Close of the Civil War--Last Acts in the Great Tragedy--Lincoln at
the Front--A Memorable Meeting--Lincoln, Grant, Sherman, and
Porter--Life on Shipboard--Visit to Petersburg--Lincoln and the
Prisoners--Lincoln in Richmond--The Negroes Welcoming their "Great
Messiah"--A Warm Reception--Lee's Surrender--Lincoln Receives the
News--Universal Rejoicing--Lincoln's Last Speech to the Public--His
Peelings and Intentions toward the South--His Desire for
Reconciliation.
Great events crowded upon each other in the last few weeks of the Civil
War; and we must pass rapidly over them, giving special prominence only
to those with which President Lincoln was personally connected. The Army
of the Potomac under Grant, which for nearly a year had been incessantly
engaged with the army of General Lee, had forced the latter, fighting
desperately at every step, back through the Wilderness, into the
defenses about Richmond; and Lee's early surrender or retreat southward
seemed the only remaining alternatives. But the latter course,
disastrous as it would have been for the Confederacy, was rendered
impracticable by the comprehensive plan of operations that had been
adopted a year before. Interposed between Richmond and the South was now
the powerful army of General Sherman. This daring and self-reliant
officer, after his brilliant triumph at Atlanta the previous fall, had
pushed on to Savannah and captured that city also; then turning his
veteran columns northward, he had swept like a dread meteor through
South Carolina, destroying the proud city of Charleston, and then
Columbia, the State capital. General Johnston, with a strong force,
vainly tried to stay his progress through North Carolina; but after a
desperate though unsuccessful battle at Bentonville (March 20, 1865),
the opposition gave way, and the Union troops occupied Goldsboro, an
important point a hundred miles south of Richmond, commanding the
Southern railway communications of the Confederate capital. The
situation was singularly dramatic and impressive. In this narrow theatre
of war were now being rendered, with all the leading actors on the
stage, the closing scenes of that great and bloody tragedy. Grant on the
north and Sherman on the south were grinding Lee and Johnston between
them like upper and nether millstones.
The last days of March brought unmistakable signs of the speedy
breaking-up of the rebellion. Lincoln, filled with anticipation not
unmixed with anxiety, wished to be at the front. "When we came to the
end of the War and the breaking-up of things," says General Grant, "one
of Lincoln's friends said to me, 'I think Lincoln would like to come
down and spend a few days at City Point, but he is afraid if he does
come it might look like interfering with the movements of the army, and
after all that has been said about other Generals he hesitates.' I was
told that if Lincoln had a hint from me that he would be welcome he
would come by the first boat. Of course I sent word that the President
could do me no greater honor than to come down and be my guest. He came
down, and we spent several days riding around the lines. He was a fine
horseman. He talked, and talked, and talked; he seemed to enjoy it, and
said, 'How grateful I feel to be with the boys and see what is being
done at Richmond!' He never asked a question about the movements. He
would say, 'Tell me what has been done; not what is to be done.' He
would sit for hours tilted back in his chair, with his hand shading his
eyes, watching the movements of the men with the greatest interest."
Another account says: "Lincoln made many visits with Grant to the lines
around Richmond and Petersburg. On such occasions he usually rode one of
the General's fine bay horses, called 'Cincinnati.' He was a good
horseman, and made his way through swamps and over corduroy roads as
well as the best trooper in the command. The soldiers invariably
recognized him, and greeted him, wherever he appeared amongst them, with
cheers that were no lip service, but came from the depth of their
hearts. He always had a pleasant salute or a friendly word for the men
in the ranks."
Aside from the President's desire to be at the front at this critical
time, he had an almost feverish anxiety to escape from the petty
concerns and details of official life in Washington. In Welles's Diary
is this entry (March 23, 1865): "The President has gone to the front,
partly to get rid of the throng [office-seekers, politicians, etc.] that
is pressing on him. The more he yields, the greater the pressure. It has
now become such that he is compelled to flee. There is no doubt he is
much worn down. Besides, he wishes the war terminated, and, to this end,
that severe terms shall not be exacted of the Rebels."
