When President Lincoln, confronted by the infirmities and incapacity of General Scott and the jealousy and rivalry of the younger officers of the army, was compelled to assume the direction of the conduct of the war, he was entirely ignorant of military affairs, except for the experience he had gained in his youth during the Black Hawk War, which, however, was more of a frontier frolic than a serious campaign. His own account of it is found in the autobiography he furnished to the press after his nomination to the Presidency:

"Abraham joined a volunteer company, and to his own surprise was elected captain of it. He says he has not since had any success in life which gave him so much satisfaction. He went into the campaign, served nearly three months, met the ordinary hardships of such an expedition, but was in no battle."

We know from others that Lincoln was one of the first to enlist, and that it was something besides ambition which led him to seek the captaincy of his company. During his first year in Illinois he worked for a time in a saw-mill run by a man named Kirkpatrick, who promised to buy him a cant-hook with which to move heavy logs. Lincoln offered to move the logs with his own common handspike, provided Kirkpatrick would give him in cash the two dollars which a cant-hook would cost. Kirkpatrick agreed to do so, but never did, and Lincoln always bore him a grudge. When the volunteers from Sangamon County assembled on the green to elect their officers, Lincoln discovered that Kirkpatrick was the only candidate for captain, and remarked to his friend and neighbor, Green,—

230 "Bill, I believe I can make Kirkpatrick pay me that two dollars he owes me on the cant-hook or I'll run against him for captain."

So he and Green began immediately to "hustle" for votes, and when the order was given for the men to assemble at the side of their favorite candidate for captain, three-fourths of them came to Lincoln, and he led them over the prairies and through the wilderness to the rendezvous. He had no knowledge of military tactics and did not even know the order to give. He used to describe his blunders with great amusement, and one that he enjoyed particularly was a device to get his men through a gate-way into an enclosure. They were marching across a field four abreast, and Lincoln could not remember the proper command for changing them into single file, "or getting the company through the gate endwise," as he described it. "So, as we came near the gate, I shouted, 'The company is dismissed for two minutes, when it will fall in again on the other side of the gate.'"

This ingenuity did not save him from disgrace on other occasions, and once he was severely punished by being deprived of his sword on account of a violation of discipline. But these punishments did not seem to diminish the respect in which he was held by his company. They were proud of his wit, his strength, and his learning, and throughout their lives they remained devotedly attached to him because of his personal qualities. One day an Indian fugitive took refuge in the camp, and the soldier frontiersmen, with more or less experience of the treachery and cruelty of the savage, saw no reason why they should not put him out of the way at once, especially as they had come out to kill Indians; but Lincoln's humanity and sense of justice revolted at the murder of a helpless savage, and, at the risk of his life, he defied the entire camp and saved the Indian.

231 At the end of their term of service his company was mustered out, and most of the volunteers, seeing no prospect of glory or profit, started towards home; but Captain Lincoln re-enlisted the same day as a private, and often spoke of the satisfaction he felt when relieved of the responsibility of command. He served through the campaign. He was the strongest man in the army and the best wrestler, with the exception of a man named Thompson, who once threw him on the turf.

Black Hawk was captured through the treachery of his allies. Lincoln's battalion was mustered out at Whitewater, Wisconsin, by Lieutenant Robert Anderson, who, twenty-nine years later, was to stand with him as the most interesting figure upon the national stage. A story that Lincoln was mustered into the service by Jefferson Davis has been widely published. It was a natural mistake, however, because Davis, then a lieutenant in the army, was stationed at a fort near Rock Island, but during the summer of the Black Hawk War he was on leave of absence and did not join his regiment until long after the Sangamon County volunteers had returned to their homes. However, Lincoln was to see and meet several interesting characters, including Colonel Zachary Taylor, whom he afterwards supported for President, General Winfield Scott, another Whig candidate for the Presidency and the commander of the army at the beginning of his administration, Lieutenant Albert Sidney Johnston, afterwards a Confederate general, and others of fame.

Lincoln never permitted any one to call him "captain," and when in Congress in 1848 he made a political speech in which he ridiculed the efforts of the friends of General Cass to obtain some political advantage from that eminent gentleman's services in a similar capacity. He said,—

"If General Cass went in advance of me picking whortleberries, I guess I surpassed him in charges on232 the wild onions. If he saw any live, fighting Indians, it was more than I did, but I had a good many bloody struggles with the mosquitoes; and although I never fainted from loss of blood, I can truly say I was often very hungry. If ever I should conclude to doff whatever our Democratic friends may suppose there is of black-cockade Federalism about me, and thereupon they shall take me up as their candidate for the Presidency, I protest that they shall not make fun of me, as they have of General Cass, by attempting to write me into a military hero."

When compelled to supervise the enlisting and equipment of a great army and plan campaigns that were to determine the destiny and the happiness and prosperity of the people, he was entirely without preparation or technical knowledge of the science of war, and could only rely upon his common sense and apply to military affairs the experience he had gained in politics. His talent developed rapidly, however, until he became recognized as the ablest strategist of the war, not excepting Grant or Sherman. His correspondence with his generals, his memoranda concerning the movements of troops, his instructions to the Secretary of War, the plans he suggested, and the comments and criticisms he made upon those of others indicate the possession of a military genius which in actual service would have given him a high reputation. In times of crisis his generals found him calm and resourceful; in great emergencies he was prompt, cool, and clear-sighted; and under the shock of defeat he was brave, strong, and hopeful.

Soon after his inauguration he began to realize the magnitude of the struggle and the responsibilities which rested upon him. He was convinced that the government was in the right, but determined that there should be no mistake on this point; therefore he gave the South every liberty and indulgence that could possibly be granted. He determined that the "overt act" should be233 committed by the South, that there should be no excuse to accuse the government of "invasion" or an attempt at "subjugation," and for that reason he delayed the attempt to reinforce and provision Fort Sumter. When the public understood the moral issues involved he gave the order, because he knew that he would be supported by a united North. In his inaugural address he said, "In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors." And that solemn pledge he endeavored to fulfil even at the risk of Northern criticism and the loss of the military posts at Charleston and other points in the South.

It was a disheartening and almost impossible situation for the new administration. President Lincoln and General Scott were left almost entirely dependent upon strangers and men of no experience who had been appointed for political reasons rather than for capacity or knowledge. Nearly all the trained officers of the army resigned as fast as their native States seceded; officers of Northern birth and sympathies had been sent to distant posts so that they could not interfere with the treasonable designs of Secretary Floyd during the Buchanan administration. Confusion, corruption, and complications were unavoidable, and caused the President unutterable anxiety and distress. Ignorance and zeal often provoked more trouble than could be corrected, and jealousy, rivalry, and partisanship made matters worse.

The political problems alone would have been as great a load as mortal man might have been expected to carry, but his perplexities were increased, his time occupied, and his patience sorely tested by such an undignified and unpatriotic clamor for offices as has never been exceeded in the history of our government. The Democratic party had been in power for many years. Every position in the gift of President Buchanan had been234 filled with a Democrat, many of them Southern sympathizers, and now hordes of hungry Republicans besieged the White House demanding appointments. The situation was described by the President in a single ejaculation. A Senator who noticed an expression of anxiety and dejection upon his face, inquired,—

"Has anything gone wrong, Mr. President? Have you heard bad news from Fort Sumter?"

"No," answered the President, solemnly. "It's the post-office at Jonesville, Missouri."

The area of the country was vast; the seat of war stretched from the Atlantic to the Missouri River, with a strip of States undecided in their purpose which must be carefully handled to prevent them from joining the Confederacy. With inexperienced and incompetent commanders, a divided Cabinet, public clamor dinning in his ears, and his mind harassed by other cares and perplexities, it was difficult to develop a military policy and plan a campaign for the suppression of the rebellion. Even if the situation had been divested of political significance, it would have taxed the genius of a Napoleon. The coast line to be protected was more than three thousand six hundred miles long, the frontier line was nearly eight thousand miles, and the field of operation covered an area larger than the whole of Europe. Furthermore, it was a political war, and everything must be planned with a view to political consequences. It was not a struggle between rival powers, nor for conquest, but for the preservation of the union, and from the beginning President Lincoln appreciated that the common interests and the general welfare required that the integrity of the country be preserved with as little loss and as little punishment as possible to either side. Whatever damage was done must be repaired at the end by a reunited country; whatever was destroyed was a common loss. The war was a family affair, in which the sufferings and sorrows and material losses must be equally shared.235 With all these considerations in his mind, he undertook to guide the government in such a way as to prevent the dissolution of the union and at the same time accomplish the overthrow of the slave power and the removal of that curse from the American people.

