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        _"How beautiful to see
    Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed.
    Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead;
    One whose meek flock the people joyed to be,
         Not lured by any cheat of birth,
         But by his clear-grained human worth,
    And brave old wisdom of sincerity!
         They knew that outward grace is dust;
         They could not choose but trust
    In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill,
         And supple-tempered will
    That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust.
    His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind,
    Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars,
    A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind;
    Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined,
    Fruitful and friendly for all human kind,
    Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars_.


         _"Great captains, with their guns and drums,
         Disturb our judgment for the hour,
         But at last silence comes;
    These all are gone, and, standing like a tower,
         Our children shall behold his fame,
    The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man,
    Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame,
    New birth of our new soil, the first American."_

         JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.




[Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN FROM AN UNPUBLISHED ORIGINAL DRAWING BY
JOHN NELSON MARBLE]




                THE EVERY-DAY LIFE OF
                   ABRAHAM LINCOLN

             A NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE
             BIOGRAPHY WITH PEN-PICTURES
             AND PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
               BY THOSE WHO KNEW HIM

                        BY
               FRANCIS FISHER BROWNE

  _Compiler of "Golden Poems," "Bugle Echoes, Pose of
  the Civil War," "Laurel-Crowned Verse," etc._

NEW AND THOROUGHLY REVISED EDITION, FROM NEW PLATES, WITH
       AN ENTIRELY NEW PORTRAIT OF LINCOLN, FROM A
             CHARCOAL STUDY BY J.K. MARBLE


                     CHICAGO
              BROWNE & HOWELL COMPANY
                       1913




FRANCIS FISHER BROWNE

_1843-1913_

The present revision of "The Every-day Life of Abraham Lincoln" was the
last literary labor of its author. He had long wished to undertake the
work, and had talked much of it for several years past. But favorable
arrangements for the book's republication were not completed until about
a year ago. Then, though by no means recovered from an attack of
pneumonia late in the previous winter, he took up the task of revision
and recasting with something of his old-time energy. It was a far
heavier task than he had anticipated, but he gave it practically his
undivided attention until within three or four weeks of his death. Only
when the last pages of manuscript had been despatched to the printer did
he yield to the overwhelming physical suffering that had been upon him
for a long time past. His death occurred at Santa Barbara, California,
on May 11.

Francis Fisher Browne was born at South Halifax, Vermont, on December 1,
1843. His parentage, on both sides, was of the purest New England stock.
Early in his childhood, the family moved to Western Massachusetts, where
the boy went to school and learned the printing trade in his father's
newspaper office at Chicopee. As a lad of eighteen, he left the high
school in answer to the government's call for volunteers, serving for a
year with the 46th Massachusetts Regiment in North Carolina and with the
Army of the Potomac. When the regiment was discharged, in 1863, he
decided to take up the study of law. Removing to Rochester, N.Y., he
entered a law office in that city; and a year or two later began a brief
course in the law department of the University of Michigan. He was
unable to continue in college, however, and returned to Rochester to
follow his trade.

Immediately after his marriage, in 1867, he came to Chicago, with the
definite intention of engaging in literary work. Here he became
associated with "The Western Monthly," which, with the fuller
establishment of his control, he rechristened "The Lakeside Monthly."
The best writers throughout the West were gradually enlisted as
contributors; and it was not long before the magazine was generally
recognized as the most creditable and promising periodical west of the
Atlantic seaboard. But along with this increasing prestige came a series
of extraneous setbacks and calamities, culminating in a complete
physical breakdown of its editor and owner, which made the magazine's
suspension imperative.

[Illustration: FRANCIS F. BROWNE]

The six years immediately following, from 1874 to 1880, were largely
spent in a search for health. During part of this time, however, Mr.
Browne acted as literary editor of "The Alliance," and as special
editorial writer for some of the leading Chicago newspapers. But his
mind was preoccupied with plans for a new periodical--this time a
journal of literary criticism, modeled somewhat after such English
publications as "The Athenaeum" and "The Academy." In the furtherance of
this bold conception he was able to interest the publishing firm of
Jansen, McClurg & Co.; and under their imprint, in May, 1880, appeared
the first issue of THE DIAL, "a monthly review and index of current
literature." At about the same time he became literary adviser to the
publishing department of the house, and for twelve years thereafter
toiled unremittingly at his double task-work. In 1892, negotiations were
completed whereby he acquired Messrs. McClurg & Co.'s interest in the
periodical. It was enlarged in scope, and made a semi-monthly; and from
that time until his death it appeared uninterruptedly under his guidance
and his control.

Besides his writings in THE DIAL and other periodicals, Mr. Browne is
the author of a small volume of poems, "Volunteer Grain" (1895). He also
compiled and edited several anthologies,--"Bugle Echoes," a collection
of Civil War poems (1886); "Golden Poems by British and American
Authors" (1881); "The Golden Treasury of Poetry and Prose" (1883); and
seven volumes of "Laurel-Crowned Verse" (1891-2). He was one of the
small group of men who, in 1874, founded the Chicago Literary Club; and
for a number of years past he has been an honorary member of that
organization, as well as of the Caxton Club (Chicago) and the Twilight
Club (Pasadena, Cal.). During the summer of 1893 he served as Chairman
of the Committee on the Congress of Authors of the World's Congress
Auxiliary of the Columbian Exposition.

THE PUBLISHERS




PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

The original edition of this book was published about twenty years after
Lincoln's death at the close of the Civil War. At that time many of the
men who had taken a prominent part in the affairs, military and civil,
of that heroic period, many who had known Lincoln and had come in
personal contact with him during the war or in his earlier years, were
still living. It was a vivid conception of the value of the personal
recollections of these men, gathered and recorded before it was too
late, that led to the preparation of this book. It was intended to be,
and in effect it was, largely an anecdotal Life of Lincoln built of
material gathered from men still living who had known him personally.
The task was begun none too soon. Of the hundreds who responded to the
requests for contributions of their memories of Lincoln there were few
whose lives extended very far into the second quarter-century after his
death, and few indeed survive after the lapse of nearly fifty
years,--though in several instances the author has been so fortunate as
to get valuable material directly from persons still living (1913). Of
the more than five hundred friends and contemporaries of Lincoln to whom
credit for material is given in the original edition, scarcely a dozen
are living at the date of this second edition. Therefore, the value of
these reminiscences increases with time. They were gathered largely at
first hand. They can never be replaced, nor can they ever be very much
extended.

This book brings Lincoln the man, not Lincoln the tradition, very near
to us. Browning asked, "And did you once see Shelley plain? And did he
stop and speak to you?" The men whose narratives make up a large part of
this book all saw Lincoln plain, and here tell us what he spoke to them,
and how he looked and seemed while saying it. The great events of
Lincoln's life, and impressions of his character, are given in the
actual words of those who knew him--his friends, neighbors, and daily
associates--rather than condensed and remolded into other form. While
these utterances are in some cases rude and unstudied, they have often a
power of delineation and a graphic force that more than compensate for
any lack of literary quality.

In a work prepared on such a plan as this, some repetitions are
unavoidable; nor are they undesirable. An event or incident narrated by
different observers is thereby brought out with greater fulness of
detail; and phases of Lincoln's many-sided character are revealed more
clearly by the varied impressions of numerous witnesses whose accounts
thus correct or verify each other. Some inconsistencies and
contradictions are inevitable,--but these relate usually to minor
matters, seldom or never to the great essentials of Lincoln's life and
personality. The author's desire is to present material from which the
reader may form an opinion of Lincoln, rather than to present opinions
and judgments of his own.

Lincoln literature has increased amazingly in the past twenty-five
years. Mention of the principal biographies in existence at the time of
the original edition was included in the Preface. Since then there have
appeared, among the more formal biographies, the comprehensive and
authoritative work by Nicolay and Hay, the subsequent work by Miss Ida
Tarbell, and that by Herndon and Weik, besides many more or less
fragmentary publications. Some additions, but not many, have been made
to the present edition from these sources. The recently-published Diary
of Gideon Welles, one of the most valuable commentaries on the Civil War
period now available, has provided some material of exceptional interest
concerning Lincoln's relations with the members of his Cabinet.

In re-writing the present work, it has been compressed into about
two-thirds of its former compass, to render it more popular both in form
and in price, and to give it in some places a greater measure of
coherency and continuity as an outline narrative of the Civil War. But
its chief appeal to the interest of its readers will remain
substantially what it was in the beginning, as set forth in its title,
"The Every-day Life of Abraham Lincoln, by Those Who Knew Him."

F.F.B.
SANTA BARBARA, CAL., _April, 1913._




PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

This book aims to give a view, clearer and more complete than has been
given before, of the personality of Abraham Lincoln. A life so full of
incident and a character so many-sided as his can be understood only
with the lapse of time. A sense of the exhaustless interest of that life
and character, and the inadequacy of the ordinarily constructed
biography to portray his many-sidedness, suggested the preparation of a
work upon the novel plan here represented. Begun several years ago, the
undertaking proved of such magnitude that its completion has been
delayed beyond the anticipated time. The extensive correspondence, the
exploration of available sources of information in the books, pamphlets,
magazines, and newspapers of a quarter of a century, and in the scraps
and papers of historical collections, became an almost interminable
task. The examination and sifting of this mass of material, its
verification amidst often conflicting testimony, and its final molding
into shape, involved time and labor that can be estimated only by those
who have had similar experience.

To the many who have kindly furnished original contributions, to others
who have aided the work by valuable suggestions and information, to
earlier biographies of Lincoln--those of Raymond, Holland, Barrett,
Lamon, Carpenter, and (the best and latest of all) that of Hon. I.N.
Arnold--hearty acknowledgment is made. Much that was offered could not
be used. In the choice of material, from whatever source, the purpose
has been to avoid mere opinions and eulogies of Lincoln and to give
abundantly those actual experiences, incidents, anecdotes, and
reminiscences which reveal the phases of his unique and striking
personality.

It scarcely need be pointed out that this work does not attempt to give
a connected history of the Civil War, but only to sketch briefly those
episodes with which Lincoln is personally identified and of which some
knowledge is essential to an understanding of his acts and character.
Others are brought into prominence only as they are associated with the
chief actor in the great drama. Many of them are disappearing,--fading
into the smoky and lurid background. But that colossal central figure,
playing one of the grandest roles ever set upon the stage of human life,
becomes more impressive as the scenes recede.

F.F.B.
CHICAGO, _October, 1886._




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I

     Ancestry--The Lincolns in Kentucky--Death of Lincoln's
     Grandfather--Thomas Lincoln and Nancy Hanks--Mordecai
     Lincoln--Birth of Abraham Lincoln--Removal to Indiana--Early
     Years--Dennis Hanks--Lincoln's Boyhood--Death of Nancy Hanks--Early
     School Days--Lincoln's First Dollar--Presentiments of Future
     Greatness--Down the Mississippi--Removal to Illinois--Lincoln's
     Father--Lincoln the Storekeeper--First Official Act--Lincoln's
     Short Sketch of His Own Life


CHAPTER II

     A Turn in Affairs--The Black Hawk War--A Remarkable Military
     Manoeuvre--Lincoln Protects an Indian--Lincoln and
     Stuart--Lincoln's Military Record--Nominated for the
     Legislature--Lincoln a Merchant--Postmaster at New Salem--Lincoln
     Studies Law--Elected to the Legislature--Personal
     Characteristics--Lincoln's Love for Anne Rutledge--Close of
     Lincoln's Youth


CHAPTER III

     Lincoln's Beginning as a Lawyer--His Early Taste for
     Politics--Lincoln and the Lightning-Rod Man--Not an
     Aristocrat--Reply to Dr. Early--A Manly Letter--Again in the
     Illinois Legislature--The "Long Nine"--Lincoln on His Way to the
     Capital--His Ambition in 1836--First Meeting with Douglas--Removal
     of the Illinois Capital--One of Lincoln's Early
     Speeches--Pro-Slavery Sentiment in Illinois--Lincoln's Opposition
     to Slavery--Contest with General Ewing--Lincoln Lays out a
     Town--The Title "Honest Abe"


CHAPTER IV

     Lincoln's Removal to Springfield--A Lawyer without Clients or
     Money--Early Discouragements--Proposes to become a
     Carpenter--"Stuart & Lincoln, Attorneys at Law"--"Riding the
     Circuit"--Incidents of a Trip Round the Circuit--Pen Pictures of
     Lincoln--Humane Traits--Kindness to Animals--Defending Fugitive
     Slaves--Incidents in Lincoln's Life as a Lawyer--His Fondness for
     Jokes and Stories


CHAPTER V

     Lincoln in the Legislature--Eight Consecutive Years of Service--His
     Influence in the House--Leader of the Whig Party in Illinois--Takes
     a Hand in National Politics--Presidential Election in 1840--A "Log
     Cabin" Reminiscence--Some Memorable Political Encounters--A Tilt
     with Douglas--Lincoln Facing a Mob--His Physical Courage--Lincoln
     as Duellist--The Affair with General Shields--An Eye-Witness'
     Account of the Duel--Courtship and Marriage


CHAPTER VI

     Lincoln in National Politics--His Congressional
     Aspirations--Law-Partnership of Lincoln and Herndon--The
     Presidential Campaign of 1844--Visit to Henry Clay--Lincoln Elected
     to Congress--Congressional Reputation--Acquaintance with
     Distinguished Men--First Speech in Congress--"Getting the Hang" of
     the House--Lincoln's Course on the Mexican War--Notable Speech in
     Congress--Ridicule of General Cass--Bill for the Abolition of
     Slavery--Delegate to the Whig National Convention of 1848--Stumping
     the Country for Taylor--Advice to Young Politicians--"Old Abe"--A
     Political Disappointment--Lincoln's Appearance as an Officer Seeker
     in Washington--"A Divinity that Shapes Our Ends"


CHAPTER VII

     Lincoln again in Springfield--Back to the Circuit--His Personal
     Manners and Appearance--Glimpses of Home-Life--His Family--His
     Absent-Mindedness--A Painful Subject--Lincoln a Man of
     Sorrows--Familiar Appearance on the Streets of Springfield--Scenes
     in the Law-Office--Forebodings of a "Great of Miserable End"--An
     Evening Whit Lincoln in Chicago--Lincoln's Tenderness to His
     Relatives--Death of His Father--A Sensible Adviser--Care of His
     Step-Mother--Tribute From Her


CHAPTER VIII

     Lincoln as a Lawyer--His Appearance in Court--Reminiscences of a
     Law-Student in Lincoln's Office--An "Office Copy" of Byron--Novel
     Way of Keeping Partnership Accounts--Charges for Legal
     Services--Trial of Bill Armstrong--Lincoln before a Jury--Kindness
     toward Unfortunate Clients--Refusing to Defend Guilty
     Men--Courtroom Anecdotes--Anecdotes of Lincoln at the Bar--Some
     Striking Opinions of Lincoln as a Lawyer


CHAPTER IX

     Lincoln and Slavery--The Issue Becoming More Sharply
     Defined--Resistance to the Spread of Slavery--Views Expressed by
     Lincoln in 1850--His Mind Made Up--Lincoln as a Party Leader--The
     Kansas Struggle--Crossing Swords with Douglas--A Notable Speech by
     Lincoln--Advice to Kansas Belligerents--Honor in Politics--Anecdote
     of Lincoln and Yates--Contest for the U.S. Senate in
     1855--Lincoln's Defeat--Sketched by Members of the Legislature


CHAPTER X

     Birth of the Republican Party--Lincoln One of Its Fathers--Takes
     His Stand with the Abolitionists--The Bloomington
     Convention--Lincoln's Great Anti-Slavery Speech--A Ratification
     Meeting of Three--The First National Republican
     Convention--Lincoln's Name Presented for the
     Vice-Presidency--Nomination of Fremont and Dayton--Lincoln in the
     Campaign of 1856--His Appearance and Influence on the
     Stump--Regarded as a Dangerous Man--His Views on the Politics of
     the Future--First Visit to Cincinnati--Meeting with Edwin M.
     Stanton--Stanton's First Impressions of Lincoln--Regards Him as a
     "Giraffe"--A Visit to Cincinnati


CHAPTER XI

     The Great Lincoln-Douglas Debate--Rivals for the U.S.
     Senate--Lincoln's "House-Divided-against-Itself" Speech--An
     Inspired Oration--Alarming His Friends--Challenges Douglas to a
     Joint Discussion--The Champions Contrasted--Their Opinions of Each
     Other--Lincoln and Douglas on the Stump--Slavery the Leading
     Issue--Scenes and Anecdotes of the Great Debate--Pen-Picture of
     Lincoln on the Stump--Humors of the Campaign--Some Sharp
     Rejoinders--Words of Soberness--Close of the Conflict


CHAPTER XII

     A Year of Waiting and Trial--Again Defeated for the
     Senate--Depression and Neglect--Lincoln Enlarging His
     Boundaries--On the Stump in Ohio--A Speech to Kentuckians--Second
     Visit to Cincinnati--A Short Trip to Kansas--Lincoln in New York
     City--The Famous Cooper Institute Speech--A Strong and Favorable
     Impression--Visits New England--Secret of Lincoln's Success as an
     Orator--Back to Springfield--Disposing of a Campaign
     Slander--Lincoln's Account of His Visit to a Five Points Sunday
     School


CHAPTER XIII

     Looking towards the Presidency--The Illinois Republican Convention
     of 1860--A "Send-Off" for Lincoln--The National Republican
     Convention at Chicago--Contract of the Leading Candidates--Lincoln
     Nominated--Scenes at the Convention--Sketches by
     Eye-Witnesses--Lincoln Hearing the News--The Scene at
     Springfield--A Visit to Lincoln at His Home--Recollections of a
     Distinguished Sculptor--Receiving the Committee of the
     Convention--Nomination of Douglas--Campaign of 1860--Various
     Campaign Reminiscences--Lincoln and the Tall Southerner--The Vote
     of the Springfield Clergy--A Graceful Letter to the Poet
     Bryant--"Looking up Hard Spots"


CHAPTER XIV

     Lincoln Chosen President--The Election of 1860--The Waiting-Time at
     Springfield--A Deluge of Visitors--Various Impressions of the
     President-Elect--Some Queer Callers--Looking over the Situation
     with Friends--Talks about the Cabinet--Thurlow Weed's Visit to
     Springfield--The Serious Aspect of National Affairs--The South in
     Rebellion--Treason at the National Capital--Lincoln's Farewell
     Visit to His Mother--The Old Sign, "Lincoln & Herndon"--The Last
     Day at Springfield--Farewell Speech to Friends and Neighbors--Off
     for the Capital--The Journey to Washington--Receptions and Speeches
     along the Route--At Cincinnati: A Hitherto Unpublished Speech by
     Lincoln--At Cleveland: Personal Descriptions of Mr. and Mrs.
     Lincoln--At New York City: Impressions of the New President--Perils
     of the Journey--The Baltimore Plot--Change of Route--Arrival at the
     Capital


CHAPTER XV

     Lincoln at the Helm--First Days in Washington--Meeting Public--Men
     and Discussing Public Affairs--The Inauguration--The Inaugural
     Address--A New Era Begun--Lincoln in the White House--The First
     Cabinet--The President and the Office-Seekers--Southern Prejudice
     against Lincoln--Ominous Portents, but Lincoln not Dismayed--The
     President's Reception Room--Varied Impressions of the New
     President--Guarding the White House