Much of the time during the President's visit to the army he had his
quarters on the steamer "River Queen," lying in the James river at City
Point. It was the same vessel on which he had received the Southern
peace commissioners a month before, and the one on which he had made the
journey from Washington. On the 27th of March a memorable interview
occurred in the cabin of this vessel, between President Lincoln,
Generals Grant and Sherman, and Admiral Porter. General Sherman thus
describes the interview: "I left Goldsboro on the 25th of March and
reached City Point on the afternoon of the 27th. I found General Grant
and staff occupying a neat set of log huts, on a bluff overlooking the
James river. The General's family was with him. We had quite a long and
friendly talk, when Grant remarked that the President was near by in a
steamer lying at the dock, and he proposed that we should call at once.
We did so, and found Mr. Lincoln on board the 'River Queen.' We had met
in the early part of the war; he recognized me, and received me with a
warmth of manner and expression that was most grateful. We sat some time
in the after-cabin, and Mr. Lincoln made many inquiries about the events
which attended the march from Savannah to Goldsboro, and seemed to enjoy
the humorous stories about 'our bummers,' of which he had heard much.
When in lively conversation his face brightened wonderfully, but if the
conversation flagged it assumed a sad and sorrowful expression. General
Grant and I explained to him that my next move from Goldsboro would
bring my army, increased to 80,000 men by Schofield's and Terry's
reinforcements, in close communication with Grant's army then investing
Lee and Richmond; and that unless Lee could effect his escape and make
junction with Johnston in North Carolina, he would soon be shut up in
Richmond with no possibility of supplies, and would have to surrender.
Mr. Lincoln was extremely interested in this view of the case, and we
explained that Lee's only chance was to escape, join Johnston, and,
being then between me in North Carolina and Grant in Virginia, he could
choose which to fight. Mr. Lincoln seemed impressed with this; but
General Grant explained that at the very moment of our conversation
General Sheridan was pressing his cavalry across James River from the
north to the south, that with this cavalry he would so extend his left
below Petersburg as to meet the South Shore Road, and that if Lee should
'let go' his fortified lines he (Grant) would follow him so close that
he could not possibly fall on me alone in North Carolina. I in like
manner expressed the fullest confidence that my army in North Carolina
was willing to cope with Lee and Johnston combined, till Grant could
come up. But we both agreed that one more bloody battle was likely to
occur before the close of the war. Mr. Lincoln repeatedly inquired as to
General Schofield's ability to maintain his position in my absence, and
seemed anxious that I should return to North Carolina. More than once he
exclaimed, 'Must more blood be shed? Cannot this last bloody battle be
avoided?' We explained that we had to presume that General Lee was a
real general; that he must see that Johnston alone was no barrier to my
progress, and that if my army of 80,000 veterans should reach Burksville
he was lost in Richmond; and that we were forced to believe he would not
await that inevitable conclusion, but would make one more desperate
effort."
General Sherman adds this personal tribute to Lincoln to the account of
the interview on board the "River Queen": "When I left Mr. Lincoln I was
more than ever impressed by his kindly nature, his deep and earnest
sympathy with the afflictions of the whole people, resulting from the
war, and by the march of hostile armies through the South. I felt that
his earnest desire was to end the war speedily, without more bloodshed
or devastation, and to restore all the men of both sections to their
homes. In the language of his second inaugural address, he seemed to
have 'charity for all, malice toward none,' and above all an absolute
faith in the courage, manliness, and integrity of the armies in the
field. When at rest or listening, his legs and arms seemed to hang
almost lifeless, and his face was careworn and haggard; but the moment
he began to talk his face lightened up, his tall form, as it were,
unfolded, and he was the very impersonation of good humor and
fellowship. The last words I recall as addressed to me were that he
would feel better when I was back at Goldsboro. We parted at the gangway
of the 'River Queen,' about noon of March 28, and I never saw him again.
