Lincoln

N >> Nathaniel Wright Stephenson >> Lincoln


When Congress assembled and the Committee resumed its inquisition,
Burnside was moving South on his fated march to Fredericksburg. The
Committee watched him like hungry wolves. Woe to Burnside, woe to
Lincoln, if the General failed! Had the Little Men possessed any sort
of vision they would have seized their opportunity to become the
President's supporters. But they, like the Jacobins, were partisans
first and patriots second. In the division among the Republicans they
saw, not a chance to turn the scale in the President's favor, but
a chance to play politics on their own account. A picturesque Ohio
politician known as "Sunset" Cox opened the ball of their fatuousness
with an elaborate argument in Congress to the effect that the President
was in honor bound to regard the recent elections as strictly analogous
to an appeal to the country in England; that it was his duty to remodel
his policy to suit the Democrats. Between the Democrats and the Jacobins
Lincoln was indeed between the devil and the deep blue sea with no one
certainly on his side except the volatile Abolitionists whom he did not
trust and who did not trust him. A great victory might carry him over.
But a great defeat--what might not be the consequence!

On the thirteenth of December, through Burnside's stubborn incompetence,
thousands of American soldiers flung away their lives in a holocaust of
useless valor at Fredericksburg. Promptly the Jacobins acted. They set
up a shriek: the incompetent President, the all-parties dreamer, the
man who persists in coquetting with the Democrats, is blundering into
destruction! Burnside received the dreaded summons from the Committee.
So staggering was the shock of horror that even moderate Republicans
were swept away in a new whirlpool of doubt.

But even thus it was scarcely wise, the Abolitionists being still
fearful over the emancipation policy, to attack the President direct.
Nevertheless, the resourceful Jacobins found a way to begin their new
campaign. Seward, the symbol of moderation, the unforgivable enemy of
the Jacobins, had recently earned anew the hatred of the Abolitionists.
Letters of his to Charles Francis Adams had appeared in print. Some of
their expressions had roused a storm. For example: "extreme advocates of
African slavery and its most vehement exponents are acting in concert
together to precipitate a servile war."(8) To be sure, the date of
this letter was long since, before he and Lincoln had changed ground on
emancipation, but that did not matter. He had spoken evil of the cause;
he should suffer. All along, the large number that were incapable of
appreciating his lack of malice had wished him out of the Cabinet. As
Lincoln put it: "While they seemed to believe in my honesty, they also
appeared to think that when I had in me any good purpose or intention,
Seward contrived to suck it out of me unperceived."(9)

The Jacobins were skilful politicians. A caucus of Republican
Senators was stampeded by the cry that Seward was the master of the
Administration, the chief explanation of failure. It was Seward who had
brought them to the verge of despair. A committee was named to demand
the reorganization of the Cabinet Thereupon, Seward, informed of this
action, resigned. The Committee of the Senators called upon Lincoln. He
listened; did not commit himself; asked them to call again; and turned
into his own thoughts for a mode of saving the day.

During twenty months, since their clash in April, 1861, Seward and
Lincoln had become friends; not merely official associates, but genuine
comrades. Seward's earlier condescension had wholly disappeared. Perhaps
his new respect for Lincoln grew out of the President's silence after
Sumter. A few words revealing the strange meddling of the Secretary
of State would have turned upon Seward the full fury of suspicion that
destroyed McClellan. But Lincoln never spoke those words. Whatever blame
there was for the failure of the Sumter expedition, he quietly accepted
as his own. Seward, whatever his faults, was too large a nature, too
genuinely a lover of courage, of the nonvindictive temper, not to
be struck with admiration. Watching with keen eyes the unfolding of
Lincoln, Seward advanced from admiration to regard. After a while he
could write, "The President is the best of us." He warmed to him;
he gave out the best of himself. Lincoln responded. While the other
secretaries were useful, Seward became necessary. Lincoln, in these dark
days, found comfort in his society.(10) Lincoln was not going to allow
Seward to be driven out of the Cabinet. But how could he prevent it?
He could not say. He was in a quandary. For the moment, the Republican
leaders were so nearly of one mind in their antagonism to Seward, that
it demanded the greatest courage to oppose them. But Lincoln does not
appear to have given a thought to surrender. What puzzled him was the
mode of resistance.