CHAPTER XVI

     Civil War--Uprising of the Nation--The President's First Call for
     Troops--Response of the Loyal North--The Riots in
     Baltimore--Loyalty of Stephen A. Douglas--Douglas's Death--Blockade
     of Southern Ports--Additional War Measures--Lincoln Defines the
     Policy of the Government--His Conciliatory Course--His Desire to
     Save Kentucky--The President's First Message to Congress--Gathering
     of Troops in Washington--Reviews and Parades--Disaster at Bull
     Run--The President Visits the Army--Good Advice to an Angry
     Officer--A Peculiar Cabinet Meeting--Dark Days for Lincoln--A
     "Black Mood" in the White House--Lincoln's Unfaltering
     Courage--Relief in Story-Telling--A Pretty Good Land
     Title--"Measuring up" with Charles Sumner--General Scott "Unable as
     a Politician"--A Good Drawing-Plaster--The New York Millionaires
     who Wanted a Gunboat--A Good Bridge-Builder--A Sick Lot of
     Office-Seekers


CHAPTER XVII

     Lincoln's Wise Statesmanship--The Mason and Slidell
     Affair--Complications with England--Lincoln's "Little Story" on the
     Trent Affair--Building of the "Monitor"--Lincoln's Part in the
     Enterprise--The President's First Annual Message--Discussion of the
     Labor Question--A President's Reception in War Time--A Great
     Affliction--Death in the White House--Chapters from the Secret
     Service--A Morning Call on the President--Goldwin Smith's
     Impressions of Lincoln--Other Notable Tributes


CHAPTER XVIII

     Lincoln and His Cabinet--An Odd Assortment of
     Officials--Misconceptions of Rights and Duties--Frictions and
     Misunderstandings--The Early Cabinet Meetings--Informal
     Conversational Affairs--Queer Attitude toward the War--Regarded as
     a Political Affair--Proximity to Washington a Hindrance to Military
     Success--Disturbances in the Cabinet--A Senate Committee Demands
     Seward's Removal from the Cabinet--Lincoln's Mastery of the
     Situation--Harmony Restored--Stanton becomes War Secretary--Sketch
     of a Remarkable Man--Next to Lincoln, the Master-Mind of the
     Cabinet--Lincoln the Dominant Power


CHAPTER XIX

     Lincoln's Personal Attention to the Military Problems of the
     War--Efforts to Push forward the War--Disheartening
     Delays--Lincoln's Worry and Perplexity Brightening Prospects--Union
     Victories in North Carolina and Tennessee--Proclamation by the
     President--Lincoln Wants to See for Himself--Visits Fortress
     Monroe--Witnesses an Attack on the Rebel Ram "Merrimac"--The
     Capture of Norfolk--Lincoln's Account of the Affair--Letter to
     McClellan--Lincoln and the Union Soldiers--His Tender Solicitude
     for the Boys in Blue--Soldiers Always Welcome at the White
     House--Pardoning Condemned Soldiers--Letter to a Bereaved
     Mother--The Case of Cyrus Pringle--Lincoln's Love of Soldiers'
     Humor--Visiting the Soldiers in Trenches and Hospitals--Lincoln at
     "The Soldiers' Rest"


CHAPTER XX

     Lincoln and McClellan--The Peninsular Campaign of 1862--Impatience
     with McClellan's Delay--Lincoln Defends McClellan from Unjust
     Criticism--Some Harrowing Experiences--McClellan Recalled from the
     Peninsula--His Troops Given to General Pope--Pope's Defeat at
     Manassas--A Critical Situation--McClellan again in Command--Lincoln
     Takes the Responsibility--McClellan's Account of His
     Reinstatement--The Battle of Antietam--The President
     Vindicated--Again Dissatisfied with McClellan--Visits the Army in
     the Field--The President in the Saddle--Correspondence between
     Lincoln and McClellan--McClellan's Final Removal--Lincoln's
     Summing-Up of McClellan--McClellan's "Body-Guard"


CHAPTER XXI

     Lincoln and Slavery--Plan for Gradual Emancipation--Anti-Slavery
     Legislation in 1862--Pressure Brought to Bear on the
     Executive--The Delegation of Quakers--A Visit from Chicago
     Clergymen--Interview between Lincoln and Channing--Lincoln and
     Horace Greeley--The President's Answer to "The Prayer of Twenty
     Millions of People"--Conference between Lincoln and
     Greeley--Emancipation Resolved on--The Preliminary
     Proclamation--Lincoln's Account of It--Preparing for the Final
     Act--The Emancipation Proclamation--Particulars of the Great
     Document--Fate of the Original Draft--Lincoln's Outline of His
     Course and Views Regarding Slavery


CHAPTER XXII

     President and People--Society at the White House in
     1862-3--The President's Informal Receptions--A Variety of
     Callers--Characteristic Traits of Lincoln--His Ability to Say
     _No_ when Necessary--Would not Countenance Injustice--Good
     Sense and Tact in Settling Quarrels--His Shrewd Knowledge of
     Men--Getting Rid of Bores--Loyalty to His Friends--Views of
     His Own Position--"Attorney for the People"--Desire that They
     Should Understand Him--His Practical Kindness--A Badly Scared
     Petitioner--Telling a Story to Relieve Bad News--A Breaking
     Heart beneath the Smiles--His Deeply Religious Nature--The
     Changes Wrought by Grief


     CHAPTER XXIII

     Lincoln's Home-Life in the White House--Comfort in the
     Companionship of his Youngest Son--"Little Tad" the Bright Spot in
     the White House--The President and His Little Boy Reviewing the
     Army of the Potomac--Various Phases of Lincoln's Character--His
     Literary Tastes--Fondness for Poetry and Music--His Remarkable
     Memory--Not a Latin Scholar--Never Read a Novel--Solace in
     Theatrical Representation--Anecdotes of Booth and
     McCullough--Methods of Literary Work--Lincoln as an Orator--Caution
     in Impromptu Speeches--His Literary Style--Management of His
     Private Correspondence--Knowledge of Woodcraft--Trees and Human
     Character--Exchanging Views with Professor Agassiz--Magnanimity
     toward Opponents--Righteous Indignation--Lincoln's Religious Nature


CHAPTER XXIV

     Trials of the Administration in 1863--Hostility to War
     Measures--Lack of Confidence at the North--Opposition in
     Congress--How Lincoln Felt about the "Fire in the Rear"--Criticisms
     from Various Quarters--Visit of "the Boston Set"--The Government on
     a Tight-Rope--The Enlistment of <DW52> Troops--Interview between
     Lincoln and Frederick Douglass--Reverses in the Field--Changes of
     Military Leaders--From Burnside to Hooker--Lincoln's First Meeting
     with "Fighting Joe"--The President's Solicitude--His Warning Letter
     to Hooker--His Visit to the Rappahannock--Hooker's Self-Confidence
     the "Worst Thing about Him"--The Defeat at Chancellorsville--The
     Failure of Our Generals--"Wanted, a Man"


CHAPTER XXV

     The Battle-Summer of 1863--A Turn of the Tide--Lee's Invasion of
     Pennsylvania--A Threatening Crisis--Change of Union
     Commanders--Meade Succeeds Hooker--The Battle of
     Gettysburg--Lincoln's Anxiety during the Fight--The Retreat of
     Lee--Union Victories in the Southwest--The Capture of
     Vicksburg--Lincoln's Thanks to Grant--Returning
     Cheerfulness--Congratulations to the Country--Improved State of
     Feeling at the North--State Elections of 1863--The Administration
     Sustained--Dedication of the National Cemetery at
     Gettysburg--Lincoln's Address--Scenes and Incidents at the
     Dedication--Meeting with Old John Burns--Edward Everett's
     Impressions of Lincoln


CHAPTER XXVI

     Lincoln and Grant--Their Personal Relations--Grant's Success at
     Chattanooga--Appointed Lieutenant-General--Grant's First Visit to
     Washington--His Meeting with Lincoln--Lincoln's First Impressions
     of Grant--The First "General" Lincoln had Found--"That Presidential
     Grub"--True Version of the Whiskey Anecdote--Lincoln Tells Grant
     the Story of Sykes's Dog--"We'd Better Let Mr. Grant Have His Own
     Way"--Grant's Estimate of Lincoln


CHAPTER XXVII

     Lincoln's Second Presidential Term--His Attitude toward it--Rival
     Candidates for the Nomination--Chase's Achillean Wrath--Harmony
     Restored--The Baltimore Convention--Decision "not to Swap Horses
     while Crossing a Stream"--The Summer of 1864--Washington again
     Threatened--Lincoln under Fire--Unpopular Measures--The President's
     Perplexities and Trials--The Famous Letter "To Whom It May
     Concern"--Little Expectation of Re-election--Dangers of
     Assassination--A Thrilling Experience--Lincoln's Forced
     Serenity--"The Saddest Man in the World"--A Break in the
     Clouds--Lincoln Vindicated by Re-election--Cheered and
     Reassured--More Trouble with Chase--Lincoln's Final Disposal of
     Him--The President's Fourth Annual Message--His Position toward the
     Rebellion and Slavery Reaffirmed-- Folks' Reception at the
     White House--Passage of the Amendment Prohibiting Slavery--Lincoln
     and the Southern Peace Commissioners--The Meeting in Hampton
     Roads--Lincoln's Impression of A.H. Stephens--The Second
     Inauguration--Second Inaugural Address--"With Malice toward None,
     with Charity for All"--An Auspicious Omen


CHAPTER XXVIII

     Close of the Civil War--Last Acts in the Great Tragedy--Lincoln
     at the Front--A Memorable Meeting--Lincoln, Grant, Sherman, and
     Porter--Life on Shipboard--Visit to Petersburg--Lincoln and the
     Prisoners--Lincoln in Richmond--The <DW64>s Welcoming Their
     "Great Messiah"--A Warm Reception--Lee's Surrender--Lincoln
     Receives the News--Universal Rejoicing--Lincoln's Last Speech to
     the Public--His Feelings and Intentions toward the South--His
     Desire for Reconciliation


CHAPTER XXIX

     The Last of Earth--Events of the Last Day of Lincoln's Life--The
     Last Cabinet Meeting--The Last Drive with Mrs. Lincoln--Incidents
     of the Afternoon--Riddance to Jacob Thompson--A Final Act of
     Pardon--The Fatal Evening--The Visit to the Theatre--The Assassin's
     Shot--A Scene of Horror--Particulars of the Crime--The Dying
     President--A Nation's Grief--Funeral Obsequies--The Return to
     Illinois--At Rest in Oak Ridge Cemetery


INDEX




ILLUSTRATIONS

Abraham Lincoln
  _From an Original Drawing by J.N. Marble, never before published_

Francis F. Browne

Abraham Lincoln




[Illustration: A. Lincoln]




THE EVERY-DAY LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN




CHAPTER I


     Ancestry--The Lincolns in Kentucky--Death of Lincoln's
     Grandfather--Thomas Lincoln and Nancy Hanks--Mordecai
     Lincoln--Birth of Abraham Lincoln--Removal to Indiana--Early
     Years--Dennis Hanks--Lincoln's Boyhood--Death of Nancy Hanks--Early
     School Days--Lincoln's First Dollar--Presentiments of Future
     Greatness--Down the Mississippi--Removal to Illinois--Lincoln's
     Father--Lincoln the Storekeeper--First Official Act--Lincoln's
     Short Sketch of His Own Life.

The year 1809--that year which gave William E. Gladstone to England--was
in our country the birth-year of him who wears the most distinguished
name that has yet been written on the pages of American history--ABRAHAM
LINCOLN. In a rude cabin in a clearing, in the wilds of that section
which was once the hunting-ground and later the battle-field of the
Cherokees and other war-like tribes, and which the Indians themselves
had named Kentucky because it was "dark and bloody ground," the great
War President of the United States, after whose name History has written
the word "Emancipator," first saw the light. Born and nurtured in
penury, inured to hardship, coarse food, and scanty clothing,--the story
of his youth is full of pathos. Small wonder that when asked in his
later years to tell something of his early life, he replied by quoting a
line from Gray's Elegy:

     "The short and simple annals of the poor."

Lincoln's ancestry has been traced with tolerable certainty through five
generations to Samuel Lincoln of Norfolk County, England. Not many
years after the landing of the "Mayflower" at Plymouth--perhaps in the
year 1638--Samuel Lincoln's son Mordecai had emigrated to Hingham,
Massachusetts. Perhaps because he was a Quaker, a then persecuted sect,
he did not remain long at Hingham, but came westward as far as Berks
County, Pennsylvania. His son, John Lincoln, went southward from
Pennsylvania and settled in Rockingham County, Virginia. Later, in 1782,
while the last events of the American Revolution were in progress,
Abraham Lincoln, son of John and grandfather of President Lincoln, moved
into Kentucky and took up a tract of government land in Mercer County.
In the Field Book of Daniel Boone, the Kentucky pioneer, (now in
possession of the Wisconsin Historical Society), appears the following
note of purchase:

     "Abraham Lincoln enters five hundred acres of land on a Treasury
     warrant on the south side of Licking Creek or River, in Kentucky."

At this time Kentucky was included within the limits and jurisdiction of
Virginia. In 1775 Daniel Boone had built a fort at Boonesborough, on the
Kentucky river, and it was not far from this site that Abraham Lincoln,
President Lincoln's grandfather, located his claim and put up a rude log
hut for the shelter of his family. The pioneers of Kentucky cleared
small spaces and erected their humble dwellings. They had to contend not
only with the wild forces of nature, and to defend themselves from the
beasts of the forest,--more to be feared than either were the hostile
Indians. The settlers were filled with terror of these stealthy foes. At
home and abroad they kept their guns ready for instant use both night
and day. Many a hard battle was fought between the Indian and the
pioneer. Many an unguarded woodsman was shot down without warning while
busy about his necessary work. Among these was Abraham Lincoln. The
story of his death is related by Mr. I.N. Arnold. "Thomas Lincoln was
with his father in the field when the savages suddenly fell upon them.
Mordecai and Josiah, his elder brothers, were near by in the forest.
Mordecai, startled by a shot, saw his father fall, and running to the
cabin seized the loaded rifle, rushed to one of the loop-holes cut
through the logs of the cabin, and saw the Indian who had fired. He had
just caught the boy, Thomas, and was running toward the forest. Pointing
the rifle through the logs and aiming at a medal on the breast of the
Indian, Mordecai fired. The Indian fell, and springing to his feet the
boy ran to the open arms of his mother at the cabin door. Meanwhile
Josiah, who had run to the fort for aid, returned with a party of
settlers. The bodies of Abraham Lincoln and the Indian who had been
killed were brought in. From this time forth Mordecai Lincoln was the
mortal enemy of the Indian, and it is said that he sacrificed many in
revenge for the murder of his father."

In the presence of such dangers Thomas Lincoln spent his boyhood. He was
born in 1778, and could not have been much more than four years old on
that fatal day when in one swift moment his father lay dead beside him
and vengeance had been exacted by his resolute boy brother. It was such
experiences as these that made of the pioneers the sturdy men they were.
They acquired habits of heroism. Their sinews became wiry; their nerves
turned to steel. Their senses became sharpened. They grew alert, steady,
prompt and deft in every emergency.

Of Mordecai Lincoln, the boy who had exhibited such coolness and daring
on the day of his father's death, many stories are told after he reached
manhood. "He was naturally a man of considerable genius," says one who
knew him. "He was a man of great drollery. It would almost make you
laugh to look at him. I never saw but one other man who excited in me
the same disposition to laugh, and that was Artemus Ward. Abe Lincoln
had a very high opinion of his uncle, and on one occasion remarked that
Uncle Mord had run off with all the talents of the family."

Thomas Lincoln was twenty-eight years old before he sought a wife. His
choice fell upon a young woman of twenty-three whose name was Nancy
Hanks. Like her husband, she was of English descent. Like his, her
parents had followed in the path of emigration from Virginia to
Kentucky. The couple were married by the Rev. Jesse Head, a Methodist
minister located at Springfield, Washington County, Kentucky. They lived
for a time in Elizabethtown, but after the birth of their first child,
Sarah, they removed to Rock Spring farm, on Nolin Creek, in Hardin
(afterward LaRue) County. In this desolate spot, a strange and unlikely
place for the birth of one destined to play so memorable a part in the
history of the world, on the twelfth day of February, 1809, Abraham
Lincoln the President was born.

Of all the gross injustice ever done to the memory of woman, that which
has been accorded to Nancy Hanks is the greatest. The story which cast a
shadow upon her parentage, and on that of her illustrious son as well,
should be sternly relegated to the oblivion whence it came. Mr. Henry
Watterson, in his brilliant address on Lincoln, refers to him as "that
strange, incomparable man, _of whose parentage we neither know nor
care_." In some localities, particularly in Kentucky and South Carolina,
the rumor is definite and persistent that the President was not the son
of Thomas Lincoln, the illiterate and thriftless, but of one Colonel
Hardin for whom Hardin County was named; that Nancy Hanks was herself
the victim of unlegalized motherhood, the natural daughter of an
aristocratic, wealthy, and well-educated Virginia planter, and that this
accounted for many of her son's characteristics. The story has long
since been disproved. Efforts to verify it brought forth the fact that
it sprang into being in the early days of the Civil War and was
evidently a fabrication born of the bitter spirit of the hour.

It was not from his father, however, that Lincoln inherited any of his
remarkable traits. The dark coarse hair, the gray eyes, sallow
complexion, and brawny strength, which were his, constituted his sole
inheritance on the paternal side. But Nancy Hanks was gentle and
refined, and would have adorned any station in life. She was beautiful
in youth, with dark hair, regular features, and soft sparkling hazel
eyes. She was unusually intelligent, and read all the books she could
obtain. Says Mr. Arnold: "She was a woman of deep religious feeling, of
the most exemplary character, and most tenderly and affectionately
devoted to her family. Her home indicated a love of beauty exceptional
in the wild settlement in which she lived, and judging from her early
death it is probable that she was of a physique less hardy than that of
those among whom she lived. Hers was a strong, self-reliant spirit,
which commanded the love and respect of the rugged people among whom she
dwelt."

The tender and reverent spirit of Abraham Lincoln, and the pensive
melancholy of his disposition, he no doubt inherited from his mother.
Amid the toil and struggle of her busy life she found time not only to
teach him to read and write but to impress upon him ineffaceably that
love of truth and justice, that perfect integrity and reverence for God,
for which he was noted all his life. Lincoln always looked upon his
mother with unspeakable affection, and never ceased to cherish the
memory of her life and teaching.

A spirit of restlessness, a love of adventure, a longing for new scenes,
and possibly the hope of improving his condition, led Thomas Lincoln to
abandon the Rock Spring farm, in the fall of 1816, and begin life over
again in the wilds of southern Indiana. The way thither lay through
unbroken country and was beset with difficulties. Often the travellers
were obliged to cut their road as they went. With the resolution of
pioneers, however, they began the journey. At the end of several days
they had gone but eighteen miles. Abraham Lincoln was then but seven
years old, but was already accustomed to the use of axe and gun. He lent
a willing hand, and bore his share in the labor and fatigue connected
with the difficult journey. In after years he said that he had never
passed through a more trying experience than when he went from
Thompson's Ferry to Spencer County, Indiana. On arriving, a shanty for
immediate use was hastily erected. Three sides were enclosed, the fourth
remaining open. This served as a home for several months, when a more
comfortable cabin was built. On the eighteenth of October, 1817, Thomas
Lincoln entered a quarter-section of government land eighteen miles
north of the Ohio river and about a mile and a half from the present
village of Gentryville. About a year later they were followed by the
family of Thomas and Betsy Sparrow, relatives of Mrs. Lincoln and
old-time neighbors on the Rock Spring farm in Kentucky. Dennis Hanks, a
member of the Sparrow household and cousin of Abraham Lincoln, came
also. He has furnished some recollections of the President's boyhood
which are well worth recording. "Uncle Dennis," as he was familiarly
called, was himself a striking character, a man of original manners and
racy conversation. A sketch of him as he appeared to an observer in his
later days is thus given: "Uncle Dennis is a typical Kentuckian, born in
Hardin County in 1799. His face is sun-bronzed and ploughed with the
furrows of time, but he has a resolute mouth, a firm grip of the jaws,
and a broad forehead above a pair of piercing eyes. The eyes seem out of
place in the weary, faded face, but they glow and flash like two diamond
sparks set in ridges of dull gold. The face is a serious one, but the
play of light in the eyes, unquenchable by time, betrays a nature of
sunshine and elate with life. A glance at the profile shows a face
strikingly Lincoln-like,--prominent cheek bones, temple, nose, and chin;
but best of all is that twinkling drollery in the eye that flashed in
the White House during the dark days of the Civil War."