Of all the men I ever met, he seemed to possess more of the elements of
greatness, combined with goodness, than any other."
A few days after the interview described by General Sherman, the
President changed his quarters to the cabin of the "Malvern," Admiral
Porter's flagship. The Admiral says: "The 'Malvern' was a small vessel
with poor accommodations, and not at all fitted to receive high
personages. She was a captured blockade-runner, and had been given to me
as a flag-ship. I offered the President my bed, but he positively
declined it, and elected to sleep in a small state-room outside of the
cabin occupied by my secretary. It was the smallest kind of a room, six
feet long by four and a half feet wide--a small kind of a room for the
President of the United States to be domiciled in; but Mr. Lincoln
seemed pleased with it. When he came to breakfast the next morning, I
inquired how he had slept: 'I slept well,' he answered, 'but you can't
put a long sword into a short scabbard. I was _too long_ for that
berth.' Then I remembered he was over six feet four inches, while the
berth was only six feet. That day, while we were out of the ship, all
the carpenters were put to work; the state-room was taken down and
increased in size to eight feet by six and a half feet. The mattress was
widened to suit a berth of four feet width, and the entire state-room
remodelled. Nothing was said to the President about the change in his
quarters when he went to bed; but next morning he came out smiling, and
said: 'A miracle happened last night; I shrank six inches in length and
about a foot sideways. I got somebody else's big pillow, and slept in a
better bed than I did on the "River Queen."' He enjoyed it greatly; but
I do think if I had given him two fence-rails to sleep on he would not
have found fault. That was Abraham Lincoln in all things relating to his
own comfort. He would never permit people to put themselves out for him
under any circumstances."
On the 2d of April the stronghold of Petersburg fell into the hands of
the Union troops. Lincoln, accompanied by Admiral Porter, visited the
city. They joined General Grant, and sat with him for nearly two hours
upon the porch of a comfortable little house with a small yard in front.
Crowds of citizens soon gathered at the fence to gaze upon these
remarkable men of whom they had heard so much. The President's heart was
filled with joy, for he felt that this was "the beginning of the end."
Admiral Porter says: "Several regiments passed us _en route_, and they
all seemed to recognize the President at once. 'Three cheers for Uncle
Abe!' passed along among them, and the cheers were given with a vim
which showed the estimation in which he was held by the soldiers. That
evening," continues Admiral Porter, "the sailors and marines were sent
out to guard and escort in some prisoners, who were placed on board a
large transport lying in the stream. There were about a thousand
prisoners, more or less. The President expressed a desire to go on
shore. I ordered the barge and went with him. We had to pass the
transport with the prisoners. They all rushed to the side with eager
curiosity. All wanted to see the Northern President. They were perfectly
content. Every man had a chunk of meat and a piece of bread in his hand,
and was doing his best to dispose of it. 'That's Old Abe,' said one, in
a low voice. 'Give the old fellow three cheers,' said another; while a
third called out, Hello, Abe, your bread and meat's better than
pop-corn!' It was all good-natured, and not meant in unkindness. I could
see no difference between them and our own men, except that they were
ragged and attenuated for want of wholesome food. They were as happy a
set of men as ever I saw. They could see their homes looming up before
them in the distance, and knew that the war was over. 'They will never
shoulder a musket again in anger,' said the President, 'and if Grant is
wise he will leave them their guns to shoot crows with. It would do no
harm.'"
The next day (April 3) the Union advance, under General Weitzel, reached
and occupied Richmond. Lee was in retreat, with Grant in close pursuit.
