Lincoln

N >> Nathaniel Wright Stephenson >> Lincoln


Lincoln was confident of victory. And after victory would come the new
policy, the dissipation of the European storm-cloud, the break-up of the
vindictive coalition of Jacobins and Abolitionists, the new enthusiasm
for the war. But of all this, the incensed Abolitionists received no
hint. The country rang with their denunciations of the President. At
length, Greeley printed in The Tribune an open letter called "The Prayer
of Twenty Millions." It was an arraignment of what Greeley chose to
regard as the pro-slavery policy of the Administration. This was on
August twentieth. Lincoln, in high hope that a victory was at hand,
seized the opportunity both to hint to the country that he was about to
change his policy, and to state unconditionally his reason for changing.
He replied to Greeley through the newspapers:

"As to the policy I 'seem to be pursuing,' as you say, I have meant to
leave no one in doubt.

"I would save the Union. I would save it the shortest way under the
Constitution. The sooner the national authority can be restored, the
nearer the Union will be 'the Union as it was' If there be those
who would not save the Union unless they could at the same time save
Slavery, I do not agree with them. If there be those who would not save
the Union, unless they could at the same time destroy slavery, I do not
agree with them. My paramount object in this struggle is to save the
Union, and it is not either to save or destroy slavery. If I could save
the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it; and if I could save
it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by
freeing some of the slaves and leaving others alone, I would also do
that. What I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I
believe it will help to save the Union; and what I forbear, I forbear
because I do not believe it would help to save the Union. I shall do
less whenever I shall believe that what I am doing hurts the cause;
and I shall do more whenever I believe that doing more will help the
cause."(8) The effect of this on the Abolitionists was only to increase
their rage. The President was compared to Douglas with his indifference
whether slavery was voted "up or down."(9) Lincoln, now so firmly
hopeful, turned a deaf ear to these railing accusations. He was intent
upon watching the army. It was probably at this time that he reached an
unfortunate conclusion with regard to McClellan. The transfer of forces
from the James River to northern Virginia had proceeded slowly. It gave
rise to a new controversy, a new crop of charges. McClellan was accused
of being dilatory on purpose, of aiming to cause the failure of Pope.
Lincoln accepted, at last, the worst view of him. He told Hay that "it
really seemed that McClellan wanted Pope defeated. . . . The President
seemed to think him a little crazy."(10)

But still the confidence in Pope, marching so blithely through "the
blush of dawn," stood fast. If ever an Administration was in a fool's
paradise, it was Lincoln's, in the last few days of August, while
Jackson was stealthily carrying out his great flanking movement getting
between Pope and Washington. However, the Suspicious Stanton kept his
eyes on McClellan. He decided that troops were being held back from
Pope; and he appealed to other members of the Cabinet to join with him
in a formal demand upon the President for McClellan's dismissal from
the army. While the plan was being discussed, came the appalling news of
Pope's downfall.

The meeting of the Cabinet, September second, was another revelation of
the new independence of the President. Three full days had passed since
Pope had telegraphed that the battle was lost and that he no longer
had control of his army. The Ministers, awaiting the arrival of the
President, talked excitedly, speculating what would happen next. "It
was stated," says Welles in his diary, "that Pope was falling back,
intending to retreat within the Washington entrenchments, Blair, who
has known him intimately, says he is a braggart and a liar, with some
courage, perhaps, but not much capacity. The general conviction is that
he is a failure here, and there is a belief . . . that he has not
been seconded and sustained as he should have been by McClellan . . ."
Stanton entered; terribly agitated. He had news that fell upon the
Cabinet like a bombshell. He said "in a suppressed voice, trembling
with excitement, he was informed that McClellan had been ordered to take
command of the forces in Washington."

