Lincoln's Personal Attention to the Military Problems of the
War--Efforts to Push forward the War--Disheartening
Delays--Lincoln's Worry and Perplexity--Brightening
Prospects--Union Victories in North Carolina and
Tennessee--Proclamation by the President--Lincoln Wants to See for
Himself--Visits Fortress Monroe--Witnesses an Attack on the Rebel
Ram "Merrimac"--The Capture of Norfolk--Lincoln's Account of the
Affair--Letter to McClellan--Lincoln and the Union Soldiers--His
Tender Solicitude for the Boys in Blue--Soldiers Always Welcome at
the White House--Pardoning Condemned Soldiers--Letter to a Bereaved
Mother--The Case of Cyrus Pringle--Lincoln's Love of Soldiers'
Humor--Visiting the Soldiers in Trenches and Hospitals--Lincoln at
"The Soldiers' Rest."
Early in 1862 Lincoln began giving more of his personal attention to
military affairs. He was dissatisfied with the slow movements and small
achievements of our armies, and sought to infuse new zeal and energy
into the Union commanders. He also began a careful study of the great
military problems pressing for solution; and he seemed resolved to
assume the full responsibilities of his position, not only as the civil
head of the Government but as the commander-in-chief of the armies and
navies of the United States. In this he was influenced by no desire for
personal control of the commanders in the field or interference with
their plans; he always preferred to leave them the fullest liberty of
action. But he felt that the situation demanded a single head, ready and
able to take full responsibility for the most important steps; and, true
to himself and his habits of a lifetime, he neither sought
responsibility nor flinched from it.
The leading officers of the Union army were mostly young and
inexperienced men, and none of them had as yet demonstrated the capacity
of a great commander. At best it was a process of experiment, to see
what generals and what strategic movements were most likely to succeed.
In order to be able to judge correctly of measures and men, Lincoln
undertook to familiarize himself with the practical details of military
affairs and operations. Here was developed a new and unsuspected phase
of his character. The plain country lawyer, unversed in the art of war,
was suddenly transformed into the great civil ruler and military
chieftain. "He was already," says Mr. A.G. Riddle, "one of the wariest,
coolest, and most skilful managers of men. _A born strategist_, he was
now rapidly mastering the great outline ideas of the art of war." "The
elements of selfishness and ferocity which are not unusual with
first-class military chiefs," said General Keyes, a prominent officer of
the Union army, "were wholly foreign to Lincoln's nature. Nevertheless,
_there was not one of his most trusted warlike counselors in the
beginning of the war who equaled him in military sagacity_." His
reliance, in the new duties and perils that confronted him, was upon his
simple common-sense, his native power of judgment and discernment.
"Military science," says a distinguished officer, "is common-sense
applied to the affairs of war." While Lincoln made no claim to technical
knowledge in this sphere, and preferred to leave details to his
subordinates, he yet developed an insight into military problems and an
understanding of practical operations in the field which enabled him not
only to approve or disapprove judiciously, but to direct and plan. A
striking confirmation of this is given by Mr. J.M. Winchell, who thus
relates what happened in a personal interview with the President:
"I was accompanied by one of Mr. Lincoln's personal friends; and
when we entered the well-known reception-room, a very tall, lanky
man came quickly forward to meet us. His manner seemed to me the
perfection of courtesy. I was struck with the simplicity, kindness,
and dignity of his deportment, so different from the clownish
manners with which it was then customary to invest him. His face
was a pleasant surprise, formed as my expectations had been from
the poor photographs then in vogue, and the general belief in his
ugliness. I remember thinking how much better-looking he was than I
had anticipated, and wondering that anyone should consider him
ugly. His expression was grave and care-worn, but still enlivened
with a cheerfulness that gave me instant hope. After a brief
interchange of commonplaces, he entered on a description of the
situation, giving the numbers of the contending armies, their
movements, and the general strategical purposes which should govern
them both. Taking from the wall a large map of the United States,
and laying it on the table, he pointed out with his long finger the
geographical features of the vicinity, clearly describing the
various movements so far as known, reasoning rigidly from step to
step, and creating a chain of probabilities too strong for serious
dispute. His apparent knowledge of military science, and his
familiarity with the special features of the present campaign, were
surprising in a man who had been all his life a civilian, engrossed
with politics and the practise of the law, and whose attention must
necessarily be so much occupied with the perplexing detail of
duties incident to his position. It was clear that he made the
various campaigns of the war a subject of profound and intelligent
study, forming opinions thereon as positive and clear as those he
held in regard to civil affairs."