When the news of the downfall of the Confederate capital reached Lincoln
on board the "Malvern," he exclaimed fervently: "Thank God that I have
lived to see this! It seems to me I have been dreaming a horrid dream
for four years, and now the nightmare is gone. _I want to see
Richmond._"
The vessel started up the river, but found it extremely difficult to
proceed, as the channel was filled with torpedoes and obstructions, and
they were obliged to wait until a passage could be cleared. Admiral
Porter thus describes what followed: "When the channel was reported
clear of torpedoes (a large number of which were taken up), I proceeded
up to Richmond in the 'Malvern,' with President Lincoln. Every vessel
that got through the obstructions wished to be the first one up, and
pushed ahead with all steam; but they grounded, one after another, the
'Malvern' passing them all, until she also took the ground. Not to be
delayed, I took the President in my barge, and with a tug ahead with a
file of marines on board we continued on up to the city. There was a
large bridge across the James about a mile below the landing, and under
this a party in a small steamer were caught and held by the current,
with no prospect of release without assistance. I ordered the tug to
cast off and help them, leaving us in the barge to go on alone. Here we
were in a solitary boat, after having set out with a number of vessels
flying flags at every masthead, hoping to enter the conquered capital in
a manner befitting the rank of the President of the United States, with
a further intention of firing a national salute in honor of the happy
result. Mr. Lincoln was cheerful, and had his 'little story' ready for
the occasion. 'Admiral, this brings to my mind a fellow who once came to
me to ask for an appointment as minister abroad. Finding he could not
get that, he came down to some more modest position. Finally he asked to
be made a tide-waiter. When he saw he could not get that, he asked me
for _an old pair of trousers._ It is sometimes well to be _humble_.'
"I had never been to Richmond before by that route," continues Admiral
Porter, "and did not know where the landing was; neither did the
cockswain nor any of the barge's crew. We pulled on, hoping to see
someone of whom we could inquire, but no one was in sight. The street
along the river-front was as deserted as if this had been a city of the
dead. The troops had been in possession some hours, but not a soldier
was to be seen. The current was now rushing past us over and among
rocks, on one of which we finally stuck; but I backed out and pointed
for the nearest landing. There was a small house on this landing, and
behind it were some twelve negroes digging with spades. The leader of
them was an old man sixty years of age. He raised himself to an upright
position as we landed, and put his hands up to his eyes. Then he
dropped his spade and sprang forward. 'Bress de Lord,' he said, 'dere is
_de great Messiah_! I knowed him as soon as I seed him. He's bin in my
heart fo' long yeahs, an' he's cum at las' to free his chillun from deir
bondage! Glory, Hallelujah!' And he fell upon his knees before the
President and kissed his feet. The others followed his example, and in a
minute Mr. Lincoln was surrounded by these people, who had treasured up
the recollection of him caught from a photograph, and had looked up to
him for four years as the one who was to lead them out of captivity. It
was a touching sight--that aged negro kneeling at the feet of the tall,
gaunt-looking man who seemed in himself to be bearing all the grief of
the nation, and whose sad face seemed to say, 'I suffer for you all, but
will do all I can to help you.' Mr. Lincoln looked down on the poor
creatures at his feet. He was much embarrassed at his position. 'Don't
kneel to me,' he said, 'that is not right. You must kneel to God only,
and thank Him for the liberty you will hereafter enjoy. I am but God's
humble instrument; but you may rest assured that as long as I live no
one shall put a shackle on your limbs, and you shall have all the rights
which God has given to every other free citizen of this Republic.' It was
a minute or two before I could get the negroes to rise and leave the
President. The scene was so touching that I hated to disturb it, yet we
could not stay there all day; we had to move on; so I requested the
patriarch to withdraw from about the President with his companions, and
let us pass on. 'Yes, Mars,' said the old man, 'but after bein' so many
yeahs in de desert widout water, it's mighty pleasant to be lookin' at
las' on our spring of life. 'Scuse us, sir; we means no disrepec' to
Mars Lincoln; we means all love and gratitude.' And then, joining hands
together in a ring, the negroes sang a hymn, with the melodious and
touching voices possessed only by the negroes of the South. The
President and all of us listened respectfully while the hymn was being
sung. Four minutes at most had passed away since we first landed at a
point where, as far as the eye could reach, the streets were entirely