General Scott, like General Sherman, had accurately measured the requirements of the situation. Their experience and military instincts taught them that it was to be a long and a tedious struggle, and they urged deliberation and preparation as absolutely necessary to success. But, when General Sherman's opinion was made public, he was called a lunatic, and General Scott's practical plan of military operations was defeated by public ridicule. General Sherman demanded two hundred thousand men before attempting a campaign in the Mississippi Valley. General Scott called for only one hundred thousand men, but said they would be required for three years, and advised that they be distributed among ten or fifteen healthy camps for four months until they could be organized, drilled, and acclimated; then, after the navy had blockaded the harbors of the Southern coast, he proposed to move his army down both banks of the Mississippi River, establishing strong posts at frequent intervals to protect that stream until New Orleans was captured and occupied; he then proposed to move his army gradually eastward from the Mississippi and southward from the Potomac, slowly closing in upon the Confederacy until its military power was paralyzed. Notwithstanding the sorrows and anxieties of the North, the people howled with derision at this thorough, practical plan of the old veteran. The comic papers took it up and published cartoons representing a monster serpent with General Scott's head, coiled around the cotton States, and they called it "Scott's Anaconda." In the same breath they demanded a battle. "On to Richmond," they cried, and President Lincoln yielded to the clamor. The battle of Bull Run was236 fought, with its disastrous consequences. The lesson was valuable, as it taught the President that public opinion was not a safe guide to follow in military operations.

It must be remembered that in the midst of the most appalling situation in American history Lincoln stood practically alone because of a divided Cabinet and the age and infirmities of General Scott, then seventy-five years old, quite feeble in body and irritable of temper. The President had great respect for him and confidence in his patriotism and military judgment. He had supported Scott for President in 1852, had been in correspondence with him before the inauguration, and had encouraged him in his futile efforts to check the treasonable transactions of Secretary Floyd and other conspirators; but he soon discovered that the venerable warrior was in no condition to perform labor or assume responsibility. Yet he was reluctant to do anything to wound his pride or reflect upon his present ability. This increased the embarrassment and difficulties of the situation. General Scott recognized and appreciated Lincoln's consideration, but refused to resign or retire until finally driven from his post by McClellan.

At the White House, shortly after the battle of Bull Run, the old veteran, after listening to criticisms directed at the President for permitting the union army to suffer defeat, broke out in his wrath,—

"Sir, I am the greatest coward in America. I will prove it. I fought this battle, sir, against my judgment; I think the President of the United States ought to remove me to-day for doing it. As God is my judge, after my superiors had determined to fight it, I did all in my power to make the army efficient. I deserve removal because I did not stand up when my army was not in a condition for fighting and resist to the last."

"Your conversation seems to imply that I forced you to fight this battle," suggested the President.

"I have never served a President who has been kinder237 to me than you have been," replied the general, avoiding the question.

The battle of Bull Run was fought to gratify the politicians. It was the only time the President yielded to public clamor, and he always regretted it. It was a political movement. When he assembled a council of war five days previous, the commanders declared that they had force enough to overcome the enemy; but General Scott was positive that such a victory could not be decisive, and advised a postponement of active hostilities for a few months until the army could be placed in a better condition. The Cabinet and the military committees of Congress feared that public sentiment in the North would not consent to the delay, and that the Confederate leaders would make such good use of it that the results of an offensive movement would be more doubtful then than now, hence an order for the advance was given. The President did not rebuke General Scott for his indignant outbreak, because he felt that his words were true.

The President suffered great anxiety during that eventful Sunday, but exhibited his usual self-control, and attended church with Mrs. Lincoln. After his noon dinner he walked over to the head-quarters of the army, where he found General Scott taking a nap, and woke him up to ask his opinion. The old gentleman was not only hopeful but confident, for one of his aides had arrived with a report that General McDowell was driving everything before him. The President's mind was relieved and about four o'clock he went out to drive. At six o'clock Secretary Seward staggered over the threshold of the White House and nervously asked for the President. When told that he was driving, he whispered to the private secretary,—

"Tell no one, but the battle is lost; McDowell is in full retreat, and calls on General Scott to save the capital."

238 When the President drove up to the portico a few minutes later he listened in silence to the message, but his head hung low as he crossed the White House grounds to head-quarters. There the disaster was confirmed, and he conferred long and anxiously with General Scott and Secretary Cameron as to the next duty. Towards midnight he returned to the White House and heard the accounts of members of Congress and others who had gone out to witness the battle. His long frame lay listlessly upon a couch, but his mind was active, his calmness and resolution had not been disturbed, and before he slept that night he had planned the reorganization of the army, and from that time undertook the direction of military as well as civil and diplomatic affairs; consulting freely with Senators and Representatives and officers of the army as he did with his constitutional advisers, but relying upon his own judgment more and more.

A gleam of hope arose in his mind that he might be relieved of much detail by George B. McClellan, a brilliant young officer, who had been called to Washington and appointed a major-general.

McClellan was a graduate of West Point, had served with distinction in the Mexican War, had been a member of a military commission to inspect the armies of Europe, had observed the conduct of the Crimean War, had been engaged in various scientific and diplomatic duties, had resigned from the army to become Chief Engineer of the Illinois Central Railroad when only thirty-one years old, was elected its Vice-President at thirty-two, and made President of the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad when he was thirty-four. He had made a brief but dashing campaign in West Virginia, and was credited with saving that State to the union. His brilliant professional attainments, the executive ability he had displayed in railway management, combined with attractive personal qualities and influential social connections,239 made him the most conspicuous officer in the union army and naturally excited the confidence of the President, who gave him a cordial welcome and intrusted him with the most responsible duties, making him second only to General Scott in command.

Unfortunately, however, the honors which were showered upon McClellan turned his head, and the young commander not only failed to comprehend the situation and his relations to the President and General Scott, but very soon developed signs of vanity and insubordination which caused the President great concern. He saw himself followed and flattered by statesmen, politicians, and soldiers of twice his age and experience. The members of the Cabinet and even the President himself came to his residence to ask his advice, and the venerable hero of the Mexican War deferred to his judgment and accepted his suggestions without hesitation. McClellan was the idol of the army and a magnet that attracted all the interest, influence, and ambition that were centred at Washington at that period of the war. His state of mind and weakness of character were exhibited in letters he wrote to his family at this time, which, by a lamentable error of judgment, were afterwards printed in his biography.

On July 27 he wrote his wife, "I find myself in a new and strange position here, President, Cabinet, General Scott and all deferring to me. By some strange operation of magic I seem to have become the power of the land."

A little later he wrote, "They give me my way in everything, full swing and unbounded confidence. Who would have thought when we were married that I should so soon be called upon to save my country?" Ten days after his appointment he declared, "I would cheerfully take the dictatorship and agree to lay down my life when the country is saved."

Very soon, however, the tone of his letters began to240 change. The President, General Scott, and the Cabinet had evidently begun to detect his weakness and egotism and no longer accepted his own estimate of his ability and importance. To the President's profound disappointment, he realized within a few days that McClellan was not a staff that could be leaned upon, while General Scott's admiration and confidence in his young lieutenant were shaken at their first interview.

With the air of an emperor McClellan began to issue extraordinary demands upon the President, the War Department, and the Treasury. It soon became apparent that he desired and expected to be placed in command of the greatest army of history; that he intended to organize and equip it according to the most advanced scientific theories; and when the President, the Secretary of War, and General Scott objected to the magnitude of his plans, pointed out their impracticability, and urged him to do something to check the alarming movements of the Confederates, he was seized with a delusion which remained with him to the end, that they were endeavoring to thwart and embarrass him. The tone of his letters to his wife was radically changed.

"I am here in a terrible place," he said; "the enemy have from three to four times my force; the President and the old General will not see the true state of affairs."