Now that he was wholly himself, having confidence in whatever mode of
procedure his own thought approved, he had begun using methods that the
politicians found disconcerting. The second conference with the Senators
was an instance. Returning in the same mood in which they had left
him, with no suspicion of a surprise in store, the Senators to their
amazement were confronted by the Cabinet--or most of it, Seward being
absent.(11) The Senators were put out. This simple maneuver by the
President was the beginning of their discomfiture. It changed their
role from the ambassadors of an ultimatum to the participants in a
conference. But even thus, they might have succeeded in dominating the
event, though it is hardly conceivable that they could have carried
their point; they might have driven Lincoln into a corner; had it
not been for the make-up of one man. Again, the destiny that is in
character! Lincoln was delivered from a quandary by the course which the
Secretary of the Treasury could not keep himself from pursuing.

Chase, previous to this hour, may truly be called an imposing figure.
As a leader of the extreme Republicans, he had earned much fame. Lincoln
had given him a free hand in the Treasury and all the financial measures
of the government were his. Hitherto, Vindictives of all sorts had loved
him. He was a critic of the President's mildness, and a severe critic of
Seward. But Chase was not candid. Though on the surface he scrupulously
avoided any hint of cynicism, any point of resemblance to Seward, he was
in fact far more devious, much more capable of self-deception. He had
little of Seward's courage, and none of his aplomb. His condemnation of
Seward had been confided privately to Vindictive brethren.

When the Cabinet and the Senators met, Chase was placed in a situation
of which he had an instinctive horror. His caution, his secretiveness,
his adroit confidences, his skilful silences, had created in these two
groups of men, two impressions of his character. The Cabinet knew him as
the faithful, plausible Minister who found the money for the President.
The Senators, or some of them, knew him as the discontented Minister who
was their secret ally. For the two groups to compare notes, to check up
their impressions, meant that Chase was going to be found out. And it
was the central characteristic of Chase that he had a horror of being
found out.

The only definite result of the conference was Chase's realization when
the Senators departed that mischance was his portion. In the presence of
the Cabinet he had not the face to stick to his guns. He feebly defended
Seward. The Senators opened their eyes and stared. The ally they had
counted on had failed them. Chase bit his lips and was miserable.

The night that followed was one of deep anxiety for Lincoln. He was
still unable to see his way out. But all the while the predestination in
Chase's character was preparing the way of escape. Chase was desperately
trying to discover how to save his face. An element in him that
approached the melodramatic at last pointed the way. He would resign.
What an admirable mode of recapturing the confidence of his disappointed
friends, carrying out their aim to disrupt the Cabinet! But he could
not do a bold thing like this in Seward's way--at a stroke, without
hesitation. When he called on Lincoln the next day with the resignation
in his hand, he wavered. It happened that Welles was in the room.

"Chase said he had been painfully affected," is Welles' account, "by
the meeting last evening, which was a surprise, and after some not very
explicit remarks as to how he was affected, informed the President he
had prepared his resignation of the office of Secretary of the Treasury.
'Where is it,' said the President, quickly, his eye lighting up in a
moment. 'I brought it with me,' said Chase, taking the paper from his
pocket. 'I wrote it this morning.' 'Let me have it,' said the President,
reaching his long arm and fingers toward Chase, who held on seemingly
reluctant to part with the letter which was sealed and which he
apparently hesitated to surrender. Something further he wished to
say, but the President was eager and did not perceive it, but took and
hastily opened the letter.

"'This,' said he, looking towards me with a triumphal laugh, 'cuts the
Gordian knot.' An air of satisfaction spread over his countenance such
as I had not seen for some time. 'I can dispose of this subject now
without difficulty,' he added, as he turned in his chair; 'I see my way
clear.'"(12) In Lincoln's distress during this episode, there was much
besides his anxiety for the fate of a trusted minister. He felt he must
not permit himself to be driven into the arms of the Vindictives by
disgracing Seward. Seward had a following which Lincoln needed. But to
proclaim to the world his confidence in Seward without at the same time
offsetting it by some display of confidence, equally significant in the
enemies of Seward, this would have amounted to committing himself to
Seward's following alone. And that would not do. Should either faction
appear to dominate him, Lincoln felt that "the whole government must
cave in. It could not stand, could not hold water; the bottom would be
out."(13)

The incredible stroke of luck, the sheer good fortune that Chase was
Chase and nobody else,--vain, devious, stagey and hypersensitive,--was
salvation. Lincoln promptly rejected both resignations and called upon
both Ministers to resume their portfolios. They did so. The incident was
closed. Neither faction could say that Lincoln had favored the other.
He had saved himself, or rather, Chase's character had saved him, by the
margin of a hair.

