Lincoln at the Helm--First Days in Washington--Meeting Public Men
and Discussing Public Affairs--The Inauguration--The Inaugural
Address--A New Era Begun--Lincoln in the White House--The First
Cabinet--The President and the Office-seekers--Southern Prejudice
against Lincoln--Ominous Portents, but Lincoln not Dismayed--The
President's Reception Room--Varied Impressions of the New
President--Guarding the White House.
The week following Lincoln's arrival in Washington, and preceding his
inauguration, was for him one of incessant activity. From almost the
first moment he was engrossed either in preparations for his
inauguration and the official responsibilities which would immediately
follow that event, or in receiving the distinguished callers who
hastened to meet him and in discussing with them the grave aspects of
political affairs. Without rest or opportunity to survey the field that
lay before him, or any preparations save such as the resources of his
own strong character might afford him, he was plunged instantly into the
great political maelstrom in which he was to remain for four long years,
and whose wild vortex might well have bewildered an eye less sure, a
will less resolute, and a brain less cool than his. As Emerson put it,
"The new pilot was hurried to the helm in a tornado."
"Mr. Lincoln's headquarters," says Congressman Riddle of Ohio, "were at
Willard's Hotel; and the few days before the inauguration were given up
to a continuous reception in the broad corridor of the second floor,
near the stairway. I remember a notable morning when the majestic
General Scott, in full dress, sword, plumes, and bullion, came to pay
his respects to the incoming President. The scene was impressive. By the
unknown law that ruled his spirits, Mr. Lincoln was at his best,
complete master of himself and of all who came within the magic of his
presence. Never was he happier, speaking most of the time, flashing with
anecdote and story. That time now seems as remote as things of a hundred
years ago. The war antiquated all that went before it. The Washington,
the men, the spirit of that now ancient time, have faded past all power
to recall and reproduce them. The real Washington was as essentially
Southern as Richmond or Baltimore. 'Lincoln and his vandals,' fresh from
the North and West, were thronging the wide, squat, unattractive city,
from which the bolder and braver rebel element had not yet departed."
Dr. George B. Loring, of Massachusetts, who was one of the first to meet
Lincoln after his arrival in Washington, says: "I saw him on his
arrival, and when he made his first appearance in a public place. I was
standing in the upper hall of Willard's Hotel, conversing with a friend
and listening to the confused talk of the crowded drawing-room
adjoining. As we stood there, a tall and awkward form appeared above the
stairs, especially conspicuous, as it came into view, for a new and
stylish hat. It was evidently President Lincoln, whom neither of us had
seen before. As soon as his presence was known, the hall was thronged
from the drawing-rooms. He seemed somewhat startled by the crowd, did
not remove his hat, wended his way somewhat rapidly and with mere
passing recognition, and took shelter in his room. When the crowd had
dispersed, my friend and myself--although we had opposed his
election--called upon him to pay our respects. He received us with great
cordiality, spoke freely of the difficulties by which he was surrounded,
and referred with evident satisfaction to the support he had received
in Massachusetts. 'I like your man Banks,' said he, 'and have tried to
find a place for him in my Cabinet; but I am afraid I shall not quite
fetch it.' He bore the marks of anxiety in his countenance, which, in
its expression of patience, determination, resolve, and deep innate
modesty, was extremely touching."
Before leaving Springfield Lincoln had prepared his inaugural message
with great care, and placed it in a "gripsack" for transportation to
Washington. An odd incident, by which the message came near being lost
on the journey, was afterwards related by Lincoln to a friend. When the
party reached Harrisburg Lincoln asked his son Robert where the message
was, and was taken aback by his son's confession that in the excitement
caused by the enthusiastic reception he believed he had let a waiter
have the gripsack. Lincoln, in narrating the incident, said: "My heart
went up into my mouth, and I started downstairs, where I was told that
if a waiter had taken the gripsack I should probably find it in the
baggage-room. Going there, I saw a large pile of gripsacks and other
baggage, and thought that I discovered mine. My key fitted it, but on
opening there was nothing inside but a few paper collars and a flask of
whisky. A few moments afterward I came across my own gripsack, with the
document in it all right."
The fourth of March soon came, and with it the impressive ceremonies of
Lincoln's inauguration as President. A good description of the scene is
given by Dr. J.G. Holland. "The morning broke beautifully clear, and it
found General Scott and the Washington police in readiness. In the
hearts of the surging crowds there was anxiety; but outside all looked
as usual on such occasions, with the exception of an extraordinary
display of soldiers. The public buildings, the schools, and most of the
places of business, were closed during the day, and the stars and
stripes were floating from every flag-staff. There was a great desire to
hear Lincoln's inaugural; and at an early hour Pennsylvania Avenue was
full of people wending their way to the east front of the Capitol where
it was to be delivered. As the Presidential party reached the platform
erected for the ceremonies, Senator Baker of Oregon, one of Lincoln's
old friends and political rivals in Illinois, introduced him to the
assembly. There was not a very hearty welcome given to the President as
he stepped forward to read his inaugural. The reading was listened to
with profound attention, those passages which contained any allusion to
the Union being vociferously cheered. None listened more carefully than
Mr. Buchanan and Judge Taney, the latter of whom, with noticeable
agitation, administered the oath of office to Mr. Lincoln when his
address was ended."
