Lincoln's Wise Statesmanship--The Mason and Slidell
Affair--Complications with England--Lincoln's "Little Story" on the
Trent Affair--Building of the "Monitor"--Lincoln's Part in the
Enterprise--The President's First Annual Message--Discussion of the
Labor Question--A President's Reception in War Time--A Great
Affliction--Death in the White House--Chapters from the Secret
Service--A Morning Call on the President--Goldwin Smith's
Impressions of Lincoln--Other Notable Tributes.
In November of 1861 occurred one of the most important and perilous
episodes of the war; one whose full significance was not understood,
except by a few cool heads, until long afterwards. Two influential
Southern politicians, Mason and Slidell, had been sent by the
Confederate Government as Commissioners to Great Britain and France, to
try to secure the recognition of the Confederacy; and while on board the
British steamer "Trent" they were taken prisoners by the U.S. steamer
"San Jacinto," and were brought to Washington. Great Britain loudly
protested against what she regarded as an unwarrantable seizure of
passengers under the British flag, and for a time excitement ran high
and war with England seemed almost inevitable. Fortunately for our
country, the controversy was amicably settled by the surrender of the
prisoners, without any sacrifice of the dignity of the Government of the
United States. As stated by "Hosea Biglow,"--
We gave the critters back, John,
Cos Abraham thought 't was right;
It wa'nt your bullyin' clack, John,
Provokin' us to fight.
The statesmanship displayed by our Government throughout this difficult
affair was of the highest order. Credit for it has been given to Mr.
Seward, the Secretary of State, by whom the correspondence and
negotiations were conducted. Few men could have managed these details
better; yet the course that was so happily determined on was undoubtedly
due to the good sense and shrewd wisdom of the President. He not only
dictated the policy to be followed by Mr. Seward in his despatches to
the American Minister in London, but the more important documents were
revised and materially altered by Lincoln's own hand. His management of
the Trent affair alone, it has been said, would suffice to establish his
reputation as the ablest diplomatist of the war. Coming, as it did, at a
time when Lincoln was overwhelmed with the burden of home affairs, it
showed the surprising resources of his character. The readiness and
ability with which he met this perilous emergency, in a field in which
he had had absolutely no experience or preparation, was equaled only by
his cool courage and self-reliance in following a course radically
opposed to the prevailing public sentiment, to the views of Congress,
and to the advice of his own Cabinet. The Secretary of the Navy had
hastened to approve officially the act of Captain Wilkes, commander of
the "San Jacinto," and Secretary Stanton "cheered and applauded" it.
Even Mr. Seward, cautious and conservative diplomat as he was, at-first
"opposed any concession or surrender of the prisoners." But Lincoln said
significantly, "_One war at a time_." Events have long since afforded
the most ample vindication of his course in this important matter. He
avoided a foreign war, while at the same time, by committing Great
Britain to the doctrine of "peace between neutrals," gained a
substantial diplomatic victory over that government.
An excellent account of the circumstances of the Trent affair is given
by Benson J. Lossing, the author and historian, who was in Washington
when the events occurred. "The act of Captain Wilkes," says Mr. Lossing,
"was universally applauded by all loyal Americans, and the land was
filled with rejoicings because two of the most mischievous men among the
enemies of the Government were in custody. For the moment, men did not
stop to consider the law or the expediency involved in the act. Public
honors were tendered to Captain Wilkes, and resolutions of thanks were
passed by public bodies. The Secretary of the Navy wrote him a
congratulatory letter on the 'great public services' he had rendered in
'capturing the rebel emissaries, Mason and Slidell,' and assured him
that his conduct had 'the emphatic approval of the department.' The
House of Representatives tendered him their thanks for the service he
had done. But there was one thoughtful man in the nation, in whom was
vested the tremendous executive power of the Republic at that time, and
whose vision was constantly endeavoring to explore the mysteries of the
near future, who held calmer and wiser thoughts than most men at that
critical moment, because his feelings were kept in subjection to his
judgment by a sense of heavy responsibility. That man was Abraham
Lincoln. The writer was in the office of the Secretary of War when the
telegraphic despatch announcing the capture of Mason and Slidell was
brought in and read. He can never forget the scene that ensued. Led by