For the moment, a rebuilding of the Vindictive Coalition was impossible.
Nevertheless, the Jacobins, again balked of their prey, had it in their
power, through the terrible Committee, to do immense mischief. The
history of the war contains no other instance of party malice quite
so fruitless and therefore so inexcusable as their next move. After
severely interrogating Burnside, they published an exoneration of his
motives and revealed the fact that Lincoln had forced him into command
against his will. The implication was plain.

January came in. The Emancipation Proclamation was confirmed. The
jubilation of the Abolitionists became, almost at once, a propaganda for
another issue upon slavery. New troubles were gathering close about the
President The overwhelming benefit which had been anticipated from
the new policy had not clearly arrived. Even army enlistments were
not satisfactory. Conscription loomed on the horizon as an eventual
necessity. A bank of returning cloud was covering the political horizon,
enshrouding the White House in another depth of gloom.

However, out of all this gathering darkness, one clear light solaced
Lincoln's gaze. One of his chief purposes had been attained. In contrast
to the doubtful and factional response to his policy at home, the
response abroad was sweeping and unconditional. He had made himself the
hero of the "Liberal party throughout the world." Among the few cheery
words that reached him in January, 1863, were New Year greetings of
trust and sympathy sent by English working men, who, because of the
blockade, were on the verge of starvation. It was in response to one of
these letters from the working men of Manchester that Lincoln wrote:

"I have understood well that the duty of self-preservation rests solely
with the American people; but I have at the same time been aware that
the favor or disfavor of foreign nations might have a material influence
in enlarging or prolonging the struggle with disloyal men in which
the country is engaged. A fair examination of history has served to
authorize a belief that the past actions and influences of the United
States were generally regarded as having been beneficial toward
mankind. I have therefore reckoned upon the forbearance of nations.
Circumstances--to some of which you kindly allude--induce me especially
to expect that if justice and good faith should be practised by the
United States they would encounter no hostile influence on the part
of Great Britain. It is now a pleasant duty to acknowledge the
demonstration you have given of your desire that a spirit of amity and
peace toward this country may prevail in the councils of your Queen, who
is respected and esteemed in your own country only more than she is, by
the kindred nation which has its home on this side of the Atlantic.

"I know and deeply deplore the sufferings which the working men at
Manchester, and in all Europe, are called on to endure in this crisis.
It has been often and studiously represented that the attempt to
overthrow this government which was built upon the foundation of human
rights, and to substitute for it one which should rest exclusively on
the basis of human slavery, was likely to obtain the favor of Europe.
Through the action of our disloyal citizens, the working men of Europe
have been subjected to severe trials for the purpose of forcing their
sanction to that attempt. Under the circumstances, I can not but regard
your decisive utterances upon the question as an instance of sublime
Christian heroism which has not been surpassed in any age or in any
country. It is indeed an energetic and reinspiring assurance of the
inherent power of the truth, and of the ultimate and universal triumph
of justice, humanity and freedom. I do not doubt that the sentiments you
have expressed will be sustained by your great nation; and on the
other hand, I have no hesitation in assuring you that they will excite
admiration, esteem, and the most reciprocal feelings of friendship among
the American people. I hail this interchange of sentiment, therefore, as
an augury that whatever else may happen, whatever misfortune may befall
your country or my own, the peace and friendship which now exist
between the two nations, will be, as it shall be my desire to make them,
perpetual."(14)




XXVI. THE DICTATOR, THE MARPLOT AND THE LITTLE MEN

While the Jacobins were endeavoring to reorganize the Republican
antagonism to the President, Lincoln was taking thought how he could
offset still more effectually their influence. In taking up the
emancipation policy he had not abandoned his other policy of an
all-parties Administration, or of something similar to that. By this
time it was plain that a complete union of parties was impossible. In
the autumn of 1862, a movement of liberal Democrats in Michigan for the
purpose of a working agreement with the Republicans was frustrated by
the flinty opposition of Chandler.(1) However, it still seemed possible
to combine portions of parties in an Administration group that should
forswear the savagery of the extreme factions and maintain the war in a
merciful temper. The creation of such a group was Lincoln's aim at the
close of the year.