deserted; but now what a different scene appeared as that hymn went
forth from the negroes' lips! The streets seemed to be suddenly alive
with the colored race. They seemed to spring from the earth. They came
tumbling and shouting, from over the hills and from the water-side,
where no one was seen as we had passed. The crowd immediately became
very oppressive. We needed our marines to keep them off. I ordered
twelve of the boat's crew to fix bayonets to their rifles and surround
the President, all of which was quickly done; but the crowd poured in so
fearfully that I thought we all stood a chance of being crushed to
death. At length the President spoke. He could not move for the mass of
people--he had to do something. 'My poor friends,' he said, 'you are
free--free as air. You can cast off the name of slave and trample upon
it; it will come to you no more. Liberty is your birthright. God gave it
to you as He gave it to others, and it is a sin that you have been
deprived of it for so many years. But you must try to deserve this
priceless boon. Let the world see that you merit it, and are able to
maintain it by your good works. Don't let your joy carry you into
excesses. Learn the laws and obey them; obey God's commandments and
thank Him for giving you liberty, for to Him you owe all things. There,
now, let me pass on; I have but little time to spare. I want to see the
capital, and must return at once to Washington to secure to you that
liberty which you seem to prize so highly.' The crowd shouted and
screeched as if they would split the firmament, though while the
President was speaking you might have heard a pin drop."
Presently the little party was able to move on. "It never struck me,"
says Admiral Porter, "there was anyone in that multitude who would
injure Mr. Lincoln; it seemed to me that he had an army of supporters
there who could and would defend him against all the world. Our progress
was very slow; we did not move a mile an hour, and the crowd was still
increasing. It was a warm day, and the streets were dusty, owing to the
immense gathering which covered every part of them, kicking up the dirt.
The atmosphere was suffocating; but Mr. Lincoln could be seen plainly by
every man, woman, and child, towering head and shoulders above that
crowd; he overtopped every man there. He carried his hat in his hand,
fanning his face, from which the perspiration was pouring. He looked as
if he would have given his Presidency for a glass of water--I would have
given my commission for half that.
"Now came another phase in the procession. As we entered the city every
window flew up, from ground to roof, and every one was filled with
eager, peering faces, which turned one to another, and seemed to ask,
'Is this large man, with soft eyes, and kind, benevolent face, the one
who has been held up to us as the incarnation of wickedness, the
destroyer of the South?' There was nothing like taunt or defiance in the
faces of those who were gazing from the windows or craning their necks
from the sidewalks to catch a view of the President. The look of every
one was that of eager curiosity--nothing more. In a short time we
reached the mansion of Mr. Davis, President of the Confederacy, occupied
after the evacuation as the headquarters of General Weitzel and Shepley.
There was great cheering going on. Hundreds of civilians--I don't know
who they were--assembled at the front of the house to welcome Mr.
Lincoln. General Shepley made a speech and gave us a lunch, after which
we entered a carriage and visited the State House--the late seat of the
Confederate Congress. It was in dreadful disorder, betokening a sudden
and unexpected flight; members' tables were upset, bales of Confederate
scrip were lying about the floor, and many official documents of some
value were scattered about.
"After this inspection I urged the President to go on board the
'Malvern.' I began to feel more heavily the responsibility resting upon
me through the care of his person. The evening was approaching, and we
were in a carriage open on all sides. He was glad to go; he was tired
out, and wanted the quiet of the flag-ship. I was oppressed with
uneasiness until we got on board and stood on the deck with the
President safe; then there was not a happier man anywhere than myself."
On Sunday, April 9, the President returned to Washington; and there he
heard the thrilling news that Lee, with his whole army, had that day
surrendered to Grant at Appomattox. Lincoln's first visit, after
reaching the capital, was to the house of Secretary Seward, who had met
with a severe accident during his absence, and was a prisoner in a sick
room. Lincoln's heart was full of joy, and he entered immediately upon
an account of his visit to Richmond and the glorious successes of the
Union army; "throwing himself," as Mr. Carpenter says, "in his almost
boyish exultation, at full length across the bed, supporting his head
upon one hand, and in this manner reciting the story of the collapse of
the Rebellion. Concluding, he lifted himself up and said, 'And now for a
day of Thanksgiving!'"