Uncle Dennis's recollections go back to the birth of Abraham Lincoln. To
use his own words: "I rikkilect I run all the way, over two miles, to
see Nancy Hanks's boy baby. Her name was Nancy Hanks before she married
Thomas Lincoln. 'Twas common for connections to gather in them days to
see new babies. I held the wee one a minute. I was ten years old, and it
tickled me to hold the pulpy, red little Lincoln. The family moved to
Indiana," he went on, "when Abe was about nine. Mr. Lincoln moved first,
and built a camp of brush in Spencer County. We came a year later, and
he had then a cabin. So he gave us the shanty. Abe killed a turkey the
day we got there, and couldn't get through tellin' about it. The name
was pronounced Linkhorn by the folks then. We was all uneducated. After
a spell we learnt better. I was the only boy in the place all them
years, and Abe and me was always together."

Dennis Hanks claims to have taught his young cousin to read, write, and
cipher. "He knew his letters pretty wellish, but no more. His mother had
taught him. If ever there was a good woman on earth, she was one,--a
true Christian of the Baptist church. But she died soon after we
arrived, and Abe was left without a teacher. His father couldn't read a
word. The boy had only about one quarter of schooling, hardly that. I
then set in to help him. I didn't know much, but I did the best I could.
Sometimes he would write with a piece of charcoal or the p'int of a
burnt stick on the fence or floor. We got a little paper at the country
town, and I made some ink out of blackberry briar-root and a little
copperas in it. It was black, but the copperas ate the paper after a
while. I made Abe's first pen out of a turkey-buzzard feather. We had no
geese them days. After he learned to write his name he was scrawlin' it
everywhere. Sometimes he would write it in the white sand down by the
crick bank and leave it there till the waves would blot it out. He
didn't take to books in the beginnin'. We had to hire him at first, but
after he got a taste on't it was the old story--we had to pull the sow's
ears to get her to the trough, and then pull her tail to get her away.
He read a great deal, and had a wonderful memory--wonderful. Never
forgot anything."

Lincoln's first reading book was Webster's Speller. "When I got him
through that," said Uncle Dennis, "I had only a copy of the Indiana
Statutes. Then Abe got hold of a book. I can't rikkilect the name. It
told a yarn about a feller, a <DW65> or suthin', that sailed a flatboat
up to a rock, and the rock was magnetized and drawed all the nails out,
and he got a duckin' or drowned or suthin',--I forget now. [It was the
"Arabian Nights."] Abe would lay on the floor with a chair under his
head and laugh over them stories by the hour. I told him they was likely
lies from beginnin' to end, but he learned to read right well in them. I
borrowed for him the Life of Washington and the Speeches of Henry Clay.
They had a powerful influence on him. He told me afterwards in the White
House he wanted to live like Washington. His speeches show it, too. But
the other book did the most amazin' work. Abe was a Democrat, like his
father and all of us, when he began to read it. When he closed it he was
a Whig, heart and soul, and he went on step by step till he became
leader of the Republicans."

These reminiscences of Dennis Hanks give the clearest and undoubtedly
the most accurate glimpse of Lincoln's youth. He says further, referring
to the boy's unusual physical strength: "My, how he would chop! His axe
would flash and bite into a sugar-tree or sycamore, and down it would
come. If you heard him fellin' trees in a clearin' you would say there
was three men at work, the way the trees fell. Abe was never sassy or
quarrelsome. I've seen him walk into a crowd of sawin' rowdies and tell
some droll yarn and bust them all up. It was the same after he got to be
a lawyer. All eyes was on him whenever he riz. There was _suthin'
peculiarsome_ about him. I moved from Indiana to Illinois when Abe did.
I bought a little improvement near him, six miles from Decatur. Here the
famous rails were split that were carried round in the campaign. They
were called _his_ rails, but you never can tell. I split some of 'em. He
was a master hand at maulin' rails. I heard him say in a speech once,
'If I didn't make these I made many just as good.' Then the crowd
yelled."

One of his playmates has furnished much that is of interest in regard to
the reputation which Lincoln left behind him in the neighborhood where
he passed his boyhood and much of his youth. This witness says:
"Whenever the court was in session he was a frequent attendant. John A.
Breckenridge was the foremost lawyer in the community, and was famed as
an advocate in criminal cases. Lincoln was sure to be present when he
spoke. Doing the chores in the morning, he would walk to Booneville, the
county seat of Warwick County, seventeen miles away, then home in time
to do the chores at night, repeating this day after day. The lawyer soon
came to know him. Years afterwards, when Lincoln was President, a
venerable gentleman one day entered his office in the White House, and
standing before him said: 'Mr. President, you don't know me.' Mr.
Lincoln eyed him sharply for a moment, and then quickly replied with a
smile, 'Yes I do. You are John A. Breckenridge. I used to walk
thirty-four miles a day to hear you plead law in Booneville, and
listening to your speeches at the bar first inspired me with the
determination to be a lawyer.'"

Lincoln's love for his gentle mother, and his grief over her untimely
death, is a touching story. Attacked by a fatal disease, the life of
Nancy Hanks wasted slowly away. Day after day her son sat by her bed
reading to her such portions of the Bible as she desired to hear. At
intervals she talked to him, urging him to walk in the paths of honor,
goodness, and truth. At last she found rest, and her son gave way to
grief that could not be controlled. In an opening in the timber, a short
distance from the cabin, sympathizing friends and neighbors laid her
body away and offered sincere prayers above her grave. The simple
service did not seem to the son adequate tribute to the memory of the
beloved mother whose loss he so sorely felt, but no minister could be
procured at the time to preach a funeral sermon. In the spring, however,
Abraham Lincoln, then a lad of ten, wrote to Elder Elkin, who had lived
near them in Kentucky, begging that he would come and preach a sermon
above his mother's grave, and adding that by granting this request he
would confer a lasting favor upon his father, his sister, and himself.
Although it involved a journey of more than a hundred miles on
horseback, the good man cheerfully complied. Once more the neighbors and
friends gathered about the grave of Nancy Hanks, and her son found
comfort in their sympathy and their presence. The spot where Lincoln's
mother lies is now enclosed within a high iron fence. At the head of the
grave a white stone, simple, unaffected, and in keeping with the
surroundings, has been placed. It bears the following inscription:

    NANCY HANKS LINCOLN,
    MOTHER OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN,
    DIED OCTOBER 5, A.D. 1818.
    AGED THIRTY-FIVE YEARS.
    _Erected by a friend of her martyred son_.

Lincoln always held the memory of his mother in the deepest reverence
and affection. Says Dr. J.G. Holland: "Long after her sensitive heart
and weary hands had crumbled into dust, and had climbed to life again in
forest flowers, he said to a friend, with tears in his eyes, 'All that I
am or ever hope to be I owe to my sainted mother.'"

The vacant place of wife and mother was sadly felt in the Lincoln cabin,
but before the year 1819 had closed it was filled by a woman who nobly
performed the duties of her trying position. Thomas Lincoln had known
Mrs. Sarah Johnston when both were young and living in Elizabethtown,
Kentucky. They had married in the same year; and now, being alike
bereaved, he persuaded her to unite their broken households into one.

By this union, a son and two daughters, John, Sarah, and Matilda, were
added to the Lincoln family. All dwelt together in perfect harmony, the
mother showing no difference in the treatment of her own children and
the two now committed to her charge. She exhibited a special fondness
for the little Abraham, whose precocious talents and enduring qualities
she was quick to apprehend. Though he never forgot the "angel mother"
sleeping on the forest-covered hill-top, the boy rewarded with a
profound and lasting affection the devoted care of her who proved a
faithful friend and helper during the rest of his childhood and youth.
In her later life the step-mother spoke of him always with the tenderest
feeling. On one occasion she said: "He never gave me a cross word or
look, and never refused, in fact or appearance, to do anything I
requested of him."

The child had enjoyed a little irregular schooling while living in
Kentucky, getting what instruction was possible of one Zachariah Birney,
a Catholic, who taught for a time close by his father's house. He also
attended, as convenience permitted, a school kept by Caleb Hazel, nearly
four miles away, walking the distance back and forth with his sister.
Soon after coming under the care of his step-mother, the lad was
afforded some similar opportunities for learning. His first master in
Indiana was Azel Dorsey. The sort of education dispensed by him, and the
circumstances under which it was given, are described by Mr. Ward H.
Lamon, at one time Lincoln's law-partner at Springfield, Illinois. "Azel
Dorsey presided in a small house near the Little Pigeon Creek
meeting-house, a mile and a half from the Lincoln cabin. It was built of
unhewn logs, and had holes for windows, in which greased paper served
for glass. The roof was just high enough for a man to stand erect. Here
the boy was taught reading, writing, and ciphering. They spelt in
classes, and 'trapped' up and down. These juvenile contests were very
exciting to the participants, and it is said by the survivors that Abe
was even then the equal, if not the superior, of any scholar in his
class. The next teacher was Andrew Crawford. Mrs. Gentry says he began
teaching in the neighborhood in the winter of 1822-3. Crawford 'kept
school' in the same little school-house which had been the scene of
Dorsey's labors, and the windows were still adorned with the greased
leaves of old copybooks that had come down from Dorsey's time. Abe was
now in his fifteenth year, and began to exhibit symptoms of gallantry
toward the other sex. He was growing at a tremendous rate, and two years
later attained his full height of six feet and four inches. He wore low
shoes, buckskin breeches, linsey-woolsey shirt, and a cap made of the
skin of a 'possum or a <DW53>. The breeches clung close to his thighs and
legs, and failed by a large space to meet the tops of his shoes. He
would always come to school thus, good-humoredly and laughing. He was
always in good health, never sick, had an excellent constitution and
took care of it."

Crawford taught "manners"--a feature of backwoods education to which
Dorsey had not aspired. Crawford had doubtless introduced it as a
refinement which would put to shame the humble efforts of his
predecessor. One of the scholars was required to retire, and then to
re-enter the room as a polite gentleman is supposed to enter a
drawing-room. He was received at the door by another scholar and
conducted from bench to bench until he had been introduced to all the
young ladies and gentlemen in the room. Lincoln went through the ordeal
countless times. If he took a serious view of the performance it must
have put him to exquisite torture, for he was conscious that he was not
a perfect type of manly beauty. If, however, it struck him as at all
funny, it must have filled him with unspeakable mirth to be thus gravely
led about, angular and gawky, under the eyes of the precise Crawford, to
be introduced to the boys and girls of his acquaintance.

While in Crawford's school the lad wrote his first compositions. The
exercise was not required by the teacher, but, as Nat Grigsby has said,
"he took it up on his own account." At first he wrote only short
sentences against cruelty to animals, but at last came forward with a
regular composition on the subject. He was annoyed and pained by the
conduct of the boys who were in the habit of catching terrapins and
putting coals of fire on their backs. "He would chide us," says Grigsby,
"tell us it was wrong, and would write against it."

One who has had the privilege of looking over some of the boyish
possessions of Lincoln says: "Among the most touching relics which I saw
was an old copy-book in which, at the age of fourteen, Lincoln had
taught himself to write and cipher. Scratched in his boyish hand on the
first page were these lines:

    _Abraham Lincoln
    his hand and pen.
    he will be good but
    god knows When_"

The boy's thirst for learning was not to be satisfied with the meagre
knowledge furnished in the miserable schools he was able to attend at
long intervals. His step-mother says: "He read diligently. He read
everything he could lay his hands on, and when he came across a passage
that struck him he would write it down on boards, if he had no paper,
and keep it until he had got paper. Then he would copy it, look at it,
commit it to memory, and repeat it. He kept a scrap-book into which he
copied everything which particularly pleased him." Mr. Arnold further
states: "There were no libraries and but few books in the back
settlements in which Lincoln lived. If by chance he heard of a book that
he had not read he would walk miles to borrow it. Among other volumes
borrowed from Crawford was Weems's Life of Washington. He read it with
great earnestness. He took it to bed with him in the loft and read till
his 'nubbin' of candle burned out. Then he placed the book between the
logs of the cabin, that it might be near as soon as it was light enough
in the morning to read. In the night a heavy rain came up and he awoke
to find his book wet through and through. Drying it as well as he could,
he went to Crawford and told him of the mishap. As he had no money to
pay for the injured book, he offered to work out the value of it.
Crawford fixed the price at three days' work, and the future President
pulled corn for three days, thus becoming owner of the coveted volume."
In addition to this, he was fortunate enough to get hold of AEsop's
Fables, Pilgrim's Progress, and the lives of Benjamin Franklin and Henry
Clay. He made these books his own by conning them over and over, copying
the more impressive portions until they were firmly fixed in his memory.
Commenting upon the value of this sort of mental training, Dr. Holland
wisely remarks: "Those who have witnessed the dissipating effect of many
books upon the minds of modern children do not find it hard to believe
that Abraham Lincoln's poverty of books was the wealth of his life. The
few he had did much to perfect the teaching which his mother had begun,
and to form a character which for quaint simplicity, earnestness,
truthfulness, and purity, has never been surpassed among the historic
personages of the world."

It may well have been that Lincoln's lack of books and the means of
learning threw him upon his own resources and led him into those modes
of thought, of quaint and apt  and logical reasoning, so
peculiar to him. At any rate, it is certain that books can no more make
a character like Lincoln than they can make a poet like Shakespeare.

    "By books may Learning sometimes befall,
    But Wisdom never by books at all,"--

a saying peculiarly true of a man such as Lincoln.

A testimonial to the influence of this early reading upon his childish
mind was given by Lincoln himself many years afterwards. While on his
way to Washington to assume the duties of the Presidency he passed
through Trenton, New Jersey, and in a speech made in the Senate Chamber
at that place he said: "May I be pardoned if, upon this occasion, I
mention that away back in my childhood, in the earliest days of my being
able to read, I got hold of a small book--such a one as few of the
younger members have seen, Weems's Life of Washington. I remember all
the accounts there given of the battle-fields and struggles for the
liberties of the country; and none fixed themselves upon my imagination
so deeply as the struggle here at Trenton. The crossing of the river,
the contest with the Hessians, the great hardships endured at that time,
all fixed themselves in my memory more than any single Revolutionary
event; and you all know, for you have all been boys, how these early
impressions last longer than any others. I recollect thinking then, boy
even though I was, that there must have been something more than common
that these men struggled for. I am exceedingly anxious that that thing
which they struggled for, that something even more than National
Independence, that something that held out a great promise to all the
people of the world for all time to come, I am exceedingly anxious that
this Union, the Constitution, and the liberties of the people, shall be
perpetuated in accordance with the original idea for which that struggle
was made."

Another incident in regard to the ruined volume which Lincoln had
borrowed from Crawford is related by Mr. Lamon. "For a long time," he
says, "there was one person in the neighborhood for whom Lincoln felt a
decided dislike, and that was Josiah Crawford, who had made him pull
fodder for three days to pay for Weems's Washington. On that score he
was hurt and mad, and declared he would have revenge. But being a poor
boy, a fact of which Crawford had already taken shameful advantage when
he extorted three days' labor, Abe was glad to get work anywhere, and
frequently hired out to his old adversary. His first business in
Crawford's employ was daubing the cabin, which was built of unhewn logs
with the bark on. In the loft of this house, thus finished by his own
hands, he slept for many weeks at a time. He spent his evenings as he
did at home,--writing on wooden shovels or boards with 'a coal, or keel,
from the branch.' This family was rich in the possession of several
books, which Abe read through time and again, according to his usual
custom. One of the books was the 'Kentucky Preceptor,' from which Mrs.
Crawford insists that he 'learned his school orations, speeches, and
pieces to write.' She tells us also that 'Abe was a sensitive lad, never
coming where he was not wanted'; that he always lifted his hat, and
bowed, when he made his appearance; and that 'he was tender and kind,'
like his sister, who was at the same time her maid-of-all-work. His pay
was twenty-five cents a day; 'and when he missed time, he would not
charge for it.' This latter remark of Mrs. Crawford reveals the fact
that her husband was in the habit of docking Abe on his miserable wages
whenever he happened to lose a few minutes from steady work. The time
came, however, when Lincoln got his revenge for all this petty
brutality. Crawford was as ugly as he was surly. His nose was a
monstrosity--long and crooked, with a huge mis-shapen stub at the end,
surmounted by a host of pimples, and the whole as blue as the usual
state of Mr. Crawford's spirits. Upon this member Abe levelled his
attacks, in rhyme, song, and chronicle; and though he could not reduce
the nose he gave it a fame as wide as to the Wabash and the Ohio. It is
not improbable that he learned the art of making the doggerel rhymes in
which he celebrated Crawford's nose from the study of Crawford's own
'Kentucky Preceptor.'"

Lincoln's sister Sarah was warmly attached to him, but was taken from
his companionship at an early age. It is said that her face somewhat
resembled his, that in repose it had the gravity which they both
inherited from their mother, but it was capable of being lighted almost
into beauty by one of her brother's ridiculous stories or sallies of
humor. She was a modest, plain, industrious girl, and was remembered
kindly by all who knew her. She was married to Aaron Grigsby at
eighteen, and died a year later. Like her brother, she occasionally
worked at the houses of the neighbors. She lies buried, not with her
mother, but in the yard of the old Pigeon Creek meeting-house.

A story which belongs to this period was told by Lincoln himself to Mr.
Seward and a few friends one evening in the Executive Mansion at
Washington. The President said: "Seward, you never heard, did you, how I
earned my first dollar?" "No," rejoined Mr. Seward. "Well," continued
Mr. Lincoln, "I belonged, you know, to what they call down South the
'scrubs.' We had succeeded in raising, chiefly by my labor, sufficient
produce, as I thought, to justify me in taking it down the river to
sell. After much persuasion, I got the consent of mother to go, and
constructed a little flatboat, large enough to take a barrel or two of
things that we had gathered, with myself and the bundle, down to the
Southern market. A steamer was coming down the river. We have, you know,
no wharves on the Western streams; and the custom was, if passengers
were at any of the landings, for them to go out in a boat, the steamer
stopping and taking them on board. I was contemplating my new flatboat,
and wondering whether I could make it stronger or improve it in any way,
when two men came down to the shore in carriages with trunks. Looking at
the different boats, they singled out mine and asked, 'Who owns this?' I
answered somewhat modestly, 'I do.' 'Will you take us and our trunks to
the steamer?' asked one of them. 'Certainly,' said I. I was glad to have
the chance of earning something. I supposed that each of them would give
me two or three bits. The trunks were put on my flatboat, the passengers
seated themselves on the trunks, and I sculled them out to the steamer.
They got on board, and I lifted up their heavy trunks and put them on
the deck. The steamer was about to put on steam again, when I called out
to them that they had forgotten to pay me. Each man took from his pocket
a silver half-dollar and threw it into the bottom of my boat. I could
scarcely believe my eyes. Gentlemen, you may think it a little thing,
and in these days it seems to me a trifle; but it was a great event in
my life. I could scarcely credit that I, a poor boy, had earned a dollar
in less than a day,--that by honest work I had earned a dollar. The
world seemed wider and fairer to me. I was a more hopeful and confident
being from that time."