Toward the end of January, 1862, Lincoln sought to overcome the inertia
that seemed settling upon the Union forces by issuing the "President's
General Order, No. I," directing that, on the 22d day of February
following, "a general movement of the land and naval forces of the
United States" be made against the insurgent forces, and giving warning
that "the heads of departments, and especially the Secretaries of War
and of the Navy, with all their subordinates, and the General-in-Chief,
with all other commanders and subordinates of land and naval forces,
will severally be held to their strict and full responsibilities for
prompt execution of this order." This order, while it doubtless served
to infuse activity into commanders and officials, did not result in any
substantial successes to our arms. The President, worn by his ceaseless
activities and anxieties, seems to have been momentarily disheartened at
the situation. Admiral Dahlgren, who was in command of the Washington
navy-yard in 1862, narrates that one day, at this period, "the President
drove down to see the hundred-and-fifty-pounder cannon fired. For the
first time I heard the President speak of the bare possibility of our
being two nations--as if alluding to a previous suggestion. He could not
see how the two could exist so near each other. He was evidently much
worried at our lack of military success, and remarked that '_no one
seemed ready_.'"
It is difficult to portray the worry and perplexity that beset Lincoln's
life, and the incessant demands upon his attention, in his efforts to
familiarize himself, as he felt compelled to do, with the practical
operations of the war. Admiral Dahlgren, who saw him almost daily,
relates that one morning the President sent for him, and said, "Well,
Captain, here's a letter about some new powder." He read the letter and
showed the sample of powder,--adding that he had burned some of it and
it did not seem a good article; there was too much residuum. "Now I'll
show you," said he. So he got a small sheet of paper and placed some of
the powder on it, then went to the fire, and with the tongs picked up a
coal, which he blew, with his spectacles still on his nose; then he
clapped the coal to the powder, and after the explosion, remarked:
"There is too much left there." There is something almost grotesque, but
touching and pathetic as well, in this picture of the President of the
United States, with all his enormous cares and responsibilities, engaged
in so petty a matter as testing a sample of powder. And yet so great was
his anxiety for the success of the armies and navies under his control
that he wished to become personally satisfied as to every detail. He did
not wish our armies or our war-vessels to lose battles on account of bad
powder. "At another time," Admiral Dahlgren has related, "the President
sent for me regarding some new invention. After the agent of the
inventor left, the President began on army matters. 'Now,' said he, 'I
am to have a sweat of five or six days'" (alluding to an impending
battle, for the result of which he was very anxious). Again: "The
President sent for me. Some man in trouble about arms; President holding
a breech-loader in his hand. He asked me about the iron-clads, and
Charleston." And again: "Went to the Department and found the President
there. He looks thin, and is very nervous. Said they were doing nothing
at Charleston, only asking for one iron-clad after another. The canal at
Vicksburg was of no account, and he wondered how any sensible man could
favor it. He feared the favorable state of public expectation would pass
away before anything was done. Then he leveled a couple of jokes at the
doings at Vicksburg and Charleston." No wonder the sympathetic
Dahlgren, witnessing the sufferings of the tortured President, should
exclaim: "_Poor gentleman_! How thin and wasted he is!"
The gloomy outlook in the Spring of 1862 was relieved by the substantial
victories of General Burnside in North Carolina and of General Grant in
Tennessee. The President was cheered and elated by these successes. It
is related that General Burnside, visiting Washington at this time,
called on the President, and that "the meeting was a grand spectacle.
The two stalwart men rushed into each other's arms, and warmly clasped
each other for some minutes. When General Burnside was about to leave,
the President inquired, 'Is there anything, my dear General, that I can
do for you?' 'Yes! yes!' was the quick reply, 'and I am glad you asked
me that question. My three brigadiers, you know; everything depended on
them, and they did their duty grandly!--Oh, Mr. President, we owe so
much to them! I should so much like, when I go back, to take them their
promotions.' 'It shall be done!' was Lincoln's hearty response, and on
the instant the promotions were ordered, and General Burnside had the
pleasure of taking back with him to Foster, Reno, and Parke their
commissions as Major-Generals."