Another eye-witness has described the dramatic scene, and the principal
actors in it, in the following graphic paragraphs: "Near noon I found
myself a member of the motley crowd gathered around the side entrance to
Willard's Hotel. Soon an open barouche drove up, and the only occupant
stepped out. A large, heavy, awkward-moving man, far advanced in years,
short and thin gray hair, full face plentifully seamed and wrinkled,
head curiously inclined to the left shoulder, a low-crowned,
broad-brimmed silk hat, an immense white cravat like a poultice
thrusting the old-fashioned standing collar up to the ears, dressed in
black throughout, with swallow-tail coat not of the newest style. It was
President Buchanan, calling to take his successor to the Capitol. In a
few minutes he reappeared, with Mr. Lincoln on his arm; the two took
seats side by side, and the carriage rolled away, followed by a rather
disorderly and certainly not very imposing procession. I had ample time
to walk to the Capitol, and no difficulty in securing a place where
everything could be seen and heard to the best advantage. The attendance
at the inauguration was, they told me, unusually small; many being kept
away by anticipated disturbance, as it had been rumored--not without
good grounds--that General Scott himself was fearful of an outbreak, and
had made all possible military preparations to meet the emergency. A
square platform had been built out from the steps to the eastern
portico, with benches for distinguished spectators on three sides.
Senator Douglas, the only one I recognized, sat at the extreme end of
the seat on the right of the narrow passage leading from the steps.
There was no delay, and the gaunt form of the President-elect was soon
visible, slowly making his way to the front. To me, at least, he was
completely metamorphosed--partly by his own fault, and partly through
the efforts of injudicious friends and ambitious tailors. He was raising
(to gratify a very young lady, it is said) a crop of whiskers, of the
blacking-brush variety, coarse, stiff, and ungraceful; and in so doing
spoiled, or at least seriously impaired, a face which, though never
handsome, had in its original state a peculiar power and pathos. On the
present occasion the whiskers were reinforced by brand-new clothes from
top to toe; black dress coat instead of the usual frock; black cloth or
satin vest, black pantaloons, and a glossy hat evidently just out of the
box. To cap the climax of novelty, he carried a huge ebony cane, with a
gold head the size of an egg. In these, to him, strange habiliments, he
looked so miserably uncomfortable that I could not help pitying him.
Reaching the platform, his discomfort was visibly increased by not
knowing what to do with hat and cane; and so he stood there, the target
for ten thousand eyes, holding his cane in one hand and his hat in the
other, the picture of helpless embarrassment. After some hesitation, he
pushed the cane into a corner of the railing, but could not find a place
for the hat, except on the floor, where I could see he did not like to
risk it. Douglas, who fully took in the situation, came to the rescue of
his old friend and rival, and held the precious hat until the owner
needed it again; a service which, if predicted two years before, would
probably have astonished him. The oath of office was administered by
Chief Justice Taney, whose black robes, attenuated figure, and
cadaverous countenance reminded me of a galvanized corpse. Then the
President came forward and read his inaugural address in a clear and
distinct voice. It was attentively listened to by all; but the closest
listener was Douglas, who leaned forward as if to catch every word,
nodding his head emphatically at those passages which most pleased him.
I must not forget to mention the presence of a Mephistopheles in the
person of Senator Wigfall of Texas, who stood with folded arms leaning
against the doorway of the Capitol, looking down upon the crowd and the
ceremony with a contemptuous air which sufficiently indicated his
opinion of the whole performance. To him, the Southern Confederacy was
already an accomplished fact."
"Under the shadow of the great Eastern portico of the Capitol," says
General John A. Logan, "with the retiring President and Cabinet, the
Supreme Court Justices, the Foreign Diplomatic Corps, and hundreds of
Senators, Representatives, and other distinguished persons filling the
great platform on either side and behind them, Abraham Lincoln stood
bareheaded before full thirty thousand people, upon whose uplifted faces
the unveiled glory of the mild Spring sun now shone--stood reverently
before that far greater and mightier Presence termed by himself, 'My
rightful masters, the American people'--and pleaded in a manly,
earnest, and affectionate strain with 'such as were dissatisfied' to
listen to the 'better angels' of their nature. 'Temperate, reasonable,
kindly persuasive'--it seems strange that Lincoln's inaugural address
did not disarm at least the personal resentment of the South toward him,
and sufficiently strengthen Union-loving people there against the
red-hot Secessionists, to put the 'brakes' down on rebellion."
The address was devoted almost exclusively to the great absorbing topic
of the hour--the attempt of the Southern States to withdraw from the
Union and erect an independent republic. The calm, firm, moderate,
judicious spirit which pervaded Lincoln's address is apparent in the
following quotations, which contain its most significant and memorable
passages:
_Fellow-Citizens of the United States_:--In compliance with a
custom as old as the Government itself, I appear before you to
address you briefly, and to take in your presence the oath
prescribed by the Constitution of the United States to be taken by
the President "before he enters on the execution of his office."
... Apprehension seems to exist among the people of the Southern
States, that by the accession of a Republican Administration their
property and their peace and personal security are to be
endangered. There has never been any reasonable cause for such
apprehension. Indeed, the most ample evidence to the contrary has
all the while existed and been open to their inspection. It is
found in nearly all the published speeches of him who now addresses
you. I do but quote from one of those speeches when I declare that
"I have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the
institution of slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I
have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do
so." Those who nominated and elected me did so with full knowledge
that I had made this and many similar declarations, and have never
recanted them.... I now reiterate these sentiments; and, in doing
so, I only press upon the public attention the most conclusive
evidence of which the case is susceptible, that the property,
peace, and security of no section are to be in anywise endangered
by the now incoming Administration. I add, too, that all the
protection which, consistently with the Constitution and the laws,
can be given, will be cheerfully given to all the States, when
lawfully demanded, for whatever cause--as cheerfully to one section
as to another.... I hold that, in contemplation of universal law,
and of the Constitution, _the Union of these States is perpetual_.