Notwithstanding the limitations of every kind which hemmed in the life
of young Lincoln, he had an instinctive feeling, born perhaps of his
eager ambition, that he should one day attain an exalted position. The
first betrayal of this premonition is thus related by Mr. Arnold:

"Lincoln attended court at Booneville, to witness a murder trial, at
which one of the Breckenridges from Kentucky made a very eloquent speech
for the defense. The boy was carried away with admiration, and was so
enthusiastic that, although a perfect stranger, he could not resist
expressing his admiration to Breckenridge. He wanted to be a lawyer. He
went home, dreamed of courts, and got up mock trials, at which he would
defend imaginary prisoners. Several of his companions at this period of
his life, as well as those who knew him after he went to Illinois,
declare that he was often heard to say, not in joke, but seriously, as
if he were deeply impressed rather than elated with the idea: 'I shall
some day be President of the United States.' It is stated by many of
Lincoln's old friends that he often said while still an obscure man,
'Some day I shall be President.' He undoubtedly had for years some
presentiment of this."

At seventeen Lincoln wrote a clear, neat, legible hand, was quick at
figures and able to solve easily any arithmetical problem not going
beyond the "Rule of Three." Mr. Arnold, noting these facts, says: "I
have in my possession a few pages from his manuscript 'Book of Examples
in Arithmetic' One of these is dated March 1, 1826, and headed
'Discount,' and then follows, in his careful handwriting: 'A definition
of Discount,' 'Rules for its computation,' 'Proofs and Various
Examples,' worked out in figures, etc.; then 'Interest on money' is
treated in the same way, all in his own handwriting. I doubt whether it
would be easy to find among scholars of our common or high schools, or
any school of boys of the age of seventeen, a better written specimen of
this sort of work, or a better knowledge of figures than is indicated by
this book of Lincoln's, written at the age of seventeen."

In March, 1828, Lincoln went to work for old Mr. Gentry, the founder of
Gentryville. "Early the next month the old gentleman furnished his son
Allen with a boat and a cargo of bacon and other produce with which he
was to go to New Orleans unless the stock should be sooner disposed of.
Abe, having been found faithful and efficient, was employed to accompany
the young man. He was paid eight dollars per month, and ate and slept on
board." The entire business of the trip was placed in Abraham's hands.
The fact tells its own story touching the young man's reputation for
capacity and integrity. He had never made the trip, knew nothing of the
journey, was unaccustomed to business transactions, had never been much
upon the river, but his tact and ability and honesty were so far trusted
that the trader was willing to risk the cargo in his care. The delight
with which the youth swung loose from the shore upon his clumsy craft,
with the prospect of a ride of eighteen hundred miles before him, and a
vision of the great world of which he had read and thought so much, may
be imagined. At this time he had become a very tall and powerful young
man. He had reached the height of six feet and four inches, a length of
trunk and limb remarkable even among the tall race of pioneers to which
he belonged.

Just before the river expedition, Lincoln had walked with a young girl
down to the river to show her his flatboat. She relates a circumstance
of the evening which is full of significance. "We were sitting on the
banks of the Ohio, or rather on the boat he had made. I said to Abe that
the sun was going down. He said to me, 'That's not so; it don't really
go down; it seems so. The earth turns from west to east and the
revolution of the earth carries us under; we do the sinking, as you call
it. The sun, as to us, is comparatively still; the sun's sinking is only
an appearance.' I replied, 'Abe, what a fool you are!' I know now that I
was the fool, not Lincoln. I am now thoroughly satisfied that he knew
the general laws of astronomy and the movements of the heavenly bodies.
He was better read then than the world knows or is likely to know
exactly. No man could talk to me as he did that night unless he had
known something of geography as well as astronomy. He often commented or
talked to me about what he had read,--seemed to read it out of the book
as he went along. He was the learned boy among us unlearned folks. He
took great pains to explain; could do it so simply. He was diffident,
too."

But another change was about to come into the life of Abraham Lincoln.
In 1830 his father set forth once more on the trail of the emigrant. He
had become dissatisfied with his location in southern Indiana, and
hearing favorable reports of the prairie lands of Illinois hoped for
better fortunes there. He parted with his farm and prepared for the
journey to Macon County, Illinois. Abraham visited the neighbors and
bade them goodbye; but on the morning selected for their departure, when
it came time to start, he was missing. He was found weeping at his
mother's grave, whither he had gone as soon as it was light. The thought
of leaving her behind filled him with unspeakable anguish. The household
goods were loaded, the oxen yoked, the family got into the covered
wagon, and Lincoln took his place by the oxen to drive. One of the
neighbors has said of this incident: "Well do I remember the day the
Lincolns left for Illinois. Little did I think that I was looking at a
boy who would one day be President of the United States!"

An interesting personal sketch of Thomas Lincoln is given by Mr. George
B. Balch, who was for many years a resident of Lerna, Coles County,
Illinois. Among other things he says: "Thomas Lincoln, father of the
great President, was called Uncle Tommy by his friends and Old Tom
Lincoln by other people. His property consisted of an old horse, a pair
of oxen and a few sheep--seven or eight head. My father bought two of
the sheep, they being the first we owned after settling in Illinois.
Thomas Lincoln was a large, bulky man, six feet tall and weighing about
two hundred pounds. He was large-boned, coarse-featured, had a large
blunt nose, florid complexion, light sandy hair and whiskers. He was
slow in speech and slow in gait. His whole appearance denoted a man of
small intellect and less ambition. It is generally supposed that he was
a farmer; and such he was, if one who tilled so little land by such
primitive modes could be so called. He never planted more than a few
acres, and instead of gathering and hauling his crop in a wagon he
usually carried it in baskets or large trays. He was uneducated,
illiterate, content with living from hand to mouth. His death occurred
on the fifteenth day of January, 1851. He was buried in a neighboring
country graveyard, about a mile north of Janesville, Coles County. There
was nothing to mark the place of his burial until February, 1861, when
Abraham Lincoln paid a last visit to his grave just before he left
Springfield for Washington. On a piece of oak board he cut the letters
T.L. and placed it at the head of the grave. It was carried away by some
relic-hunter, and the place remained as before, with nothing to mark it,
until the spring of 1876. Then the writer, fearing that the grave of
Lincoln's father would become entirely unknown, succeeded in awakening
public opinion on the subject. Soon afterward a marble shaft twelve feet
high was erected, bearing on its western face this inscription:

    THOMAS LINCOLN
    FATHER OF
    THE MARTYRED PRESIDENT.
    BORN
    JAN. 6th, 1778
    DIED
    JAN. 15th, 1851.
    LINCOLN.

"And now," concluded Mr. Balch, "I have given all that can be known of
Thomas Lincoln. I have written impartially and with a strict regard to
facts which can be substantiated by many of the old settlers in this
county. Thomas Lincoln was a harmless and honest man. Beyond this, one
will search in vain for any ancestral clue to the greatness of Abraham
Lincoln."

After reaching the new home in Illinois, young Lincoln worked with his
father until things were in shape for comfortable living. He helped to
build the log cabin, break up the new land and fence it in, splitting
the rails with his own hands. It was these very rails over which so much
sentiment was expended years afterward at an important epoch in
Lincoln's political career. During the sitting of the State Convention
at Decatur, a banner attached to two of these rails and bearing an
appropriate inscription was brought into the assemblage and formally
presented to that body amid a scene of unparalleled enthusiasm. After
that they were in demand in every State of the Union in which free labor
was honored. They were borne in processions by the people, and hailed by
hundreds of thousands as a symbol of triumph and a glorious vindication
of freedom and of the right and dignity of labor. These, however, were
not the first rails made by Lincoln. He was a practiced hand at the
business. As a memento of his pioneer accomplishment he preserved in
later years a cane made from a rail which he had split on his father's
farm.

The next important record of Lincoln's career connects him with Mr.
Denton Offutt. The circumstances which brought him into this relation
are thus narrated by Mr. J.H. Barrett: "While there was snow on the
ground, at the close of the year 1830, or early in 1831, a man came to
that part of Macon County where young Lincoln was living, in pursuit of
hands to aid him in a flatboat voyage down the Mississippi. The fact was
known that the youth had once made such a trip, and his services were
sought for this occasion. As one who had his own subsistence to earn,
with no capital but his hands, he accepted the proposition made him.
Perhaps there was something of his inherited and acquired fondness for
exciting adventure impelling him to this decision. With him were also
employed his former fellow-laborer, John Hanks, and a son of his
step-mother named John Johnston. In the spring of 1831 Lincoln set out
to fulfil his engagement. The floods had so swollen the streams that the
Sangamon country was a vast sea before him. His first entrance into that
county was over these wide-spread waters in a canoe. The time had come
to join his employer on his journey to New Orleans, but the latter had
been disappointed by another person on whom he relied to furnish him a
boat on the Illinois river. Accordingly all hands set to work, and
themselves built a boat on that river, for their purposes. This done,
they set out on their long trip, making a successful voyage to New
Orleans and back."

Mr. Herndon says: "Mr. Lincoln came into Sangamon County down the North
Fork of the Sangamon river, in a frail canoe, in the spring of 1831. I
can see from where I write the identical place where he cut the timbers
for his flatboat, which he built at a little village called Sangamon
Town, seven miles northwest of Springfield. Here he had it loaded with
corn, wheat, bacon, and other provisions destined for New Orleans, at
which place he landed in the month of May, 1831. He returned home in
June of that year, and finally settled in another little village called
New Salem, on the high bluffs of the Sangamon river, then in Sangamon
County and now in Menard County, and about twenty miles northwest of
Springfield."

The practical and ingenious character of Lincoln's mind is shown in the
act that several years after his river experience he invented and
patented a device for overcoming some of the difficulties in the
navigation of western rivers with which this trip had made him
familiar. The following interesting account of this invention is given:

"Occupying an ordinary and commonplace position in one of the show-cases
in the large hall of the Patent Office is one little model which in ages
to come will be prized as one of the most curious and most sacred relics
in that vast museum of unique and priceless things. This is a plain and
simple model of a steamboat roughly fashioned in wood by the hand of
Abraham Lincoln. It bears date 1849, when the inventor was known simply
as a successful lawyer and rising politician of Central Illinois.
Neither his practice nor his politics took up so much of his time as to
prevent him from giving some attention to contrivances which he hoped
might be of benefit to the world and of profit to himself. The design of
this invention is suggestive of one phase of Abraham Lincoln's early
life, when he went up and down the Mississippi as a flatboatman and
became familiar with some of the dangers and inconveniences attending
the navigation of the western rivers. It is an attempt to make it an
easy matter to transport vessels over shoals and snags and 'sawyers.'
The main idea is that of an apparatus resembling a noiseless bellows
placed on each side of the hull of the craft just below the water line
and worked by an odd but not complicated system of ropes, valves, and
pulleys. When the keel of the vessel grates against the sand or
obstruction these bellows are to be filled with air, and thus buoyed up
the ship is expected to float lightly and gayly over the shoal which
would otherwise have proved a serious interruption to her voyage. The
model, which is about eighteen or twenty inches long and has the
appearance of having been whittled with a knife out of a shingle and a
cigar-box, is built without any elaboration or ornament or any extra
apparatus beyond that necessary to show the operation of buoying the
steamer over the obstructions. It is carved as one might imagine a
retired railsplitter would whittle, strongly but not smoothly, and
evidently made with a view solely to convey to the minds of the patent
authorities, by the simplest possible means, an idea of the purpose and
plan of the invention. The label on the steamer's deck informs us that
the patent was obtained; but we do not learn that the navigation of the
western rivers was revolutionized by this quaint conception. The modest
little model has reposed here for many years, and the inventor has found
it his task to guide the ship of state over shoals more perilous and
obstructions more obstinate than any prophet dreamed of when Abraham
Lincoln wrote his bold autograph across the prow of his miniature
steamer."

At the conclusion of his trip to New Orleans, Lincoln's employer, Mr.
Offutt, entered into mercantile trade at New Salem, a settlement on the
Sangamon river, in Menard County, two miles from Petersburg, the county
seat. He opened a store of the class usually to be found in such small
towns, and also set up a flouring-mill. In the late expedition down the
Mississippi Mr. Offutt had learned Lincoln's valuable qualities, and was
anxious to secure his help in his new enterprise. Says Mr. Barrett: "For
want of other immediate employment, and in the same spirit which had
heretofore actuated him, Abraham Lincoln entered upon the duties of a
clerk, having an eye to both branches of his employer's business. This
connection continued for nearly a year, all duties of his position being
faithfully performed." It was to this year's humble but honorable
service of young Lincoln that Mr. Douglas tauntingly alluded in one of
his speeches during the canvass of 1858 as 'keeping a groggery.'

While engaged in the duties of Offutt's store Lincoln began the study of
English grammar. There was not a text-book to be obtained in the
neighborhood; but hearing that there was a copy of Kirkham's Grammar in
the possession of a person seven or eight miles distant he walked to
his house and succeeded in borrowing it. L.M. Green, a lawyer of
Petersburg, in Menard County, says that every time he visited New Salem
at this period Lincoln took him out upon a hill and asked him to explain
some point in Kirkham that had given him trouble. After having mastered
the book he remarked to a friend that if that was what they called a
science he thought he could "subdue another." Mr. Green says that
Lincoln's talk at this time showed that he was beginning to think of a
great life and a great destiny. Lincoln said to him on one occasion that
all his family seemed to have good sense but somehow none had ever
become distinguished. He thought perhaps he might become so. He had
talked, he said, with men who had the reputation of being great men, but
he could not see that they differed much from others. During this year
he was also much engaged with debating clubs, often walking six or seven
miles to attend them. One of these clubs held its meetings at an old
store-house in New Salem, and the first speech young Lincoln ever made
was made there. He used to call the exercising "practicing polemics." As
these clubs were composed principally of men of no education whatever,
some of their "polemics" are remembered as the most laughable of farces.
Lincoln's favorite newspaper at this time was the "Louisville Journal."
He received it regularly by mail, and paid for it during a number of
years when he had not money enough to dress decently. He liked its
politics, and was particularly delighted with its wit and humor, of
which he had the keenest appreciation.

At this era Lincoln was as famous for his skill in athletic sports as he
was for his love of books. Mr. Offutt, who had a strong regard for him,
according to Mr. Arnold, "often declared that his clerk, or salesman,
knew more than any man in the United States, and that he could out-run,
whip, or throw any man in the county. These boasts came to the ears of
the 'Clary Grove Boys,' a set of rude, roystering, good-natured
fellows, who lived in and around Clary's Grove, a settlement near New
Salem. Their leader was Jack Armstrong, a great square-built fellow,
strong as an ox, who was believed by his followers to be able to whip
any man on the Sangamon river. The issue was thus made between Lincoln
and Armstrong as to which was the better man, and although Lincoln tried
to avoid such contests, nothing but an actual trial of strength would
satisfy their partisans. They met and wrestled for some time without any
decided advantage on either side. Finally Armstrong resorted to some
foul play, which roused Lincoln's indignation. Putting forth his whole
strength, he seized the great bully by the neck and holding him at arm's
length shook him like a boy. The Clary Grove Boys were ready to pitch in
on behalf of their champion; and as they were the greater part of the
lookers-on, a general onslaught upon Lincoln seemed imminent. Lincoln
backed up against Offutt's store and calmly awaited the attack; but his
coolness and courage made such an impression upon Armstrong that he
stepped forward, grasped Lincoln's hand and shook it heartily, saying:
'Boys, Abe Lincoln is the best fellow that ever broke into this
settlement. He shall be one of us.' From that day forth Armstrong was
Lincoln's friend and most willing servitor. His hand, his table, his
purse, his vote, and that of the Clary Grove Boys as well, belonged to
Lincoln. The latter's popularity among them was unbounded. They saw that
he would play fair. He could stop a fight and quell a disturbance among
these rude neighbors when all others failed."

Under whatever circumstances Lincoln was forced into a fight, the end
could be confidently predicted. He was sure to thrash his opponent and
gain the latter's friendship afterwards by a generous use of victory.
Innumerable instances could be cited in proof of this statement. It is
related that "One day while showing goods to two or three women in
Offutt's store, a bully came in and began to talk in an offensive
manner, using much profanity and evidently wishing to provoke a quarrel.
Lincoln leaned over the counter and begged him, as ladies were present,
not to indulge in such talk. The bully retorted that the opportunity had
come for which he had long sought, and he would like to see the man who
could hinder him from saying anything he might choose to say. Lincoln,
still cool, told him that if he would wait until the ladies retired he
would hear what he had to say and give him any satisfaction he desired.
As soon as the women were gone the man became furious. Lincoln heard his
boasts and his abuse for a time, and finding that he was not to be put
off without a fight, said, 'Well, if you must be whipped, I suppose I
may as well whip you as any other man.' This was just what the bully had
been seeking, he said; so out of doors they went. Lincoln made short
work of him. He threw him upon the ground, and held him there as if he
had been a child, and gathering some 'smart-weed' which grew upon the
spot he rubbed it into his face and eyes until the fellow bellowed with
pain. Lincoln did all this without a particle of anger, and when the job
was finished went immediately for water, washed his victim's face and
did everything he could to alleviate his distress. The upshot of the
matter was that the man became his life-long friend and was a better man
from that day."

The chief repute of a sturdy frontiersman is built upon his deeds of
prowess, and the fame of the great, rough, strong-limbed, kind-hearted
Titan was spread over all the country around. Says Mr. Lamon: "On one
occasion while he was clerking for Offutt a stranger came into the store
and soon disclosed the fact that his name was Smoot. Abe was behind the
counter at the moment, but hearing the name he sprang over and
introduced himself. Abe had often heard of Smoot and Smoot had often
heard of Abe. They had been as anxious to meet as ever two celebrities
were, but hitherto they had never been able to manage it. 'Smoot,' said
Lincoln, after a steady survey of his person, 'I am very much
disappointed in you; I expected to see an old Probst of a fellow.'
(Probst, it appears, was the most hideous specimen of humanity in all
that country). 'Yes,' replied Smoot, 'and I am equally disappointed, for
I expected to see a good-looking man when I saw you.' A few neat
compliments like the foregoing laid the foundation of a lasting intimacy
between the two men, and in his present distress Lincoln knew no one who
would be more likely than Smoot to respond favorably to an application
for money." After he was elected to the Legislature, says Mr. Smoot, "he
came to my house one day in company with Hugh Armstrong. Says he,
'Smoot, did you vote for me?' I told him I did. 'Well,' says he, 'you
must loan me money to buy suitable clothing, for I want to make a decent
appearance in the Legislature.' I then loaned him two hundred dollars,
which he returned to me according to promise."

Lincoln's old friend W.G. Greene relates that while he was a student at
the Illinois College at Jacksonville he became acquainted with Richard
Yates, then also a student. One summer while Yates was his guest during
the vacation, Greene took him up to Salem and made him acquainted with
Lincoln. They found the latter flat on his back on a cellar door reading
a newspaper. Greene introduced the two, and thus began the acquaintance
between the future War-Governor of Illinois and the future President.