The Republicans were not in doubt what he was driving at. Smarting over
their losses in the election, there was angry talk that Lincoln and
Seward had "slaughtered the Republican party."(2) Even as sane a man as
John Sherman, writing to his brother on the causes of the apparent turn
of the tide could say "the first is that the Republican organization was
voluntarily abandoned by the President and his leading followers, and
a no-party union was formed to run against an old, well-drilled party
organization."(3) When Julian returned to Washington in December, he
found that the menace to the Republican machine was "generally admitted
and (his) earnest opposition to it fully justified in the opinion of
the Republican members of Congress."(4) How fully they perceived their
danger had been shown in their attempt to drive Lincoln into a corner on
the issue of a new Cabinet.

Even before that, Lincoln had decided on his next move. As in the
emancipation policy he had driven a wedge between the factions of the
Republicans, so now he would drive a wedge into the organization of
the Democrats. It had two parts which had little to hold them together
except their rooted partisan habit.(5) One branch, soon to receive the
label "Copperhead," accepted the secession principle and sympathized
with the Confederacy. The other, while rejecting secession and
supporting the war, denounced the emancipation policy as usurped
authority, and felt personal hostility to Lincoln. It was the latter
faction that Lincoln still hoped to win over. Its most important member
was Horatio Seymour, who in the autumn of 1862 was elected governor of
New York. Lincoln decided to operate on him by one of those astounding
moves which to the selfless man seemed natural enough, by which the
ordinary politician was always hopelessly mystified. He called in
Thurlow Weed and authorized him to make this proposal: if Seymour would
bring his following into a composite Union party with no platform
but the vigorous prosecution of the war, Lincoln would pledge all his
influence to securing for Seymour the presidential nomination in 1864.
Weed delivered his message. Seymour was noncommittal and Lincoln had to
wait for his answer until the new Governor should show his hand by
his official acts. Meanwhile a new crisis had developed in the army.
Burnside's character appears to have been shattered by his defeat.
Previous to Fredericksburg, he had seemed to be a generous, high-minded
man. From Fredericksburg onward, he became more and more an impossible.
A reflection of McClellan in his earlier stage, he was somehow
transformed eventually into a reflection of vindictivism. His later
character began to appear in his first conference with the Committee
subsequent to his disaster. They visited him on the field and "his
conversation disarmed all criticism." This was because he struck their
own note to perfection. "Our soldiers," he said, "were not sufficiently
fired by resentment, and he exhorted me (Julian) if I could, to breathe
into our people at home the same spirit toward our enemies which
inspired them toward us."(6) What a transformation in McClellan's
disciple!

But the country was not won over so easily as the Committee. There was
loud and general disapproval and of course, the habitual question, "Who
next?" The publication by the Committee of its insinuation that once
more the stubborn President was the real culprit did not stem the tide.
Burnside himself made his case steadily worse. His judgment, such as
it was, had collapsed. He seemed to be stubbornly bent on a virtual
repetition of his previous folly. Lincoln felt it necessary to command
him to make no forward move without consulting the President.(7)

Burnside's subordinates freely criticized their commander. General
Hooker was the most outspoken. It was known that a movement was
afoot--an intrigue, if you will-to disgrace Burnside and elevate Hooker.
Chafing under criticism and restraint, Burnside completely lost his
sense of propriety. On the twenty-fourth of January, 1863, when Henry
W. Raymond, the powerful editor of the New York Times, was on a visit to
the camp, Burnside took him into his tent and read him an order removing
Hooker because of his unfitness "to hold a command in a cause where so
much moderation, forbearance, and unselfish patriotism were required."
Raymond, aghast, inquired what he would do if Hooker resisted, if he
raised his troops in mutiny? "He said he would Swing him before sundown
if he attempted such a thing."