Perpetuity is implied, if not expressed, in the fundamental law of
all National Governments. It is safe to assert that no Government
proper ever had a provision in its organic law for its own
termination. Continue to execute all the express provisions of our
National Constitution, and the Union will endure forever.... I
therefore consider that, in view of the Constitution and the laws,
the Union is unbroken, and to the extent of my ability I shall take
care, as the Constitution itself expressly enjoins upon me, that
the laws of the Union be faithfully executed in all the States.
Doing this I deem to be only a simple duty on my part; and I shall
perform it, so far as practicable, unless my rightful masters, the
American people, shall withhold the requisite means, or, in some
authoritative manner, direct the contrary. I trust this will not be
regarded as a menace, but only as the declared purpose of the Union
that it will constitutionally defend and maintain itself. In doing
this, there need be no bloodshed or violence; and there shall be
none, unless it be forced upon the national authority. The power
confided to me will be used to hold, occupy, and possess the
property and places belonging to the Government, and to collect the
duties and imposts; but beyond what may be but necessary for these
objects, there will be no invasion, no using of force against or
among the people anywhere.... Physically speaking, we cannot
separate. We cannot remove our respective sections from each other,
nor build an impassable wall between them. A husband and wife may
be divorced, and go out of the presence and beyond the reach of
each other; but the different parts of our country cannot do this.
They cannot but remain face to face; and intercourse, either
amicable or hostile, must continue between them. It is impossible,
then, to make that intercourse more advantageous or more
satisfactory after separation than before. Can aliens make treaties
easier than friends can make law? Can treaties be more faithfully
enforced between aliens than laws can among friends? Suppose you go
to war, you cannot fight always; and when, after much loss on both
sides and no gain on either, you cease fighting, the identical old
questions, as to terms of intercourse, are again upon you.... This
country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit
it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the existing Government, they
can exercise their constitutional right of amending it, or their
revolutionary right to dismember or overthrow it. I cannot be
ignorant of the fact that many worthy and patriotic citizens are
desirous of having the National Constitution amended. While I make
no recommendation of amendments, I fully recognize the rightful
authority of the people over the whole subject, to be exercised in
either of the modes prescribed in the instrument itself; and I
should, under existing circumstances, favor rather than oppose a
fair opportunity being afforded the people to act upon it.... The
Chief Magistrate derives all his authority from the people, and
they have conferred none upon him to fix terms for the separation
of the States. The people themselves can do this also, if they
choose; but the Executive, as such, has nothing to do with it. His
duty is to administer the present Government as it came to his
hands, and to transmit it, unimpaired by him, to his successor....
By the frame of the Government under which we live, the same people
have wisely given their public servants but little power for
mischief; and have, with equal wisdom, provided for the return of
that little to their own hands at very short intervals. While the
people retain their virtue and vigilance, no administration, by any
extreme of wickedness or folly, can very seriously injure the
Government in the short space of four years.
My countrymen, one and all, think calmly and well upon this whole
subject. Nothing valuable can be lost by taking time. If there be
an object to hurry any of you in hot haste to a step which you
would never take deliberately, that object will be frustrated by
taking time; but no good can be frustrated by it. Such of you as
are now dissatisfied still have the old Constitution unimpaired,
and, on the sensitive point, the laws of your own framing under it;
while the new administration will have no immediate power, if it
would, to change either. If it were admitted that you who are
dissatisfied hold the right side in the dispute, there still is no
single good reason for precipitate action. Intelligence,
patriotism, Christianity, and a firm reliance on Him who has never
yet forsaken this favored land, are still competent to adjust, in
the best way, all our present difficulty.
In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine,
is the momentous issue of civil war. The Government will not assail
you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the
aggressors. You have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the
Government; while I shall have the most solemn one to "preserve,
protect, and defend" it.
I am loth to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be
enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break, our
bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from
every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and
hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of
the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the
better angels of our nature.
At the close of the address, which was delivered with the utmost
earnestness and solemnity, Lincoln, "with reverent look and impressive
emphasis, repeated the oath to preserve, protect, and defend the
Constitution of his country. Douglas, who knew the conspirators and
their plots, with patriotic magnanimity then grasped the hand of the
President, gracefully extended his congratulations, and the assurance
that in the dark future he would stand by him, and give to him his
utmost aid in upholding the Constitution and enforcing the laws of his
country."
"At the inauguration," says Congressman Riddle, "I stood within a yard
of Mr. Lincoln when he pronounced his famous address. How full of life
and power it then was, with the unction of his utterance! Surely, we
thought, the South, which rejected the concessions of Congress, would
accept him. How dry and quaint, yet ingenious, much of that inaugural
appears to me now, when the life and soul seem to have gone out of it! A
sad thing--a spectre of the day--will forever haunt my memory: Poor old
President Buchanan, short, stout, pale, white-haired, yet bearing
himself resolutely throughout, linked by the arm to the new President,
into whom from himself was passing the qualifying unction of the
Constitution, jostled hither and thither, as already out of men's sight,
yet bravely maintaining the shadow of dignity and place. How glad he
must have been to take leave of his successor at the White House when
all was ended!"
The formalities of the inauguration concluded, Lincoln passed back
through the Senate Chamber, and, again escorted by Mr. Buchanan, was
conducted to the White House, where the cares and anxieties of his
position immediately descended upon him. "Strange indeed," says General
Logan, "must have been the thoughts that crowded through the brain and
oppressed the heart of Abraham Lincoln that night--his first at the
White House. The City of Washington swarmed with rebels and rebel
sympathizers, and all the departments of Government were honeycombed
with treason and shadowed with treachery and espionage. Every step
proposed or contemplated by the Government would be known to the
so-called Government of the Confederate States almost as soon as thought
of. All means to thwart and delay the carrying out of the Government's
purposes that the excuses of routine and red tape admitted of would be
used by the traitors within the camp to aid the traitors without. No one
knew all this better than Mr. Lincoln. With no army, no navy, not even a
revenue cutter left--with forts and arsenals, ammunition and arms, in
possession of the South, with no money in the National Treasury, and the
National credit blasted--the position must, even to his hopeful nature,
have seemed desperate. Yet even in this awful hour, he was sustained by
confidence in the good effects of his conciliatory message to the South,
and by his trust in the patriotism of the people and the Providence of
God."