Secretary Stanton, who was followed by Governor Andrew of Massachusetts
and others who were present, cheer after cheer was heartily given by the
company. A little later, the writer was favored with a brief interview
with the President, when the clear judgment of that far-seeing and
sagacious statesman uttered through his lips the words which formed the
suggestion of, and the keynote to, the judicious action of the Secretary
of State afterwards. 'I fear the traitors will prove to be white
elephants,' said Mr. Lincoln. 'We must stick to American principles
concerning the rights of neutrals,' he continued. 'We fought Great
Britain for insisting, by theory and practise, on the right to do just
what Captain Wilkes has just done. If Great Britain shall now protest
against the act, and demand their release, we must give them up,
apologize for the act as a violation of our own doctrines, and thus
_forever bind her over to keep the peace in relation to neutrals_, and
so acknowledge that she has been wrong for sixty years.' Great Britain
did protest and make the demand, and at the same time made preparations
for war against the United States. On the same day that Lord John
Russell sent the protest and demand to Lord Lyons, the British Minister
at Washington, Secretary Seward forwarded a despatch to Minister Adams
in London, informing him that this Government disclaimed the act of
Captain Wilkes, and giving assurance that it was ready to make a
satisfactory arrangement of all difficulties arising out of the
unauthorized act. These despatches passed each other in mid-ocean. The
Government, in opposition to popular sentiment, decided at once to
restore Mason and Slidell to the protection of the British flag. It was
soon afterwards done, war between the two nations was averted, and, in
the language of President Lincoln, the British Government was 'forever
bound to keep the peace in relation to neutrals.' The wise statesmanship
exhibited at that critical time was originated by Abraham Lincoln."
Lincoln once confessed that the Trent affair, occurring as it did at a
very critical period of the war, had given him great uneasiness. When
asked whether it was not a great trial to surrender the two captured
Commissioners, he said: "Yes, that was a pretty bitter pill to swallow,
but I contented myself with believing that England's triumph in the
matter would be short-lived, and that after ending our war successfully
we could if we wished call England to account for the embarrassments she
had inflicted upon us. I felt a good deal like the sick man in Illinois
who was told he probably hadn't many days longer to live, and that he
ought to make peace with any enemies he might have. He said the man he
hated worst of all was a fellow named Brown, in the next village, and he
guessed he had better begin on him. So Brown was sent for, and when he
came the sick man began to say, in a voice as meek as Moses', that he
wanted to die at peace with all his fellow-creatures, and hoped he and
Brown could now shake hands and bury all their enmity. The scene was
becoming altogether too pathetic for Brown, who had to get out his
handkerchief and wipe the gathering tears from his eyes. It wasn't long
before he melted and gave his hand to his neighbor, and they had a
regular love-feast. After a parting that would have softened the heart
of a grindstone, Brown had about reached the room door, when the sick
man rose up on his elbow and said, 'But, see here, Brown, if I _should_
happen to get well, mind _that old grudge stands_!' So I thought if this
nation should happen to get well, we might want that old grudge against
England to stand."
Other controversies with England arose during the progress of the
war--over the fitting out of Confederate cruisers at English ports to
prey upon the commerce of the United States, over captured mails,
etc.--in which all of Lincoln's sagacity and patience were needed to
avert an open rupture with the British government. That the strain was
severe and the danger great is made clear by an entry in Mr. Welles's
Diary, in which he says: "We are in no condition for a foreign war. Torn
by dissensions, an exhausting civil war on our hands, we have a gloomy
prospect, but a righteous cause that will ultimately succeed. God alone
knows through what trials, darkness, and suffering we are to pass."
Again, in dealing with the French invasion of Mexico, Lincoln--as Mr.
John Bigelow (then minister to France) puts it--"wisely limited himself
to a firm repetition of the views and principles held by the United
States in relation to foreign invasion," and thereby gained a diplomatic
victory. How well "the old grudge against England" stood is shown by the
substantial damages obtained from her, some years after the war, on the
claims against the Alabama and other privateers, the foundations of
which had been wisely laid by President Lincoln.