Our brightening prospects impelled the President to issue, on the 10th
of April, the following proclamation, breathing his deeply religious
spirit:
It has pleased Almighty God to vouchsafe signal victories to the
land and naval forces engaged in suppressing an internal rebellion,
and at the same time to avert from our country the dangers of
foreign intervention and invasion. It is therefore recommended to
the people of the United States that at their next weekly
assemblages in their accustomed places of public worship which
shall occur after the notice of this Proclamation shall have been
received, they especially acknowledge and render thanks to our
Heavenly Father for these inestimable blessings; that they then and
there implore spiritual consolation in behalf of all those who have
been brought into affliction by the casualties and calamities of
sedition and civil war; and that they reverently invoke the Divine
guidance for our national counsels, to the end that they may
speedily result in the restoration of peace, harmony, and unity
throughout our borders, and hasten the establishment of fraternal
relations among all the countries of the earth.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Early in May the President determined on a personal visit to Fortress
Monroe, in order to learn what he could from his own observation of
affairs in that region. The trip was a welcome respite from the cares
and burdens of official life, and he gave himself up, as far as he
could, to its enjoyment. The Secretary of War (Stanton) and the
Secretary of the Treasury (Chase) accompanied the President. A most
interesting account of the expedition is given by General Viele, who was
a member of the party and thus had an opportunity to observe Lincoln
closely. "When on the afternoon of May 4," says General Viele, "I was
requested by the Secretary of War to meet him within an hour at the
navy-yard, with the somewhat mysterious caution to speak to no one of my
movements, I had no conception whatever of the purpose or intention of
the meeting. It was quite dark when I arrived there simultaneously with
the Secretary, who led the way to the wharf on the Potomac, to which a
steamer was moored that proved to be a revenue cutter, the 'Miami.' We
went on board and proceeded at once to the cabin, where to my surprise I
found the President and Mr. Chase, who had preceded us. The vessel
immediately got under way and steamed down the Potomac.... After supper
the table was cleared, and the remainder of the evening was spent in a
general review of the situation, which lasted long into the night. The
positions of the different armies in the field, the last reports from
their several commanders, the probabilities and possibilities as they
appeared to each member of the group, together with many other topics,
relevant and irrelevant, were discussed, interspersed with the usual
number of anecdotes from the never-failing supply with which the
President's mind was stored. It was a most interesting study to see
these men relieved for the moment from the surroundings of their onerous
official duties. The President, of course, was the centre of the
group--kind, genial, thoughtful, tender-hearted, magnanimous Abraham
Lincoln! It was difficult to know him without knowing him intimately,
for he was as guileless and single-hearted as a child; and no man ever
knew him intimately who did not recognize and admire his great
abilities, both natural and acquired, his large-heartedness and
sincerity of purpose.... He would sit for hours during the trip,
repeating passages of Shakespeare's plays, page after page of Browning,
and whole cantos of Byron. His inexhaustible stock of anecdotes gave to
superficial minds the impression that he was not a thoughtful and
reflecting man; whereas the fact was directly the reverse. These
anecdotes formed no more a part of Mr. Lincoln's mind than a smile forms
a part of the face. They came unbidden, and, like a forced smile, were
often employed to conceal a depth of anxiety in his own heart, and to
dissipate the care that weighed upon the minds of his associates. Both
Mr. Chase and Mr. Stanton were under great depression of spirits when we
started, and Mr. Chase remarked with a good deal of seriousness that he
had forgotten to write a very important letter before leaving. It was
too late to remedy the omission, and Mr. Lincoln at once drove the
thought of it from his mind by telling him that a man was sometimes
lucky in forgetting to write a letter, for he seldom knew what it
contained until it appeared again some day to confront him with an
indiscreet word or expression; and then he told a humorous story of a
sad catastrophe that happened in a family, which was ascribed to
something that came in a letter--a catastrophe so far beyond the region
of possibility that it set us all laughing, and Mr. Chase lost his
anxious look. That reminded Mr. Stanton of the dilemma he had been
placed in, just before leaving, by the receipt of a telegram from
General Mitchell, who was in Northern Alabama. The telegram was
indistinct, and could not be clearly understood; there was no time for
further explanation, and yet an immediate answer was required; so the
Secretary took the chances and answered back, 'All right; go ahead.'