Lincoln was from boyhood an adept at expedients for avoiding any
unpleasant predicament, and one of his modes of getting rid of
troublesome friends, as well as troublesome enemies, was by telling a
story. He began these tactics early in life, and he grew to be
wonderfully adept in them. If a man broached a subject which he did not
wish to discuss, he told a story which changed the direction of the
conversation. If he was called upon to answer a question, he answered it
by telling a story. He had a story for everything; something had
occurred at some place where he used to live that illustrated every
possible phase of every possible subject with which he might have
connection. He acquired the habit of story-telling naturally, as we
learn from the following statement: "At home, with his step-mother and
the children, he was the most agreeable fellow in the world. He was
always ready to do everything for everybody. When he was not doing some
special act of kindness, he told stories or 'cracked jokes.' He was as
full of his yarns in Indiana as ever he was in Illinois. Dennis Hanks
was a clever hand at the same business, and so was old Tom Lincoln." It
was while Lincoln was salesman for Offutt that he acquired the
_sobriquet_ of "Honest Abe." Says Mr. Arnold: "Of many incidents
illustrating his integrity, one or two may be mentioned. One evening he
found his cash overran a little, and he discovered that in making change
for his last customer, an old woman who had come in a little before
sundown, he had made a mistake, not having given her quite enough.
Although the amount was small, a few cents, he took the money,
immediately walked to her house, and corrected the error. At another
time, on his arrival at the store in the morning, he found on the scales
a weight which he remembered having used just before closing, but which
was not the one he had intended to use. He had sold a parcel of tea, and
in the hurry had placed the wrong weight on the scales, so that the
purchaser had a few ounces less of tea than had been paid for. He
immediately sent the quantity required to make up the deficiency. These
and many similar incidents are told regarding his scrupulous honesty in
the most trifling matters. It was for such things as these that people
gave him the name which clung to him as long as he lived."

It was in the summer of 1831 that Abraham Lincoln performed his first
official act. Minter Graham, the school-teacher, tells the story. "On
the day of the election, in the month of August, Abe was seen loitering
about the polling place. It was but a few days after his arrival in New
Salem. They were 'short of a clerk' at the polls; and, after casting
about in vain for some one competent to fill the office, it occurred to
one of the judges that perhaps the tall stranger possessed the needful
qualifications. He thereupon accosted him, and asked if he could write.
He replied, 'Yes, a little.' 'Will you act as clerk of the election
to-day?' said the judge. 'I will try,' returned Abe, 'and do the best I
can, if you so request.'" He did try accordingly, and, in the language
of the schoolmaster, "performed the duties with great facility,
firmness, honesty, and impartiality. I clerked with him," says Mr.
Graham, "on the same day and at the same polls. The election books are
now in the city of Springfield, where they can be seen and inspected any
day."

That the foregoing anecdotes bearing on the early life of Abraham
Lincoln are approximately correct is borne out by Lincoln himself. At
the urgent request of Hon. Jesse W. Fell, of Bloomington, Illinois,
Lincoln wrote a sketch of himself to be used during the campaign of
1860. In a note which accompanied the sketch he said: "Herewith is a
little sketch, as you requested. There is not much to it, for the
reason, I suppose, that there is not much of me. If anything be made out
of it I wish it to be modest and not to go beyond the material." The
letter is as follows:

     I was born Feb. 12, 1809, in Hardin County, Kentucky. My parents
     were both born in Virginia, of undistinguishable families--second
     families, perhaps I should say. My mother, who died in my tenth
     year, was of a family of the name of Hanks, some of whom now reside
     in Adams, and others in Macon Counties, Illinois. My paternal
     grandfather, Abraham Lincoln, emigrated from Rockingham County,
     Virginia, to Kentucky, about 1781 or '2, where, a year or two
     later, he was killed by Indians, not in battle, but by stealth,
     when he was laboring to open a farm in the forest. His ancestors,
     who were Quakers, went to Virginia from Berks County, Pennsylvania.
     An effort to identify them with the New England family of the same
     name, ended in nothing more than a similarity of Christian names in
     both families, such as Enoch, Levi, Mordecai, Solomon, Abraham, and
     the like.

     My father, at the death of his father, was but six years of age,
     and he grew up literally without education. He removed from
     Kentucky to what is now Spencer County, Indiana, in my eighth year.
     We reached our new home about the time the State came into the
     Union. It was a wild region, with many bears and other wild animals
     still in the woods. There I grew up. There were some schools, so
     called, but no qualification was ever required of a teacher beyond
     'readin', writin' and cipherin'' to the Rule of Three. If a
     straggler, supposed to understand Latin, happened to sojourn in the
     neighborhood, he was looked upon as a wizard. There was absolutely
     nothing to excite ambition for education. Of course when I came of
     age I did not know much. Still, somehow, I could read, write, and
     cipher to the Rule of Three, but that was all. I have not been to
     school since. The little advance I now have upon this store of
     education, I have picked up from time to time under the pressure of
     necessity.

     I was raised to farm work, which I continued till I was twenty-two.
     At twenty-one I came to Illinois, and passed the first year in
     Macon County. Then I got to New Salem, at that time in Sangamon,
     now in Menard County, where I remained a year as a sort of clerk in
     a store. Then came the Black Hawk War, and I was elected a Captain
     of Volunteers--a success which gave me more pleasure than any I
     have had since. I went through the campaign, was elated, ran for
     the Legislature the same year (1832), and was beaten--the only time
     I have ever been beaten by the people. The next, and three
     succeeding biennial elections, I was elected to the Legislature. I
     was not a candidate afterwards. During this legislative period I
     had studied law, and removed to Springfield to practice it. In
     1846 I was once elected to the Lower House of Congress, but was not
     a candidate for re-election. From 1849 to 1854, both inclusive,
     practiced law more assiduously than ever before. Always a Whig in
     politics, and generally on the Whig electoral tickets, making
     active canvasses. I was losing interest in politics, when the
     repeal of the Missouri Compromise aroused me again. What I have
     done since then is pretty well known.

     If any personal description of me is thought desirable, it may be
     said, I am in height, six feet, four inches, nearly; lean in flesh,
     weighing, on an average, one hundred and eighty pounds; dark
     complexion, with coarse black hair, and gray eyes. No other marks
     or brands recollected.

     Yours very truly,
     A. LINCOLN.




CHAPTER II


     A Turn in Affairs--The Black Hawk War--A Remarkable Military
     Manoeuvre--Lincoln Protects an Indian--Lincoln and
     Stuart--Lincoln's Military Record--Nominated for the
     Legislature--Lincoln a Merchant--Postmaster at New Salem--Lincoln
     Studies Law--Elected to the Legislature--Personal
     Characteristics--Lincoln's Love for Anne Rutledge--Close of
     Lincoln's Youth.

The spring of 1832 brought a new turn in Lincoln's career. The year had
been one of great advancement in many respects. He had made new and
valuable acquaintances, read many books, mastered the grammar of his own
tongue, won a multitude of friends. Those who could appreciate
intelligence and character respected him, and those whose highest ideas
of a man related to his physical prowess were devoted to him. Everyone
trusted him. He was judge, arbitrator, referee, authority in all
disputes, games, and matches whether of man-flesh or horse-flesh. He was
the peacemaker in all quarrels. He was everybody's friend--the
best-natured, most sensible, best-informed, most modest, unassuming,
kindest, gentlest, roughest, strongest, best young fellow in all New
Salem or the region about. But Mr. Offutt's trading enterprises ended
disastrously in the year 1832. The store was closed, the mill was shut
down, and Lincoln was out of business.

At the very moment, however, that he found himself adrift Illinois was
filled with excitement over the Black Hawk War. The centre of alarm was
in the Rock Valley, in the northern part of the State, which had been
formerly the home of the Sac tribe of Indians. Discontented with their
life on the reservation west of the Mississippi, to which they had been
removed, the Sacs, with several other tribes, resolved to recover their
old hunting-grounds. The warlike chief, Black Hawk, was at the head of
the revolt, and his march toward the Rock river was signalized by a
number of massacres. Governor Reynolds of Illinois issued a proclamation
calling for volunteers to aid the regular troops in the emergency.
Lincoln was one of the first to answer the call, the brave "Clary Grove
Boys" also coming promptly to the rescue. "The volunteers gathered,"
writes Mr. Arnold, "at Rushville, in Schuyler County, at which place
they were to be organized, and elected officers. Lincoln was a candidate
for the place of captain, and in opposition to him was one William
Kirkpatrick. The mode of election was novel. By agreement, each
candidate walked off to some distance and took position by himself. The
men were then to form, and those who voted for Kirkpatrick were to range
on a line with their candidate. When the lines were formed, Lincoln's
was three times as long as that of Kirkpatrick, and so Lincoln was
declared elected. Speaking of this affair when President, he said that
he was more gratified with this his first success than with any other
election of his life. Neither Lincoln nor his company was in any
engagement during the campaign, but there was plenty of hardships and
fatigue, and some incidents occurred to illustrate his courage and power
over men."

Many years afterward--in fact, while Lincoln was President--he referred
to those early scenes in a way that illustrates his wonderful memory and
his power of recalling the minutest incidents of his past life. Meeting
an old Illinois friend, he naturally fell to talking of Illinois, and
related several stories of his early life in that region. Particularly
he remembered his share in the Black Hawk War. He referred to his part
of the campaign lightly, and said that he saw but very little fighting.
But he remembered coming on a camp of white scouts one morning just as
the sun was rising. The Indians had surprised the camp and killed and
scalped every man. "I remember just how those men looked," said Lincoln,
"as we rode up the little hill where their camp was. The red light of
the morning sun was streaming upon them as they lay, heads toward us, on
the ground, and every man had a round red spot on the top of his head,
about as big as a dollar, where the redskins had taken his scalp. It was
frightful, but it was grotesque, and the red sunlight seemed to paint
everything all over." Lincoln paused as if recalling the vivid picture,
and added, somewhat irrelevantly, "I remember that one man had buckskin
breeches on."

Lincoln also told a good story of his first experience in drilling raw
troops during the Black Hawk War. He was crossing a field with a front
of twenty men when he came to a gate through which it was necessary to
pass. In describing the incident he said: "I could not, for the life of
me, remember the proper word of command for getting my company
_endwise_, so that it could pass through the gate. So, as we came near
the gate, I shouted, 'Halt! this company is dismissed for two minutes,
when it will fall in again on the other side of the gate.'" The
manoeuvre was successfully executed.

During this campaign an incident occurred which well serves to show
Lincoln's keen sense of justice, his great common sense, and his
resoluteness when aroused. One day there came to the camp an old Indian,
footsore and hungry. He was provided with a letter of safe-conduct from
General Cass; but there was a feeling of great irritation against the
Indians, and the men objected strongly to receiving him. They pronounced
him a spy and his passport a forgery, and were rushing upon the
defenseless Indian to kill him, when the tall figure of their captain,
Lincoln, suddenly appeared between them and their victim. His men had
never seen him so aroused, and they cowed before him. "Men," said he,
"this must not be done! He must not be killed by us!" His voice and
manner produced an effect on the mob. They paused, listened, fell back,
and sullenly obeyed him, although there were still some murmurs of
disappointed rage. At length one man, probably thinking he spoke for the
crowd, cried out: "This is cowardly on your part, Lincoln!" Lincoln only
gazed with contempt on the men who would have murdered one unarmed
Indian but who quailed before his single hand. "If any man thinks I am a
coward," said he, "let him test it." "Lincoln," was the reply, "you are
larger and heavier than any of us." "That you can guard against,"
responded the captain. "Choose your weapons!" The insubordination ended,
and the word "coward" was never associated with Lincoln's name again. He
afterward said that at this time he felt that his life and character
were both at stake, and would probably have been lost had he not at the
supreme moment forgotten the officer and asserted the man. His men could
hardly have been called soldiers. They were merely armed citizens, with
a military organization in name only. Had he ordered them under arrest
he would have created a serious mutiny; and to have them tried and
punished would have been impossible.

It was while Lincoln was a militia captain that he made the acquaintance
of a man who was destined to have an important influence on his life.
This was Major John T. Stuart, afterwards his law-partner. Stuart was
already a lawyer by profession. During the Black Hawk War he commanded
one of the Sangamon County companies, and was soon afterward elected
major of a spy battalion formed from some of these companies. He had the
best of opportunities at this time to observe the merits of Captain
Lincoln, and testifies that the latter was exceedingly popular among the
soldiers on account of his excellent care of the men in his command, his
never-failing good nature, and his ability to tell more stories and
better ones than any man in the service. He was popular also among these
hardy men on account of his great physical strength. For several years
after the Black Hawk War Lincoln retained his military title and was
usually addressed as "Captain Lincoln." But this in time was
discontinued. Stuart's title of "Major," on the contrary, adhered to him
through life. He was best known as "Major Stuart" down to the time of
his death, which occurred early in the winter of 1886.

The time for which Captain Lincoln's company enlisted soon ran by, but
the trouble with the Indians not being ended Governor Reynolds called
for a second body of volunteers. Lincoln again responded, and was
enrolled as a private in the independent company commanded by Elijah
Iles of Springfield. A note of this occurrence, made in 1868 by Captain
Iles, contains the following statement: "The term of Governor Reynolds's
first call being about to expire, he made a second call, and the first
levy was disbanded. I was elected a captain of one of the companies. We
were mustered into service on the 29th of May, 1832, at the mouth of Fox
river, now Ottawa, by Lieutenant Robert Anderson, Assistant Inspector
General in the United States Army."

One day during the Black Hawk War there were in the camp on Rock river
four men afterward famed in the history of the country. It was while
Lincoln was a member of the company under command of Captain Iles. These
men were Lieutenant Colonel Zachary Taylor, Lieutenant Jefferson Davis,
Lieutenant Robert Anderson, and Private Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln and
Anderson did not meet again until 1861, after the latter had evacuated
Fort Sumter. Major Anderson then visited Washington and called at the
White House to pay his respects to the President. After having expressed
his thanks to Anderson for his conduct in South Carolina, Lincoln said,
"Major, do you remember ever meeting me before?" "No, Mr. President, I
do not remember having had the pleasure before," said Anderson. "Well,"
said Lincoln, "my memory is better than yours. You mustered me into the
service of the United States in 1832 at Dixon's Ferry, during the Black
Hawk War."

Lincoln displayed the same courage and fidelity in performing the duties
of a soldier that had marked his conduct in all other relations of life.
Father Dixon, the guide who was attached to Captain Iles's company of
mounted rangers, remarks that in their marches when scouts were sent
forward to examine thickets and ravines in which it was thought the
enemy might be lurking it often became necessary for many of the men to
dismount and attend to their riding gear. Whenever Lincoln was detailed
for such service, however, his saddle was always in order.

During the contest between General Lewis Cass and General Zachary Taylor
for the Presidency, in the year 1848, Lincoln made a speech in Congress
in which he referred to his services in the Black Hawk War with
characteristic humor:

"By the way, Mr. Speaker," he said, "did you know that I am a military
hero? Yes, sir. In the days of the Black Hawk War I fought, bled, and
came away. Speaking of General Cass's career reminds me of my own. I was
not at Stillman's defeat, but I was about as near it as Cass was to
Hull's surrender, and, like him, I saw the place very soon afterwards.
It is quite certain that I did not break my sword, for I had none to
break. But I bent my musket pretty badly on one occasion. If Cass broke
his sword the idea is that he broke it in desperation. I bent my musket
by accident. If General Cass went ahead of me in picking whortleberries,
I guess I surpassed him in charges upon the wild onions. If he saw any
live fighting Indians, it is more than I did, but I had a good many
bloody struggles with the mosquitos, and although I never fainted from
loss of blood I can truly say that I was often very hungry. Mr. Speaker,
if I should ever conclude to doff whatever our Democratic friends may
suppose there is in me of black-cockade Federalism, and thereupon they
shall take me up as their candidate for the Presidency, I protest they
shall not make fun of me as they have of General Cass by attempting to
write me into a military hero."

Lincoln's popularity among his comrades in the field was so great that
at the close of his military service, which had lasted three months, he
was nominated as a candidate for the State Legislature. "His first
appearance on the stump in the course of the canvass was at Pappsville,
about eleven miles west of Springfield, upon the occasion of a public
sale. The sale over, speech-making was about to begin, when Lincoln
observed some strong symptoms of inattention in his audience which had
taken that particular moment to engage in a a general fight. Lincoln saw
that one of his friends was suffering more than he liked, and stepping
into the crowd he shouldered them sternly away from his man until he met
a fellow who refused to fall back. Him he seized by the nape of the neck
and the seat of his breeches, and tossed him 'ten or twelve feet
easily.' After this episode--as characteristic of him as of the
times--he mounted the platform and delivered with awkward modesty the
following speech: 'Gentlemen and Fellow-Citizens, I presume you all know
who I am. I am humble Abraham Lincoln. I have been solicited by my
friends to become a candidate for the Legislature. My politics are short
and sweet, like the old woman's dance. I am in favor of a national bank.
I am in favor of the internal-improvement system and a high protective
tariff. These are my sentiments and political principles. If elected I
shall be thankful. If not, it will be all the same.'"

Lincoln's friend, Mr. A.Y. Ellis, who was with him during a part of
this campaign, says: "He wore a mixed-jeans coat, claw-hammer style,
short in the sleeves and bobtail,--in fact, it was so short in the tail
that he could not sit down on it,--flax and tow linen pantaloons, and a
straw hat. I think he wore a vest, but I do not remember how it looked.
He wore pot-metal boots. I went with him on one of his electioneering
trips to Island Grove, and he made a speech which pleased his party
friends very well, although some of the Jackson men tried to make sport
of it. He told several good anecdotes in the speech, and applied them
very well, I thought."

The election took place in August, and although Lincoln was defeated he
received two hundred and seventy-seven out of the two hundred and
eighty-four votes cast in his precincts. He was so little known outside
of New Salem that the chances of election were hopelessly against him,
yet the extraordinary evidence of favor shown by the vote of his
fellow-townsmen was a flattering success in the midst of defeat. His
failure to be elected, however, left him once more without occupation.
He was without means, and felt the necessity of undertaking some
business that would provide him an income, however small. It seems that
at this time he considered seriously learning the blacksmith's trade,
but while entertaining the idea an event occurred which opened the way
in another direction. The particulars of this event are given by Mr.
W.G. Greene. "A man named Reuben Radford," says Mr. Greene, "was the
keeper of a small store in the village of New Salem. A friend told him
to look out for the 'Clary Grove boys' or they would smash him up. He
said he was not afraid. He was a great big fellow. But his friend said,
'They don't come alone. If one can't whip you, two or three can, and
they'll do it.' One day he left his store in charge of his brother, with
injunctions that if the 'Clary Grove boys' came he must not let them
have more than two drinks apiece. All the stores in those days kept
liquor to sell and had a corner for drinking. The store was nicely
fitted up, and had many things in glass jars nicely labelled. The 'Clary
Grove boys' came, and took two drinks each. The clerk refused them any
more as politely as he could. Then they went behind the counter and
helped themselves. They got roaring drunk and went to work smashing
everything in the store. The fragments on the floor were an inch deep.
They left and went off on their horses whooping and yelling. Coming
across some herds of cattle, they took the bells from their necks,
fastened them to the tails of the leaders, and chased them over the
country yelling like mad. Radford heard them, and, mounting his horse,
rode in hot haste to the store. I had been sent that morning with grist
to the mill, and had to pass the store. I saw Radford ride up, his horse
a lather of foam. He dismounted, and looked in upon the wreck through
the open door He was aghast at the sight, and said, 'I'll sell out this
thing to the first man that comes along.' I rode up and said, 'I'll give
you four hundred dollars for it.' 'Done!' said he. 'But,' I said, 'I
have no money. I must have time.' 'How much?' 'Six months.' 'Agreed.' He
drew up a note for four hundred dollars at six months, and I signed it.
I began to think I was stuck. Then the boys came in, and among them was
Lincoln. 'Cheer up, Billy,' he said. 'It's a good thing. We'll take an
inventory.' 'No more inventories for me,' said I, not knowing what he
meant. He explained that we should take an account of stock to see how
much was left. We found that it amounted to about twelve hundred
dollars. Lincoln and Berry consulted over it, and offered me two hundred
and fifty dollars for my bargain. I accepted, stipulating that they
should assume my notes. Berry was a wild fellow--a gambler. He had a
fine horse, with a splendid saddle and bridle. He turned over the horse
as part pay. Lincoln let Berry run the store, and it soon ran out. I
had to pay the note. Lincoln said he would pay it some day and did, with
interest." This ended Lincoln's brief career as a country merchant.