In the autumn of 1861 was originated the plan of a new naval vessel,
which became the "Monitor"--the forerunner of the modern iron-clad, and
the formidable little craft that beat back the "Merrimac" ram at Hampton
Roads, March 9, 1862, saved the Federal Navy, and revolutionized naval
architecture. The interesting story of the project, and of Lincoln's
relation to it, is thus told: "The invention belongs to Captain John
Ericsson, a man of marvelous ability and most fertile brain; but the
creation of the 'Monitor' belongs to two distinguished iron-masters of
the State of New York, viz.: the Hon. John F. Winslow and his partner in
business, the Hon. John A. Griswold. These two gentlemen were in
Washington in the autumn of 1861, for the adjustment of some claims
against the Government for iron plating furnished by them for the
war-ship 'Galena.' There, through Mr. C.S. Bushnell, the agent of
Captain Ericsson, they learned that the plans and specifications for a
naval machine, or a floating iron battery, presented by Captain
Ericsson, found no favor with the special board appointed by Congress in
1861 to examine and report upon the subject of iron-clad ships of war.
Ericsson and his agent, Mr. Bushnell, were thoroughly disheartened and
demoralized at this failure to interest the Government in their plans.
The papers were placed in the hands of Messrs. Winslow and Griswold,
with the earnest request that they would examine them, and, if they
thought well of them, use their influence with the Government for their
favorable consideration. Mr. Winslow carefully read the papers and
became satisfied that Ericsson's plan was both feasible and desirable.
After conference with his friend and partner, Mr. Griswold, it was
determined to take the whole matter to President Lincoln. Accordingly,
an interview was arranged with Mr. Lincoln, to whom the plans of Captain
Ericsson were presented, with all the unction and enthusiasm of an
honest and mastering conviction, by Mr. Winslow and Mr. Griswold, who
had now become thoroughly interested in the undertaking. The President
listened with attention and growing interest. When they were done, Mr.
Lincoln said, 'Gentlemen, why do you bring this matter to me? Why not
take it to the Department having these things in charge?' 'It has been
taken already to the Department, and there met with a repulse, and we
come now to you with it, Mr. President, to secure your influence. We are
here not simply as business men, but as lovers of our country, and we
believe most thoroughly that here is something upon which we can enter
that will be of vast benefit to the Republic,' was the answer. Mr.
Lincoln was roused by the terrible earnestness of Mr. Winslow and his
friend Griswold, and said, in his inimitable manner, 'Well, I don't know
much about ships, though I once contrived a canal-boat--the model of
which is down in the Patent Office--the great merit of which was that it
could run where there was no water. But I think there is something in
this plan of Ericsson's. I'll tell you what I will do. I will meet you
to-morrow at ten o'clock, at the office of Commodore Smith, and we will
talk it all over.' The next morning the meeting took place according to
the appointment. Mr. Lincoln was present. The Secretary of the Navy,
with many of the influential men of the Navy Department, also were
there. The office where they met was rude in its belongings. Mr. Lincoln
sat upon a rough box. Mr. Winslow, without any knowledge of naval
affairs other than that which general reading would give, entered upon
his task with considerable trepidation, but his whole heart was in it,
and his showing was so earnest, practical, and patriotic, that a
profound impression was made. 'Well,' said Mr. Lincoln, after Mr.
Winslow had finished, 'well, Commodore Smith, what do you think of it?'
The Commodore made some general and non-committal reply, whereupon the
President, rising from the box, added, 'Well, I think there is something
in it. Good morning, gentlemen,' and went out. From this interview grew
a Government contract with Messrs. Winslow and Griswold for the
construction of the 'Monitor,' the vessel to be placed in the hands of
the Government within a hundred days at a cost of $275,000. The work was
pushed with all diligence till the 30th of January, 1862, when the ship
was launched at Greenpoint, one hundred and one days from the execution
of the contract, thus making the work probably the most expeditious of
any recorded in the annals of mechanical engineering."
At the assembling of Congress in December, 1861, Lincoln presented his
first Annual Message. Among its most noteworthy passages was that which
touched upon the relations between labor and capital--a subject so
prominent in our later day. It was alluded to in its connection with the
evident tendency of the Southern Confederacy to discriminate in its
legislation in favor of the moneyed class and against the laboring
people. On this point the President said:
In my present position, I could scarcely be justified were I to
omit raising a warning voice against this approach of returning
despotism. It is not needed nor fitting here, that a general
argument should be made in favor of popular institutions; but there
is one point, with its connections, not so hackneyed as most
others, to which I ask a brief attention. It is the effort to place
_capital_ on an equal footing with, if not above, _labor_, in the
structure of government. It is assumed that labor is available only
in connection with capital; that nobody labors unless somebody
else, owning capital, somehow, by the use of it, induces him to
labor. This assumed, it is next considered whether it is best that
capital shall _hire_ laborers, and thus induce them to work by
their own consent, or _buy_ them, and drive them to it without
their consent. Having proceeded so far, it is naturally concluded
that all laborers are either hired laborers or what we call slaves.