In Washington, as in every city and town in the loyal States, there was
the wildest enthusiasm over the good news from the army. Flags were
flying everywhere, cannon were sounding, business was suspended, and the
people gave themselves up to the impulses of joy and thanksgiving.
Monday afternoon the workmen of the navy-yard marched to the White
House, joining the thousands already there, and with bands playing and a
tumult of rejoicing, called persistently for the President. After some
delay Lincoln appeared at the window above the main entrance, and was
greeted with loud and prolonged cheers and demonstrations of love and
respect. He declined to make a formal speech, saying to the excited
throng beneath:
I am very greatly rejoiced that an occasion has occurred so
pleasurable that the people can't restrain themselves. I suppose
that arrangements are being made for some sort of formal
demonstration, perhaps this evening or to-morrow night. If there
should be such a demonstration, I, of course, shall have to respond
to it, and I shall have nothing to say if I dribble it out before.
I see you have a band. I propose now closing up by requesting you
to play a certain air or tune. I have always thought "Dixie" one of
the best tunes I ever heard. I have heard that our adversaries over
the way have attempted to appropriate it as a national air. I
insisted yesterday that we had fairly captured it. I presented the
question to the Attorney-General, and he gave his opinion that it
is our lawful prize. I ask the band to give us a good turn upon it.
The band did give "a good turn" not only to "Dixie," but to the
whimsical tune of "Yankee Doodle," after which Lincoln proposed three
cheers for General Grant and all under his command; and then "three more
cheers for our gallant navy," at the close of which he bowed and retired
amid the inspiring strains of "Hail Columbia" discoursed with vigor by
the patriotic musicians.
As additional despatches were received from the army, the joyful
excitement in Washington increased. Tuesday evening, April 11, the
President's mansion, the Executive Departments, and many of the business
places and private residences, were illuminated, bonfires were kindled,
and fireworks sent off, in celebration of the great event which stirred
the hearts of the people. A vast mass of citizens crowded about the
White House, as Lincoln appeared at the historic East window and made
his last speech to the American public. It was a somewhat lengthy
address, and had been prepared and written out for the occasion. "We
meet this evening, not in sorrow but in gladness of heart," began the
President. "No part of the honor or praise is mine. To General Grant,
his skilful officers and brave men, all belongs." Mr. Brooks, who was in
the White House during the delivery of this address, gives the following
glimpses behind the scenes: "As Lincoln spoke, the multitude was as
silent as if the court-yard had been deserted. Then, as his speech was
written on loose sheets, and the candles placed for him were too low, he
took a light in his hand and went on with his reading. Soon coming to
the end of a page, he found some difficulty in handling the manuscript
and holding the candlestick. A friend who stood behind the drapery of
the window reached out and took the candle, and held it until the end of
the speech, and the President let the loose pages fall on the floor, one
by one, as fast as he was through with them. Presently Tad, having
refreshed himself at the dinner-table, came back in search of amusement.
He gathered up the scattered sheets of the President's speech, and then
amused himself by chasing the leaves as they fluttered from the
speaker's hand. Growing impatient at his father's delay to drop another
page, Tad whispered, 'Come, give me another!' The President made a queer
motion with his foot toward the boy, but otherwise showed no sign that
he had other thoughts than those which he was dropping to the listeners
beneath. Without was a vast sea of upturned faces, each eye fixed on the
form of the President. Around the tall white pillars of the portico
flowed an undulating surface of human beings, stirred by emotion and
lighted with the fantastic colors of fireworks. At the window, his face
irradiated with patriotic joy, was the much-beloved Lincoln, reading the
speech that was to be his last to the people. Behind him crept back and
forth, on his hands and knees, the boy of the White House, gathering up
his father's carefully written pages, and occasionally lifting up his
eager face waiting for more. It was before and behind the scenes.