Many of the anecdotes in the foregoing pages touch upon Lincoln's
ambition to fit himself for a public speaker. Even at this early day the
settlers in New Salem were infected with the general desire to join in
the march toward intellectual improvement. To aid in this object, they
had established a club entitled the New Salem Literary Society. Before
this association, the studious Lincoln was invited to speak. Mr. R.B.
Rutledge, the brother of Anne Rutledge, says of the event: "About the
year 1832 or 1833, Mr. Lincoln made his first effort at public speaking.
A debating club, of which James Rutledge was president, was organized
and held regular meetings. As Lincoln arose to speak, his tall form
towered above the little assembly. Both hands were thrust down deep in
the pockets of his pantaloons. A perceptible smile at once lit up the
faces of the audience, for all anticipated the relation of some humorous
story. But he opened up the discussion in splendid style, to the
infinite astonishment of his friends. As he warmed with his subject, his
hands would forsake his pockets and enforce his ideas by awkward
gestures, but would very soon seek their easy resting-places. He pursued
the question with reason and argument so pithy and forcible that all
were amazed. The president, after the meeting, remarked to his wife that
there was more in Abe's head than wit and fun; that he was already a
fine speaker; that all he lacked was culture to enable him to reach the
high destiny which he knew was in store for him."

On the 7th of May, 1833, Lincoln was appointed postmaster at New Salem
by President Jackson. The duties of the position were light, there being
only a weekly mail, and the remuneration was correspondingly small.
"The office was too insignificant to be considered politically, and it
was given to the young man because everybody liked him, and because he
was the only man willing to take it who could make out the returns. He
was exceedingly pleased with the appointment, because it gave him a
chance to read every newspaper that was taken in the vicinity. He had
never been able to get half the newspapers he wanted, and the office
gave him the prospect of a constant feast. Not wishing to be tied to the
office, as it yielded him no revenue that would reward him for the
confinement, he made a post-office of his hat. Whenever he went out, the
letters were placed in his hat. When an anxious looker for a letter met
the postmaster he found also the post-office, and the public official,
taking off his hat, looked over and delivered the mail wherever the
public might find him. He kept the office until it was discontinued, or
was removed to Petersburg."

A small balance due the government remained in the hands of Lincoln at
the discontinuance of the office. Time passed on, and he had removed to
Springfield and was practicing law, having his place of business in Dr.
Henry's office. Meanwhile his struggle with poverty was unabated, and he
had often been obliged to borrow money from his friends to purchase the
barest necessities. It was at this juncture that the agent of the United
States called for a settlement of his post-office accounts. The
interview took place in the presence of Dr. Henry who thus describes it:
"I did not believe he had the money on hand to meet the draft, and I was
about to call him aside and loan him the money, when he asked the agent
to be seated a moment. He went over to his trunk at his boarding-house
and returned with an old blue sock with a quantity of silver and copper
coin tied up in it. Untying the sock, he poured the contents on the
table and proceeded to count the coin, which consisted of such silver
and copper pieces as the country people were then in the habit of using
in paying postage. On counting it up, there was found the exact amount
of the draft to a cent, and in the identical coin which had been
received. He never, under any circumstances, used trust funds."

When Lincoln was about twenty-three years of age, some time in 1832, he
began studying law, using an old copy of Blackstone's Commentaries which
he had bought at auction in Springfield. This work was soon mastered,
and then the young man looked about him for more. His friend of the
Black Hawk War, Major John T. Stuart, had a considerable law library for
those days, and to him Lincoln applied in his extremity. The library was
placed at his disposal, and thenceforth he was engrossed in the
acquisition of its contents. But the books were in Springfield, where
their owner resided; and New Salem was some fourteen miles distant. This
proved no obstacle in the way of Lincoln, who made nothing of the walk
back and forth in the pursuit of his purpose. Mr. Stuart's partner, Mr.
H.C. Dummer, who took note of the youth in his frequent visits to the
office, describes him as "an uncouth looking lad, who did not say much,
but what he did say he said straight and sharp." "He used to read law,"
says Henry McHenry, "barefooted, seated in the shade of a tree just
opposite Berry's grocery, and would grind around with the shade,
occasionally varying his attitude by lying flat on his back and putting
his feet up the tree," a situation which might have been unfavorable to
mental application in the case of a man with shorter extremities. "The
first time I ever saw Abe with a law-book in his hand," says Squire
Godbey, "he was sitting astride Jake Bates's woodpile in New Salem. Says
I, 'Abe, what are you studying?' 'Law,' says Abe. 'Good God Almighty!'
responded I." It was too much for Godbey; he could not suppress the
exclamation of surprise at seeing such a figure acquiring learning in
such an odd situation. Mr. Arnold states that Lincoln made a practice
of reading in his walks between Springfield and New Salem; and so
intense was his application and so absorbed was he in his study that he
would pass his best friends without observing them, and some people said
that Lincoln was going crazy with hard study.

He soon began to make a practical application of his legal knowledge. He
bought an old form-book and began to draw up contracts, deeds, leases,
mortgages, and all sorts of legal instruments for his neighbors. He also
began to exercise his forensic ability in trying small cases before
justices of the peace and juries, and soon acquired a local reputation
as a speaker, which gave him considerable practice. But he was able in
this way to earn scarcely money enough for his maintenance. To add to
his means, he took up the study of surveying, and soon became, like
Washington, a skilful and accurate surveyor. John Calhoun, an
intelligent and courteous gentleman, was at that time surveyor of the
county of Sangamon. He became interested in Lincoln and appointed him
his deputy. His work was so accurate and the settlers had such
confidence in him that he was much sought after to survey, fix, and mark
the boundaries of farms, and to plot and lay off the town of Petersburg.
His accuracy must have been attained with some difficulty, for when he
began to survey his chain was a grape-vine. He did not speculate in the
land he surveyed. Had he done so the rapid advance in the value of real
estate would have made it easy for him to make good investments. But he
was not in the least like one of his own appointees when President,--a
surveyor-general of a Western territory, who bought up much of the best
land, and to whom the President said, "I am told, sir, you are _monarch
of all you survey_."

The nomination of Lincoln for the State Legislature on his return from
the Black Hawk War was premature. The people of New Salem voted for him
almost to a man, but his acquaintance had not then extended into the
surrounding district far enough to insure his election. In the campaign
of 1834 the choice of a candidate again fell upon him, and this time
there was a prospect of success. Lincoln entered into the contest with
earnestness, and used every legitimate means to secure a victory. Mr.
Herndon relates the following incident of this campaign: "Lincoln came
to my house, near Island Grove, during harvest. There were some thirty
men in the field. He had his dinner, and then went out into the field
where the men were at work. I introduced him, and the boys said they
would not vote for a man unless he could 'make a hand.' 'Well, boys,' he
said, 'if that is all that is needed I am sure of your votes.' He took
hold of the cradle and led the way all around with perfect ease. The
boys were satisfied. I don't think he lost a vote in that crowd. The
next day there was speaking at Berlin. He went from my house with Dr.
Barnett, who had asked me who this man Lincoln was. I told him he was a
candidate for the Legislature. He laughed and said, 'Can't the party
raise better material than that?' I said, 'Go to-morrow and hear him
before you pass judgment.' When he came back I said, 'Doctor, what have
you to say now?' 'Why, sir,' he said, 'he is a perfect _take-in_. He
knows more than all the rest of them put together.'"

The result of the election was that Lincoln was chosen to represent the
Sangamon district. When the Legislature convened at the opening session,
he was in his place in the lower house; but he bore himself quietly in
his new position. He had much to learn in his novel situation as one of
the lawmakers of the State, and as a co-worker with an assembly
comprising the most talented and prominent men gathered from all parts
of Illinois. He was keenly watchful of the proceedings of the House,
weighing every measure with scrutinizing sagacity, but except in the
announcement of his vote his voice was seldom heard. At the previous
session, Mr. G.S. Hubbard, afterwards a well-known citizen of Chicago,
had exerted himself to procure the passage of an act for the
construction of the Illinois and Michigan Canal. His effort was
defeated; but he continued, as a lobbyist, to push the measure during
several winters, until it was finally adopted. Lincoln lent him
efficient aid in the accomplishment of his object. "Indeed," remarks Mr.
Hubbard, "I very much doubt if the bill could have passed as easily as
it did without his valuable help." "We were thrown much together,"
continues Mr. Hubbard, "our intimacy increasing. I never had a friend to
whom I was more warmly attached. His character was almost faultless;
possessing a warm and generous heart, genial, affable, honest, courteous
to his opponents, persevering, industrious in research, never losing
sight of the principal point under discussion, aptly illustrating by his
stories which were always brought into good effect. He was free from
political trickery or denunciation of the personal character of his
opponents. In debate he was firm and collected. 'With malice toward
none, with charity for all,' he won the confidence of the public, even
his political opponents."

Of all the stories of Lincoln's boyhood and youth, the most profoundly
touching is that of his love for Anne Rutledge. The existence of this
romance was brief, but it is believed by many that it was the memory of
it which threw over Lincoln that indescribable melancholy which seemed
to shadow his whole life. The Rutledges from whom Anne was descended
were an eminent family of the Carolinas. She was about nineteen years
old when Lincoln knew her first. It was shortly after the Black Hawk
War. She was a winsome girl, with fair hair and blue eyes, and Lincoln's
heart was captivated by her sweet face and gentle manners. So attractive
a girl was not, of course, without suitors, and Anne had been wooed by
one James McNeill, a young man who had come to New Salem soon after the
founding of the town. He had been more than ordinarily successful, and
had bought a large farm a few miles north of the village. He was
unmarried--at least he so represented himself--and paid devoted
attention to Anne. They were engaged, although both had acquiesced in
the wishes of Anne's parents that they should not be married until she
was older.

About this time Lincoln appeared in New Salem and went to board at the
Rutledge tavern. Here he saw Anne, and was much in her company. During
the next year McNeill became restless and discontented. He said it was
because he wanted to see his people. So he decided to go East on a
visit. He sold out his interests in New Salem--an act not at all
necessary if he were going only on a visit, and which in the light of
after events had much significance--telling Anne that it was his hope to
bring his father and mother back with him and establish them upon his
farm. "This done," he said, "we will be married." He then set out on his
journey.

It was late in the summer before Anne heard from him. He explained that
he had been taken ill with chills and fever on the way, and had been
long delayed in getting home. But the long wait had been a great strain
upon Anne. Lincoln, meanwhile, had become the postmaster in New Salem,
and it was to him that Anne came to inquire for letters. He watched her
anxiety with sympathy, and in a way became her confidant. His tender
heart, which never could resist suffering, was deeply touched at sight
of her distress. Finally McNeill's letters ceased altogether; and then
Anne confided to Lincoln something which McNeill had told her before he
left, and which until now she had kept secret,--namely, that his name
was not McNeill but McNamar. He had explained to her that he had made
this change because his father had failed in business and that as his
oldest son it was his duty to retrieve the family fortunes. So he had
changed his name, and come West, hoping to return in a few years to his
family a rich man. All this Anne had believed, and had not repeated
until now.

All New Salem joined in declaring McNamar an impostor and his story a
fabrication. "Who knew how many wives he had?" they said. With one
accord Anne's friends denounced him; and although his story turned out
afterward to be not altogether false, it is small wonder that Anne
herself at last came to believe that either he was dead or had ceased to
love her.

While matters were in this state, Lincoln ventured to show his love for
Anne. It was a long time before she would listen; but, convinced at last
that her former lover had deserted her, she promised, in the spring of
1835, to become his wife. But Lincoln had nothing on which to support a
family,--in fact, could hardly support himself. Besides, Anne was
anxious to go to school another year. So it was decided that she should
spend the winter in an academy in Jacksonville, while Lincoln devoted
himself to the study of the law. Then, when she should return from
school, he would be a member of the bar and they could be married.

A happy spring and summer followed. All their friends took an interest
in the lovers, and their prospects seemed bright. But Anne's health
began to fail. She could not rid herself of her haunting memories. There
was a possibility that she had wronged McNamar. What if he should love
her still, and should return and find her wedded to another? Had she
wronged both men? In her thoughts was perpetual conflict. The old love
still persisted. Her conscience troubled her. She doubted, and was
morbidly melancholy. All this wore upon her; she fell ill. At last her
condition became grave, then hopeless. Lincoln was sent for. Anne's last
hour was passed alone with him. She died at sunset, August 25, 1835. An
old neighbor who saw Lincoln just after his parting with the dying girl
says: "There were signs of the most terrible distress in his face. His
grief became frantic. He lost all self-control, even the consciousness
of his own identity; and his closest friends in New Salem pronounced him
insane, crazy, mad. They watched him with especial vigilance on dark and
stormy days. At such times he raved piteously, often saying, 'I can
never be reconciled to having the snow fall and the rain beat upon her
grave.'" His old friend, Bowlin Greene, alone seemed possessed of the
power to quiet him. He took him to his own home and kept him for several
weeks, an object of undisguised solicitude. At last it seemed safe to
permit him to return to his old haunts. Greene urged him to go back to
the law; and he did so, but he was never the same man again. He was
thin, haggard, and careworn. He was as one who had been at the brink of
the grave. A long time afterward, when the grass had for nearly thirty
years grown over the grave of Anne Rutledge, Lincoln was one day
introduced to a man named Rutledge in the White House. He looked at him
a moment, then grasped his hand and said with deep feeling: "I love the
name of Rutledge to this day. Anne was a lovely girl. She was natural,
well-educated. She would have made a good, loving wife. I did honestly
and truly love her, and I think often, often of her now." Mr. Herndon
has said that the love and the death of this young girl shattered
Lincoln's purposes and tendencies. "He threw off his infinite sorrow
only by leaping wildly into the political arena. He needed whip and spur
to save him from despair."

The period of Abraham Lincoln's boyhood and youth had closed when he
stood by the grave of Anne Rutledge. He had long been a man in stature.
He was now a man in years; yet the rough path he had been forced to
travel had made his progress toward maturity painfully slow. In spite
of his low birth, of his dire poverty, of the rudeness and illiteracy of
his associates, of the absence of refinement in his surroundings, of his
scanty means of education, of his homely figure and awkward manners, of
his coarse fare and shabby dress, he dared to believe there was an
exalted career in store for him. He hewed out the foundations for it
with indomitable spirit. It was to be grounded on manly virtues. It
seems as though the boy felt the consecration of a high destiny from the
very dawn of his intelligence, and it set him apart, secure amid the
temptations and safe from the vices that corrupt many men. In the rough
garb of the backwoodsman he preserved the instincts of a gentleman. He
was the companion of bullies and boors. He shared their work and their
sports, but he never stooped to their vulgarity. He very seldom drank
with them, and they never heard him speak an oath. He could throw the
stoutest in a wrestling match, and was ready, when brought to it, to
whip any insolent braggart who made cruel use of his strength. He never
flinched from hardship or danger, yet his heart was as soft and tender
as a woman's. The great gentle giant had a feeling of sympathy for every
living creature. He was not ashamed to rock a cradle, or to carry a pail
of water or an armful of wood to spare a tired woman's arms. Though
destitute of worldly goods, he was rich in friends. All the people of
his acquaintance knew they could count on his doing the right thing
always, so far as he was able. Hence they trusted and loved him; and the
title of "Honest Abe," which he bore through life, was a seal of
knighthood rarer and prouder than any king or queen could confer with
the sword. Abraham Lincoln was one of nature's noblemen. He showed
himself a hero in every circumstance of his boyhood and youth. The
elements of greatness were visible even then. The boy who was true to
duty, patient in privation, modest in merit, kind to every form of
distress, determined to rise by wresting opportunities from the
grudging hand of fate, was sure to make a man distinguished among his
fellows,--a man noted among the great men of the world, as the boy had
been among his neighbors in the wilds of Spencer County and New Salem.

The site of the town where Lincoln spent the last three years of the
period covered in this portion of his biography is now a desolate waste.
A gentleman who visited the spot during the summer of 1885 thus
describes the mournful scene: "From the hill where I sit, under the
shade of three trees whose branches make one, I look out over the
Sangamon river and its banks covered apparently with primeval forests.
Around are fields overgrown with weeds and stunted oaks. It was a town
of ten or twelve years only. It began in 1824 and ended in 1836. Yet in
that time it had a history which the world will not let die as long as
it venerates the memory of the noble liberator and martyr President,
Abraham Lincoln."




CHAPTER III


     Lincoln's Beginning as a Lawyer--His Early Taste for
     Politics--Lincoln and the Lightning-Rod Man--Not an
     Aristocrat--Reply to Dr. Early--A Manly Letter--Again in the
     Illinois Legislature--The "Long Nine"--Lincoln on His Way to the
     Capital--His Ambition in 1836--First Meeting with Douglas--Removal
     of the Illinois Capital--One of Lincoln's Early
     Speeches--Pro-Slavery Sentiment in Illinois--Lincoln's Opposition
     to Slavery--Contest with General Ewing--Lincoln Lays out a
     Town--The Title "Honest Abe."

Abraham Lincoln's career as a lawyer covered a period of a quarter of a
century, beginning about 1834 or '35, and ending with his election to
the Presidency, in November, 1860. When he began his professional life
he was an obscure and unpromising youth of twenty-five, with but little
learning and fewer accomplishments, and without advantages of social
influence or wealthy friends. Step by step, with patient industry and
unflinching determination, he climbed the ladder of professional
advancement until he stood among the foremost lawyers of the West. He
had, indeed, won a national reputation; and when he laid aside his law
books, a mature man of fifty, it was to enter upon the great honors and
responsibilities of the Presidency of the American Republic.

Lincoln was devoted to his profession, and his success in it was earned
by hard and constant application. But his natural taste for politics led
him to take a full share in the activities of political life. He had
already served a term in the Illinois Legislature (1834-35), and so well
satisfied were his constituents that they renominated him for the
succeeding term. In the canvass which followed he distinguished himself
as a stump-speaker; showing, by his tact and ability, by the skill and
ingenuity with which he met his opponents in debate, by his shrewdness
in attack and readiness in retort, how much he had profited by the
training of the previous years.