Mr. Welles, the incoming Secretary of the Navy, in writing of the period
immediately following the inauguration, says: "A strange state of things
existed at that time in Washington. The atmosphere was thick with
treason. Party spirit and old party differences prevailed amidst the
accumulating dangers. Secession was considered by most persons as a
political party question, not as rebellion. Democrats to a large extent
sympathized with the Rebels more than with the Administration. The
Republicans, on the other hand, were scarcely less partisan and
unreasonable ... clamorous for the removal of all Democrats,
indiscriminately, from office."
The President's first official act was the announcement of his Cabinet,
which was composed of the following persons: William H. Seward,
Secretary of State; Simon Cameron, Secretary of War; Salmon P. Chase,
Secretary of the Treasury; Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy; Caleb
B. Smith, Secretary of the Interior; Montgomery Blair, Postmaster
General; and Edward Bates, Attorney General. Lincoln had selected these
counselors with grave deliberation. In reply to the remonstrances urged,
on political grounds, against the appointment of one or two of them, he
had said: "The times are too grave and perilous for ambitious schemes
and personal rivalries. I need the aid of all of these men. They enjoy
the confidence of their several States and sections, and they will
strengthen the administration." On another occasion he remarked: "It
will require the utmost skill, influence, and sagacity of all of us, to
save the country; let us forget ourselves, and join hands like brothers
to save the Republic. If we succeed, there will be glory enough for
all."
Speculations have been almost endless as to how the Cabinet came to be
made up as it was. But the truth is, according to Secretary Welles, that
it was practically made up in Springfield almost as soon as Lincoln
found himself elected. In Lincoln's own words, as given by Mr. Welles:
"On the day of the Presidential election the operator of the telegraph
in Springfield placed his instrument at my disposal. I was there without
leaving, after the returns began to come in, until we had enough to
satisfy us how the election had gone. This was about two in the morning
of Wednesday. I went home, but not to get much sleep; for I then felt,
as I never had before, the responsibility that was upon me. I began at
once to feel that I needed support,--others to share with me the burden.
This was on Wednesday morning, and before the sun went down I had made
up my Cabinet. It was almost the same that I finally appointed."
The only two members of the Cabinet who served from the beginning to the
end of Lincoln's administration were Welles and Seward. Stanton was not
appointed until January 13, 1862, succeeding Simon Cameron. Chase left
the Treasury Department to become Chief Justice, and was succeeded in
the Treasury Department by ex-Governor Fessenden of Vermont, who in his
turn was succeeded by Hugh McCulloch. The Attorney General's chair was
filled successively by Bates and Speed. Caleb B. Smith was the first
Secretary of the Interior, succeeded (January 1, 1863) by John P. Usher.
The first Postmaster General was Montgomery Blair, who was followed
(September 4, 1864) by ex-Governor Dennison of Ohio. The appointment
that gave the greatest surprise of any in the Cabinet was that of
Stanton as Secretary of War. Stanton had been in Buchanan's cabinet as
Attorney General. He had been outspoken, almost brutal, in his scornful
hostility to Lincoln, and the appointment by him was as great a surprise
to Stanton as his acceptance of it was to everyone. When asked, somewhat
incredulously, what he would do as War Secretary Stanton replied, "_I
will make Abe Lincoln President of the United States_." Of the character
of this remarkable man, Mr. Alonzo Rothschild, in his interesting study
of the relations between Lincoln and Stanton ("Lincoln, Master of Men,"
p. 229), says: "Intense earnestness marked Stanton's every act. So
sharply were all his faculties focused upon the purpose of the hour
that he is to be classed among the one-idea men of history. Whatever
came between him and his goal encountered an iron will.... Quick to
penetrate through the husks of fraud into the very nubbin of things, he
was even more swiftly moved by relentless wrath to insist upon exposure
and punishment. The brief career [as Attorney General] in Buchanan's
cabinet had been long enough to demonstrate his almost savage hostility
toward official dishonesty, as well as his moral courage to grapple with
treason in high places. Above all, he evinced a loyalty to the Union
that rose above the party creed of a lifetime--that might demand of him
any sacrifice however great."
The first weeks of President Lincoln's residence in the Executive
Mansion were occupied with the arduous work of selecting loyal and
capable men for responsible positions in the Government service. The
departments at Washington were filled with disloyal men, who used the
means and influence pertaining to their places to aid the rebellious
States. It was of vital importance that these faithless officials should
be removed at the earliest moment, and their positions filled with men
of tried integrity. Lincoln desired to appoint for this purpose stanch,
competent, and trustworthy citizens, regardless of party distinctions.
But the labor involved in this duty was enormous and exhausting. There
was a multitude of vacant places, there were difficult questions to be
considered in a majority of cases, and there was a host of applicants
and their friends to be satisfied. Mr. Charles A. Dana relates a
circumstance which hints at the troubles encountered by Lincoln in this
province of his Presidential duties. "The first time I saw Mr. Lincoln,"
says Mr. Dana, "was shortly after his inauguration. He had appointed Mr.