"I am weary of all this," he said a week later, "and disgusted with this administration,—perfectly sick of it;" and he declared that he remained at the head of affairs only because he had become convinced that he was alone the salvation of the country. He expressed especial contempt for the President, and said, "There are some of the greatest geese in the Cabinet I have ever seen,—enough to tax the patience of Job." The incompetence and stupidity of the President, he wrote, was "sickening in the extreme, and makes me feel heavy at heart when I see the weakness and unfitness of the poor beings who control the destinies of this country."

241 He wrote other friends that his wisdom alone must save the country, that he spent his time "trying to get the government to do its duty, and was thwarted and deceived by these incapables at every turn." He demanded that all recruits be sent to his army and that all supplies be issued to him, as if the armies in the Mississippi Valley could take care of themselves. He demanded that "the whole of the regular army, old and new, be at once ordered to report here," and that the trained officers be assigned to him. "It is the task of the Army of the Potomac to decide the question at issue," he declared. When advice and suggestions were offered him he rejected them contemptuously, and announced that whenever orders were issued to him he exercised his own judgment as to obedience.

General McClellan's vanity and presumption might have been overlooked by General Scott, but his insulting remarks could not be excused. Their relations reached an acute stage in August, 1861, notwithstanding the President's efforts at reconciliation. Again and again he apologized for and explained away the rudeness of the younger officer towards his superior; and General Scott, realizing the President's embarrassment, begged to be relieved from active command because of his age and infirmities. Perhaps it would have been wiser if the wishes of the aged general had been complied with, for he was now practically helpless, fretful, and forgetful, and his sensitiveness made it necessary to consult him upon every proposition and admit him to every conference. Finally, McClellan's contemptuous indifference, persistent disrespect, and continual disobedience provoked General Scott beyond endurance, and on the last day of October he asked that his name be placed on the list of army officers retired from active service.

"For more than three years," he wrote, "I have been unable from a hurt to mount a horse or to walk more than a few paces at a time and that with much pain.242 Other and new infirmities, dropsy, and vertigo, admonish me that repose of mind and body are necessary to add a little more to a life already protracted much beyond the usual span of man."

Lincoln, however, continued to consult him, and in June, 1862, made a visit to West Point for the purpose of asking his advice upon certain military movements then in contemplation. General Scott outlived him, and was the most distinguished figure at the obsequies of the martyred President at New York City in April, 1865.

After General Scott's retirement McClellan assumed even greater importance in his own eyes, and treated the President in the same contemptuous manner; yet the latter's indulgence was inexhaustible, and he would not even allow personal indignity to himself to interfere with his relations with the commander of his army. He was accustomed to visit army head-quarters and General McClellan's residence in the most informal manner, entering both without notification of his coming, and, if the general was not in, returning to the White House; but one night in November, 1861, he called at General McClellan's residence on a matter so important that he decided to await the latter's return from a wedding. Although informed that the President had been waiting an hour, McClellan went directly by the drawing-room upstairs, and when a servant went to remind him that the President wished to see him, the general sent down word that he was retiring and would like to be excused. Lincoln did not mention the insult. No one could have detected any difference in his treatment of General McClellan thereafter, except that he never entered his house again, and after that date when he wanted to see him sent for him to come to the Executive Mansion. On another occasion when the young general treated him with similar arrogance, Governor Dennison, of Ohio, and General Mitchell remonstrated, but the President replied cheerfully,—

243 "Never mind; I will hold McClellan's horse if he will only bring us success."

But he did not bring success, and the public as well as both Houses of Congress became very impatient about the idleness and delay of the Army of the Potomac. McClellan's "All quiet on the Potomac" became a slang phrase as notorious as General Butler's "contraband." Newspaper artists and cartoonists made him the subject of ridicule, committees of Senators and Representatives waited upon him, Legislatures passed resolutions, but he was no more affected by those promptings than he had been by the entreaties and admonitions of the President. When positive orders were issued, McClellan refused to obey them, or obeyed them in such a manner as to defeat their purpose. A committee of Congress was appointed to make an investigation. The President began to lose his patience, and declared that "if something were not done the bottom would drop out of the whole affair. If McClellan did not want to use the army he would like to borrow it, provided he could see how it could be made to do something." McClellan replied that his forces were insufficient; that he was outnumbered by the enemy. Finally, at a conference with the Cabinet, Secretary Chase, who had been his most enthusiastic admirer, but had lost all confidence in McClellan, asked the general point-blank what he intended to do and when he intended to do it. McClellan refused to answer the question unless the President ordered him to do so. The latter, with his usual consideration, attempted to protect the general, and in a conciliatory way asked whether he had resolved in his own mind when he would be able to make a forward movement. McClellan replied in the affirmative, but would give no further information. The President urged him to do so, but he continued to refuse, whereupon the former remarked,—

"Then I will adjourn the meeting."

244 The President waited a few weeks longer, and, as nothing was done, issued his famous Special War Order No. 1, in which he ordered the celebration of Washington's birthday, 1862, by a general movement of all the land and naval forces of the United States; but even then McClellan reported that he would be obliged to fall back until he could construct a railway.

"What does this mean?" asked the President, when Secretary Stanton read him the despatch.

"It means that it is a damn fizzle!" exclaimed the Secretary of War. "It means that he does not intend to do anything."

The President then issued General War Order No. 2, reorganizing the Army of the Potomac, and followed it with General War Order No. 3, which directed a movement in ten days; but still McClellan blocked the way, and continued to drill his troops, dig entrenchments, and write insolent letters to the President and Secretary of War.

"Had I twenty thousand or even ten thousand fresh troops to use to-morrow I could take Richmond," he telegraphed Secretary Stanton. "If I save this country now I tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you or any other person in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this army."

The Secretary's rage may be imagined, and he would have had McClellan arrested and sent before a court-martial; but Lincoln's patience yet prevailed, and he crossed the Potomac for a personal conference with his insubordinate commander, urging him to make a forward movement. The members of the Cabinet drew up an indignant protest demanding the immediate removal of McClellan from command, but decided not to hand it to the President.

Finally, the Army of the Potomac was compelled to follow Lee northward, and after the battle of Antietam the President telegraphed McClellan: "Please do not245 let him [the enemy] get off without being hurt." Two weeks later he again visited the camp, and, after reviewing and inspecting the troops, remarked,—

"It is called the Army of the Potomac, but is only McClellan's body-guard."

President Lincoln's warmest defenders cannot excuse his procrastination with McClellan upon any other ground than excessive caution. They know that he acted against his own judgment; that he was convinced of McClellan's unfitness within three months after he had placed him in command, and that the conviction grew upon him daily, but his fear of offending public opinion and wounding McClellan's vanity led him to sacrifice the interests of the government and unnecessarily prolong the war. The same criticism can be made of his treatment of other generals intrusted with the command of the army. Of all his officers, no one ever possessed the full confidence of the President except General Grant.

While McClellan was in command Lincoln studied the military situation with characteristic thoroughness and penetration, and drew up memoranda in detail as to the movements of the army. He also gave his opinion as to what the enemy would do under the circumstances. These memoranda were rejected by McClellan in a contemptuous manner, but since they have become public they have commanded the respect and admiration of the ablest military critics.

The President's troubles were not confined to the Army of the Potomac, nor were they bounded by the Alleghany Mountains, but extended wherever there were military movements; wherever there were offices to be filled the same conditions existed; the same jealousies, rivalries, and incompetence interfered with the proper administration of the government. And the most popular heroes, the idols of the public, invariably caused the most confusion and showed the most flagrant indiscretion246 and incompetence. Second only in popularity to McClellan, perhaps even higher in the esteem of the Republican party, was John C. Frémont, the first candidate of that party for the Presidency, a man whose adventures as an explorer had excited the admiring interest of every school-boy, and whose activity in making California a state had given him a reputation for romance, gallantry, and patriotism. He was "the Pathfinder," and second only to Daniel Boone as a frontier hero. Seward had pressed him for appointment as Secretary of War; at one time Lincoln put him down on the slate as minister to France, and when the war broke out his name was among the first to suggest itself to the people as that of a savior of the country. He had been in France during the winter, and had sailed for home when Sumter was fired upon.