And further, it is assumed that whoever is once a hired laborer is
fixed in that condition for life. Now, there is no such relation
between capital and labor as assumed; nor is there any such thing
as a free man being fixed for life in the condition of a hired
laborer. Both these assumptions are false, and all inferences from
them are groundless. Labor is prior to and independent of capital.
Capital is only the fruit of labor, and could never have existed if
labor had not first existed. Labor is the superior of capital, and
deserves much the higher consideration. Capital has its rights,
which are as worthy of protection as any other rights. Nor is it
denied that there is, and probably always will be, a relation
between labor and capital, producing mutual benefits. The error is
in assuming that the whole labor of community exists within that
relation. A few men own capital, and those few avoid labor
themselves, and, with their capital, hire or buy another few to
labor for them. A large majority belong to neither class--neither
work for others, nor have others working for them. In most of the
Southern States, a majority of the whole people of all colors are
neither slaves nor masters; while in the North, a large majority
are neither hirers nor hired. Men, with their families--wives,
sons, and daughters--work for themselves, on their farms, in their
houses, and in their shops, taking the whole product to themselves,
and asking no favors of capital on the one hand, nor of hired
laborers or slaves on the other. It is not forgotten that a
considerable number of persons mingle their own labor with
capital--that is, they labor with their own hands, and also buy or
hire others to labor for them; but this is only a mixed, not a
distinct class. No principle stated is disturbed by the existence
of this mixed class. Again, as has already been said, there is not,
of necessity, any such thing as the free hired laborer being fixed
to that condition for life. Many independent men everywhere in
these States, a few years back in their lives, were hired laborers.
The prudent, penniless beginner in the world labors for wages
awhile, saves a surplus with which to buy tools or land for
himself; then labors on his own account another while, and at
length hires another new beginner to help him. This is the just and
generous and prosperous system, which opens the way to all, gives
hope to all, and consequent energy and progress and improvement of
condition to all. No men living are more worthy to be trusted than
those who toil up from poverty--none less inclined to take, or
touch, aught which they have not honestly earned. Let them beware
of surrendering a political power which they already possess, and
which, if surrendered, will surely be used to close the door of
advancement against such as they, and to fix new disabilities and
burdens upon them till all of liberty shall be lost.
The struggle _of_ to-day is not altogether _for_ to-day--it is for
a vast future also. With a reliance on Providence, all the more
firm and earnest, let us proceed in the great task which events
have devolved upon us.
The reception given at the White House on New Year's day, 1862, was a
brilliant and memorable affair. It was attended by distinguished army
officers, prominent men from civil life, and the leading ladies of
Washington society. "Army uniforms preponderated over black dress coats,
and the young Germans of Blenker's division were gorgeously arrayed in
tunics embroidered with gold on the collars and cuffs, sword-belts of
gold lace, high boots, and jingling spurs." It was such a scene as that
before the battle of Waterloo, when the
... capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.
How many of these brave men were destined never to see another New
Year's day; and how many of those soft eyes would soon be dimmed with
tears! Something of this feeling must have come over the sad soul of
Lincoln. An eye-witness says that he "looked careworn and thoughtful, if
not anxious; yet he had a pleasant word for all."
Early in 1862 an event occurred which added to the sorrow that seemed
to enshroud the life of Lincoln, and afforded a glimpse into the depths
of his tender and sorrowful nature. It was the death of his son Willie,
a bright and promising boy, to whom his father was devotedly attached.
"This," says Dr. J.G. Holland, "was a new burden; and the visitation
which, in his firm faith in Providence, he regarded as providential, was
also inexplicable. Why should he, with so many burdens upon him, and
with such necessity for solace in his home and his affections, be
brought into so tender a trial? It was to him a trial of faith, indeed.
