So far Mr. Lincoln's new duties as President had not placed him at any
disadvantage with the members of his cabinet. On the old question of
slavery he was as well informed and had clearer ideas than they. On the
new military questions that had come up since the inauguration, they,
like himself, had to rely on the advice of experienced officers of the
army and navy; and since these differed greatly, Mr. Lincoln's powerful
mind was as able to reach true conclusions as were men who had been
governors and senators. Yet the idea lingered that because he had never
before held high office, and because a large part of his life had been
passed in the rude surroundings of the frontier, he must of necessity
be lacking in power to govern--be weaker in will, without tact or
culture--must in every way be less fitted to cope with the difficult
problems so rapidly coming upon the administration.
At the beginning even Secretary Seward shared this view. Mr. Lincoln
must have been surprised indeed, when, on the first day of April,
exactly four weeks after his inauguration, his Secretary of State, the
man he justly looked upon as the chief member of his cabinet, handed
him a paper on which were written "Some Thoughts for the President's
Consideration." It was most grave and dignified in language, but in
substance bluntly told Mr. Lincoln that after a month's trial the
Administration was without a policy, domestic or foreign, and that this
must be remedied at once. It advised shifting the issue at home from
slavery to the question of Union or disunion; and counseled the adoption
of an attitude toward Europe which could not have failed to rouse the
anger of the principal foreign nations. It added that the President or
some member of his cabinet must make it his constant duty to pursue and
direct whatever policy should be adopted, and hinted very plainly
that although he, Mr. Seward, did not seek such responsibility, he was
willing to assume it. The interest of this remarkable paper for us lies
in the way Mr. Lincoln treated it, and the measure that treatment gives
us of his generosity and self-control. An envious or a resentful man
could not have wished a better opportunity to put a rival under his
feet; but though Mr. Lincoln doubtless thought the incident very
strange, it did not for a moment disturb his serenity or his kindly
judgment. He answered in a few quiet sentences that showed no trace of
passion or even of excitement; and on the central suggestion that some
one person must direct the affairs of the government, replied with
dignity "if this must be done, I must do it," adding that on affairs of
importance he desired and supposed he had a right to have the advice of
all the members of his cabinet. This reply ended the matter, and as
far as is known, neither of them ever mentioned the subject again. Mr.
Lincoln put the papers away in an envelope, and no word of the affair
came to the public until years after both men were dead. In one mind
at least there was no longer a doubt that the cabinet had a master. Mr.
Seward recognized the President's kindly forbearance, and repaid it by
devotion and personal friendship until the day of his tragic death.
If, after this experience, the Secretary of State needed any further
proof of Mr. Lincoln's ability to rule, it soon came to him, for during
the first months of the war matters abroad claimed the attention of
the cabinet, and with these also the untried western man showed himself
better fitted to deal than his more experienced advisers. Many of the
countries of Europe, especially France and England, wished the South
to succeed. France because of plans that Emperor Napoleon III had for
founding French colonies on American soil, and England because such
success would give her free cotton for her mills and factories. England
became so friendly toward the rebels that Mr. Seward, much irritated,
wrote a despatch on May 21, 1861, to Charles Francis Adams, the American
Minister at London, which, if it had been sent as he wrote it, would
almost certainly have brought on war between the two countries. It set
forth justly and with courage what the United States government would
and would not endure from foreign powers during the war with the South,
but it had been penned in a heat of indignation, and was so blunt and
exasperating as to suggest intentional disrespect. When Mr. Seward read
it to the President the latter at once saw this, and taking it from his
Secretary of State kept it by him for further consideration. A second
reading showed him that his first impression was correct. Thereupon the
frontier lawyer, taking his pen, went carefully over the whole
dispatch, and by his corrections so changed the work of the trained and
experienced statesman as entirely to remove its offensive tone, without
in the least altering its force or courage.
Once again during 1861 the country was in serious danger of war with
England, and the action of President Lincoln at this time proved not
only that he had the will to be just, even when his own people were
against him, but had the skill to gain real advantage from what seemed
very like defeat. One of the earliest and most serious tasks of the
Government had been to blockade the southern ports, in order to prevent
supplies from foreign countries reaching the southern people, especially
the southern armies. Considering the great length of coast to be
patrolled, and the small size of the navy at the commencement of the
struggle, this was done with wonderful quickness, and proved in the main
effective, though occasionally a rebel boat managed to slip in or out
without being discovered and fired upon by the ships on guard.