Upon his arrival in New York he was handed a commission as major-general in the regular army and orders to take command in the Mississippi Valley. It was an opportunity that any soldier might have envied, and the President expected him to proceed at once to his head-quarters at St. Louis, where his presence was imperatively needed; but the ovations he received in the East and the adulation that was paid him everywhere were too gratifying for his self-denial, and it was not until he received peremptory orders, twenty-five days after his appointment, that he proceeded leisurely westward to find his department in a state of the greatest confusion and apprehension. Instead, however, of devoting himself to the task of organization and getting an army into the field to quell disloyal uprisings and exterminate the bushwhackers who were burning towns, plundering farm-houses, tearing up railroads, murdering loyal citizens, and committing other crimes, he remained in St. Louis, taking more interest in political than in military questions, issuing commissions to his friends, and giving contracts with such a lavish hand and in such an irregular247 way as to provoke protest from the accounting officers of the government. Political intrigue and distrust were so prevalent that Frémont was accused of an ambition to lead a new secession movement, separate the Western States from the union, and establish an empire under his own sovereignty similar to that of which Aaron Burr is supposed to have dreamed.

President Lincoln watched with anxiety and sorrow the dethronement of another popular idol, and defended and protected Frémont with the same charity and patience he had shown to McClellan. Instead of removing him from command, as he should have done, he endeavored to shield him from the consequences of his mismanagement, and sent General David Hunter, an old friend and veteran officer in whom he had great confidence, this request:

"General Frémont needs assistance which is difficult to give him. He is losing the confidence of men near him, whose support any man in his position must have to be successful.... He needs to have by his side a man of large experience. Will you not for me take that place? Your rank is one grade too high to be ordered to it; but will you not serve your country and oblige me by taking it voluntarily."

With this letter General Hunter went to St. Louis to try and save Frémont, but it was too late. Frémont's principal political backing came from the Blair family, who were also his warmest personal friends; but, when they endeavored to advise and restrain him, a quarrel broke out and Frémont placed General Frank P. Blair under arrest. Blair preferred formal charges against his commander; and his father and brother, the latter being Postmaster-General, demanded Frémont's removal on account of incapacity. Then, to increase Lincoln's anxieties and perplexities, Mrs. Jessie Benton Frémont, the daughter of Senator Benton and a romantic figure in American history, appeared in Washington to conduct248 her husband's side of the quarrel, denouncing the Blairs and all other critics with unmeasured contempt and earnestness.

The President confesses that he was exasperated almost beyond endurance. Mrs. Frémont, he says, "sought an audience with me at midnight, and attacked me so violently with many things that I had to exercise all the awkward tact I had to avoid quarrelling with her. She more than once intimated that if General Frémont should decide to try conclusions with me, he could set up for himself."

While the weary President was spending sleepless nights planning the reorganization of the Army of the Potomac and an offensive campaign to satisfy public clamor, he endeavored to arbitrate the quarrel between Frémont and the Blairs. In the midst of his efforts at conciliation, General Frémont startled the country and almost paralyzed the President by issuing an emancipation proclamation and an order that all persons found with arms in their hands should be shot. The President wrote him a gentle but firm remonstrance, "in a spirit of caution and not of censure," he said, and sent it by special messenger to St. Louis, "in order that it may certainly and speedily reach you." Mrs. Frémont brought the reply to Washington. It was an apology mixed with defiance. Frémont asserted that he had acted from convictions of duty with full deliberation, and proceeded at length to argue the justice and expediency of the step; and he was as much encouraged in his defiance as Lincoln was embarrassed by the radical Republican leaders and newspapers of the North. Frémont's proclamation was revoked by order of the President, but it was not so easy to correct the mistakes he had made in administration. Finally, after long deliberation and upon the advice of three experienced officers in whom he had great confidence and who had been with Frémont and were familiar with his conduct249 and the political and military situation, the President relieved him from command.

Frémont accepted the inevitable with dignity. He issued a farewell address to his army, was given ovations by radical Republicans in different parts of the country, but was not again intrusted with an independent command.

After he arose from his sleepless bed the morning following the battle of Bull Run, Lincoln devoted every spare moment to the study of the map of the seat of war and to reading military history. A shelf in his private library was filled with books on tactics, the histories of great campaigns, and such military authorities upon the science of warfare as might afford him ideas, valuable information, and suggestions. He undertook the preparation of a plan of campaign precisely as he had been accustomed to prepare for a trial in court, and before many days his quick perceptions, his retentive memory, and his reasoning powers had given him wider knowledge than was possessed by any of his generals. He did not fail to consult every person in whom he had confidence both upon abstract military questions and geographical and political conditions, and before long he developed a plan which he submitted to the military committees of Congress a few days after Congress assembled in December, 1861. Several of the most influential Senators and Representatives who did not belong to the committees were invited to be present. He proposed, first to maintain the military force along the Potomac to menace Richmond; second, to move an army from Cairo southward within easy communication of a flotilla upon the Mississippi; and, third, to send an army from Cincinnati eastward to Cumberland Gap in East Tennessee. Preliminary to the latter movement he proposed the construction of a railway from Cincinnati to Knoxville by way of Lexington, Kentucky, in order to avoid the difficulties and delays of transportation250 through the mountains, and military authorities now agree that if his advice had been followed the war would have been shortened at least two years. Mr. Nicolay, his private secretary, reports the substance of the President's appeal to Congress, as he stood before a map of Tennessee in the President's room at the Capitol:

"I am thoroughly convinced that the closing struggle of the war will occur somewhere in this mountain country. By our superior numbers and strength we will everywhere drive the rebel armies back from the level districts lying along the coast, from those lying south of the Ohio River, and from those lying east of the Mississippi River. Yielding to our superior force, they will gradually retreat to the more defensible mountain districts, and make their final stand in that part of the South where the seven States of Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee, Kentucky, and West Virginia come together. The population there is overwhelmingly and devotedly loyal to the union. The despatches from Brigadier-General Thomas of October 28 and November 5 show that, with four additional good regiments, he is willing to undertake the campaign and is confident he can take immediate possession. Once established, the people will rally to his support, and by building a railroad, over which to forward him regular supplies and needed reinforcements from time to time, we can hold it against all attempts to dislodge us, and at the same time menace the enemy in any one of the States I have named."

There was no response to this appeal, except from the Senators and Representatives from East Tennessee, where nearly the entire population were loyal to the union. One of the motives of the President in planning this campaign was to protect them from the raids of the Confederate cavalry. The Congressmen who heard him, however, were determined to gratify the public demand for an assault upon Richmond. All eyes were251 upon the Army of the Potomac, and it was popularly believed that if an assault were made and the Confederate capital captured, the rebellion would be promptly crushed. The President then undertook to carry out his plan with the forces at his disposal, but General Buell was too stubborn and too slow, either refusing to carry out his orders or wasting his time and strength in arguments against the practicability of the plan. If the same time, money, and military strength that were expended in his attempted march from Corinth to East Tennessee during the following summer had been devoted to the construction of a railroad, as proposed by the President, the entire situation in the Mississippi Valley would have been changed, and the battles which made Grant, Thomas, and Sherman famous would never have been fought. This is the opinion of the military experts after a quarter of a century of controversy, and the longer the subject is discussed the more firmly established is the verdict in favor of the wisdom and practicability of Lincoln's plan.

General McClellan was not the only military commander to annoy and perplex the President by procrastination and argument. The official records of the war at this time are filled with letters and telegrams addressed by Lincoln to Buell and Halleck, appealing to them to obey his orders and move towards the enemy. Buell kept promising to do so, but his delay was exasperating, and, differing in opinion from his superiors, he was, like McClellan, continually guilty of insubordination. Halleck, who was considered one of the ablest and best-equipped officers in the union army, and was intended to be the successor of General Scott, was equally dilatory, although he had a better excuse, because, when he assumed command at St. Louis, succeeding General Frémont, he found the whole department in a deplorable condition, and was working with great energy and ability to organize and equip an army for252 the field. It is undoubtedly the case that both Buell and Halleck lacked confidence in the President's military capacity and placed a higher value upon their own judgment; but, whether the President realized this or not, he laid out the plan of a campaign and gave orders to both generals to co-operate in a joint land and river expedition up the Tennessee or Cumberland River. Neither made the slightest preparation for it or communicated with each other on the subject,—an act of insubordination that would not have been tolerated in any other country in the world. Then, when the President began to press his generals, Halleck excused himself for refusing to carry out his orders on the ground that it was bad strategy, and Buell made no reply whatever.