Sometimes I wonder, when I recall that night, how much of a father's
love and thought of his boy might have been mingled in Lincoln's last
speech to the eager multitude."
The President's speech on this occasion was largely devoted to the
impending problem of Reconstruction in the South. The problem was
complex and difficult, with no recognized principles or precedent for
guidance. Said Lincoln: "Unlike the case of a war between independent
nations, there is no authorized organization for us to treat with. No
one man has authority to give up the rebellion for any other man. We
simply must begin with and mould from disorganized and discordant
elements. Nor is it a small additional embarrassment, that we, the loyal
people, differ amongst ourselves as to the mode, manner, and measure of
reconstruction. Let us all join in doing the acts necessary to restoring
the proper practical relations between these States and the Union." The
problem thus touched upon was one that had long occupied the thoughts
of Lincoln, especially since the downfall of the Confederacy had been
imminent. His practical and far-seeing mind was already addressing
itself to the new issues, duties, and responsibilities, which he saw
opening before him, and which he well knew would demand all of his
wisdom, firmness, and political sagacity. As was to be expected, a great
diversity of views prevailed. A powerful faction in Congress,
sympathized with by some members of the Cabinet, was for "making treason
odious" and dealing with the insurgent States as conquered provinces
that had forfeited all rights once held under the Constitution and were
entitled only to such treatment as the Government chose to give them.
Lincoln's ideas were very different. His mind was occupied with
formulating a policy having for its object the welfare of the Southern
people and the restoration of the rebellious States to the Union. His
broad and statesmanlike views were outlined, the day after the public
address just referred to, in discussing Secretary Welles's plans for
convening the legislature of Virginia. Says Mr. Welles in his Diary:
"His idea was that the members of the legislature, comprising the
prominent and influential men of their respective counties, had better
come together and undo their own work. Civil government must be
reestablished, he said, as soon as possible; there must be courts, and
law and order, or society would be broken up, the disbanded armies would
turn into robber bands and guerillas, which we must strive to prevent.
These were the reasons why he wished prominent Virginians who had the
confidence of the people to come together and turn themselves and their
neighbors into good Union men." Lincoln had no thought of leaving any of
these questions to the military authorities. In March he had directed a
despatch from Stanton to Grant, saying: "The President wishes you to
have no conference with General Lee, unless it be for the capitulation
of his army, or on some other minor and purely military matter. He
instructs me to say that you are not to decide, discuss, or confer upon
any political question. Such questions the President _holds in his own
hands_, and will submit them to no military conferences or conventions."
During his meeting with Grant at Petersburg the President revealed to
the General many of his plans for the rehabilitation of the South, and
it could easily be seen that a spirit of magnanimity was uppermost in
his heart. And at the conference with Grant, Sherman, and Porter, on
board the "River Queen," the same subject was broached. "Though I cannot
attempt to recall the words spoken by any one of the persons present on
that occasion," says General Sherman, "I know we talked generally about
what was to be done when Lee's and Johnston's armies were beaten and
dispersed. On this point Mr. Lincoln was very full. He said that he had
long thought of it, that he hoped this end could be reached without more
bloodshed, but in any event he wanted us to get the men of the Southern
armies disarmed and back to their homes; that he contemplated no
revenge, no harsh measures, but quite the contrary, and that their
suffering and hardships during the war would make them the more
submissive to law." Says Hon. George Bancroft: "It was the nature of Mr.
Lincoln to forgive. When hostilities ceased he who had always sent forth
the flag with every one of its stars in the field was eager to receive
back his returning countrymen."
One of the last stories of personal interviews with President Lincoln
relates to his feeling of clemency for the men lately in rebellion. It
is told by Senator Henderson of Missouri. "About the middle of March,
1865," says Senator Henderson, "I went to the White House to ask the
President to pardon a number of men who had been languishing in Missouri
prisons for various offenses, all political. Some of them had been my
schoolmates, and their mothers and sisters and sweethearts had persisted
in appeals that I should use my influence for their release. Since it
was evident to me that the Confederacy was in its last throes, I felt
that the pardon of most of these prisoners would do more good than harm.