In November Captain Charles Wilkes learned that Ex-Senators J. M. Mason
and John Slidell, two prominent Confederates bound on an important
mission to Europe, had succeeded in reaching Cuba, and from there had
taken passage for England on the British mail steamer Trent. He stopped
the Trent and took Mason and Slidell prisoners, afterward allowing the
steamer to proceed on her way. The affair caused intense excitement
both in England and in the United States, and England began instant
preparations for war. Lord Lyons, the British Minister at Washington,
was instructed to demand the release of the prisoners and a suitable
apology within one week, and if this were refused, to close his legation
and come home. It was fortunate that Lord Lyons and Mr. Seward were
close personal friends, and could, in spite of the excitement of
both countries, discuss the matter calmly and without anger. Their
conferences were brought to an end by Mr. Lincoln's decision to give
up the prisoners. In the North their capture had been greeted with
extravagant joy. Newspapers rang with praises of Captain Wilkes; his act
was officially approved by the Secretary of the Navy, and the House of
Representatives passed a resolution thanking him for his "brave, adroit,
and patriotic conduct." In the face of all this it must have been hard
indeed for Mr. Lincoln to order that Mason and Slidell be given up;
but though he shared the first impulse of rejoicing, he soon became
convinced that this must be done. War with England must certainly be
avoided; and Captain Wilkes, by allowing the Trent to proceed on her
voyage, instead of bringing her into port with the prisoners, had put
it out of the power of his Government to prove, under international law,
that the capture was justified. Besides all else, the President's quick
mind saw, what others failed to note, that by giving up the prisoners
as England demanded, the United States would really gain an important
diplomatic victory. For many years England had claimed the right to stop
and search vessels at sea when she had reason to believe they carried
men or goods hostile to her interests. The United States denied the
right, and yet this was exactly what Captain Wilkes had done in stopping
the Trent. By giving up the prisoners the United States would thus force
England to admit that her own claim had been unjust, and bind her in
future to respect the rights of other ships at sea. Excited American
feeling was grievously disappointed, and harsh criticism of the
Administration for thus yielding to a foreign country was not wanting;
but American good sense soon saw the justice of the point taken and the
wisdom of Mr. Lincoln's course.
"He that is slow to anger," says the proverb, "is better than the
mighty, and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city." Great
as was his self-control in other matters, nowhere did Mr. Lincoln's
slowness to anger and nobility of spirit show itself more than in
his dealings with the generals of the Civil War. He had been elected
President. Congress had given him power far exceeding that which
any President had ever exercised before. As President he was also
Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States. By
proclamation he could call forth great armies and he could order those
armies to go wherever he chose to send them; but even he had no power
to make generals with the genius and the training necessary to lead them
instantly to success. He had to work with the materials at hand, and one
by one he tried the men who seemed best fitted for the task, giving each
his fullest trust and every aid in his power. They were as eager for
victory and as earnest of purpose as himself, but in every case some
misfortune or some fault marred the result, until the country grew weary
with waiting; discouragement overshadowed hope, and misgiving almost
engulfed his own strong soul. Then, at last, the right men were found,
the battles were all fought, and the war was at an end.
His kindness and patience in dealing with the generals who did not
succeed is the wonder of all who study the history of the Civil War. The
letters he wrote to them show better than whole volumes of description
could do the helpful and forbearing spirit in which he sought to aid
them. First among these unsuccessful generals was George B. McClellan,
who had been called to Washington after the battle of Bull Run and
placed in charge of the great new army of three years' volunteers that
was pouring so rapidly into the city. McClellan proved a wonderful
organizer. Under his skilful direction the raw recruits went to their
camps of instruction, fell without confusion or delay into brigades and
divisions, were supplied with equipments, horses and batteries, and put
through a routine of drill, tactics and reviews that soon made this Army
of the Potomac, as it was called, one of the best prepared armies the
world has ever seen--a perfect fighting machine of over 150,000 men and
more than 200 guns. General McClellan excelled in getting soldiers ready
to fight, but he did not succeed in leading them to fruitful victory. At
first the administration had great hopes of him as a commander. He
was young, enthusiastic, winning, and on arriving in Washington seemed
amazed and deeply touched by the confidence reposed in him. "I find
myself," he wrote to his wife, "in a new and strange position here,
President, cabinet, General Scott, and all, deferring to me. By some
strange operation of magic I seem to have become the power of the land."
His rise in military rank had equaled the inventions of fairy tales. He
had been only a captain during the Mexican war. Then he resigned. Two
months after volunteering for the Civil War he found himself a Major
General in the Regular Army. For a short time his zeal and activity
seemed to justify this amazing good fortune. In a fortnight however he
began to look upon himself as the principal savior of his country. He
entered upon a quarrel with General Scott which soon drove that old hero
into retirement and out of his pathway. He looked upon the cabinet as a
set of "geese," and seeing that the President was kind and unassuming in
discussing military affairs, he formed the habit of expressing contempt
for him in letters to confidential friends. This feeling grew until
it soon reached a mark of open disrespect, but the President's conduct
toward him did not change. Mr. Lincoln's nature was too forgiving,
and the responsibility that lay upon him was too heavy for personal
resentment. For fifteen months he strove to make McClellan succeed even
in spite of himself. He gave him help, encouragement, the most timely
suggestions. He answered his ever-increasing complaints with unfailing
self-control. It was not that he did not see McClellan's faults. He saw
them, and felt them keenly. "If Gen. McClellan does not want to use
the army, I would like to borrow it," he said one day, stung by the
General's inactivity into a sarcasm he seldom allowed himself to use.