The patience of the President seemed inexhaustible. He kept his temper, and finally persuaded General Halleck to make a demonstration, which resulted in the capture of Forts Henry and Donelson and the famous campaign of General Grant in the early spring of 1862. The results of that campaign might have been much more conclusive had General Buell obeyed orders and responded to the appeals of General Halleck for assistance and to the President's orders for him to co-operate. Lincoln watched every step of the march with anxious interest, and his telegrams show that he anticipated Grant's movements with remarkable accuracy. His suggestions show how familiar he was with the country and the location of the Confederate forces. One of his telegrams to Halleck illustrates his knowledge of detail. It reads,—

"You have Fort Donelson safe, unless Grant shall be overwhelmed from outside; to prevent which latter will, I think, require all the vigilance, energy, and skill of yourself and Buell, acting in full co-operation. Columbus will not get at Grant, but the force from Bowling Green will. They hold the railroad from Bowling253 Green to within a few miles of Fort Donelson, with the bridge at Clarksville undisturbed. It is unsafe to rely that they will not dare to expose Nashville to Buell. A small part of their force can retire slowly towards Nashville, breaking up the railroad as they go, and keep Buell out of that city twenty days. Meantime, Nashville will be abundantly defended by forces from all south and perhaps from here at Manassas. Could not a cavalry force from General Thomas on the upper Cumberland dash across, almost unresisted, and cut the railroad at or near Knoxville, Tennessee? In the midst of a bombardment at Fort Donelson, why could not a gunboat run up and destroy the bridge at Clarksville? Our success or failure at Fort Donelson is vastly important, and I beg you to put your soul in the effort. I send a copy of this to Buell."

Imagine his sensations when he received a reply from General Halleck: "Make Buell, Grant, and Pope major-generals of volunteers and give me command in the West. I ask this in return for Fort Henry and Donelson."

The President realized the situation, made the promotions, consolidated the different departments west of the Blue Ridge Mountains, placed Halleck in command, and directed him to take advantage of "the golden opportunity;" but the latter was too deliberate, and it required only a brief experience to demonstrate that he was unfit to command troops in the field. He was called to Washington, placed at the head-quarters of the army to succeed General McClellan, and Grant was left in command of the army in Tennessee, where he undertook the task of opening the Mississippi in his own way, having the full confidence of the President.

It is quite remarkable that from the beginning Lincoln's confidence in Grant was firm and abiding. This may have been partly due to the strong endorsements he had received from Representative Washburne and254 other mutual friends, although Grant was not highly regarded at home at that time, and found difficulty in obtaining a commission from the Governor of Illinois. President Lincoln had never seen him until he came East to take command of the army, and had heard evil as well as good reports concerning that silent but stubborn soldier who was working his way down the banks of the Mississippi and closing around Vicksburg. There is no evidence, however, except his own words, that Lincoln's faith in him was ever shaken. He gave Grant no orders, sent him no telegrams or letters such as he had written to Halleck, Buell, Rosecrans, and other commanders in the West, and there must have been some reason for his not doing so. We are left only the inference that his sagacity taught him that Grant was not a man to be interfered with; and although his patience, like that of the rest of the country, was being sorely tried by the lack of tangible results in the West, he waited until the problem was worked out and then wrote Grant the following candid and characteristic letter:

    "My dear General: I do not remember that you and I ever met personally. I write this now as a grateful acknowledgment for the almost inestimable service you have done the country. I wish to say a word further. When you first reached the vicinity of Vicksburg, I thought you should do what you finally did—march the troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and thus go below; and I never had any faith, except a general hope that you knew better than I, that the Yazoo Pass expedition and the like could succeed. When you got below and took Port Gibson, Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I thought you should go down the river and join General Banks, and when you turned northward, east of the Big Black, I feared it was a mistake. I now wish to make the personal acknowledgment that you were right and I was wrong."

Such letters are very seldom written by the rulers of nations to the commanders of their armies. Confirming the obligation, and as a reward for the victories of Donelson, Vicksburg, and Chattanooga, the President recommended the revival of the rank of lieutenant-general, which had been conferred only upon Washington and Scott. His recommendation was adopted by Congress, Grant was called to Washington, and at a public reception at the White House on March 8, 1864, he met Lincoln for the first time. On the following day he was formally invested with his new rank and authority by the President in the presence of the Cabinet and several civil and military officials. It was not often that such formalities occurred at the capital of the simple republic. Lincoln was very much averse to formalities of all kinds. His democratic spirit led him to avoid parade, but here was an occasion which his political instincts taught him might be used to impress the country; hence the unusual ceremony was arranged.

General Grant did not reach Washington until the early evening of March 8, 1864, and the reception at the White House began at eight o'clock. A message from the White House notified him that the President desired his attendance if he was not too tired by his journey; so, immediately after his arrival he took a hasty supper, changed his travel-worn uniform for a fresh one, and, in company with an aide-de-camp, reached the White House about half-past nine o'clock. The cheers that greeted him as he was recognized by the crowd about the portico reached the President's ears, but that was the only announcement of the approach of the latest popular hero. General Grant took his place in line with the other guests and slowly passed through the corridor and anteroom to the door of the Blue Parlor where the President stood, with Mrs. Lincoln and the ladies of the Cabinet at his side, receiving his guests and shaking hands with them as they passed before him.256 He recognized Grant without an introduction, being familiar with his portraits, and these two remarkable men gazed into each other's eyes in an inquiring way for a moment, while the people watched them with absorbing interest. After exchanging the ordinary phrases of greeting, the President introduced General Grant to Mr. Seward, and the latter led him into the East Room, where he was received with cheer after cheer, and, blushing with embarrassment, was compelled to stand upon a sofa where people could see him, because he was so short of stature that he was hidden in the throng.

The President asked Grant to remain after the close of the reception, and they had a long conference. As Grant was leaving the White House the President explained to him the reasons for the formality that would be observed in presenting his commission as lieutenant-general on the following day.

"I shall make a very short speech to you," said he, "to which I desire that you should make a brief reply for an object; and that you may be properly prepared to do so I have written what I shall say, only four sentences in all, which I will read from my manuscript as an example which you may follow, and also read your reply, as you are perhaps not so much accustomed to public speaking as I am, and I therefore give you what I shall say so that you may consider it. There are two points that I would like to have you make in your answer: first, to say something which shall prevent or obviate any jealousy of you from any of the other generals in the service; and, second, something which shall put you on as good terms as possible with the Army of the Potomac. If you see any objection to this, be under no restraint whatever in expressing that objection to the Secretary of War."

General Grant and Mr. Stanton left the White House together. The next day, at one o'clock, in presence of257 the Cabinet, General Halleck, two members of Grant's staff, and the President's private secretary, the commission of lieutenant-general was formally delivered by the President. Mr. Lincoln said,—

"General Grant, the nation's appreciation of what you have done, and its reliance upon you for what remains to do in the existing great struggle, are now presented, with this commission constituting you Lieutenant-General in the army of the United States. With this high honor devolves upon you, also, a corresponding responsibility. As the country herein trusts you, so, under God, it will sustain you. I scarcely need to add that with what I here speak for the nation goes my own hearty personal concurrence."

The general had written his speech on half of a sheet of note-paper, in lead-pencil, but when he came to read it he was as embarrassed as Washington was when the House of Burgesses at Williamsburg tendered him its thanks after the Braddock campaign. He found his own writing very difficult to read, but what he said could hardly have been improved:

"Mr. President, I accept this commission with gratitude for the high honor conferred. With the aid of the noble armies that have fought on so many fields for our common country, it will be my earnest endeavor not to disappoint your expectation. I feel the full weight of the responsibilities now devolving on me, and I know that, if they are met, it will be due to those armies and, above all, to the favor of that Providence which leads both nations and men."

It will be observed that Grant did not comply with the request of the President, and his speech contains no reference to the subject to which the President alluded on the previous evening. Grant never offered an explanation and Lincoln never asked one. Some writers have advanced the theory that Secretary Stanton, who often differed from the President in regard to little matters,258 advised Grant not to refer to such delicate subjects, but it is more probable that, with his distrust of politicians and his fear of becoming complicated with them as McClellan and others had been, the wary warrior thought it wise to be entirely non-committal. Before leaving his head-quarters in the West, Grant had written Sherman, "I shall say very distinctly on my arrival there [Washington] that I shall accept no appointment which will require me to make that city my head-quarters," and Sherman had urged him to stand by that resolution: "Do not stay in Washington. Halleck is better qualified than you to stand the buffets of intrigue and politics."

