the capture of Jefferson Davis. On
returning to Washington after his visit to Richmond, Lincoln had been
asked what should be done with Davis when he was captured. The answer
was characteristic: "I do not see," said Lincoln, "that we have any use
for a white elephant." Lincoln's clear judgment had at once recognised
the difficulties that would arise in case Davis should become a
prisoner. The question as to the treatment of the ruler of the late
Confederacy was very different from, and much more complicated than, the
fixing of terms of surrender for the Confederate armies. If Davis had
succeeded in getting out of the country, it is probable that the South,
or at least a large portion of the South, would have used him as a kind
of a scapegoat. Many of the Confederate soldiers were indignant with
Davis for his bitter animosities to some of their best leaders. Davis
was a capable man and had in him the elements of statesmanship. He was,
however, vain and, like some other vain men, placed the most importance
upon the capacities in which he was the least effective. He had had a
brief and creditable military experience, serving as a lieutenant with
Scott's army in Mexico, and he had impressed himself with the belief
that he was a great commander. Partly on this ground, and partly
apparently as a result of general "incompatibility of temper," Davis
managed to quarrel at different times during the War with some of the
generals who had shown themselves the most capable and the most
serviceable. He would probably have quarrelled with Lee, if it had been
possible for any one to make quarrel relations with that fine-natured
gentleman, and if Lee had not been too strongly entrenched in the hearts
of his countrymen to make any interference with him unwise, even for the
President. Davis had, however, managed to interfere very seriously with
the operations of men like Beauregard, Sidney Johnson, Joseph Johnston,
and other commanders whose continued leadership was most important for
the Confederacy. It was the obstinacy of Davis that had protracted the
War through the winter and spring of 1865, long after it was evident
from the reports of Lee and of the other commanders that the resources
of the Confederacy were exhausted and that any further struggle simply
meant an inexcusable loss of life on both sides. As a Northern soldier
who has had experience in Southern prisons, I may be excused also from
bearing in mind the fearful responsibility that rests upon Davis for the
mismanagement of those prisons, a mismanagement which caused the death
of thousands of brave men on the frozen slopes of Belle Isle, on the
foul floors of Libby and Danville, and on the rotten ground used for
three years as a living place and as a dying place within the stockade
at Andersonville. Davis received from month to month the reports of the
conditions in these and in the other prisons of the Confederacy. Davis
could not have been unaware of the stupidity and the brutality of
keeping prisoners in Richmond during the last winter of the War when the
lines of road still open were absolutely inadequate to supply the troops
in the trenches or the people of the town. Reports were brought to Davis
more than once from Andersonville showing that a large portion of the
deaths that were there occurring were due to the vile and rotten
condition of the hollow in which for years prisoners had been huddled
together; but the appeal made to Richmond for permission to move the
stockade to a clean and dry slope was put to one side as a matter of no
importance. The entire authority in the matter was in the hands of Davis
and a word from him would have remedied some of the worst conditions. He
must share with General Winder, the immediate superintendent of the
prisons, the responsibility for the heedless and brutal
mismanagement,--a mismanagement which brought death to thousands and
which left thousands of others cripples for life.
As a result of the informal word given by Lincoln, it was generally
understood, by all the officers, at least, in charge of posts and picket
lines along the eastern slope, that Davis was not to be captured.
Unfortunately it had not proved possible to get this informal
expression of a very important piece of policy conveyed throughout the
lines farther west. An enterprising and over-zealous captain of cavalry,
riding across from the Mississippi to the coast, heard of Davis's party
in Florida and, "butting in," captured, on May 10th, "the white
elephant."
The last commands of the Confederate army were surrendered with General
Taylor in Louisiana on the 4th of May and with Kirby Smith in Texas on
the 26th of May. As Lincoln had foreshadowed, not a few complications
resulted from this unfortunate capture of Davis, complications that were
needlessly added to by the lack of clear-headedness or of definite
policy on the part of a confused and vacillating President. During the
months in which Davis was a prisoner at Fortress Monroe, and while the
question of his trial for treason was being fiercely debated in
Washington, the sentiment of the Confederacy naturally concentrated upon
its late President. He was, as the single prisoner, the surviving emblem
of the contest. His vanities, irritability, and blunders were forgotten.
It was natural that, under the circumstances, his people, the people of
the South, should hold in memory only the fact that he had been their
leader and that he had through four strenuous years borne the burdens
of leadership with unflagging zeal, with persistent courage, and with an
almost foolhardy hopefulness. He had given to the Confederacy the best
of his life, and he was entitled to the adoration that the survivors of
the Confederacy gave to him as representing the ideal of the lost cause.
The feeling with which Lincoln was regarded by the men in the front, for
whom through the early years of their campaigning he had been not only
the leader but the inspiration, was indicated by the manner in which the
news of his death was received. I happened myself on the day of those
sad tidings to be with my division in a little village just outside of
Goldsborough, North Carolina. We had no telegraphic communication with
the North, but were accustomed to receive despatches about noon each
day, carried across the swamps from a station through which connection
was made with Wilmington and the North. In the course of the morning, I
had gone to the shanty of an old darky whom I had come to know during
the days of our sojourn, for the purpose of getting a shave. The old
fellow took up his razor, put it down again and then again lifted it up,
but his arm was shaking and I saw that he was so agitated that he was
not fitted for the task. "Massa," he said, "I can't shave yer this
mornin'." "What is the matter?" I inquired. "Well," he replied,
"somethin's happened to Massa Linkum." "Why!" said I, "nothing has
happened to Lincoln. I know what there is to be known. What are you
talking about?" "Well!" the old man replied with a half sob, "we
coloured folks--we get news or we get half news sooner than you-uns. I
dun know jes' what it is, but somethin' has gone wrong with Massa
Linkum." I could get nothing more out of the old man, but I was
sufficiently anxious to make my way to Division headquarters to see if
there was any news in advance of the arrival of the regular courier. The
coloured folks were standing in little groups along the village street,
murmuring to each other or waiting with anxious faces for the bad news
that they were sure was coming. I found the brigade adjutant and those
with him were puzzled like myself at the troubled minds of the darkies,
but still sceptical as to the possibility of any information having
reached them which was not known through the regular channels.
At noon, the courier made his appearance riding by the wood lane across
the fields; and the instant he was seen we all realised that there was
bad news. The man was hurrying his pony and yet seemed to be very
unwilling to reach the lines where his report must be made. In this
instance (as was, of course, not usually the case) the courier knew what
was in his despatches. The Division Adjutant stepped out on the porch of
the headquarters with the paper in his hand, but he broke down before he
could begin to read. The Division Commander took the word and was able
simply to announce: "Lincoln is dead." The word "President" was not
necessary and he sought in fact for the shortest word. I never before
had found myself in a mass of men overcome by emotion. Ten thousand
soldiers were sobbing together. No survivor of the group can recall the
sadness of that morning without again being touched by the wave of
emotion which broke down the reserve and control of these war-worn
veterans on learning that their great captain was dead.