'Now, Mr. President,' said he, 'if I have made a mistake, I must
countermand my instructions.' 'I suppose you meant,' said Mr. Lincoln,
'that it was all right if it was good for him, and all wrong if it was
not. That reminds me,' said he, 'of a story about a horse that was sold
at the cross-roads near where I once lived. The horse was supposed to be
fast, and quite a number of people were present at the time appointed
for the sale. A small boy was employed to ride the horse backward and
forward to exhibit his points. One of the would-be buyers followed the
boy down the road and asked him confidentially if the horse had a
splint. 'Well, mister,' said the boy, 'if it's good for him he's got it,
but if it isn't good for him he hasn't.' 'And that's the position,' said
the President, 'you seem to have left General Mitchell in. Well,
Stanton, I guess he'll come out right; but at any rate you can't help
him now.' ... Mr. Lincoln always had a pleasant word to say the last
thing at night and the first thing in the morning. He was always the
first one to awake, although not the first to rise. The day-time was
spent principally upon the quarter-deck, and the President entertained
us with numerous anecdotes and incidents of his life, of the most
interesting character. Few were aware of the physical strength possessed
by Mr. Lincoln. In muscular power he was one in a thousand. One morning,
while we were sitting on deck, he saw an axe in a socket on the
bulwarks, and taking it up, he held it at arm's length at the extremity
of the helve with his thumb and forefinger, continuing to hold it there
for a number of minutes. The most powerful sailors on board tried in
vain to imitate him. Mr. Lincoln said he could do this when he was
eighteen years of age, and had never seen a day since that time when he
could not.[E]
"It was late in the evening," continues General Viele, "when we arrived
at Fortress Monroe.... Answering the hail of the guard-boats, we made a
landing, and the Secretary of War immediately despatched a messenger for
General Wool, the commander of the fort; on whose arrival it was
decided to consult at once with Admiral Goldsborough, the commander of
the fleet, whose flag-ship, the 'Minnesota,' a superb model of naval
architecture, lay a short distance off the shore. The result of this
conference was a plan to get up an engagement the next day between the
'Merrimac' and the 'Monitor,' so that during the fight the 'Vanderbilt,'
which had been immensely strengthened for the purpose, might put on all
steam and run her down. Accordingly, the next morning, the President and
party went over to the Rip Raps to see the naval combat. The 'Merrimac'
moved out of the mouth of the Elizabeth river, quietly and steadily,
just as she had come out only a few weeks before when she had sunk the
'Congress' and the 'Cumberland.' She wore an air of defiance and
determination even at that distance. The 'Monitor' moved up and waited
for her. All the other vessels got out of the way to give the
'Vanderbilt' and the 'Minnesota' room to bear down upon the rebel terror
as soon as she should clear the coast line. It was a calm Sabbath
morning, and the air was still and tranquil. Suddenly the stillness was
broken by the cannon from the vessels and the great guns from the Rip
Raps, that filled the air with sulphurous smoke and a terrific noise
that reverberated from the fortress and the opposite shore like thunder.
The firing was maintained for several hours, but all to no purpose; the
'Merrimac' moved sullenly back to her position. It was determined that
night that on the following day vigorous offensive operations should be
undertaken. The whole available naval force was to bombard Sewall's
Point, and under cover of the bombardment the available troops from
Fortress Monroe were to be landed at that point and move on Norfolk.
Accordingly, the next morning a tremendous cannonading of Sewall's
Point took place. The wooden sheds at that place were set on fire and
the battery was silenced. The 'Merrimac,' coated with mail and lying low
in the water, looked on but took no part. Night came on, and the
cannonading ceased. It was so evident that the 'Merrimac' intended to
act only on the defensive, and that as long as she remained where she
was no troops could be landed in that vicinity, that they were ordered
to disembark. That night the President, with the Secretary of War and
the Secretary of the Treasury, went over on the 'Miami' to the Virginia
shore, and by the light of the moon landed on the beach and walked up
and down a considerable distance to assure himself that there could be
no mistake in the matter. How little the Confederacy dreamed what a
visitor it had that night to the 'sacred soil.'"