After the presentation ceremonies the President and Grant retired together, and the latter inquired what was expected of him. Lincoln answered that he was expected to take Richmond; that every one who had tried it so far had failed, and he asked Grant point-blank if he thought he could do it. With the same directness and simplicity Grant answered that he could if he had the troops. The President assured him that he should have all the troops he needed and that he would not be interfered with in the management of the campaign. Grant himself says, "I did not communicate my plans to the President, nor did I to the Secretary of War, nor to General Halleck;" and the President wrote him that he neither knew nor wished to know his plan of operations, but wanted to tender his good wishes and promise every aid which the government could furnish. "If the results shall be less favorable than I hope and the government expects," he said, "the fault will not be the fault of the administration." Under those circumstances Grant assumed command of the army, and from that time President Lincoln felt himself relieved from the responsibility of planning and directing military movements.

After making an inspection of the army, Grant returned259 to Washington, had another conference with President Lincoln, established his head-quarters at Culpeper, and prepared for active operations. On April 30, 1864, the President sent him the following candid letter:

"Not expecting to see you again before the spring campaign opens, I wish to express in this way my entire satisfaction with what you have done up to this time, so far as I understand it. The particulars of your plan I neither know nor seek to know. You are vigilant and self-reliant; and, pleased with this, I wish not to obtrude any constraints or restraints upon you. While I am very anxious that any great disaster or capture of our men in great numbers shall be avoided, I know these points are less likely to escape your attention than they would be mine. If there is anything wanting which is within my power to give, do not fail to let me know it. And now, with a brave army and a just cause, may God sustain you."

Grant's immediate reply confessed the groundlessness of his apprehensions:

"From my first entrance into the volunteer service of the country to the present day, I have never had cause of complaint—have never expressed or implied a complaint against the administration, or the Secretary of War, for throwing any embarrassment in the way of my vigorously prosecuting what appeared to me my duty. Indeed, since the promotion which placed me in command of all the armies, and in view of the great responsibility and importance of success, I have been astonished at the readiness with which everything asked for has been yielded, without even an explanation being asked. Should my success be less than I desire and expect, the least I can say is, the fault is not with you."

In his reminiscences, General Grant says, "Just after receiving my commission as lieutenant-general, the President called me aside to speak to me privately. After260 a brief reference to the military situation, he said he thought he could illustrate what he wanted to say by a story, which he related as follows: 'At one time there was a great war among the animals, and one side had great difficulty in getting a commander who had sufficient confidence in himself. Finally, they found a monkey, by the name of Jocko, who said that he thought he could command their army if his tail could be made a little longer. So they got more tail and spliced it on to his caudal appendage. He looked at it admiringly, and then thought he ought to have a little more still. This was added, and again he called for more. The splicing process was repeated many times, until they had coiled Jocko's tail around the room, filling all the space. Still he called for more tail, and, there being no other place to coil it, they began wrapping it around his shoulders. He continued his call for more, and they kept on winding the additional tail about him until its weight broke him down.' I saw the point, and, rising from my chair, replied, 'Mr. President, I will not call for more assistance unless I find it impossible to do with what I already have.'

"Upon one occasion," continued Grant, "when the President was at my head-quarters at City Point, I took him to see the work that had been done on the Dutch Gap Canal. After taking him around and showing him all the points of interest, explaining how, in blowing up one portion of the work that was being excavated, the explosion had thrown the material back into, and filled up, a part already completed, he turned to me and said, 'Grant, do you know what this reminds me of? Out in Springfield, Illinois, there was a blacksmith named ——. One day, when he did not have much to do, he took a piece of soft iron that had been in his shop for some time, and for which he had no special use, and, starting up his fire, began to heat it. When he got it hot he carried it to the anvil and began261 to hammer it, rather thinking he would weld it into an agricultural implement. He pounded away for some time until he got it fashioned into some shape, when he discovered that the iron would not hold out to complete the implement he had in mind. He then put it back into the forge, heated it up again, and recommenced hammering, with an ill-defined notion that he would make a claw hammer, but after a time he came to the conclusion that there was more iron there than was needed to form a hammer. Again he heated it, and thought he would make an axe. After hammering and welding it into shape, knocking the oxidized iron off in flakes, he concluded there was not enough of the iron left to make an axe that would be of any use. He was now getting tired and a little disgusted at the result of his various essays. So he filled his forge full of coal, and, after placing the iron in the centre of the heap, took the bellows and worked up a tremendous blast, bringing the iron to a white heat. Then with his tongs he lifted it from the bed of coals, and thrusting it into a tub of water near by, exclaimed with an oath, "Well, if I can't make anything else of you, I will make a fizzle, anyhow."'"

A friend once asked Lincoln whether the story was true that he had inquired where General Grant got his liquor, so that he might send a barrel to each of his other generals. Lincoln replied that the story originated in King George's time. When General Wolfe was accused of being mad, the King replied, "I wish he would bite some of my other generals."

At the dedication of the Lincoln monument at Springfield, October 15, 1874, General Grant said, "From March, 1864, to the day when the hand of the assassin opened a grave for Mr. Lincoln, then President of the United States, my personal relations with him were as close and intimate as the nature of our respective duties would permit. To know him personally was to love262 and respect him for his great qualities of heart and head and for his patience and patriotism. With all his disappointments from failures on the part of those to whom he had intrusted commands, and treachery on the part of those who had gained his confidence but to betray it, I never heard him utter a complaint, nor cast a censure, for bad conduct or bad faith. It was his nature to find excuses for his adversaries. In his death the nation lost its greatest hero; in his death the South lost its most just friend."

These relations thus established were never disturbed. Grant was the first of all the generals in whom the President placed implicit confidence; he was the only one with whom he seemed to feel entirely at ease; and although their communications were frequent and voluminous, there was seldom a difference of opinion. They contain no complaint or reproach, but ring with mutual confidence and appreciation. Seldom have two men of such remarkable character and ability enjoyed such unruffled relations. Military history furnishes no similar instance. Each seemed to measure the other at his full stature and recognize his strength. There were many busybodies carrying tales and striving to excite suspicion and jealousy, but their faith could not be shaken or their confidence impaired. Lincoln's letters to Grant offer a striking contrast to those addressed to Burnside, Hooker, McClellan, and other commanders.

General Ambrose E. Burnside was selected to command the Army of the Potomac after McClellan was relieved November 5, 1862. He was a classmate and intimate friend of his predecessor, handsome, brave, generous, and as modest as McClellan was vain. He not only did not seek the honor, but declined it twice on the ground that he was not competent to command so large an army, but finally accepted the responsibility at the urgent wish of the President, and very soon demonstrated the mistake. His career was as unfortunate as263 it was brief, but his manly report of the unfortunate battle of Fredericksburg did him great credit, for he assumed all the responsibility for the failure and said nothing but praise of his men.

The President replied by a kind and sympathetic despatch after his failure at Fredericksburg, and fully appreciated his situation. "Although you were not successful," he said, "the attempt was not an error nor the failure other than accident. The courage with which you in an open field maintained the contest against an intrenched foe, and the consummate skill and success with which you crossed and recrossed the river in the face of the enemy, show that you possess all the qualities of a great army, which will yet give victory to the cause of the country and of popular government."

Burnside's confession of failure destroyed the confidence of the army in him, and Burnside realized it. "Doubtless," he said, "this difference of opinion between my general officers and myself results from a lack of confidence in me. In this case it is highly necessary that this army should be commanded by some other officer, to whom I will most cheerfully give way."

The President replied, "I deplore the want of concurrence with you in opinion by your general officers, but I do not see the remedy. Be cautious, and do not understand that the government or the country is driving you. I do not yet see how I could profit by changing the command of the Army of the Potomac, and if I did I would not wish to do it by accepting the resignation of your commission."