Never was there a more tense moment in the Cabinet room than when
Lincoln entered that day. And all could see that he was in deep
distress. But he confirmed Stanton's information. That very morning
he had gone himself to McClellan's house and had asked him to resume
command. Lincoln discussed McClellan with the Cabinet quite simply,
admitting all his bad qualities, but finding two points in his
favor--his power of organization, and his popularity with the men.(11)

He was still more frank with his Secretaries. "'He has acted badly in
this matter,' Lincoln said to Hay, 'but we must use what tools we have.
There is no man in the army who can man these fortifications and lick
these troops of ours into shape half as well as he.' I spoke of the
general feeling against McClellan as evinced by the President's mail. He
rejoined: 'Unquestionably, he has acted badly toward Pope; he wanted
him to fail. That is unpardonable, but he is too useful now to
sacrifice.'"(12) At another time, he said: "'If he can't fight himself,
he excels in making others ready to fight.'"(13)

McClellan justified Lincoln's confidence. In this case, Herndon's theory
of Lincoln's powers of judgment does not apply. Though probably unfair
on the one point of McClellan's attitude to Pope, he knew his man
otherwise. Lincoln had also discovered that Halleck, the veriest
martinet of a general, was of little value at a crisis. During the next
two months, McClellan, under the direct oversight of the President, was
the organizer of victory.

Toward the middle of September, when Lee and McClellan were gradually
converging upon the fated line of Antietam Creek, Lincoln's new firmness
was put to the test. The immediate effect of Manassas was another, a
still more vehement outcry for an anti-slavery policy. A deputation of
Chicago clergymen went to Washington for the purpose of urging him
to make an anti-slavery pronouncement. The journey was a continuous
ovation. If at any time Lincoln was tempted to forget Seward's worldly
wisdom, it was when these influential zealots demanded of him to do the
very thing he intended to do. But it was one of the characteristics of
this final Lincoln that when once he had fully determined on a course of
action, nothing could deflect him. With consummate coolness he gave
them no new light on his purpose. Instead, he seized the opportunity
to "feel" the country. He played the role of advocate arguing the case
against an emancipation policy.(14) They met his argument with great
Spirit and resolution. Taking them as an index, there could be little
question that the country was ripe for the new policy. At the close
of the interview Lincoln allowed himself to jest. One of the clergymen
dramatically charged him to give heed to their message as to a direct
commission from the Almighty. "Is it not odd," said Lincoln, "that the
only channel he could send it was that roundabout route by the awfully
wicked city of Chicago?"*

* Reminiscences, 335. This retort is given by Schuyler
Colfax. There are various reports of what Lincoln said. In
another version, "I hope it will not be irreverent for me to
say that if it is probable that God would reveal His will to
others on a point so connected with my duty, it might be
supposed He would reveal it directly to me." Tarbell, II,
12.

Lincoln's pertinacity, holding fast the program he had accepted, came to
its reward. On the seventeenth occurred that furious carnage along the
Antietam known as the bloodiest single day of the whole war. Military
men have disagreed, calling it sometimes a victory, sometimes a drawn
battle. In Lincoln's political strategy the dispute is immaterial.
Psychologically, it was a Northern victory. The retreat of Lee was
regarded by the North as the turn of the tide. Lincoln's opportunity had
arrived.

Again, a unique event occurred in a Cabinet meeting. On the
twenty-second of September, with the cannon of Antietam still ringing
in their imagination, the Ministers were asked by the President whether
they had seen the new volume just published by Artemus Ward. As they had
not, he produced it and read aloud with evident relish one of those bits
of nonsense which, in the age of Dickens, seemed funny enough. Most
of the Cabinet joined in the merriment--Stanton, of course, as always,
excepted. Lincoln closed the book, pulled himself together, and became
serious.

"Gentlemen," said he, according to the diary of Secretary Chase, "I
have, as you are aware, thought a great deal about the relation of this
war to slavery; and you all remember that several weeks ago I read you
an order I had prepared on this subject, which, on account of objections
made by some of you, was not issued. Ever since, my mind has been much
occupied with this subject, and I have thought all along that the time
for acting on it might probably come. I think the time has come now. I
wish it was a better time. I wish that we were in a better condition.
The action of the army against the Rebels has not been quite what I
should have best liked. But they have been driven out of Maryland; and
Pennsylvania is no longer in danger of invasion. When the Rebel army
was at Frederick, I determined, as soon as it should be driven out of
Maryland, to issue a proclamation of emancipation, such as I thought
most likely to be useful. I said nothing to any one, but I made the
promise to myself, and (hesitating a little) to my Maker. The Rebel army
is now driven out and I am going to fulfill that promise. I have got
you together to hear what I have written down. I do not wish your advice
about the main matter, for that I have determined for myself. This, I
say without intending anything but respect for any one of you. But
I already know the views of each on this question. They have been
heretofore expressed, and I have considered them as thoroughly and as
carefully as I can. What I have written is that which my reflections
have determined me to say. . . . I must do the best I can, and bear the
responsibility of taking the course which I feel I ought to take."(15)
The next day the Proclamation was published.