A Christian lady of Massachusetts, who was officiating as nurse in one
of the hospitals, came in to attend the sick children. She reports that
Mr. Lincoln watched with her about the bedside of the sick ones, and
that he often walked the room, saying sadly: 'This is the hardest trial
of my life. Why is it? Why is it?' In the course of conversations with
her, he questioned her concerning her situation. She told him she was a
widow, and that her husband and two children were in heaven; and added
that she saw the hand of God in it all, and that she had never loved Him
so much before as she had since her affliction. 'How is that brought
about?' inquired Mr. Lincoln. 'Simply by trusting in God, and feeling
that He does all things well,' she replied. 'Did you submit fully under
the first loss?' he asked. 'No,' she answered, 'not wholly; but as blow
came upon blow, and all were taken, I could and did submit, and was very
happy.' He responded, 'I am glad to hear you say that. Your experience
will help me to bear my afflictions.' On being assured that many
Christians were praying for him on the morning of the funeral, he wiped
away the tears that sprang in his eyes, and said, 'I am glad to hear
that. I want them to pray for me. I need their prayers.' As he was
going out to the burial, the good lady expressed her sympathy with him.
He thanked her gently, and said, 'I will try to go to God with my
sorrows.' A few days afterward she asked him if he could trust God. He
replied, 'I think I can. I will try. I wish I had that childlike faith
you speak of, and I trust He will give it to me.' And then he spoke of
his mother, whom so many years before he had committed to the dust among
the wilds of Indiana. In this hour of his great trial, the memory of her
who had held him upon her bosom and soothed his childish griefs came
back to him with tenderest recollections. 'I remember her prayers,' said
he, 'and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my
life.'"
An interesting passage in the secret history of the war at this period
is narrated by one of the chief actors, Mr. A.M. Ross, a distinguished
ornithologist of Canada, whose contribution embodies also so many
interesting details of Lincoln's daily life that it seems worth giving
rather fully. A few months after the inauguration of President Lincoln,
Mr. Ross received a letter from the Hon. Charles Sumner, requesting him
to come to Washington at his earliest convenience. "The day after my
arrival in Washington," says Mr. Ross, "I was introduced to the
President. Mr. Lincoln received me very cordially, and invited me to
dine with him. After dinner he led me to a window, distant from the rest
of the party, and said: 'Mr. Sumner sent for you at my request; we need
a confidential person in Canada to look after our interests, and keep us
posted as to the schemes of the Confederates in Canada. You have been
strongly recommended to me for the position. Your mission shall be as
confidential as you please; no one here but your friend Mr. Sumner and
myself shall have any knowledge of your position. Think it over
tonight, and if you can accept the mission come up and see me at nine
o'clock tomorrow morning.' When I took my leave of him, he said, 'I hope
you will decide to serve us.' The position thus offered was one not
suited to my tastes, but, as Mr. Lincoln appeared very desirous that I
should accept it, I concluded to lay aside my prejudices and accept the
responsibilities of the mission. I was also persuaded to this conclusion
by the wishes of my friend, Mr. Sumner.
"At nine o'clock next morning, I waited upon the President, and
announced my decision. He grasped my hand in a hearty manner, and said:
'Thank you, thank you; I am glad of it. You must help us to circumvent
the machinations of the rebel agents in Canada. There is no doubt they
will use your country as a communicating link with Europe, and also with
their friends in New York. It is quite possible, also, that they may
make Canada a base from which to harass and annoy our people along the
frontier.'
"After a lengthy conversation relative to private matters connected with
my mission, I rose to leave, when he said, 'I will walk down to
Willard's with you; the hotel is on my way to the Capitol, where I have
an engagement at noon.' Before we reached the hotel a man came up to the
President and thrust a letter into his hand, at the same time applying
for some office in Wisconsin. I saw that the President was offended at
the rudeness, for he passed the letter back without looking at it,
saying, 'No, sir! I am not going to open shop here.' This was said in a
most emphatic manner, but accompanied by a comical gesture which caused
the rejected applicant to smile. As we continued our walk, the President
spoke of the annoyances incident to his position, saying: 'These
office-seekers are a curse to the country; no sooner was my election
certain, than I became the prey of hundreds of hungry, persistent
applicants for office, whose highest ambition is to feed at the
Government crib.' When he bade me good-bye, he said, 'Let me hear from
you once a week at least.' As he turned to leave me, a young army
officer stopped him and made some request, to which the President
replied with a good deal of humor, 'No, I can't do that; I must not
interfere; they would scratch my eyes out if I did. You must go to the
proper department.'