An incident illustrating his ready wit and his keen insight into human
nature occurred early in this campaign, at Springfield, where a public
discussion was held between the opposing candidates. An interesting
version of this incident is given by Mr. Arnold: "There lived at this
time in the most pretentious house in Springfield a prominent citizen
named George Forquer. He had been long in public life, had been a
leading Whig--the party to which Lincoln belonged--but had lately gone
over to the Democrats, and had received from the Democratic
administration an appointment to the lucrative post of Register of the
Land Office at Springfield. Upon his handsome new house he had lately
placed a lightning-rod, the first one ever put up in Sangamon County. As
Lincoln was riding into town with his friends, they passed the fine
house of Forquer, and observed the novelty of the lightning-rod,
discussing the manner in which it protected the house from being struck
by lightning. In this discussion there were seven Whig and seven
Democratic candidates for the lower branch of the Legislature; and after
several had spoken it fell to Lincoln to close the arguments. This he
did with great ability. Forquer, though not a candidate, then asked to
be heard for the Democrats in reply to Lincoln. He was a good speaker
and well-known throughout the county. His special task that day was to
attack and ridicule the young man from Salem. Turning to Lincoln, who
stood within a few feet of him, he said: 'This young man must be taken
down, and I am truly sorry that the task devolves upon me.' He then
proceeded, in a very overbearing way, and with an assumption of great
superiority, to attack Lincoln and his speech. Lincoln stood calm, but
his flashing eye and pale cheek showed his indignation. As soon as
Forquer had closed he took the stand and first answered his opponent's
arguments fully and triumphantly. So impressive were his words and
manner that a hearer believes that he can remember to this day, and
repeat, some of the expressions. Among other things, he said: 'The
gentleman commenced his speech by saying that this _young_ man--alluding
to me--must be taken down. I am not so young in years as I am in the
tricks and trades of a politician; but,' said he, pointing to Forquer,
'live long or die young, I would rather die now, than, like the
gentleman, change my politics for a three thousand dollar office, and
then feel obliged to erect a lightning-rod over my house to protect a
guilty conscience from the vengeance of an offended God!'"

"It is difficult to-day," says Mr. Arnold, "to appreciate the effect on
the old settlers, of this figure. This lightning-rod was the first which
most of those present had ever seen. They had slept all their lives in
their cabins in conscious security. Here was a man who seemed, to these
simple-minded people, to be afraid to sleep in his own house without
special and extraordinary protection from Almighty God. These old
settlers thought nothing but the consciousness of guilt, the stings of a
guilty conscience, could account for such timidity. Forquer and his
lightning-rod were talked over in every settlement from Sangamon to the
Illinois and the Wabash. Whenever he rose to speak thereafter, they
said, 'There is the man who dare not sleep in his own house without a
lightning-rod to keep off the vengeance of the Almighty.'"

Another amusing incident of the same campaign, and one which illustrates
Lincoln's love of a practical joke, is given as follows: "Among the
Democrats stumping the county at this time was one Dick Taylor, a most
pompous person, who was always arrayed in the richest attire--ruffled
shirts, seals, etc., besides a rich embroidered vest. Notwithstanding
this array, he made great pretentions of being one of the 'hard-handed
yeomanry,' and ridiculed with much sarcasm the 'rag barons' and
'manufacturing lords' of the Whig party. One day, when he was
particularly aggravating in a speech of this kind, Lincoln decided on a
little sport, and sidling up to Taylor suddenly threw open the latter's
coat, showing to the astonished spectators a glittering mass of ruffled
shirt, gold watch, and glittering jewels. The crowd shouted
uproariously. Lincoln said: 'While he [Colonel Taylor] was making these
charges against the Whigs over the country, riding in fine carriages,
wearing ruffled shirts, kid gloves, massive gold watch-chains with large
gold seals, and flourishing a heavy gold-headed cane, I was a poor boy,
hired on a flatboat at eight dollars a month, and had only one pair of
breeches to my name, and they were buckskin,--and if you know the nature
of buckskin, when wet and dried by the sun it will shrink,--and mine
kept shrinking until they left several inches of my legs bare between
the tops of my socks and the lower part of my breeches. Whilst I was
growing taller, they were becoming shorter and so much tighter that they
left a blue streak around my legs that can be seen to this day. If you
call this aristocracy, I plead guilty to the charge.'"

"The Saturday evening preceding the election," says Mr. Lamon, "the
candidates were addressing the people in the Court House at Springfield.
Dr. Early, one of the candidates on the Democratic side, made some
charge which Mr. N.W. Edwards, one of the candidates on the Whig side,
deemed untrue. Edwards climbed on a table, so as to be seen by Early and
by everyone in the house, and at the top of his voice told Early that
the charge was false. The excitement that followed was intense--so much
so that fighting men thought a duel must settle the difficulty. Lincoln,
by the programme, followed Early. He took up the subject in dispute and
handled it fairly and with such ability that everyone was astonished
and pleased. So that difficulty ended there. Then for the first time,
aroused by the excitement of the occasion, he spoke in that tenor
intonation of voice that ultimately settled down into that clear, shrill
monotone style that afterwards characterized his public speaking, and
enabled his audience, however large, to hear distinctly the lowest sound
of his voice." Mr. Arnold says that Lincoln's reply to Dr. Early was
"often spoken of as exhibiting wonderful ability, and a crushing power
of sarcasm and ridicule. When he began he was embarrassed, spoke slowly
and with some hesitation and difficulty. But becoming excited by his
subject, he forgot himself entirely, and went on with argument and wit,
anecdote and ridicule, until his opponent was completely crushed. Old
settlers of Sangamon County who heard this reply speak of his personal
transformation as wonderful. When Lincoln began, they say, he seemed
awkward, homely, unprepossessing. As he went on, and became excited, his
figure rose to its full height and became commanding and majestic. His
plain face was illuminated and glowed with expression. His dreamy eye
flashed with inspiration, and his whole person, his voice, his gestures,
were full of the magnetism of powerful feeling, of conscious strength
and true eloquence."

The inflexible honesty and fine sense of honor which lay at the
foundation of Lincoln's character are nobly exhibited in the following
letter to a former friend but now political opponent, Col. Robert Allen:

     DEAR COLONEL:--I am told that during my absence last week, you
     passed through this place, and stated publicly that you were in
     possession of a fact or facts which, if known to the public, would
     entirely destroy the prospects of N.W. Edwards and myself at the
     ensuing election, but that through favor to us you would forbear to
     divulge them. No one has needed favors more than I, and generally
     few have been less unwilling to accept them; but in this case
     favor to me would be injustice to the public, and therefore I must
     beg your pardon for declining it. That I once had the confidence of
     the people of Sangamon County is sufficiently evident; and if I
     have since done anything, either by design or misadventure, which
     if known would subject me to a forfeiture of that confidence, he
     who knows of that thing and conceals it is a traitor to his
     country's interest.

     I find myself wholly unable to form any conjecture of what fact or
     facts, real or supposed, you spoke. But my opinion of your veracity
     will not permit me for a moment to doubt that you at least believed
     what you said. I am flattered with the personal regard you
     manifested for me; but I do hope that on more mature reflection you
     will view the public interest as a paramount consideration, and
     therefore determine to let the worst come.

     I assure you that the candid statement of facts on your part,
     however low it may sink me, shall never break the ties of personal
     friendship between us.

     I wish an answer to this, and you are at liberty to publish both if
     you choose.

     Very respectfully,
     A. LINCOLN.

     COL. ROBERT ALLEN.

The campaign resulted in Lincoln's election to the Legislature of 1836.
The nine delegates from Sangamon County happened to be men of remarkable
stature, each one measuring six feet or more in height; and very
naturally they were nicknamed the "Long Nine." Lincoln overtopped all
the rest, and as a consequence was called "the Sangamon Chief." The
State capital was then at Vandalia; and Lincoln's journey there from
Springfield was made mainly on foot. As he was trudging along the muddy
road, he fell in with Judge John Dean Caton, one of the early lawyers of
Illinois, afterwards Chief Justice of the State, who became an intimate
friend of Lincoln. Judge Caton gives an interesting account of their
first meeting, which occurred at this time. "I first met Mr. Lincoln,"
says Judge Caton, "about the last of November, 1835, when on my way to
Vandalia to join the Supreme Court, which met there the first Monday in
December, at the same time as the meeting of the Legislature. There were
a great many people and all sorts of vehicles on the road from
Springfield to Vandalia. The roads were very bad, and most of the
passengers got out and walked a considerable portion of the distance. It
seemed almost like the movement of a little army. While walking thus
along the side of the road I met Mr. Lincoln for the first time, and in
the course of a two days' journey we became quite well acquainted. If he
had been admitted to the bar at that time, he had not become known as a
lawyer out of his own immediate circuit. He was going to Vandalia as a
member of the Legislature. He was one of the 'Long Nine,' as it was
called, from Sangamon County, who by their successful manoeuvring and
united efforts succeeded in getting the seat of government moved from
Vandalia to Springfield. During my stay of a few weeks in Vandalia I
frequently met Mr. Lincoln. He was a very pleasant companion; but as we
walked along the road on the occasion referred to, talking about
indifferent subjects, nothing impressed me with any idea of his future
greatness."

When Lincoln took his seat in the first session of the new Legislature
at Vandalia, his mind was full of new projects. His real public service
was now about to begin, and having spent his time in the previous
Legislature mainly as an observer and listener he was determined during
this session to identify himself conspicuously with the "liberal"
progressive legislation, dreaming of a fame far different from that he
actually obtained as an anti-slavery leader. As he remarked to his
friend Speed, he hoped to obtain the great distinction of being called
"the De Witt Clinton of Illinois."

It was at a special session of this Legislature that Lincoln first saw
Stephen A. Douglas, his great political antagonist of the future, whom
he describes as "the _least_ man" he ever saw. Douglas had come into the
State from Vermont only the previous year, and having studied law for
several months considered himself eminently qualified to be State's
attorney for the district in which he lived. General Linder says of the
two men at this time: "I here had an opportunity, better than any I had
previously possessed, of measuring the intellectual stature of Abraham
Lincoln. He was then about twenty-seven years old--my own age. Douglas
was four years our junior; consequently he could not have been over
twenty-three years old. Yet he was a very ready and expert debater, even
at that early period of his life. He and Lincoln were very frequently
pitted against each other, being of different politics. They both
commanded marked attention and respect."

A notable measure effected by the "Long Nine" during this session of the
Legislature was the removal of the State Capital from Vandalia to
Springfield. It was accomplished by dint of shrewd and persistent
management, in which Lincoln was a leading spirit. Mr. Robert L. Wilson,
one of his colleagues, says: "When our bill to all appearance was dead
beyond resuscitation, and our friends could see no hope, Lincoln never
for a moment despaired. Collecting his colleagues in his room for
consultation, his practical common-sense, his thorough knowledge of
human nature, made him an overmatch for his compeers, and for any man I
have ever known."

Lincoln's reputation as an orator was gradually extending beyond the
circle of his friends and constituents. He was gaining notice as a ready
and forcible speaker, with shrewd and sensible ideas which he expressed
with striking originality and independence. He was invited to address
the Young Men's Lyceum at Springfield, January 27, 1837, and read a
carefully prepared paper on "The Perpetuation of Our Political
Institutions," which was afterwards published in the Springfield
"Weekly Journal." The address was crude and strained in style, but the
feeling pervading it was fervent and honest, and its patriotic sentiment
and sound reflection made it effective for the occasion. A few
paragraphs culled from this paper, some of them containing remarkable
prophetic passages, afford a clue to the stage of intellectual
development which Lincoln had reached at the age of twenty-seven, and an
interesting contrast with the terser style of his later years.

     In the great journal of things happening under the sun, we, the
     American people, find our account running under date of the
     nineteenth century of the Christian era. We find ourselves in the
     peaceful possession of the fairest portion of the earth, as regards
     extent of territory, fertility of soil, and salubrity of climate.
     We find ourselves under the government of a system of political
     institutions conducing more essentially to the ends of civil and
     religious liberty than any of which the history of former times
     tells us. We, when mounting the stage of existence, found ourselves
     the legal inheritors of these fundamental blessings. We toiled not
     in the acquisition or establishment of them; they are a legacy
     bequeathed us by a once hardy, brave and patriotic, but now
     lamented and departed race of ancestors. Theirs was the task (and
     nobly they performed it) to possess themselves, and, through
     themselves, us, of this goodly land, and to uprear upon its hills
     and valleys a political edifice of liberty and equal rights; 'tis
     ours only to transmit these--the former unprofaned by the foot of
     an invader, the latter undecayed by the lapse of time and untorn by
     usurpation--to the latest generation that fate shall permit the
     world to know. This task, gratitude to our fathers, justice to
     ourselves, duty to posterity, all imperatively require us
     faithfully to perform.

     How, then, shall we perform it? At what point shall we expect the
     approach of danger? Shall we expect some transatlantic military
     giant to step the ocean and crush us at a blow? Never! All the
     armies of Europe, Asia, and Africa combined, with all the treasure
     of the earth (our own excepted) in their military chest, with a
     Bonaparte for a commander, could not, by force, take a drink from
     the Ohio, or make a track on the Blue Ridge, in a trial of a
     thousand years! At what point, then, is the approach of danger to
     be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, _it must spring up
     amongst ourselves_. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be
     our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation
     of free men, we must live through all time, or die by suicide. I
     hope I am not over-wary; but, if I am not, there is even now
     something of ill-omen amongst us. I mean the increasing disregard
     for law which pervades the country, the growing disposition to
     substitute the wild and furious passions in lieu of the sober
     judgment of the courts, and the worse than savage mobs for the
     executive ministers of justice. This disposition is awfully fearful
     in any community; and that it now exists in ours, though grating to
     our feelings to admit it, it would be a violation of truth and an
     insult to our intelligence to deny. Accounts of outrages committed
     by mobs form the every-day news of the times. They have pervaded
     the country from New England to Louisiana; they are neither
     peculiar to the eternal snows of the former, nor the burning sun of
     the latter. They are not the creature of climate; neither are they
     confined to the slaveholding or non-slaveholding States. Alike they
     spring up among the pleasure-hunting masters of Southern slaves and
     the order-loving citizens of the land of steady habits. Whatever
     their course may be, it is common to the whole country. Here, then,
     is one point at which danger may be expected. The question recurs,
     How shall we fortify against it? The answer is simple. Let every
     American, every lover of liberty, every well-wisher to his
     posterity, swear by the blood of the Revolution, never to violate
     in the least particular the laws of the country, and never to
     tolerate their violation by others. As the patriots of
     'seventy-six' did to the support of the Declaration of
     Independence, so to the support of the Constitution and the Laws
     let every American pledge his life, his property, and his sacred
     honor; let every man remember that to violate the law is to trample
     on the blood of his father, and to tear the charter of his own and
     his children's liberty. Let reverence for the laws be breathed by
     every American mother to the lisping babe that prattles on her lap.
     Let it be taught in schools, in seminaries, and in colleges. Let it
     be written in primers, spelling-books, and in almanacs. Let it be
     preached from the pulpit, proclaimed in legislative halls, and
     enforced in courts of justice. And, in short, let it become the
     political religion of the nation.

During the years of Lincoln's service in the Illinois Legislature the
Democratic party was strongly dominant throughout the State. The feeling
on the subject of slavery was decidedly in sympathy with the South. A
large percentage of the settlers in the southern and middle portions of
Illinois were from States in which slave labor was maintained; and
although the determination not to permit the institution to obtain a
foothold in the new commonwealth was general, the people were opposed to
any action which should affect its condition where it was already
established. During the sessions of 1836-7 resolutions of an extreme
pro-slavery character were carried through the Legislature by the
Democratic party, aiming to prevent the Abolitionists from obtaining a
foothold in the State. Lincoln could not conscientiously support the
resolutions, nor hold his peace concerning them. He did not shrink from
the issue, but at the hazard of losing his political popularity and the
gratifying prospects that were opening before him he drew up a protest
against the pro-slavery enactment and had it entered upon the Journal of
the House. The state of public opinion in Illinois at that time may be
judged by the fact that of the hundred Representatives in the House
_only one_ had the courage to sign the protest with him. Lincoln's
protest was as follows:

     _March 3, 1837_.

     The following protest, presented to the House, was read and ordered
     to be spread on the journals, to wit:

     Resolutions upon the subject of domestic slavery having passed both
     branches of the General Assembly at its present session, the
     undersigned hereby protest against the passage of the same.

     They believe that the institution of slavery is founded on both
     injustice and bad policy; but that the promulgation of abolition
     doctrines tends rather to increase than abate its evils.

     They believe that the Congress of the United States has no power,
     under the Constitution, to interfere with the institution of
     slavery in the different States.

     They believe that the Congress of the United States has the power,
     under the Constitution, to abolish slavery in the District of
     Columbia, but that the power ought not to be exercised, unless at
     the request of the people of the District.

     The difference between these opinions and those contained in the
     said resolutions, is their reason for entering this protest.

     (Signed)
     DAN STONE,
     A. LINCOLN,
     _Representatives from the County of Sangamon._

The great financial panic which swept over the country in 1837 rendered
expedient an extra session of the Legislature, which was called together
in July. General Lee D. Ewing had been elected to this session from
Fayette County for the express purpose of repealing the law removing the
capital from Vandalia to Springfield. "General Ewing was," says Mr.
Linder, "a man of considerable notoriety, popularity, and talents. He
had been a member of Congress from Illinois, and had filled various
State offices in his time. He was a man of elegant manners, great
personal courage, and would grace either the _salons_ of fashion or the
Senate chamber at Washington. The Legislature opened its special session
(I was there as a spectator), and General Ewing sounded the tocsin of
war. He said that 'the arrogance of Springfield, its presumption in
claiming the seat of government, was not to be endured; that the law had
been passed by chicanery and trickery; that the Springfield delegation
had sold out to the internal improvement men, and had promised their
support to every measure that would gain them a vote to the law removing
the seat of government.' He said many other things, cutting and
sarcastic. Lincoln was chosen by his colleagues to reply to Ewing; and
I want to say here that this was the first time that I began to conceive
a very high opinion of the talents and personal courage of Abraham
Lincoln. He retorted upon Ewing with great severity, denouncing his
insinuations imputing corruption to him and his colleagues, and paying
back with usury all that Ewing had said, when everybody thought and
believed that he was digging his own grave; for it was known that Ewing
would not quietly pocket any insinuations that would degrade him
personally. I recollect his reply to Lincoln well. After addressing the
Speaker, he turned to the Sangamon delegation, who all sat in the same
portion of the house, and said: 'Gentlemen, have you no other champion
than this coarse and vulgar fellow to bring into the lists against me?
Do you suppose that I will condescend to break a lance with your low and
obscure colleague?' We were all very much alarmed for fear there would
be a personal conflict between Ewing and Lincoln. It was confidently
believed that a challenge must pass between them; but friends on both
sides took the matter in hand, and it was settled without anything
serious growing out of it."

When the legislative session ended, in February, 1837, Lincoln returned
to a job of surveying which he had begun a year before at Petersburg,
near his old home at Salem. He spent a month or two at Petersburg,
completing the surveying and planning of the town. That his work was
well and satisfactorily done is attested by many--among them by Mr. John
Bennett, who lived in Petersburg at the time. "My earliest acquaintance
with Lincoln," says Mr. Bennett, "began on his return from Vandalia,
where he had spent the winter as a member of the Legislature from
Sangamon County. Lincoln spent most of the month of March in Petersburg,
finishing up the survey and planning of the town he had commenced the
year before. I was a great deal in his company, and formed a high
estimate of his worth and social qualities, which was strengthened by
many years of subsequent social intercourse and business transactions,
finding him always strictly honest. In fact, he was now generally spoken
of in this region as 'Honest Abe.' After Menard County was formed out of
a portion of Sangamon County, and the county seat established at
Petersburg, Mr. Lincoln was a regular attendant at the courts. I was
then keeping a hotel, and he was one of my regular customers. Here he
met many of his old cronies of his early days at Salem, and they spent
the most of the nights in telling stories or spinning long yarns, of
which Mr. Lincoln was particularly fond."