Nevertheless, it was futile for the President to pretend that Burnside's usefulness as commander of the army was not at an end, and the latter determined to bring about a crisis himself by recommending for dismissal from the army General Joseph Hooker for "unjust and unnecessary criticisms of the actions of his superior officer.... As unfit to hold an important264 commission during a crisis like the present when so much patience, charity, confidence, consideration, and patriotism are due from every soldier in the field." Burnside also prepared an order dismissing nine other generals, and with his usual frankness took them to Washington and asked the President's approval. As an alternative he tendered his own resignation. Lincoln realized that a commander who had lost the confidence of his army and the country at large could not restore it by punishing his critics, so, in the most kindly manner, he accepted Burnside's resignation and assigned General Hooker to command. The President was fully aware of Hooker's weakness, and that the latter's conduct and language concerning Burnside and himself had been not only indiscreet and insubordinate, but actually insulting. But he was willing to overlook all that and confer honor and responsibility upon him because he believed in his ability and patriotism, and knew that the soldiers held him in higher esteem than any other general in the East. But accompanying Hooker's commission was a letter which no man but Abraham Lincoln could have written without giving offence, and nothing from the pen of the President at that period of his life better indicates the complete self-control and self-confidence which possessed him.

"I have placed you at the head of the Army of the Potomac," he said. "Of course I have done this upon what appears to me sufficient reason, 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 command265 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 of 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 criticising 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."

General Hooker received this rebuke and admonition in the spirit in which it was offered; he recognized its justice, and endeavored to restore himself in the President's estimation; but his first important movement was defeated by the enemy, and, although it was not so great a disaster as that of Burnside at Fredericksburg, the battle of Chancellorsville, in May, 1863, marked the darkest hour in the Civil War and inspired Lee and the Confederate authorities with confidence of the ultimate success of the rebellion. Mr. W. O. Stoddard, an inmate of the White House at that time, has given us the following picture:

"The darkest hour in the Civil War came in the first week of May, 1863, after the bloody battle of Chancellorsville. The country was weary of the long war,266 with its draining taxes of gold and blood. Discontent prevailed everywhere, and the opponents of the Lincoln administration were savage in their denunciation. More than a third of each day's mail already consisted of measureless denunciation; another large part was made up of piteous appeals for peace.

"There were callers at the White House. Members of the Senate and House came with gloomy faces; the members of the Cabinet came to consult or condole. The house was like a funeral, and those who entered or left it trod softly for fear they might wake the dead.

"That night the last visitors in Lincoln's room were Stanton and Halleck, and the President was left alone. Not another soul except the one secretary busy with the mail in his room across the hall. The ticking of a clock would have been noticeable; but another sound came that was almost as regular and as ceaseless. It was the tread of the President's feet as he strode slowly back and forth across his chamber. That ceaseless march so accustomed the ear to it that when, a little after twelve, there was a break of several minutes, the sudden silence made one put down his letters and listen.

"The President may have been at his table writing, or he may—no man knows or can guess; but at the end of the minutes, long or short, the tramp began again. Two o'clock and he was walking yet, and when, a little after three, the secretary's task was done and he slipped noiselessly out, he turned at the head of the stairs for a moment. It was so—the last sound he heard as he went down was the footfall in Lincoln's room.

"The young man was there again before eight o'clock. The President's room was open. There sat Lincoln eating his breakfast alone. He had not been out of his room; but there was a kind of cheery, hopeful morning light on his face. He had watched all night, but beside his cup of coffee lay his instructions to General Hooker to push forward. There was a decisive battle267 won that night in that long vigil with disaster and despair. Only a few weeks later the Army of the Potomac fought it over again as desperately—and they won it—at Gettysburg."

From the time when Hooker took command the President kept closer watch than ever upon the movements of the Army of the Potomac, and his directions were given with greater detail than before. He had no confidence in Hooker's ability to plan, although he felt that he was a good fighter.

Early in June, 1863, Hooker reported his opinion that Lee intended to move on Washington, and asked orders to attack the Confederate rear. To this Lincoln answered in quaint satire, "In case you find Lee coming north of the Rappahannock I would by no means cross to the south of it. If he should leave a rear force at Fredericksburg, tempting you to fall upon it, it would fight you in entrenchments and have you at a disadvantage, while his main force would in some way be getting an advantage of you northward. In one word, I would not take any risk of being entangled upon the river, like an ox would jump half over a fence and be liable to be torn by dogs front and rear, without a fair chance to gore one way or kick the other."

To illustrate how dependent was the commander of the Army of the Potomac upon Lincoln I give another despatch, sent by the President to Hooker when the latter proposed to make a dash upon Richmond while Lee was moving his army westward towards the Shenandoah Valley.

"If left to me, I would not go south of the Rappahannock upon Lee's moving north of it. If you had Richmond invested to-day, you would not be able to take it in twenty days; meanwhile your communications, and with them your army, would be ruined. I think Lee's army, and not Richmond, is your true objective point. If he comes towards the upper Potomac,268 follow on his flank and on his inside track, shortening your lines while he lengthens his. Fight him, too, when opportunity offers. If he stays where he is, fret him and fret him."

A few days later Lincoln telegraphed Hooker, "If the head of Lee's army is at Martinsburg and the tail of it on the plank road between Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, the animal must be very slim somewhere. Could you not break him?" But Hooker made no attempt to do so, and merely followed Lee northward through Virginia and Maryland into Pennsylvania, keeping on the "inside track," as Mr. Lincoln suggested, between the Confederate army and Washington. Before the battle of Gettysburg, which ended the most aggressive campaign of the Confederates, a long-standing feud between Hooker and Halleck became so acute that the President saw that one or the other of them must be relieved. Hooker, in a fit of irritation because Halleck had declined to comply with some unimportant request, asked to be relieved from the command, and the President selected George G. Meade to succeed him. A few days later the battle of Gettysburg was fought. The vain ambition of Lee and Davis to raise the Confederate flag over Independence Hall and establish the head-quarters of the Confederate government in Philadelphia was dissipated and Lee fell back, leaving two thousand six hundred killed, twelve thousand wounded, and five thousand prisoners.

Lincoln's military instincts taught him that the war could be practically ended there if the advantages gained at Gettysburg were properly utilized, and so implored Meade to renew his attack. But Meade held back, Lee escaped, and for once the President lost his patience. In the intensity of his disappointment he wrote Meade as follows:

"You fought and beat the enemy at Gettysburg, and, of course, his loss was as great as yours. He retreated,269 and you did not, as it seemed to me, pressingly pursue him; but a flood in the river detained him till, by slow degrees, you were again upon him. You had at least twenty thousand veteran troops directly with you and as many more raw ones within supporting distance, all in addition to those who fought with you at Gettysburg, while it was not possible that he had received a single recruit, and yet you stood and let the flood run down, bridges be built, and the enemy move away at his leisure, without attacking him. Again, my dear general, I do not believe you appreciate the magnitude of the misfortune involved in Lee's escape. He was within your easy grasp, and to have closed upon him would, in connection with our other late successes, have ended the war. As it is, the war will be prolonged indefinitely. If you could not safely attack Lee last Monday, how can you possibly do so south of the river, when you can take with you very few more than two-thirds of the force you then had in hand? I would be unreasonable to expect, and I do not expect (that) you can now effect much. Your golden opportunity is gone, and I am distressed immeasurably because of it."

Before the mails left that night Lincoln's wrath was spent, his amiability was restored, and this letter was never sent.

It is impossible in the limits of this volume to relate the details of the war, but from the detached incidents that have been given, and the narrative of his relations with Scott, McClellan, Frémont, Grant, and other generals referred to in this chapter, the reader may form a clear and accurate conception of Abraham Lincoln's military genius and the unselfish and often ill-advised consideration with which he invariably treated his commanders. During the last year of the war the right men seem to have found the right places, and in all the voluminous correspondence of the President from the White House and the War Department with Grant,270 Sherman, Sheridan, and Thomas there appears to have been a perfect understanding and complete unity of opinion and purpose between them. He allowed them greater liberty than other commanders had enjoyed, evidently because they had his confidence to a higher degree; he never was compelled to repeat the entreaties, admonitions, and rebukes with which the pages of his correspondence during the earlier part of the war were filled. His relations with Sherman cannot better be defined than by the following brief letter:

    "My dear General Sherman: Many, many thanks for your Christmas gift, the capture of Savannah. When you were about leaving Atlanta for the Atlantic coast I was anxious, if not fearful; but feeling that you were the better judge, and remembering that 'nothing risked, nothing gained,' I did not interfere. Now, the undertaking being a success, the honor is all yours, for I believe none of us went farther than to acquiesce. And taking the work of General Thomas into the count, as it should be taken, it is, indeed, a great success. Not only does it afford the obvious and immediate military advantages, but in showing to the world that your army could be divided, putting the stronger part to an important new service, and yet leaving enough to vanquish the old opposing force of the whole—Hood's army—it brings those who sat in darkness to see a great light. But what next? I suppose it will be safe if I leave General Grant and yourself to decide. Please make my grateful acknowledgments to your whole army, officers and men."