Seward to be his Secretary of State; and some of the Republican leaders
of New York, who had been instrumental in preventing Mr. Seward's
nomination to the Presidency and in securing that of Mr. Lincoln, had
begun to fear that they would be left out in the cold in the
distribution of the offices. Accordingly several of them determined to
go to Washington, and I was asked to go with them. We all went up to the
White House together, except Mr. Stanton, who stayed away because he was
himself an applicant for office. Mr. Lincoln received us in the large
room upstairs in the east wing of the White House, where the President
had his working office, and stood up while General Wadsworth, who was
our principal spokesman, stated what was desired. After the interview
was begun, a big Indianian, who was a messenger in attendance in the
White House, came into the room and said to the President, 'She wants
you.' 'Yes, yes,' said Mr. Lincoln, without stirring. Soon afterward the
messenger returned again, exclaiming, 'I say she wants you.' The
President was evidently annoyed, but instead of going out after the
messenger he remarked to us: 'One side shall not gobble up everything.
Make out a list of the places and men you want, and I will endeavor to
apply the rule of give and take.' General Wadsworth answered: 'Our party
will not be able to remain in Washington, but we will leave such a list
with Mr. Carroll, and whatever he agrees to will be agreeable to us.'
Mr. Lincoln continued, 'Let Mr. Carroll come in to-morrow, and we will
see what can be done.'"
Lincoln was regarded with violent animosity by all who were in sympathy
with the peculiar prejudices of the slave States. The inhabitants of the
District of Columbia looked upon him with especial dislike. He was to
them an odious embodiment of the abhorred principles of Abolitionism. As
an illustration of this bitter feeling, Mr. Arnold narrates the
following anecdote: "A distinguished South Carolina lady--one of the
Howards--the widow of a Northern scholar, called upon him out of
curiosity. She was very proud and aristocratic, and was curious to see a
man who had been represented to her as a monster, a mixture of the ape
and the tiger. She was shown into the room where were Mr. Lincoln and
Senators Seward, Hale, Chase, and other prominent members of Congress.
As Mr. Seward, whom she knew, presented her to the President, she hissed
in his ear: 'I am a South Carolinian.' Instantly reading her character,
he turned and addressed her with the greatest courtesy, and dignified
and gentlemanly politeness. After listening a few moments, astonished to
find him so different from what he had been described to her, she said:
'Why, Mr. Lincoln, you look, act, and speak like a kind, good-hearted,
generous man.' 'And did you expect to meet a savage?' said he.
'Certainly I did, or even something worse,' replied she. 'I am glad I
have met you,' she continued, 'and now the best way to preserve peace is
for you to go to Charleston and show the people what you are, and tell
them you have no intention of injuring them.' Returning home, she found
a party of Secessionists, and on entering the room she exclaimed, 'I
have seen him! I have seen him!' 'Who?' they inquired. 'That terrible
monster, Lincoln, and I found him a gentleman, and I am going to his
first levee after his inauguration.' At his first reception, this tall
daughter of South Carolina, dressing herself in black velvet, with two
long white plumes in her hair, repaired to the White House. She was
nearly six feet high, with black eyes and black hair, and in her velvet
and white feathers she was a striking and majestic figure. As she
approached the President he recognized her immediately. 'Here I am
again,' said she, 'that South Carolinian.' 'I am glad to see you,'
replied he, 'and to assure you that the first object of my heart is to
preserve peace, and I wish that not only you but every son and daughter
of South Carolina were here, that I might tell them so.' Mr. Cameron,
Secretary of War, came up, and after some remarks he said, 'South
Carolina [which had already seceded] is the prodigal son.' 'Ah, Mr.
Secretary,' said she, 'if South Carolina is the prodigal son, Uncle Sam,
our father, ought to divide the inheritance, and let her go; but they
say you are going to make war upon us; is it so?' 'Oh, come back,' said
Lincoln, 'tell South Carolina to come back now, and we will kill the
fatted calf.'"
The impression which Lincoln made on those who met him at the outset of
his career as President, and their varied comments and descriptions, are
matters of peculiar interest. At first, many people did not understand
him--hardly knew what to make of a personality so unlike any they had
ever seen in high places before. But he soon began to show those
qualities of calm self-reliance, quickness to grasp the essential
factors of a situation and readiness to meet it, courage, patience,
firmness, breadth of view and kindliness, practical tact and wisdom,
which were a surprise to all who knew him, and are now seen to be but a
rapid and logical unfolding, under the stimulus of his enormous
responsibilities, of his great natural powers. The test had come, the
crisis was upon him; and he met them marvelously well.
General W.T. Sherman contributes an interesting reminiscence at this
point. "One day," says General Sherman, "my brother, Senator Sherman,
took me with him to see Mr. Lincoln. We found the room full of people.
Mr. Lincoln sat at the end of a table, talking with three or four
gentlemen, who soon left. John walked up, shook hands, and took a chair
near him, holding in his hand some papers referring to minor
appointments in the State of Ohio, which formed the subject of
conversation. Mr. Lincoln took the papers, said he would refer them to
the proper heads of departments, and would be glad to make the
appointments asked for, if not already promised. John then turned to me,
and said, 'Mr. President, this is my brother, Colonel Sherman, who is
just up from Louisiana; he may give you some information you want.'
'Ah!' said Mr. Lincoln, 'how are they getting along down there?' I said,
'They think they are getting along swimmingly--they are preparing for
war.' 'Oh, well!' said he, '_I guess we'll manage to keep house_.' I was
silenced, said no more to him, and we soon left. I was sadly
disappointed, and remember that I broke out on John, cursing the
politicians generally, saying, 'You have got things in a ---- of a fix,
and you may get them out as best you can,' adding that the country was
sleeping on a volcano that might burst forth at any minute, but that I
was going to St. Louis to take care of my family, and would have no more
to do with it. John begged me to be more patient, but I said I would
not; that I had no time to wait, that I was off for St. Louis; and off I
went."