"Some time later," says Mr. Ross, "I again visited Washington. On my
arrival there (about midnight) I went direct to the Executive Mansion,
and sent my card to the President, who had retired. In a few minutes the
porter returned and requested me to accompany him to the President's
office, where Mr. Lincoln would shortly join me. The room into which I
was ushered was the same in which I had spent several hours with the
President on the occasion of my first interview with him. Scattered
about the floor and lying open on the table were several military maps
and documents, indicating recent use. In a few minutes the President
came in and welcomed me in a most friendly manner; I expressed my regret
at disturbing him at such an hour. He replied in a good-humored manner,
saying, 'No, no! You did right; you may waken me up whenever you please.
I have slept with one eye open ever since I came to Washington; I never
close both, except when an office-seeker is looking for me.' I then laid
before the President the 'rebel mail.' He carefully examined the address
of each letter, making occasional remarks. At length he found one
addressed to Franklin Pierce, ex-President of the United States, then
residing in New Hampshire; and another to ex-Attorney-General Cushing, a
resident of Massachusetts. He appeared much surprised, and remarked
with a sigh, but without the slightest tone of asperity, 'I will have
these letters enclosed in official envelopes, and sent to these
parties.' When he had finished examining the addresses, he tied up all
those addressed to private individuals, saying, 'I won't bother with
them; but these look like official letters; I guess I'll go through them
now.' He then opened them, and read their contents, slowly and
carefully. While he was thus occupied, I had an excellent opportunity of
studying this extraordinary man. A marked change had taken place in his
countenance since my first interview with him. He looked much older, and
bore traces of having passed through months of painful anxiety and
trouble. There was a sad and serious look in his eyes that spoke louder
than words of the disappointments, trials, and discouragements he had
encountered since the war began. The wrinkles about the eyes and
forehead were deeper; the lips were firmer, but indicative of kindness
and forbearance. The great struggle had brought out the hidden riches of
his noble nature, and developed virtues and capacities which surprised
his oldest and most intimate friends. He was simple, but astute; he
possessed the rare faculty of seeing things just as they are. He was a
just, charitable, and honest man.
"When Mr. Lincoln finished reading the letters, I rose to go, saying
that I would go to Willard's, and have a rest. 'No, no,' said the
President, 'it is now three o'clock; you shall stay with me while you
are in town; I'll find you a bed'; and leading the way, he took me into
a bedroom, saying, 'Take a good sleep; you shall not be disturbed.'
Bidding me 'good night,' he left the room to go back and pore over the
rebel letters until daylight, as he afterwards told me. I did not awaken
from my sleep until eleven o'clock in the forenoon, soon after which Mr.
Lincoln came into my room, and laughingly said, 'When you are ready,
I'll pilot you down to breakfast,' which he did. Seating himself at the
table near me, he expressed his fears that trouble was brewing on the
New Brunswick border; he said he had gathered further information on
that point from the correspondence, which convinced him that such was
the case. He was here interrupted by a servant, who handed him a card,
upon reading which he arose, saying, 'The Secretary of War has received
important tidings; I must leave you for the present; come to my room
after breakfast and we'll talk over this New Brunswick affair."
"On entering his room again, I found him busily engaged in writing, at
the same time repeating in a low voice the words of a poem which I
remembered reading many years before. When he stopped writing I asked
him who was the author of that poem. He replied, 'I do not know. I have
written the verses down from memory, at the request of a lady who is
much pleased with them.' He passed the sheet, on which he had written
the verses, to me, saying, 'Have you ever read them?' I replied that I
had, many years previously, and that I should be pleased to have a copy
of them in his handwriting, when he had time and an inclination for such
work. He said, 'Well, you may keep that copy, if you wish.'"