This famous document (16) is as remarkable for the parts of it that are
now forgotten as for the rest. The remembered portion is a warning that
on the first of January, one hundred days subsequent to the date of the
Proclamation--"all persons held as slaves within any State or designated
part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against
the United States, shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free." The
forgotten portions include four other declarations of executive policy.
Lincoln promised that "the Executive will in due time recommend that all
citizens of the United States who have remained loyal thereto shall be
compensated for all losses by acts of the United States, including the
loss of slaves." He announced that he would again urge upon Congress
"the adoption of a practical measure tendering pecuniary aid" to all the
loyal Slave States that would "voluntarily adopt immediate or gradual
abolishment of slavery within their limits." He would continue to advise
the colonization of free Africans abroad. There is still to be mentioned
a detail of the Proclamation which, except for its historical setting
in the general perspective of Lincoln's political strategy, would appear
inexplicable. One might expect in the opening statement, where the
author of the Proclamation boldly assumes dictatorial power, an
immediate linking of that assumption with the matter in hand. But this
does not happen. The Proclamation begins with the following paragraph:

"I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States of America, and
Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy thereof, do hereby proclaim and
declare that hereafter, as heretofore, the war will be prosecuted for
the object of practically restoring the constitutional relation between
the United States and each of the States and the people thereof in which
States that relation is or may be suspended or disturbed."




XXV. A WAR BEHIND THE SCENES

By the autumn of 1862, Lincoln had acquired the same political method
that Seward had displayed in the spring of 1861. What a chasm separates
the two Lincolns! The cautious, contradictory, almost timid statesman of
the Sumter episode; the confident, unified, quietly masterful statesman
of the Emancipation Proclamation. Now, in action, he was capable of
staking his whole future on the soundness of his own thinking, on his
own ability to forecast the inevitable. Without waiting for the results
of the Proclamation to appear, but in full confidence that he had driven
a wedge between the Jacobins proper and the mere Abolitionists, he threw
down the gage of battle on the issue of a constitutional dictatorship.
Two days after issuing the Proclamation he virtually proclaimed himself
dictator. He did so by means of a proclamation which divested the whole
American people of the privileges of the writ of habeas corpus. The
occasion was the effort of State governments to establish conscription
of their militia. The Proclamation delivered any one impeding that
attempt into the hands of the military authorities without trial.

Here was Lincoln's final answer to Stevens; here, his audacious
challenge to the Jacobins. And now appeared the wisdom of his political
strategy, holding back emancipation until Congress was out of the way.
Had Congress been in session what a hubbub would have ensued! Chandler,
Wade, Trumbull, Sumner, Stevens, all hurrying to join issue on the
dictatorship; to get it before the country ahead of emancipation.
Rather, one can not imagine Lincoln daring to play this second card, so
soon after the first, except with abundant time for the two issues to
disentangle themselves in the public mind ere Congress met. And that was
what happened. When the Houses met in December, the Jacobins found
their position revolutionized. The men who, in July at the head of the
Vindictive coalition, dominated Congress, were now a minority faction
biting their nails at the President amid the ruins of their coalition.

There were three reasons for this collapse. First of all, the
Abolitionists, for the moment, were a faction by themselves. Six weeks
had sufficed to intoxicate them with their opportunity. The significance
of the Proclamation had had time to arise towering on their spiritual
vision, one of the gates of the New Jerusalem.