The following morning an advance was made upon Norfolk by the route
proposed by General Viele. The attempt was successful, and before night
our forces were in control of the captured city. Some time after
midnight, as General Viele records, "with a shock that shook the city,
and with an ominous sound that could not be mistaken, the magazine of
the 'Merrimac' was exploded, the vessel having been cut off from
supplies and deserted by the crew; and thus this most formidable engine
of destruction, that had so long been a terror, not only to Hampton
Roads, but to the Atlantic coast, went to her doom, a tragic and
glorious _finale_ to the trip of the 'Miami.'"
Secretary Chase had accompanied the expedition against Norfolk,
returning to Fortress Monroe with General Wool immediately after the
surrender of the city. The scene which ensued on the announcement of the
good tidings they brought back to the anxious parties awaiting news of
them was thus described by the President himself: "Chase and Stanton had
accompanied me to Fortress Monroe. While we were there, an expedition
was fitted out for an attack on Norfolk. Chase and General Wool
disappeared about the time we began to look for tidings of the result,
and after vainly waiting their return till late in the evening, Stanton
and I concluded to retire. My room was on the second floor of the
Commandant's house, and Stanton's was below. The night was very
warm,--the moon shining brightly,--and, too restless to sleep, I sat for
some time by the table, reading. Suddenly hearing footsteps, I looked
out of the window, and saw two persons approaching, whom I knew by their
relative size to be the missing men. They came into the passage, and I
heard them rap at Stanton's door and tell him to get up and come
upstairs. A moment afterward they entered my room. 'No time for
ceremony, Mr. President,' said General Wool; 'Norfolk is ours!' Stanton
here burst in, just out of bed, clad in a long night-gown which nearly
swept the floor, his ear catching, as he crossed the threshold, Wool's
last words. Perfectly overjoyed, he rushed at the General, whom he
hugged most affectionately, fairly lifting him from the floor in his
delight. The scene altogether must have been a comical one, though at
the time we were all too greatly excited to take much note of mere
appearances."
Lincoln's general grasp of military strategy, and his keen understanding
of the specific problems confronting the Army of the Potomac in the
critical autumn of 1862, are well indicated in the following
communication to General McClellan:
EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON,
October 13, 1862
MY DEAR SIR:--You remember my speaking to you of what I called your
over-cautiousness. Are you not over-cautious when you assume that
you cannot do what the enemy is constantly doing? Should you not
claim to be at least his equal in prowess, and act upon the claim?
As I understand, you telegraphed General Halleck that you cannot
subsist your army at Winchester unless the railroad from Harper's
Ferry to that point be put in working order. But the enemy does now
subsist his army at Winchester, at a distance nearly twice as great
from railroad transportation as you would have to do, without the
railroad last named. He now wagons from Culpepper Court-House,
which is just about twice as far as you would have to do from
Harper's Ferry. He is certainly not more than half as well provided
with wagons as you are. I certainly should be pleased for you to
have the advantage of the railroad from Harper's Ferry to
Winchester; but it wastes all the remainder of autumn to give it to
you, and, in fact, ignores the question of _time_, which cannot and
must not be ignored.
Again, one of the standard maxims of war, as you know, is, "to
operate upon the enemy's communications as much as possible,
without exposing your own." You seem to act as if this applies
_against_ you, but cannot apply in your _favor_. Change positions
with the enemy, and think you not he would break your communication
with Richmond within the next twenty-four hours? You dread his
going into Pennsylvania. But if he does so in full force, he gives
up his communications to you absolutely, and you have nothing to do
but to follow and ruin him; if he does so with less than full
force, fall upon and beat what is left behind all the easier.
Exclusive of the water line, you are now nearer Richmond than the
enemy is, by the route that you _can_ and he _must_ take. Why can
you not reach there before him, unless you admit that he is more
than your equal on the march? His route is the _arc_ of a circle,
while yours is the _chord_. The roads are as good on yours as on
his.