The apartment which Lincoln used as an office in which to transact daily
business and to receive informal visits was on the second floor of the
White House. Its simple equipments are thus described by Mr. Arnold: "It
was about twenty-five by forty feet in size. In the centre, on the west,
was a large white marble fireplace, with big old-fashioned brass
andirons, and a large and high brass fender. A wood fire was burning in
cool weather. The large windows opened on the beautiful lawn to the
south, with a view of the unfinished Washington Monument, the
Smithsonian Institution, the Potomac, Alexandria, and on down the river
toward Mt. Vernon. Across the Potomac were Arlington Heights and
Arlington House, late the residence of Robert E. Lee. On the hills
around, during nearly all Lincoln's administration, were the white tents
of soldiers, field fortifications and camps, and in every direction
could be seen the brilliant colors of the national flag. The furniture
of this room consisted of a large oak table covered with cloth,
extending north and south; and it was around this table that the Cabinet
sat when it held its meetings. Near the end of the table, and between
the windows, was another table, on the west side of which the President
sat in a large armchair, and at this table he wrote. A tall desk with
pigeon-holes for papers stood against the south wall. The only books
usually found in this room were the Bible, the United States Statutes,
and a copy of Shakespeare. There were a few chairs and two plain
hair-covered sofas. There were two or three map frames, from which hung
military maps on which the position and movements of the armies were
traced. On the mantel was an old and discolored engraving of General
Jackson and a later photograph of John Bright. Doors opened into this
room from the room of the Secretary, and from the outside hall running
east and west across the House. A bell cord within reach of his hand
extended to the Secretary's office. A messenger who stood at the door
opening from the hall took in the cards and names of visitors. Here, in
this plain room, Lincoln spent most of his time while President. Here he
received everyone, from the Chief Justice and Lieutenant-General to the
private soldier and humblest citizen. Custom had fixed certain rules of
precedence, and the order in which officials should be received. Members
of the Cabinet and the high officers of the army and navy were
generally promptly admitted. Senators and members of Congress were
received in the order of their arrival. Sometimes there would be a crowd
of them waiting their turn. While thus waiting, the loud ringing laugh
of Mr. Lincoln would be heard by the waiting and impatient crowd. Here,
day after day, often from early morning to late at night, Lincoln sat,
listened, talked, and decided. He was patient, just, considerate, and
hopeful. The people came to him as to a father. He saw everyone, and
many wasted his precious time. Governors, Senators, Congressmen,
officers, clergymen, bankers, merchants--all classes approached him with
familiarity. This incessant labor, the study of the great problems he
had to decide, the worry of constant importunity, the quarrels of
officers of the army, the care, anxiety, and responsibility of his
position, wore upon his vigorous frame."
Mr. Ben. Perley Poore states that "the White House, while Mr. Lincoln
occupied it, was a fertile field for news, which he was always ready to
give those correspondents in whom he had confidence; but the
surveillance of the press--first by Secretary Seward, and then by
Secretary Stanton--was as annoying as it was inefficient.... Often when
Mr. Lincoln was engaged, correspondents would send in their cards,
bearing requests for some desired item of news or for the verification
of some rumor. He would either come out and give the coveted
information, or he would write it on the back of the card and send it to
the owner. He wrote a legible hand, slowly and laboriously perfecting
his sentences before he placed them on paper. The long epistles that he
wrote to his generals he copied himself, not wishing anyone else to see
them, and these copies were kept in pigeon-holes for reference.... Mr.
Lincoln used to wear at the White House in the morning, and after
dinner, a long-skirted faded dressing-gown, belted around his waist, and
slippers. His favorite attitude when listening--and he was a good
listener--was to lean forward, and clasp his left knee with both hands,
as if fondling it, and his face would then wear a sad and wearied look.
But when the time came for him to give an opinion on what he had heard,
or to tell a story which something 'reminded him of,' his face would
lighten up with its homely, rugged smile, and he would run his fingers
through his bristly black hair, which would stand out in every direction
like that of an electric experiment doll."
John G. Nicolay, afterward Lincoln's private secretary, says: "The
people beheld in the new President a man six feet four inches in height,
a stature which of itself would be hailed in any assemblage as one of
the outward signs of leadership; joined to this was a spare but muscular
frame, and large strongly-marked features corresponding to his unusual
stature. Quiet in demeanor but erect in bearing, his face even in repose
was not unattractive; and when lit up by his open, genial smile, or
illuminated in the utterance of a strong or stirring thought, his
countenance was positively handsome. His voice, pitched in rather a high
key, but of great clearness and penetration, made his public remarks
audible to a wide circle of listeners."
Henry Champion Deming says of Lincoln's appearance at this time:
"Conceive a tall and giant figure, more than six feet in height, not
only unencumbered with superfluous flesh, but reduced to the minimum
working standard of cord and sinew and muscle, strong and indurated by
exposure and toil, with legs and arms long and attenuated, but not
disproportionately to the long and attenuated trunk; in posture and
carriage not ungraceful, but with the grace of unstudied and careless
ease rather than of cultivated airs and high-bred pretensions. His dress
is uniformly of black throughout, and would attract but little attention
in a well-dressed circle, if it hung less loosely upon him, and if the
ample white shirt collar were not turned over his cravat in Western
style. The face that surmounts this figure is half Roman and half
Indian, bronzed by climate, furrowed by life struggles, seamed with
humor; the head is massive and covered with dark, thick, and
unmanageable hair; the brow is wide and well developed, the nose large
and fleshy, the lips full, cheeks thin and drawn down in strong, corded
lines, which, but for the wiry whiskers, would disclose the machinery
which moves the broad jaw. The eyes are dark gray, sunk in deep sockets,
but bright, soft and beautiful in expression, sometimes lost and half
abstracted, as if their glance was reversed and turned inward, or as if
the soul which lighted them was far away. The teeth are white and
regular, and it is only when a smile, radiant, captivating, and winning
as was ever given to mortal, transfigures the plain countenance, that
you begin to realize that it is not impossible for artists to admire and
women to love it."