Limited as it was in application who could doubt that, with one
condition, it doomed slavery everywhere. The condition was a successful
prosecution of the war, the restoration of the Union. Consequently, at
that moment, nothing that made issue with the President, that
threatened any limitation of his efficiency, had the slightest chance of
Abolitionist support. The one dread that alarmed the whole Abolitionist
group was a possible change in the President's mood, a possible
recantation on January first. In order to hold him to his word, they
were ready to humor him as one might cajole, or try to cajole, a monster
that one was afraid of. No time, this, to talk to Abolitionists about
strictly constitutional issues, or about questions of party leadership.
Away with all your "gabble" about such small things! The Jacobins saw
the moving hand--at least for this moment--in the crumbling wall of the
palace of their delusion.

Many men who were not Abolitionists perceived, before Congress met,
that Lincoln had made a great stroke internationally. The "Liberal party
throughout the world" gave a cry of delight, and rose instantly to his
support. John Bright declared that the Emancipation Proclamation "made
it impossible for England to intervene for the South" and derided "the
silly proposition of the French Emperor looking toward intervention."(1)
Bright's closest friend in America was Sumner and Sumner was chairman
of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations. He understood the value
of international sentiment, its working importance, as good provincials
like Chandler did not. Furthermore, he was always an Abolitionist first
and a Jacobin second--if at all. From this time forward, the Jacobins
were never able to count on him, not even when they rebuilt the
Vindictive Coalition a year and a half later. In December, 1862, how did
they dare--true blue politicians that they were--how did they dare raise
a constitutional issue involving the right of the President to capture,
in the way he had, international security?

The crowning irony in the new situation of the Jacobins was the
revelation that they had played unwittingly into the hands of the
Democrats. Their short-sighted astuteness in tying up emancipation with
the war powers was matched by an equal astuteness equally short-sighted.
The organization of the Little Men, when it refused to endorse Lincoln's
all-parties program, had found itself in the absurd position of a party
without an issue. It contained, to be sure, a large proportion of the
Northerners who were opposed to emancipation. But how could it make an
issue upon emancipation, as long as the President, the object of its
antagonism, also refused to support emancipation? The sole argument
in the Cabinet against Lincoln's new policy was that it would give the
Democrats an issue. Shrewd Montgomery Blair prophesied that on this
issue they could carry the autumn elections for Congress. Lincoln had
replied that he would take the risk. He presented them with the issue.
They promptly accepted it But they did not stop there. They aimed
to take over the whole of the position that had been vacated by the
collapse of the Vindictive Coalition. By an adroit bit of political
legerdemain they would steal their enemies' thunder, reunite the
emancipation issue with the issue of the war powers, reverse the
significance of the conjunction, and, armed with this double club, they
would advance from a new and unexpected angle and win the leadership of
the country by overthrowing the dictator. And this, they came very near
doing. On their double issue they rallied enough support to increase
their number in Congress by thirty-three. Had not the moment been so
tragic, nothing could have been more amusing than the helpless wrath of
the Jacobins caught in their own trap, compelled to gnaw their tongues
in silence, while the Democrats, paraphrasing their own arguments,
hurled defiant at Lincoln.

Men of intellectual courage might have broken their party ranks,
daringly applied Lincoln's own maxim "stand with any one who stands
right," and momentarily joined the Democrats in their battle against
the two proclamations. But in American politics, with a few glorious
exceptions, courage of this sort has never been the order of the day.
The Jacobins kept their party line; bowed their heads to the storm; and
bided their time. In the Senate, an indiscreet resolution commending
the Emancipation Proclamation was ordered to be printed, and laid on the
table.(2) In the House, party exigencies were more exacting. Despite
the Democratic successes, the Republicans still had a majority. When the
Democrats made the repudiation of the President a party issue, arguing
on those very grounds that had aroused the eloquence of Stevens and the
rest--why, what's the Constitution between friends! Or between political
enemies? The Democrats forced all the Republicans into one boat by
introducing a resolution "That the policy of emancipation as indicated
in that Proclamation is an assumption of powers dangerous to the rights
of citizens and to the perpetuity of a free people." The resolution was
rejected. Among those who voted NO was Stevens.(3) Indeed, the star of
the Jacobins was far down on the horizon.