You know I desired, but did not order, you to cross the Potomac
below instead of above the Shenandoah and Blue Ridge. My idea was,
that this would at once menace the enemy's communications, which I
would seize if he would permit. If he should move northward, I
would follow him closely, holding his communications. If he should
prevent our seizing his communications, and move toward Richmond, I
would press closely to him, fight him if a favorable opportunity
should present, and at least try to beat him to Richmond on the
inside track. I say "try," for if we never try, we shall never
succeed. If he make a stand at Winchester, moving neither north nor
south, I would fight him there, on the idea that if we cannot beat
him when he bears the wastage of coming to us, we never can when we
bear the wastage of going to him. This proposition is a simple
truth, and is too important to be lost sight of for a moment. In
coming to us, he tenders us an advantage which we should not waive.
We should not so operate as to merely drive him away. As we must
beat him somewhere, or fail finally, we can do it, if at all,
easier near to us than far away. If we cannot beat the enemy where
he now is, we never can, he again being within the intrenchments of
Richmond. Recurring to the idea of going to Richmond on the inside
track, the facility of supplying from the side away from the enemy
is remarkable, as it were, by the different spokes of a wheel,
extending from the hub toward the rim, and this whether you move
directly by the chord, or on the inside arc, hugging the Blue Ridge
more closely. The chord-line, as you see, carries you by Aldie,
Haymarket, and Fredericksburg, and you see how turnpikes,
railroads, and finally the Potomac by Aquia Creek, meet you at all
points from Washington. The same, only the lines lengthened a
little, if you press closer to the Blue Ridge part of the way. The
gaps through the Blue Ridge I understand to be about the following
distances from Harper's Ferry, to wit: Vestal's, five miles;
Gregory's, thirteen; Snicker's, eighteen; Ashby's, twenty-eight;
Manassas, thirty-eight; Chester, forty-five; and Thornton's,
fifty-three. I should think it preferable to take the route nearest
the enemy, disabling him to make an important move without your
knowledge, and compelling him to keep his forces together for dread
of you. The gaps would enable you to attack if you should wish. For
a great part of the way you would be practically between the enemy
and both Washington and Richmond, enabling us to spare you the
greatest number of troops from here. When, at length, running to
Richmond ahead of him enables him to move this way, if he does so,
turn and attack him in the rear. But I think he should be engaged
long before such point is reached. It is all easy if our troops
march as well as the enemy, and it is unmanly to say they cannot do
it. This letter is in no sense an order.
Yours truly, A. LINCOLN.
MAJOR-GENERAL MCCLELLAN.
Throughout the entire war President Lincoln was always keenly solicitous
for the welfare of the Union soldiers. He knew that upon them everything
depended; and he felt bound to them not only by official relations, but
by the tenderer ties of human interest and love. In all his
proclamations and public utterances he gave the fullest credit to the
brave men in the field, and claimed for them the country's thanks and
gratitude. His sympathy for the soldiers was as tender as that of a
woman, and his tears were ever ready to start at the mention of their
hardships, their bravery, their sufferings and losses. Nothing that he
could do was left undone to minister to their comfort in field or camp
or hospital. His most exacting cares were never permitted to divert his
thoughts from them, and his anxious and tender sympathy included all
whom they held dear. Said Mr. Riddle, in a speech in Congress in 1863:
"Let not the distant mother, who has given up a loved one to fearful
death, think that the President does not sympathize with her sorrow, and
would not have been glad--oh, how glad--to so shape events as to spare
the sacrifices. And let not fathers and mothers and wives anywhere think
that as he sees the long blue regiments of brave ones marching away,
stepping to the drum-beat, he does not contemplate them and feel his
responsibility as he thinks how many of them shall go to nameless
graves, unmarked save by the down-looking eyes of God's pitying angels."
The feeling of the soldiers toward Lincoln was one of filial respect and
love. He was not only the President, the commander-in-chief of all the
armies and navies of the United States, but their good "Father Abraham,"
who loved every man, even the humblest, that wore the Union blue.