Raymond, though more than half in sympathy with Burnside, felt that the
situation was startling. He hurried off to Washington. "I immediately,"
he writes, "called upon Secretary Chase and told him the whole story.
He was greatly surprised to hear such reports of Hooker, and said he
had looked upon him as the man best fitted to command the army of the
Potomac. But no man capable of so much and such unprincipled ambition
was fit for so great a trust, and he gave up all thought of him
henceforth. He wished me to go with him to his house and accompany him
and his daughter to the President's levee. I did so and found a great
crowd surrounding President Lincoln. I managed, however, to tell him
in brief terms that I had been with the army and that many things were
occurring there which he ought to know. I told him of the obstacles
thrown in Burnside's way by his subordinates and especially General
Hooker's habitual conversation. He put his hand on my shoulder and said
in my ear as if desirous of not being overheard, 'That is all true;
Hooker talks badly; but the trouble is, he is stronger with the country
today than any other man.' I ventured to ask how long he would retain
that strength if his real conduct and character should be understood.
'The country,' said he, 'would not believe it; they would say it was all
a lie.'"(8)

Whether Chase did what he said he would do and ceased to be Hooker's
advocate, may be questioned. Tradition preserves a deal between the
Secretary and the General--the Secretary to urge his advancement, the
General, if he reached his goal, to content himself with military honors
and to assist the Secretary in succeeding to the Presidency. Hooker
was a public favorite. The dashing, handsome figure of "Fighting Joe"
captivated the popular imagination. The terrible Committee were his
friends. Military men thought him full of promise. On the whole,
Lincoln, who saw the wisdom of following up his clash over the Cabinet
by a concession to the Jacobins, was willing to take his chances with
Hooker.

His intimate advisers were not of the same mind. They knew that there
was much talk on the theme of a possible dictator-not the constitutional
dictator of Lincoln and Stevens, but the old-fashioned dictator of
historical melodrama. Hooker was reported to have encouraged such talk.
All this greatly alarmed one of Lincoln's most devoted henchmen--Lamon,
Marshal of the District of Columbia, who regarded himself as personally
responsible for Lincoln's safety. "In conversation with Mr. Lincoln,"
says Lamon, "one night about the time General Burnside was relieved, I
was urging upon him the necessity of looking well to the fact that there
was a scheme on foot to depose him, and to appoint a military dictator
in his stead. He laughed and said, 'I think, for a man of accredited
courage, you are the most panicky person I ever knew; you can see more
dangers to me than all the other friends I have. You are all the time
exercised about somebody taking my life; murdering me; and now you
have discovered a new danger; now you think the people of this great
government are likely to turn me out of office. I do not fear this from
the people any more than I fear assassination from an individual. Now to
show my appreciation of what my French friends would call a coup d'etat,
let me read you a letter I have written to General Hooker whom I have
just appointed to the command of the army of the Potomac."(9)

Few letters of Lincoln's are better known, few reveal more exactly the
tone of his final period, than the remarkable communication he addressed
to Hooker two days after that whispered talk with Raymond at the White
House levee:

"General, I have placed you at the head of the army of the Potomac. Of
course I have done this upon what appear to me to be sufficient reasons,
and yet I think it best for you to know that there are some things in
regard to which I am not quite satisfied with you. I believe you to be a
brave and skilful soldier, which of course I like. I also believe you do
not mix politics with your profession, in which you are right. You have
confidence in yourself, which is a valuable, if not an indispensable
quality. You are ambitious, which within reasonable bounds, does good
rather than harm; but I think that during General Burnside's command
of the army you have taken counsel of your ambition and thwarted him as
much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country and to
a most meritorious and honorable brother officer. I have heard in such a
way as to believe it, of your recently Saying that both the army and
the government needed a dictator. Of course it was not for this, but in
spite of it, that I have given you the command. Only those generals
who gain successes can set up dictators. What I now ask you is military
success, and I will risk the dictatorship. The government will support
you to the utmost of its ability, which is neither more nor less than
it has done and will do for all commanders. I much fear that the spirit
which you have aided to infuse into the army, of criticizing their
commander and withholding confidence from him, will now turn upon you.
I shall assist you as far as I can to put it down. Neither you nor
Napoleon, if he were alive again, could get any good out of an army
while such a Spirit prevails in it; and now beware of rashness. Beware
of rashness, but with energy and sleepless vigilance go forward and give
us victories."(10)