Hon. William D. Kelly, a Member of Congress from Pennsylvania, relates
that during the time of McClellan's Peninsular campaign he called at the
White House one morning, and while waiting to see the President, Senator
Wilson of Massachusetts entered the chamber, having with him four
distinguished-looking Englishmen. The President, says Mr. Kelly, "had
evidently had an early appointment, and had not completed his toilet. He
was in slippers, and his pantaloons, when he crossed one knee over the
other, disclosed the fact that he wore heavy blue woollen stockings. It
was an agreeable surprise to learn that the chief of the visiting party
was Professor Goldwin Smith of Canada, one of the firmest of our British
friends. As the President rose to greet them, he was the very
impersonation of easy dignity, notwithstanding the negligence of his
costume. With a tact that never deserted him, he opened the conversation
with an inquiry as to the health of his friend John Bright, whom he said
he regarded as a friend of our country and of freedom everywhere. The
visitors having been seated, the magnitude of recent battles was
referred to by Professor Smith as preliminary to the question whether
the enormous losses which were so frequently occurring would not so
reduce the industrial resources of the North as to affect seriously the
prosperity of individual citizens and consequently the revenue of the
country. He justified the question by proceeding to recite the number of
killed, wounded, and missing, reported after some of the great battles
recently fought. There were two of Mr. Lincoln's official friends who
lived in dread of his little stories. Neither of them was gifted with
humor, and both could understand his propositions, which were always
distinct and clean cut, without such familiar illustrations as those in
which he so often indulged; and they were chagrined whenever they were
compelled to hear him resort to his stories in the presence of
distinguished strangers. They were Senator Wilson of Massachusetts and
Mr. Stanton, Secretary of War; and, as Professor Smith closed his
arithmetical statement, the time came for the Massachusetts Senator to
bite his lips, for the President, crossing his legs in such a manner as
to show that his blue stockings were long as well as thick, said that,
in settling such matters as that, we must resort to 'darkey arithmetic.'
'To darkey arithmetic!' exclaimed the dignified representative of the
learning and higher thought of Great Britain and her American Dominion.
'I did not know, Mr. President, that you have two systems of arithmetic'
'Oh, yes,' said the President; 'I will illustrate that point by a little
story. Two young contrabands, as we have learned to call them, were
seated together, when one said to the other, "Jim, do you know
'rithmetic?" Jim answered, "No; what is 'rithmetic?" "Well," said the
other, "it's when you add up things. When you have one and one, and you
put dem togedder, dey makes two. And when you subtracts things, when if
you have two things and you takes one away, only one remains." "Is dat
'rithmetic?" "Yah." "Well, 'tain't true, den. It's no good!" Here a
dispute arose, when Jim said, "Now, you 'spose three pigeons sit on that
fence, and somebody shoot one of dem; do t'other two stay dar? I guess
not! dey flies away quickern odder feller falls." And, Professor,
trifling as the story seems, it illustrates the arithmetic you must use
in estimating the actual losses resulting from our great battles. The
statements you have referred to give the killed, wounded, and missing at
the first roll-call after the battle, which always exhibits a greatly
exaggerated total, especially in the column of missing.'"
Mr. Goldwin Smith, the gentleman referred to in the foregoing anecdote,
has summarized his impressions of Lincoln in the following paragraph:
"Such a person as Abraham Lincoln is quite unknown to our official
circles or to those of Continental nations. Indeed, I think his place in
history will be unique. He has not been trained to diplomacy or
administrative affairs, and is in all respects one of the people. But
how wonderfully he is endowed and equipped for the performance of the
duties of the chief executive officer of the United States at this time!
The precision and minuteness of his information on all questions to
which we referred was a succession of surprises to me."
Still terser, but hardly less expressive, is Emerson's characterization
of Lincoln as one who had been "permitted to do more for America than
any other American man."
A striking passage by Mr. Norman Hapgood should have place among these
tributes. "Lincoln had no artificial aids. He merely proved the weapon
of finest temper in the fire in which he was tested. In the struggle for
survival in a national upheaval, he not only proved the living power of
integrity and elasticity, but he easily combined with his feats of
strength and shrewdness some of the highest flights of taste. As we look
back across the changes of his life,--see him passing over the high
places and the low, and across the long stretches of the prairie;
spending years in the Socratic arguments of the tavern, and anon holding
the rudder of state in grim silence; choosing jests which have the
freshness of earth, and principles of eternal right; judging potentates
and laborers in the clear light of nature, and at ease with both; alone
by virtue of a large and melancholy soul, at home with every man by
virtue of love and faith,--this figure takes its place high in our minds
and hearts, not solely through the natural right of strength and
success, but also because his strength is ours, and the success won by
him rested on the fundamental purity and health of the popular will of
which he was the leader and the servant. Abraham Lincoln was in a deep
and lasting sense the first American."
Mr. John Bigelow, already quoted in these pages, summarized Lincoln's
character and achievements in a passage of singular eloquence and force.