But his patience was not exhausted. McClellan had always more soldiers
than the enemy, at Antietam nearly double his numbers, yet his constant
cry was for re-enforcements. Regiments were sent him that could ill be
spared from other points. Even when his fault-finding reached the height
of telegraphing to the Secretary of War, "If I save this army now I
tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you or to any other persons
in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this army," the
President answered him kindly and gently, without a sign of resentment,
anxious only to do everything in his power to help on the cause of
the war. It was of no avail. Even the great luck of finding a copy of
General Lee's orders and knowing exactly what his enemy meant to do, at
a time when the Confederate general had only about half as many troops
as he had, and these were divided besides, did not help him to success.
All he could do even then was to fight the drawn battle of Antietam,
and allow Lee to get away safely across the Potomac River into Virginia.
After this the President's long-suffering patience was at an end, but he
did not remove McClellan until he had visited the Army of the Potomac
in person. What he saw on that visit assured him that it could never
succeed under such a general. "Do you know what that is?" he asked a
friend, waving his arm towards the white tents of the great army. "It is
the Army of the Potomac, I suppose," was the wondering answer. "So it
is called," replied the President, in a tone of suppressed indignation.
"But that is a mistake. It is only McClellan's bodyguard." On November
5, 1862, McClellan was relieved from command, and this ended his
military career.
There were others almost equally trying. There was General Fremont,
who had been the Republican candidate for President in 1856. At the
beginning of the war he was given a command at St. Louis and charged
with the important duty of organizing the military strength of the
northwest, holding the State of Missouri true to the Union, and leading
an expedition down the Mississippi River. Instead of accomplishing
all that had been hoped for, his pride of opinion and unwillingness
to accept help or take advice from those about him, caused serious
embarrassment and made unending trouble. The President's kindness
and gentleness in dealing with his faults were as marked as they were
useless.
There was the long line of commanders who one after the other tried and
failed in the tasks allotted to them, while the country waited and lost
courage, and even Mr. Lincoln's heart sank. His care and wisdom
and sorrow dominated the whole long persistent struggle. That first
sleepless night of his after the battle of Bull Run was but the
beginning of many nights and days through which he kept unceasing watch.
From the time in June, 1861, when he had been called upon to preside
over the council of war that decided upon the Bull Run campaign, he
devoted every spare moment to the study of such books upon the art
of war as would aid him in solving the questions that he must face as
Commander-in-Chief of the armies. With his quick mind and unusual power
of logic he made rapid progress in learning the fixed and accepted
rules on which all military writers agree. His mastery of the difficult
science became so thorough, and his understanding of military situations
so clear, that he has been called, by persons well fitted to judge, "the
ablest strategist of the war." Yet he never thrust his knowledge upon
his generals. He recognized that it was their duty, not his, to fight
the battles, and since this was so, they ought to be allowed to fight
them in their own way. He followed their movements with keenest interest
and with a most astonishing amount of knowledge, giving a hint here, and
a suggestion there, when he felt that he properly could, but he rarely
gave a positive order.
There is not space to quote the many letters in which he showed his
military wisdom, or his kindly interest in the welfare and success
of the different generals. One of the most remarkable must however be
quoted. It is the letter he wrote to General Joseph Hooker on placing
him in command of the Army of the Potomac in January, 1863, after
McClellan's many failures had been followed by the crushing defeat of
the army under General McClellan's successor, General Burnside, at the
battle of Fredericksburg, on December 13, 1862.
"I have placed you," he wrote on giving General Hooker the command, "at
the head of the Army of the Potomac. Of course I have done this upon
what appear to me to be sufficient reasons, 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 council 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."
Perhaps no other piece of his writing shows as this does how completely
the genius of the President rose to the full height of his duties and
responsibilities. From beginning to end it speaks the language and
breathes the spirit of the great ruler, secure in popular confidence and
in official authority.
Though so many of the great battles during the first half of the war
were won by the Confederates, military successes came to the North
of course from time to time. With such fine armies and such earnest
generals the tide of battle could not be all one way; and even when
the generals made mistakes, the heroic fighting and endurance of the
soldiers and under-officers gathered honor out of defeat, and shed the
luster of renown over results of barren failure. But it was a weary
time, and the outlook was very dark. The President never despaired. On
the most dismal day of the whole dismal summer of 1862 he sent Secretary
Seward to New York with a confidential letter full of courage, to be
shown such of the governors of free States as could be hastily summoned
to meet him there. In it he said: "I expect to maintain this contest
until successful, or till I die, or am conquered, or my term expires,
or Congress or the country forsake me," and he asked for 100,000 fresh
volunteers with which to carry on the war. His confidence was not
misplaced. The governors of eighteen free States offered him three times
the number, and still other calls for troops followed. Soon a popular
song, "We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand strong,"
showed the faith and trust of the people in the man at the head of
the Government, and how cheerfully they met the great calls upon their
patriotism.
So, week after week and month after month, he faced the future, never
betraying a fear that the Union would not triumph in the end, but
grieving sorely at the long delay. Many who were not so sure came to him
with their troubles. He was beset by night and by day by people who had
advice to give or complaints to make. They besought him to dismiss this
or that General, to order such and such a military movement; to do a
hundred things that he, in his great wisdom, felt were not right, or for
which the time had not yet come. Above all, he was implored to take some
decided and far-reaching action upon slavery.