Of Lincoln's personal relations with the soldiers, enough interesting
anecdotes could be collected to fill a volume. He saw much of them in
Washington, as they marched through that city on their way to the front,
or returned on furlough or discharge, or filled the overcrowded
hospitals of the capital. Often they called upon him, singly or with
companions; and he always had for them a word, however brief, of
sympathy and cheer. He was always glad to see them at the White House.
They were the one class of visitors who seldom came to ask for favors,
and never to pester him with advice. It was a real treat for the harried
President to escape from the politicians and have a quiet talk with a
private soldier. Among the innumerable petitioners for executive
clemency or favor, none were so graciously received as those who
appeared in behalf of soldiers. It was half a victory to say that the
person for whom the favor was desired was a member of the Union army.
As he wrote the pardon of a young soldier, sentenced to be shot for
sleeping while on sentinel duty, the President remarked to a friend
standing by: "I could not think of going into eternity with the blood of
that poor young man on my hands. It is not to be wondered at that a boy
raised on a farm, probably in the habit of going to bed at dark, should,
when required to watch, fall asleep; and I cannot consent that he be
shot for such an act." The youth thus reprieved was afterwards found
among the slain on the field of Fredericksburg, with a photograph of
Lincoln, on which he had written, "God bless President Lincoln," worn
next his heart.
Rev. Newman Hall, of London, has repeated in a sermon an anecdote told
him by a Union general. "The first week of my command," said the
officer, "there were twenty-four deserters sentenced by court martial to
be shot, and the warrants for their execution were sent to the President
to be signed. He refused. I went to Washington and had an interview. I
said: 'Mr. President, unless these men are made an example of, the army
itself is in danger. Mercy to the few is cruelty to the many.' He
replied: 'Mr. General, there are already too many weeping widows in the
United States. For God's sake, don't ask me to add to the number, for _I
won't do it_.'"
It came to the knowledge of Lincoln that a widow living in Boston--a
Mrs. Bixby--had lost five sons in the service of their country. Without
delay he addressed to the bereaved mother the following touching note:
I have been shown on the file of the War Department a statement of
the Adjutant-General of Massachusetts, that you are the mother of
five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel
how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should
attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming;
but I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may
be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray
that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your
bereavements, and leave only the cherished memory of the loved and
lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so
costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.
Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,
A. LINCOLN.
A case of unusual interest is that of Cyrus Pringle, a Vermont Quaker
who was drafted into the military service in 1863, and refused to serve
on the ground that his religion and his conscience would not permit him
to bear arms. His story, as recorded in his diary, was given to the
world after his death ("Atlantic Monthly," February, 1913). In spite of
his protests, Pringle was taken South and forced to wear a uniform and
carry a gun, though he refused to use it or even to clean it. His
obstinacy, as it was supposed to be, caused him much suffering,
sometimes even physical punishment, all of which he bore patiently,
believing that if he was steadfast in his faith relief would somehow
come. It did come, but not until--after five months of hardship and
distress of mind and body--his case, with that of other Quakers, finally
reached the President. "I want you to go and tell Stanton," said Lincoln
to the gentleman who had presented the case to him, "that it is my wish
that all those young men be sent home at once." The gentleman went to
Stanton with the message, but Stanton was unwilling to obey it. While
they were arguing the matter, the President entered the room. "_It is my
urgent wish_," said he. Stanton yielded, and the unfortunate Quakers
were given permission to return to their homes--none too soon to save
the life of Pringle, who records in his diary: "Upon my arrival in New
York I was seized with delirium, from which I only recovered after many
weeks, through the mercy and favor of Him who in all this trial had been
our guide and strength and comfort."
Anything that savored of the wit and humor of the soldiers was
especially relished by Lincoln. Any incident that showed that "the boys"
were mirthful and jolly amidst their privations seemed to commend itself
to him. There was a story of a soldier in the Army of the Potomac,
carried to the rear of battle with both legs shot off, who, seeing a
pie-woman hovering about, asked, "Say, old lady, are them pies _sewed_
or _pegged_?" And there was another one of a soldier at the battle of
Chancellorsville, whose regiment, waiting to be called into the fight,
was taking coffee. The hero of the story put to his lips a crockery mug
which he had carried, with infinite care, through several campaigns. A
stray bullet, just missing the coffee-drinker's head, dashed the mug
into fragments and left only its handle on his finger. Turning his head
in that direction, the soldier angrily growled, "Johnny, you can't do
that again!" Lincoln, relating these two stories together, said, "It
seems as if neither death nor danger could quench the grim humor of the
American soldier."