"Lincoln's greatness must be sought for in the constituents of his moral
nature. He was so modest by nature that he was perfectly content to
walk behind any man who wished to walk before him. I do not know that
history has made a record of the attainment of any corresponding
eminence by any other man who so habitually, so constitutionally, did to
others as he would have them do to him. Without any pretensions to
religious excellence, from the time he first was brought under the
observation of the nation he seemed, like Milton, to have walked 'as
ever in his great Taskmaster's eye.' St. Paul hardly endured more
indignities and buffetings without complaint. He was not a learned man.
He was not even one who would deserve to be called in our day an
educated man--knew little rather than much of what the world is proud
of. He had never been out of the United States, or seen much of the
portion of them lying east of the Alleghany Mountains. But the spiritual
side of his nature was so highly organized that it rendered superfluous
much of the experience which to most men is indispensable--the choicest
prerogative of genius. It lifted him unconsciously above the world,
above most of the men who surrounded him, and gave him a wisdom in
emergencies which is bestowed only on those who love their fellow-man as
themselves.... In the ordinary sense of the word, Mr. Lincoln was not a
statesman. Had he come to power when Van Buren did, or when Cleveland
did, he would probably have left Washington at the close of his term as
obscure as either of them. The issues presented to the people of the
United States at the Presidential election of 1860 were to a larger
extent moral questions, humanly speaking, than were those presented at
any other Presidential election. They were: first, the right of the
majority to rule; second, the right of eight millions, more or less, of
our fellow-beings to their freedom; and, third, the institutions and
traditions which Washington planted and Jefferson watered, with the
sacrifices necessary for their preservation. These questions
subordinated all other political issues, and appealed more directly and
forcibly to the moral sentiments of this nation than any issues they had
ever before been called to settle either at the ballot-box or by force
of arms. A President was needed at Washington to represent these moral
forces. Such a President was providentially found in Lincoln ... a
President who walked by faith and not by sight; who did not rely upon
his own compass, but followed a cloud by day and a fire by night, which
he had learned to trust implicitly."
A very graphic summing-up of Lincoln in person and character is that of
Mr. John G. Nicolay, one of his private secretaries, who knew him
intimately and understood him well. "President Lincoln was of unusual
stature, six feet four inches, and of spare but muscular build," says
Mr. Nicolay. "He had been in youth remarkably strong and skilful in the
athletic games of the frontier, where, however, his popularity and
recognized impartiality oftener made him an umpire than a champion. He
had regular and prepossessing features, dark complexion, broad, high
forehead, prominent cheek bones, gray, deep-set eyes, and bushy, black
hair, turning to gray at the time of his death. Abstemious in his
habits, he possessed great physical endurance. He was almost as
tender-hearted as a woman. 'I have not willingly planted a thorn in any
man's bosom,' he was able to say. His patience was inexhaustible. He had
naturally a most cheerful and sunny temper, was highly social and
sympathetic, loved pleasant conversation, wit, anecdote, and laughter.
Beneath this, however, ran an undercurrent of sadness; he was
occasionally subject to hours of deep silence and introspection that
approached a condition of trance. In manner he was simple, direct, void
of the least affectation, and entirely free from awkwardness, oddity,
or eccentricity. His mental qualities were a quick analytic perception,
strong logical powers, a tenacious memory, a liberal estimate and
tolerance of the opinions of others, ready intuition of human nature;
and perhaps his most valuable faculty was rare ability to divest himself
of all feeling or passion in weighing motives of persons or problems of
state. His speech and diction were plain, terse, forcible. Relating
anecdotes with appreciating humor and fascinating dramatic skill, he
used them freely and effectively in conversation and argument. He loved
manliness, truth, and justice. He despised all trickery and selfish
greed. In arguments at the bar he was so fair to his opponent that he
frequently appeared to concede away his client's case. He was ever ready
to take blame on himself and bestow praise on others. 'I claim not to
have controlled events,' he said, 'but confess plainly that events have
controlled me.' The Declaration of Independence was his political chart
and inspiration. He acknowledged a universal equality of human rights.
'Certainly the negro is not our equal in color,' he said, 'perhaps not
in many other respects; still, in the right to put into his mouth the
bread that his own hands have earned, he is the equal of every other
man, white or black.' He had unchanging faith in self-government. 'The
people,' he said, 'are the rightful masters of both congresses and
courts, not to overthrow the Constitution, but to overthrow the men who
pervert the Constitution.' Yielding and accommodating in non-essentials,
he was inflexibly firm in a principle or position deliberately taken.
'Let us have faith that right makes might,' he said, 'and in that faith
let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.' ..."