Mr. John Bigelow, who was appointed consul to Paris in 1861, and was
afterwards minister to France, describes in his "Retrospections of an
Active Life" his first visit to Lincoln and the impressions gained by
him at that early period in Lincoln's official career. "The day
following my arrival in Washington Preston King, Senator from New York,
invited me to go with him to be presented to President Lincoln, an
invitation which of course I embraced with alacrity; for as yet I had
not met him, and knew him only by his famous senatorial campaign against
Douglas in Illinois and the masterly address which he delivered at the
Cooper Institute shortly before his nomination in New York.... The new
President received us in his private room at an early hour of the
morning; another gentleman was with him at the time, a member of the
Senate, I believe. We were with him from a half to three-quarters of an
hour. The conversation, in which I took little or no part, turned upon
the operations in the field. I observed no sign of weakness in anything
the President said; neither did I hear anything that particularly
impressed me, which, under the circumstances, was not surprising. What
did impress me, however, was what I can only describe as a certain lack
of sovereignty. He seemed to me, nor was it in the least strange that he
did, like a man utterly unconscious of the space which the President of
the United States occupied that day in the history of the human race,
and of the vast power for the exercise of which he had become personally
responsible. This impression was strengthened by Mr. Lincoln's modest
habit of disclaiming knowledge of affairs and familiarity with duties,
and frequent avowals of ignorance, which, even where it exists, it is as
well for a captain as far as possible to conceal from the public. The
authority of an executive officer largely consists in what his
constituents think it is. Up to that time Mr. Lincoln had had few
opportunities of showing the nation the qualities which won all hearts
and made him one of the most conspicuous and enduring historic
characters of the century."
Some uncommonly vivid "first impressions" of Lincoln are given in the
Journals of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who early in February of 1862 made a
visit to Washington for the purpose of delivering a lecture before the
Smithsonian Institution--a lecture which Lincoln is said to have
attended. A day or two afterwards Emerson was taken by Senator Sumner of
Massachusetts to call at the White House. "The President impressed me,"
says Emerson, "more favorably than I had hoped. A frank, sincere,
well-meaning man, with a lawyer's habit of mind, good clear statement of
his facts; correct enough, not vulgar, as described, but with a sort of
boyish cheerfulness, or that kind of sincerity and jolly good meaning
that our class-meetings on Commencement Days show, in telling our old
stories over. When he has made his remark he looks up at you with great
satisfaction, and shows all his white teeth, and laughs.... When I was
introduced to him he said, 'Oh, Mr. Emerson, I once heard you say in a
lecture that a Kentuckian seems to say by his air and manners, "Here am
I; if you don't like me, the worse for you."'" (The point of this of
course is that Lincoln was himself a Kentuckian.) A day or two later
Emerson again called on the President, this time in the company of
Secretary Seward. It being Sunday evening, Seward asked the President if
he had been to church, to which the latter answered that he had
not--that he had been reading, for the first time, Senator Sumner's
speech in the Senate on the Trent affair. This was followed by some
general conversation on the Trent affair, in which the President
expressed his gratification at the friendly attitude taken in the matter
by France and Spain.
Private Secretary Hay thus writes of Lincoln's character and
disposition: "All agree that the most marked characteristic of Mr.
Lincoln's manners was his simplicity and artlessness; this immediately
impressed itself upon the observation of those who met him for the first
time, and each successive interview deepened the impression. People
seemed delighted to find in the ruler of the nation freedom from
pomposity and affectation, mingled with a certain simple dignity which
never forsook him. Though oppressed with the weight of responsibility
resting upon him as President of the United States, he shrank from
assuming any of the honors, or even the titles, of the position. After
years of intimate acquaintance with Mr. Lincoln, the writer cannot now
recall a single instance in which he spoke of himself as President, or
used that title for himself except when acting in an official capacity.
He always spoke of his position and office vaguely, as, 'this place,'
'here,' or other modest phrase. Once, speaking of the room in the
Capitol used by the Presidents of the United States during the close of
a session of Congress, he said, 'That room, you know, that they
call'--dropping his voice and hesitating--'the President's room.' To an
intimate friend who addressed him always by his own proper title, he
said, 'Now call me Lincoln, and I'll promise not to tell of the breach
of etiquette--if _you_, won't--and I shall have a resting-spell from
"Mister President."' With all his simplicity and unacquaintance with
courtly manners, his native dignity never forsook him in the presence of
critical polished strangers; but mixed with his angularities and
_bonhomie_ was something which spoke the fine fiber of the man; and
while his sovereign disregard of courtly conventionalities was somewhat
ludicrous, his native sweetness and straightforwardness of manner served
to disarm criticism and impress the visitor that he was before a man
pure, self-poised, collected, and strong in unconscious strength. Of
him, an accomplished foreigner, whose knowledge of the courts was more
perfect than that of the English language, said, 'He seems to me one
grand _gentilhomme_ in disguise.'" Mr. Hay adds that Lincoln's
simplicity of manner "was marked in his total lack of consideration of
what was due his exalted station. He had an almost morbid dread of what
he called 'a scene'--that is, a demonstration of applause, such as
always greeted his appearance in public. The first sign of a cheer
sobered him; he appeared sad and oppressed, suspended conversation, and
looked out into vacancy; and when it was over, resumed the conversation
just where it was interrupted, with an obvious feeling of relief....
Speaking of an early acquaintance who was an applicant for an office
which he thought him hardly qualified to fill, the President said,
'Well, now, I never thought M---- had any more than average ability,
when we were young men together; really I did not.' [A pause.] 'But,
then, I suppose he thought just the same about me; he had reason to,
and--here I am!'"