A juvenile "brigadier" from New York, with a small detachment of
cavalry, having imprudently gone within the rebel lines near Fairfax
Court House, was captured by "guerillas." Upon the fact being reported
to Lincoln, he said that he was very sorry to lose the horses. "What do
you mean?" inquired his informant. "Why," rejoined the President, "I can
make a 'brigadier' any day; but those horses cost the government a
hundred and twenty-five dollars a head!"
Lincoln was especially fond of a joke at the expense of some high
military or civil dignitary. He was intensely amused by a story told by
Secretary Stanton, of a trip made by him and General Foster up the
Broad river in North Carolina, in a tug-boat, when, reaching our
outposts on the river bank, a Federal picket yelled out, "Who have you
got on board that tug?" The severe and dignified answer was, "The
Secretary of War and Major-General Foster." Instantly the picket roared
back: "We've got Major-Generals enough up here--_why don't you bring us
up some hardtack?_"
On one occasion, when the enemy were threatening the defenses of
Washington, the President made a personal visit to the men in the
trenches, for the purpose, as he stated, of "encouraging the boys." He
walked about among them, telling them to hold their ground and he would
soon give them reinforcements. His presence had a most inspiring effect,
and the trenches were held by a few hundred soldiers of the Invalid
Corps until the promised help came and the enemy withdrew.
On a visit to City Point, Lincoln called upon the head surgeon at that
place and said he wished to visit all the hospitals under his charge.
The surgeon asked if he knew what he was undertaking; there were five or
six thousand soldiers at that place, and it would be quite a tax upon
his strength to visit all the wards. Lincoln answered, with a smile,
that he guessed he was equal to the task; at any rate he would try, and
go as far as he could; he should never, probably, see the boys again,
and he wanted them to know that he appreciated what they had done for
their country. Finding it useless to try to dissuade him, the surgeon
began his rounds with the President, who walked from bed to bed,
extending his hand and saying a few words of sympathy to some, making
kind inquiries of others, and welcomed by all with the heartiest
cordiality. After some hours the tour of the various hospitals was made,
and Lincoln returned with the surgeon to his office. They had scarcely
entered, however, when a messenger came saying that one ward had been
overlooked, and "the boys" wanted to see the President. The surgeon, who
was thoroughly tired, and knew Lincoln must be, tried to dissuade him
from going; but the good man said he must go back; "the boys" would be
so disappointed. So he went with the messenger, accompanied by the
surgeon, shook hands with the gratified soldiers, and then returned to
the office. The surgeon expressed the fear that the President's arm
would be lamed with so much hand-shaking, saying that it certainly must
ache. Lincoln smiled, and saying something about his "strong muscles,"
stepped out at the open door, took up a very large heavy axe which lay
there by a log of wood, and chopped vigorously for a few moments,
sending the chips flying in all directions; and then, pausing, he
extended his right arm to its full length, holding the axe out
horizontally, without its even quivering as he held it. Strong men who
looked on--men accustomed to manual labor--could not hold the axe in
that position for a moment.
In summer Lincoln's favorite home was at "The Soldiers' Rest," a place a
few miles out of Washington, on the Maryland side, where old and
disabled soldiers of the regular army found a refuge. It was a lovely
spot, situated on a beautifully wooded hill, reached by a winding road,
shaded by thick-set branches. On his way there he often passed long
lines of ambulances, laden with the suffering victims of a recent
battle. A friend who met him on such an occasion, says: "When I met the
President, his attitude and expression spoke the deepest sadness. He
paused, and, pointing his hand-towards the wounded men, he said: 'Look
yonder at those poor fellows. I cannot bear it! This suffering, this
loss of life, is dreadful!' Recalling a letter he had written years
before to a suffering friend whose grief he had sought to console, I
reminded him of the incident, and asked him: 'Do you remember writing to
your sorrowing friend these words: "And this too shall pass away. Never
fear. Victory will come."' 'Yes,' replied he, '_victory will come, but
it comes slowly_.'"