But the Jacobins were not the men to give up the game until they were
certainly in the last ditch. Though their issues had been slipped out of
their hands; though for the moment at least, it was not good policy
to fight the President on a principle; it might still be possible to
recover their prestige on some other contention. The first of January
was approaching. The final proclamation of emancipation would bring
to an end the temporary alliance of the Administration and the
Abolitionists. Who could say what new pattern of affairs the political
kaleidoscope might not soon reveal? Surely the Jacobin cue was to busy
themselves, straightway, making trouble for the President. Principles
being unavailable, practices might do. And who was satisfied with the
way the war was going? To rouse the party against the Administration
on the ground of inefficient practices, of unsatisfactory military
progress, might be the first step toward regaining their former
dominance.

There was a feather in the wind that gave them hope. The ominous
first paragraph of the Emancipation Proclamation was evidence that
the President was still stubbornly for his own policy; that he had not
surrendered to the opposite view. But this was not their only strategic
hope. Lincoln's dealings with the army between September and December
might, especially if anything in his course proved to be mistaken,
deliver him into their hands.

Following Antietam, Lincoln had urged upon McClellan swift pursuit
of Lee. His despatches were strikingly different from those of the
preceding spring. That half apologetic tone had disappeared. Though they
did not command, they gave advice freely. The tone was at least that
of an equal who, while not an authority in this particular matter, is
entitled to express his views and to have them taken seriously.

"You remember my speaking to you of what I called your overcautiousness?
Are you not over-cautious when you assume that you can not do what the
enemy is constantly doing? Should you not claim to be at least his equal
in prowess and act upon that claim . . . 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 can not apply in your favor. Change positions
with the enemy and think you not he would break your communications with
Richmond within the next twenty-four hours. . . .

"If he should move northward, I would follow him closely, holding his
communications. If he should prevent your 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'; if we never try we shall
never succeed. . . . We should not operate so as to merely drive him
away. . . . This letter is in no sense an order."(4)

But once more the destiny that is in character intervened, and
McClellan's tragedy reached its climax. His dread of failure hypnotized
his will. So cautious were his movements that Lee regained Virginia with
his army intact. Lincoln was angry. Military amateur though he was, he
had filled his spare time reading books on strategy, Von Clausewitz
and the rest, and he had grasped the idea that war's aim is not to win
technical victories, nor to take cities, but to destroy armies. He felt
that McClellan had thrown away an opportunity of first magnitude. He
removed him from command.(5)

This was six weeks after the two proclamations. The country was ringing
with Abolition plaudits. The election had given the Democrats a new
lease of life. The anti-Lincoln Republicans were silent while their
party enemies with their stolen thunder rang the changes on the
presidential abuse of the war powers. It was a moment of crisis in party
politics. Where did the President stand? What was the outlook for those
men who in the words of Senator Wilson "would rather give a policy to
the President of the United States than take a policy from the President
of the United States."

Lincoln's situation was a close parallel to the situation of July, 1861,
when McDowell failed. Just as in choosing a successor to McDowell, he
revealed a political attitude, now, he would again make a revelation
choosing a successor to McClellan. By passing over Fremont and by
elevating a Democrat, he had spoken to the furious politicians in the
language they understood. Whatever appointment he now made would be
interpreted by those same politicians in the same way. In the atmosphere
of that time, there was but one way for Lincoln to rank himself as
a strict party man, to recant his earlier heresy of presidential
independence, and say to the Jacobins, "I am with you." He must appoint
a Republican to succeed McClellan. Let him do that and the Congressional
Cabal would forgive him. But he did not do it. He swept political
considerations aside and made a purely military appointment Burnside, on
whom he fixed, was the friend and admirer of McClellan and might fairly
be considered next to him in prestige. He was loved by his troops. In
the eyes of the army, his elevation represented "a legitimate succession
rather than the usurpation of a successful rival."(6) He was modest.
He did not want promotion. Nevertheless, Lincoln forced him to take
McClellan's place against his will, in spite of his protest that he had
not the ability to command so large an army.(7)