General Carl Schurz says: "In the White House, as in his simple home in
Springfield, Mr. Lincoln was the same plain, unaffected, unpretentious
citizen. He won the admiration and affection of even the most
punctilious of the foreign diplomats by the tenderness of his nature and
the touching simplicity of his demeanor.... He was, in mind and heart,
the very highest type of development of a plain man. He was a born
leader of men, and the qualities that made him a leader were of the
plain, common-sense type.... Lincoln had one great advantage over all
the chief statesmen of his day. He had a thorough knowledge of the plain
people. He knew their habits, their modes of thought, their unfailing
sense of justice and right. He relied upon the popular feeling, in great
measure, for his guidance."
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe said of the qualities which Lincoln exhibited
in the White House: "Lincoln is a strong man, but his strength is of a
peculiar kind; it is not aggressive so much as passive; and among
passive things, it is like the strength not so much of a stone buttress
as of a wire cable. It is strength swaying to every influence, yielding
on this side and on that, to popular needs, yet tenaciously and
inflexibly bound to carry its great end.... Slow and careful in coming
to resolutions, willing to talk with every person who has anything to
show on any side of a disputed subject, long in weighing and pondering,
attached to constitutional limits and time-honored landmarks, Lincoln
certainly was the _safest_ leader a nation could have at a time when the
_habeas corpus_ must be suspended and all the constitutional and minor
rights of citizens be thrown into the hands of their military leader. A
reckless, bold, theorizing, dashing man of genius might have wrecked our
Constitution and ended us in a splendid military despotism."
The fear lest the virulent enemies of the administration should attempt
to assassinate Lincoln was so wide-spread that military measures were
enforced to protect him from secret assault. General Charles P. Stone,
to whom the duty was entrusted of establishing the necessary
precautions, has furnished a brief report on the subject. "From the
first," says General Stone, "I took, under the orders of the
General-in-chief, especial care in guarding the Executive
Mansion--without, however, doing it so ostentatiously as to attract
public attention. It was not considered advisable that it should appear
that the President of the United States was, for his personal safety,
obliged to surround himself by armed guards. Mr. Lincoln was not
consulted in the matter. But Captain Todd, formerly an officer of the
regular army, who was, I believe, the brother-in-law of Mr. Lincoln, was
then residing in the Presidential Mansion, and with him I was daily and
nightly in communication, in order that in case of danger one person in
the President's household should know where to find the main body of the
guard, to the officer commanding which Captain Todd was each night
introduced. Double sentries were placed in the shrubbery all around the
mansion, and the main body of the guard was posted in a vacant
basement-room, from which a staircase led to the upper floors. A person
entering by the main gate and walking up to the front door of the
Executive Mansion during the night could see no sign of a guard; but
from the moment anyone entered the grounds by any entrance, he was under
the view of at least two riflemen standing silent in the shrubbery, and
any suspicious movement on his part would have caused his immediate
arrest; while inside, the call of Captain Todd would have been promptly
answered by armed men. The precautions were taken before Fort Sumter was
fired on, as well as afterward. One night near midnight," continues
General Stone, "I entered the grounds for the purpose of inspecting the
guard, and was surprised to see a bright light in the East room. As I
entered the basement I heard a loud noise, as of many voices talking
loudly, mingled with the ringing of arms, coming from the great
reception room. On questioning the commander of the guard, I learned
that many gentlemen had entered the house at a late hour, but they had
come in boldly; no objection had been made from within, but on the
contrary Captain Todd had told him all was right. I ascended the
interior staircase and entered the East room, where I found more than
fifty men, among whom were Hon. Cassius M. Clay and General Lane. All
were armed with muskets, which they were generally examining, and it was
the ringing of many rammers in the musket barrels which had caused the
noise I had heard. Mr. Clay informed me that he and a large number of
political friends, _deeming it very improper that the President's person
should in such times be unguarded_, had formed a voluntary guard which
would remain there every night and see to it that Mr. Lincoln was well
protected. I applauded the good spirit exhibited, but did not, however,
cease the posting of the outside guards, nor the nightly inspections
myself as before, until the time came when others than myself became
responsible for the safety of the President."
It is stated that Lincoln "had an almost morbid dislike to an escort, or
guard, and daily exposed himself to the deadly aim of an assassin." To
the remonstrances of friends, who feared his constant exposure to
danger, he had but one answer: "If they kill me, the next man will be
just as bad for them; and in a country like this, where our habits are
simple, and must be, assassination is always possible, and will come if
they are determined upon it." A cavalry guard was once placed at the
gates of the White House for a while, and Lincoln said that he "worried
until he got rid of it." He once remarked to Colonel Halpine: "It would
never do for a President to have guards with drawn sabers at his door,
as if he fancied he were, or were trying to be, or were assuming to be,
an emperor." While the President's family were at their summer-house,
near Washington, he rode into town of a morning, or out at night,
attended by a mounted escort; but if he returned to town for a while
after dark, he rode in unguarded, and often alone, in his open carriage.
On more than one occasion, the same writer tells us, he "has gone
through the streets of Washington at a late hour of the night with the
President, without escort, or even the company of a servant, walking all
the way, going and returning. Considering the many open and secret
threats to take his life, it is not surprising that Lincoln had many
thoughts about his coming to a sudden and violent end. He once said that
he felt the force of the expression, 'To take one's life in his hand';
but that he would not like to face death suddenly. He said that he
thought himself a great coward physically, and was sure that he would
make a poor soldier, for unless there was something inspiriting in the
excitement of a battle he was sure that he would drop his gun and run at
the first symptom of danger. That was said sportively, and he added,
'Moral cowardice is something which I think I never had.'"