Lincoln's relations with Sheridan were limited. They never met but twice, and there was very little correspondence between them, the most notable being the laconic despatch after Sheridan's fight with Ewell at Sailor's Creek, near the Appomattox. That was one of271 the last blows struck at the Confederacy, and Sheridan, realizing the situation, made a hasty report, ending with the words,—

"If the thing is pressed I think Lee will surrender."

Grant forwarded the despatch to President Lincoln, who instantly replied,—

"Let the thing be pressed."

When he had read the telegram describing Sheridan's last fight with Early in the Shenandoah Valley, he remarked that he once knew a man who loaded a piece of punk with powder, lighted it, clapped it inside a biscuit, and tossed it to a savage dog that was snarling at him. In an instant the dog snapped it up and swallowed it. Presently the fire touched the powder and away went the dog, his head in one place, a leg here and another there, and the different parts scattered all over the country. "And," said the man, "as for the dog, as a dog, I was never able to find him." "And that," remarked the President, "is very much the condition of Early's army, as an army."

President Lincoln's appearance in Richmond after the Confederacy fell to pieces was one of the most dramatic scenes in all history because of its extreme simplicity and the entire absence of rejoicing or parade. There was no triumphant entrance, as the world might have expected when a conqueror occupies the capital of the conquered. Never before or since has an event of such transcendent significance occurred with so little ostentation or ceremony. Lincoln was at City Point, the head-quarters of General Grant, and was lodged upon a little steamer called the "River Queen" when he heard of the capture of Richmond and the fire that consumed a large part of that city. The same day he went up the river without escort of any kind, landed at a wharf near Libby Prison, found a guide among the colored people that were hanging around the place, and walked a mile or more to the centre of the city. The loafers at the272 wharf soon identified the President and surrounded him, striving to touch the hem of his garment. To protect the President and open a passage for him, Admiral Porter called sailors from his boat, who marched in front and behind him to the town. Lincoln did not realize the danger that surrounded him; he did not remember that he was in the midst of a community with whom he was still at war, or that they held him responsible for the sorrows they had suffered, the distress they had endured, and the destruction of their property. But, although within an hour from the time he landed every man, woman, and child knew of his presence, not a hand was lifted against him, not an unkind word was said; and, after visiting the head-quarters of General Weitzel, who was in command of the union troops, the Capitol of the State which had been the seat of the Confederate government, the mansion which Jefferson Davis had occupied, Libby Prison, where so many officers had starved and died, and holding two important interviews with John A. Campbell, the Confederate Secretary of War, who had remained in Richmond when the rest of the government fled, he went leisurely back to his boat, returned to the steamer, and sailed for Washington, where, only a few days later, surrounded by his loyal friends and in the midst of an ovation, he was stricken by the bullet of an assassin.

Lincoln's personal courage was demonstrated early in life. He never showed a sense of fear. He never refused a challenge for a trial of strength, nor avoided an adventure that was attended by danger; and while President he had no fear of assassination, although he had many warnings and was quite superstitious. He was accustomed to ridicule the anxiety of his friends, and when the threats of his enemies were repeated to him he changed the subject of conversation. Senator Sumner was one of those who believed that he was in continual danger of assassination, and frequently273 cautioned him about going out at night. When the Senator's anxiety was referred to by friends one evening, the President said, "Sumner declined to stand up with me, back to back, to see which was the tallest man, and made a fine speech about this being the time for uniting our fronts against the enemy and not our backs. But I guess he was afraid to measure, though he is a good piece of a man. I have never had much to do with bishops where I live, but, do you know? Sumner is my idea of a bishop."

In his reminiscences, General Butler says, "He was personally a very brave man and gave me the worst fright of my life. He came to my head-quarters and said,—

"'General, I should like to ride along your lines and see them, and see the boys and how they are situated in camp.'

"I said, 'Very well, we will go after breakfast.'

"I happened to have a very tall, easy-riding, pacing horse, and, as the President was rather long-legged, I tendered him the use of him while I rode beside him on a pony. He was dressed, as was his custom, in a black suit, a swallow-tail coat, and tall silk hat. As there rode on the other side of him at first Mr. Fox, the Secretary of the Navy, who was not more than five feet six inches in height, he stood out as a central figure of the group. Of course the staff-officers and orderly were behind. When we got to the line of intrenchment, from which the line of rebel pickets was not more than three hundred yards, he towered high above the works, and as we came to the several encampments the boys cheered him lustily. Of course the enemy's attention was wholly directed to this performance, and with the glass it could be plainly seen that the eyes of their officers were fastened upon Lincoln; and a personage riding down the lines cheered by the soldiers was a very unusual thing, so that the enemy must have known274 that he was there. Both Mr. Fox and myself said to him,—

"'Let us ride on the side next to the enemy, Mr. President. You are in fair rifle-shot of them, and they may open fire; and they must know you, being the only person not in uniform, and the cheering of the troops directs their attention to you.'

"'Oh, no,' he said, laughing; 'the commander-in-chief of the army must not show any cowardice in the presence of his soldiers, whatever he may feel.' And he insisted upon riding the whole six miles, which was about the length of my intrenchments, in that position, amusing himself at intervals, where there was nothing more attractive, in a sort of competitive examination of the commanding general in the science of engineering, much to the amusement of my engineer-in-chief, General Weitzel, who rode on my left, and who was kindly disposed to prompt me while the examination was going on, which attracted the attention of Mr. Lincoln, who said,—

"'Hold on, Weitzel, I can't beat you, but I think I can beat Butler.'

"In the later summer (1863)," continues General Butler, "I was invited by the President to ride with him in the evening out to the Soldiers' Home, some two miles, a portion of the way being quite lonely. He had no guard—not even an orderly on the box. I said to him,—

"'Is it known that you ride thus alone at night out to the Soldiers' Home?'

"'Oh, yes,' he answered, 'when business detains me until night. I do go out earlier, as a rule.'

"I said, 'I think you peril too much. We have passed a half-dozen places where a well-directed bullet might have taken you off.'

"'Oh,' he replied, 'assassination of public officers is not an American crime.'

275 "When he handed me the commission (as major-general), with some kindly words of compliment, I replied, 'I do not know whether I ought to accept this. I received my orders to prepare my brigade to march to Washington while trying a cause to a jury. I stated the fact to the court and asked that the case might be continued, which was at once consented to, and I left to come here the second morning after, my business in utter confusion.'

"He said, 'I guess we both wish we were back trying cases,' with a quizzical look upon his countenance.

"I said, 'Besides, Mr. President, you may not be aware that I was the Breckenridge candidate for Governor in my State in the last campaign, and did all I could to prevent your election.'

"'All the better,' said he; 'I hope your example will bring many of the same sort with you.'

"'But,' I answered, 'I do not know that I can support the measures of your administration, Mr. President.'

"'I do not care whether you do or not,' was his reply, 'if you will fight for the country.'

"'I will take the commission and loyally serve while I may, and bring it back to you when I can go with you no further.'

"'That is frank; but tell me wherein you think my administration wrong before you resign,' said he. 'Report to General Scott.'

"'Yes, Mr. President, the bounties which are now being paid to new recruits cause very large desertions. Men desert and go home, and get the bounties and enlist in other regiments.'

"'That is too true,' he replied, 'but how can we prevent it?'

"'By vigorously shooting every man who is caught as a deserter until it is found to be a dangerous business.'

276 "A saddened, weary look came over his face which I had never seen before, and he slowly replied,—

"'You may be right—probably are so; but, God help me! how can I have a butcher's day every Friday in the Army of the Potomac?'"