I had separated them, according to the gravity of their offenses, into
three classes; and handing the first list to him, I said, 'Mr.
President, the session of the Senate is closed, and I am about to start
for home. The war is virtually over. Grant is pretty certain to get Lee
and his army, and Sherman is plainly able to take care of Johnston. In
my opinion the best way to prevent guerilla warfare at the end of
organized resistance will be to show clemency to these Southern
sympathizers.' Lincoln shook his head and said, 'Henderson, I am deeply
indebted to you, and I want to show it; but don't ask me at this time to
pardon rebels. I can't do it. People are continually blaming me for
being too lenient. Don't encourage such fellows by inducing me to turn
loose a lot of men who perhaps ought to be hanged.' I answered, 'Mr.
President, these prisoners and their friends tell me that for them the
war is over; and it will surely have a good influence now to let them
go.' He replied, 'Henderson, my conscience tells me that I must not do
it.' But I persisted. 'Mr. President, you _should_ do it. It is
necessary for good feeling in Missouri that these people be released.'
'If I sign this list as a whole, will you be responsible for the future
good behavior of these men?' he asked. 'Yes,' I replied, 'I will.' 'Then
I'll take the risk.' He wrote the word _Pardoned_, signed the order of
release, and returned the paper to me. 'Thank you, Mr. President,' I
said, 'but that is not all. I have another list.' 'You're not going to
make me let loose another lot!' he exclaimed. 'Yes,' I answered, 'and my
argument is the same as before. The guilt of these men is doubtful.
Mercy must be the policy of peace.' With the only words approaching
profanity that I ever heard him utter, he exclaimed, '_I'll be durned if
I don't sign it!_ Now, Henderson,' he said, as he handed me the list,
'remember that you are responsible to me for these men, and if they
don't behave '_I'll put you in prison for their sins._'"
Lincoln's whole feeling toward the vanquished Southern people was one of
peace and magnanimity. While many were clamoring for the execution of
the Southern leaders, and especially Jefferson Davis, Lincoln said, only
a day or two before his death: "This talk about Mr. Davis wearies me. I
hope he will mount a fleet horse, reach the shores of the Gulf of
Mexico, and ride _so far into its waters_ that we shall never see him
again." And then he told a pat story--perhaps his last--of a boy in
Springfield, "who saved up his money and bought a 'coon,' which, after
the novelty wore off, became a great nuisance. He was one day leading
him through the streets, and had his hands full to keep clear of the
little vixen, who had torn his clothes half off him. At length he sat
down on the curb-stone, completely fagged out. A man passing was stopped
by the lad's disconsolate appearance, and asked the matter. 'Oh,' was
the only reply, 'this coon is such a _trouble_ to me!' 'Why don't you
get rid of him, then?' said the gentleman. '_Hush_!' said the boy,
'don't you see he is gnawing his rope off? I am going to let him do it,
and then I will go home and tell the folks _that he got away from me_.'"
At the last Cabinet meeting ever attended by Lincoln, held in the
morning of the day on which he was shot, the subject of Reconstruction
was again uppermost, and various plans were presented and discussed.
Secretary Stanton brought forward a plan or ordinance which he said he
had prepared with much care and after a great deal of reflection. It was
arranged that a copy of this should be furnished to each member of the
Cabinet, for criticism and suggestion. "In the meantime," says Secretary
Welles, "we were requested by the President to deliberate and carefully
consider the proposition. He remarked that this was _the great question_
now before us, and _we must soon begin to act_." What that action would
have been had Lincoln lived--what wrong and misery would have been
spared to the South and shame and dishonor to the North--no one can
doubt who comprehends the fibre of that kindly, just, and indomitable
soul.