CHAPTER IV


     Lincoln's Removal to Springfield--A Lawyer without Clients or
     Money--Early Discouragements--Proposes to Become a
     Carpenter--"Stuart & Lincoln, Attorneys at Law"--"Riding the
     Circuit"--Incidents of a Trip Round the Circuit--Pen Pictures of
     Lincoln--Humane Traits--Kindness to Animals--Defending Fugitive
     Slaves--Incidents in Lincoln's Life as a Lawyer--His Fondness for
     Jokes and Stories.

Lincoln's removal from New Salem to Springfield, where his more active
life as a lawyer began, occurred in April, 1837, soon after the
completion of his survey work at Petersburg. The event was closely
connected with the removal of the State capital from Vandalia to
Springfield, the law for which was passed at the legislative session of
1836-7. As has been stated, Lincoln was a member of that Legislature and
was active in procuring the passage of the bill. The citizens of
Springfield were very desirous of the removal of the capital to their
town, and many of them were present at the session when the measure was
up for discussion. They had thus become acquainted with Lincoln; they
were favorably impressed as to his abilities and character, and pleased
with his efforts in the matter in which they were so greatly interested.
Through their influence and encouragement he chose Springfield as his
future home.

Lincoln's first interview, after his arrival in Springfield, was with
Mr. Joshua F. Speed, with whom he already had a slight acquaintance, and
who details the circumstances of their meeting. "He had ridden into
town," says Mr. Speed, "on a borrowed horse, with no earthly property
save a pair of saddle-bags containing a few clothes. I was a merchant at
Springfield, and kept a large country store, embracing dry goods,
groceries, hardware, books, medicines, bed-clothes, mattresses,--in
fact, everything that country people needed. Lincoln came into the store
with his saddle-bags on his arm, and said he wanted to buy the fixings
for a single bed. The mattresses, blankets, sheets, coverlid, and
pillow, according to the figures made by me, would cost seventeen
dollars. He said that was perhaps cheap enough, but small as the sum was
he was unable to pay it. But if I would credit him till Christmas and
his experiment as a lawyer was a success, he would pay then; adding, in
the saddest tone, 'If I fail in this, I do not know that I can ever pay
you.' As I looked up at him I thought then, and think now, that I never
saw a sadder face. I said to him, 'You seem to be so much pained at
contracting so small a debt, I think I can suggest a plan by which you
can avoid the debt and at the same time attain your end. I have a large
room with a double bed up-stairs which you are very welcome to share
with me.' 'Where is your room?' said he. 'Up-stairs,' said I, pointing
to a pair of winding stairs which led from the store to my room. He took
his saddle-bags on his arm, went up-stairs, set them down on the floor,
and came down with the most changed countenance. Beaming with pleasure,
he exclaimed, 'Well, Speed, I'm moved!' Lincoln was then twenty-eight
years old. He was a lawyer without a client, with no money, all his
earthly wealth consisting of the clothes he wore and the contents of his
saddle-bags."

Lincoln shared the same room with Mr. Speed during his early residence
in Springfield, taking his meals with his companion at the house of Mr.
William Butler, with whom he boarded for five years. His professional
advancement at first was slow, and he had periods of great
discouragement. An old settler of Illinois, named Page Eaton, says: "I
knew Lincoln when he first came to Springfield. He was an awkward but
hard-working young man. Everybody said he would never make a good
lawyer because he was too honest. He came to my shop one day, after he
had been here five or six months, and said he had a notion to quit
studying law and learn carpentering. He thought there was more need of
carpenters out here than lawyers." Soon after Lincoln's settlement in
Springfield, he formed a law partnership with Major John T. Stuart, whom
he had known for some years and who already had a good position at the
bar. This partnership began, according to the statement of Major Stuart,
on April 27, 1837. It continued just four years, when it was dissolved,
and Lincoln and Judge Stephen T. Logan became partners. This latter
partnership continued about two years, when, on September 20, 1843, the
firm of Lincoln & Herndon was formed, and it continued to the time of
Lincoln's death.

When Lincoln began to practice law, it was the custom in Illinois to
"ride the circuit," a proceeding of which the older communities of the
East know nothing. The State of Illinois, for instance, is divided into
a number of districts, each composed of a number of counties, of which a
single judge, appointed or elected as the case may be, for that purpose,
makes the circuit, holding courts at each county seat. Railroads being
scarce, the earlier circuit judges made their trips from county to
county on horseback or in a gig; and the prominent lawyers living within
the limits of the circuit made the tour of the circuit with the judge.
It is said that when Lincoln first began to "ride the circuit" he was
too poor to own a horse or vehicle, and was compelled to borrow from his
friends. But in due time he became the proprietor of a horse, which he
fed and groomed himself, and to which he was very much attached. On this
animal he would set out from home, to be gone for weeks together, with
no baggage but a pair of saddle-bags containing a change of linen, and
an old cotton umbrella to shelter him from sun or rain. When he got a
little more of this world's goods he set up a one-horse buggy, a very
sorry and shabby-looking affair which he generally used when the weather
promised to be bad. The other lawyers were always glad to see him, and
landlords hailed his coming with pleasure; but he was one of those
gentle, uncomplaining men whom they would put off with indifferent
accommodations. It was a significant remark of a lawyer who was
thoroughly acquainted with his habits and disposition that "Lincoln was
never seated next the landlord at a crowded table, and never got a
chicken-liver or the best cut from the roast." Lincoln once remarked to
Mr. Gillespie that he never felt his own unworthiness so much as when in
the presence of a hotel clerk or waiter. If rooms were scarce, and one,
two, three, or four gentlemen were required to lodge together in order
to accommodate some surly man who "stood upon his rights," Lincoln was
sure to be one of the unfortunates. Yet he loved the life of the
circuit, and never went home without reluctance.

In describing the many experiences of the lawyers who travelled the
circuits at this period, Mr. Arnold says: "The State was settled with a
hardy, fearless, honest, but very litigious population. The court-house
was sometimes framed and boarded, but more frequently it was built of
logs. The judge sat upon a raised platform behind a rough board,
sometimes covered with green baize, for a table on which to write his
notes. A small table stood on the floor in front for the clerk. In the
center of the room was another larger table around which in rude chairs
the lawyers were grouped, too often with their feet on top of it. Rough
benches were placed there for the jury, the parties to the suit,
witnesses and bystanders. The court-rooms were nearly always crowded for
here were rehearsed and acted the dramas, the tragedies, and the
comedies of real life. The court-house has always been a very attractive
place to the people of the frontier. It supplied the place of theatres,
lecture and concert rooms, and other places of interest and amusement in
the older settlements and towns. The leading lawyers and judges were the
star actors, and had each his partisans. Hence crowds attended the
courts to see the judges, to hear the lawyers contend, with argument and
law and wit, for success, victory, and fame. The merits and ability of
the leading advocates, their success or discomfiture in examining or
cross-examining a witness, the ability of this or that one to obtain a
verdict, were canvassed at every cabin-raising, bee, or horse-race, and
at every log-house and school in the county. Thus the lawyers were
stimulated to the utmost exertion of their powers, not only by
controversy and desire of success, but by the consciousness that their
efforts were watched with eagerness by friends, clients, partisans, or
rivals. From one to another of these rude court-houses the gentlemen of
the bar passed, following the judge around his circuits from county to
county, travelling generally on horseback, with saddle-bags, brushes, an
extra shirt or two, and perhaps two or three law books. Sometimes two or
three lawyers would unite and travel in a buggy, and the poorer and
younger ones not seldom walked. But a horse was not an unusual fee, and
in those days when horse thieves as clients were but too common, it was
not long before a young man of ability found himself well mounted.

"There was very great freedom in social intercourse. Manners were rude,
but genial, kind, and friendly. Each was always ready to assist his
fellows, and selfishness was not tolerated. The relations between the
bench and bar were familiar, free and easy. Flashes of wit and humor and
repartee were constantly exchanged. Such was the life upon which Lincoln
now entered; and there gathered with him around those pine tables of the
frontier court-house a very remarkable combination of men, men who
would have been leaders of the bar at Boston or New York, Philadelphia
or Washington; men who would have made their mark in Westminster Hall,
or upon any English circuit. At the capital were John T. Stuart, Stephen
T. Logan, Edward D. Baker, Ninian W. Edwards, Josiah Lamborn, and many
others. Among the leading lawyers from other parts of the State who
practiced in the Supreme and Federal Courts at the capital were Stephen
A. Douglas; Lyman Trumbull, for many years chairman of the judiciary
committee of the United States Senate; O.H. Browning, Senator and member
of the Cabinet at Washington; William H. Bissell, Member of Congress,
and Governor of the State; David Davis, justice of the Supreme Court,
Senator and Vice-President of the United States; Justin Butterfield of
Chicago, and many others almost or quite equally distinguished. This
'circuit riding' involved all sorts of adventures. Hard fare at
miserable country taverns, sleeping on the floor, and fording streams,
were every-day occurrences. All such occurrences were met with good
humor and often turned into sources of frolic and fun. In fording
swollen streams, Lincoln was frequently sent forward as a scout or
pioneer. His extremely long legs enabled him, by taking off his boots
and stockings, and by rolling up or otherwise disposing of his trousers,
to test the depth of the stream, find the most shallow water, and thus
to pilot the party through the current without wetting his garments."

A gentleman who lived in one of the judicial circuits of Illinois in
which Lincoln had an extensive though not very lucrative practice gives
some graphic and interesting reminiscences. "The terms of the court were
held quarterly and usually lasted about two weeks. They were always
seasons of great importance and much gayety in the little town that had
the honor of being the county seat. Distinguished members of the bar
from surrounding and even from distant counties, ex-judges and
ex-Members of Congress, attended and were personally and many of them
popularly known to almost every adult, male and female, of the limited
population. They came in by stages and on horseback. Among them the one
whose arrival was looked forward to with the most pleasurable
anticipations, and whose possible absence--although he almost never was
absent--was feared with the liveliest emotions of anxiety, was 'Uncle
Abe,' as he was lovingly called by us all. Sometimes he might happen to
be a day or two late. Then, as the Bloomington stage came in at sundown,
the bench and bar, jurors and citizens, would gather in crowds at the
hotel where he always put up, to give him a welcome if, happily, he
should arrive, and to experience the keenest feelings of disappointment
if he should not. If he arrived, as he alighted and stretched out both
his long arms to shake hands with those nearest to him and with those
who approached, his homely face handsome in its broad and sunshiny
smile, his voice touching in its kindly and cheerful accents, everyone
in his presence felt lighter in heart and more joyous. He brought light
with him. He loved his fellow-men with all the strength of his great
nature, and those who came in contact with him could not help
reciprocating the love."

Another old friend describes Lincoln as being at this time "very plain
in his costume, as well as rather uncourtly in his address and general
appearance. His clothing was of home Kentucky jean, and the first
impression made by his tall, lank figure upon those who saw him was not
specially prepossessing. He had not outgrown his hard backwoods
experience, and showed no inclination to disguise or to cast behind him
the honest and manly though unpolished characteristics of his earlier
days. Never was a man further removed from all snobbish affectation. As
little was there, also, of the demagogue art of assuming an uncouthness
or rusticity of manner and outward habit with the mistaken notion of
thus securing particular favor as 'one of the masses.' He chose to
appear then, as in all his later life, precisely what he was. His
deportment was unassuming, though without any awkwardness of reserve."

Mr. Crane, an old settler of Tazewell County, says he used to see
Lincoln when passing through Washington, in that county, on his way to
attend court at Metamora; and he remembers him as "dressed in a homespun
coat that came below his knees and was out at both elbows."

Lincoln's tenderness of heart was displayed in his treatment of animals,
toward which he was often performing unusual acts of kindness. On one
occasion, as Mr. Speed relates, Lincoln and the other members of the
Springfield bar had been attending court at Christiansburg, and Mr.
Speed was riding with them toward Springfield. There was quite a party
of these lawyers, riding two by two along a country lane. Lincoln and
John J. Hardin brought up the rear of the cavalcade. "We had passed
through a thicket of wild plum and crab-apple trees," says Mr. Speed,
"and stopped to water our horses. Hardin came up alone. 'Where is
Lincoln?' we inquired. 'Oh,' replied he, 'when I saw him last he had
caught two young birds which the wind had blown out of their nests, and
he was hunting the nest to put them back.' In a short time Lincoln came
up, having found the nest and placed the young birds in it. The party
laughed at him; but he said, 'I could not have slept if I had not
restored those little birds to their mother.'"

Again, as Dr. Holland narrates, "Lincoln was one day riding by a deep
slough or pit in which, to his exceeding pain, he saw a pig struggling,
and with such faint efforts that it was evident that he could not
extricate himself. Lincoln looked at the pig and the mud that enveloped
him, and then looked ruefully at some new clothes in which he had but a
short time before enveloped himself. Deciding against the claims of the
pig he rode on; but he could not get rid of the vision of the poor
brute, and at last, after riding two miles, he turned back, determined
to rescue the animal at the expense of his new clothes. Arrived at the
spot, he tied his horse, and coolly went to work to build of old rails a
passage to the bottom of the hole. Descending on these rails, he seized
the pig and dragged him out, but not without serious damage to the
clothes he wore. Washing his hands in the nearest brook and wiping them
on the grass, he mounted his gig and rode along. He then fell to
examining the motive that sent him back to the release of the pig. At
the first thought it seemed to be pure benevolence; but at length he
came to the conclusion that it was selfishness, for he certainly went to
the pig's relief in order (as he said to the friend to whom he related
the incident) to 'take a pain out of his own mind.'"

Instances showing the integrity, candor, unselfishness, and humanity of
Lincoln's conduct in his law practice could be multiplied indefinitely.
The following are given by Dr. Holland: "The lawyers of Springfield,
particularly those who had political aspirations, were afraid to
undertake the defense of anyone who had been engaged in helping off
fugitives slaves. It was a very unpopular business in those days and in
that locality; and few felt that they could afford to engage in it. One
who needed such aid went to Edward D. Baker, and was refused, distinctly
and frankly on the ground that as a political man he could not afford
it. The man applied to an ardent anti-slavery friend for advice. He
spoke of Mr. Lincoln, and said, 'He's not afraid of an unpopular case.
When I go for a lawyer to defend an arrested fugitive slave, other
lawyers will refuse me. But if Mr. Lincoln is at home he will always
take my case.'"

An old woman of seventy-five years, the widow of a revolutionary
pensioner, came tottering into his law office one day, and told him that
a certain pension agent had charged her the exorbitant fee of two
hundred dollars for collecting her pension. Lincoln was satisfied by
her representations that she had been swindled, and finding that she was
not a resident of the town, and that she was poor, gave her money, and
set about the work of procuring restitution. He immediately entered suit
against the agent to recover a portion of his ill-gotten money. This
suit was one of the most remarkable that Lincoln ever conducted. The day
before the case came up he asked his partner, Mr. Herndon, to get him a
"Life of Washington," and he spent the whole afternoon reading it. His
speech to the jury was long remembered. The whole court-room was in
tears as he closed with these words: "Gentlemen of the jury. Time rolls
by. The heroes of '76 have passed away. They are encamped on the other
shore. This soldier has gone to his rest, and now, crippled, blinded,
and broken, his widow comes to you and to me, gentlemen of the jury, to
right her wrongs. She was not always as you see her now. Once her step
was elastic. Her face was fair. Her voice was as sweet as any that rang
in the mountains of old Virginia. Now she is old. She is poor and
defenceless. Out here on the prairies of Illinois, hundreds of miles
from the scenes of her childhood, she appeals to you and to me who enjoy
the privileges achieved for us by the patriots of the Revolution for our
sympathetic aid and manly protection. I have but one question to ask
you, gentlemen of the jury. Shall we befriend her?" During the speech
the defendant sat huddled up in the court-room, writhing under the lash
of Lincoln's tongue. The jury returned a verdict for every cent that
Lincoln had asked. He became the old lady's surety for costs, paid her
hotel bill and sent her home rejoicing. He made no charges for his own
or his partner's services. A few days afterwards Mr. Herndon picked up a
little scrap of paper in the office. He looked at it a moment, and burst
into a roar of laughter. It was Lincoln's notes for the argument of this
case. They were unique:--"No contract--Not professional
services--Unreasonable charges--Money retained by Deft not given by
Pl'ff.--Revolutionary War--Describe Valley Forge--Ice--Soldiers'
bleeding feet--Pl'ff's husband--Soldiers leaving home for the
army--_Skin Def't_--Close."

In his Autobiography, Joseph Jefferson tells how he visited Springfield
with a theatrical company in the early days (1839) and planned to open a
theatrical season in that godly town. But "a religious revival was in
progress, and the fathers of the church not only launched forth against
us in their sermons, but got the city to pass a new law enjoining a
heavy license against our 'unholy' calling. I forget the amount, but it
was large enough to be prohibitory." The company had begun the building
of a new theatre; and naturally the situation was perplexing. In the
midst of their trouble, says Mr. Jefferson, "a young lawyer called on
the Managers. He had heard of the injustice, and offered, if they would
place the matter in his hands, to have the license taken off,--declaring
that he only wanted to see fair play, and he would accept no fee whether
he failed or succeeded. The case was brought up before the council. The
young lawyer began his harangue. He handled the subject with tact,
skill, and humor, tracing the history of the drama from the time when
Thespis acted in a cart, to the stage of to-day. He illustrated his
speech with a number of anecdotes, and kept the council in a roar of
laughter. His good humor prevailed, and the exorbitant tax was taken
off. This young lawyer was very popular in Springfield, and was honored
and beloved by all who knew him; and after the time of which I write he
held rather an important position in the Government of the United
States. He now lies buried in Springfield, under a monument
commemorating his greatness and his virtues,--and his name was Abraham
Lincoln."

Judge Gillespie tells a good story, to the effect that Lincoln and
General U.P. Linder were once defending a man who was being tried on a
criminal charge before Judge David Davis, who said at dinner-time that
the case must be disposed of that night. Lincoln suggested that the best
thing they could do would be to run Benedict, the prosecuting attorney,
as far into the night as possible, in hopes that he might, in his rage,
commit some indiscretion that would help their case. Lincoln began, but
to save his life he could not speak one hour, and the laboring oar fell
into Linder's hands. "But," said Lincoln, "he was equal to the occasion.
He spoke most interestingly three mortal hours, about everything in the
world. He discussed Benedict from head to foot, and put in about
three-quarters of an hour on the subject of Benedict's whiskers."
Lincoln said he never envied a man so much as he did Linder on that
occasion. He thought he was inimitable in his capacity to talk
interestingly about everything and nothing, by the hour.

But if Lincoln had not General Linder's art of "talking against time,"
his wit often suggested some readier method of gaining advantage in a
case. On one occasion, a suit was on trial in the Circuit Court of
Sangamon County, in which Lincoln was attorney for the plaintiff, and
Mr. James C. Conkling, then a young man just entering practice, was
attorney for the defendant. It was a jury trial, and Lincoln waived the
opening argument to the jury, leaving Mr. Conkling to sum up his case
for the defense. The latter spoke at considerable length, in a
sophomoric style, laboring under the impression that unless he made an
extraordinary exertion to influence the jury he would be quite eclipsed
by Lincoln in his closing speech. But he was completely taken back by
the unlooked-for light manner in which Lincoln treated the case in his
closing. Lincoln proceeded to reply but, in doing so he talked on
without making the slightest reference to the case on hearing or to the
argument of Mr. Conkling. His summing-up to the jury was to the
following effect: "Gentlemen of the jury: In early days there lived in
this vicinity, over on the Sangamon river, an old Indian of the Kickapoo
tribe by the name of Johnnie Kongapod. He had been taken in charge by
some good missionaries, converted to Christianity, and educated to such
extent that he could read and write. He took a great fancy to poetry and
became somewhat of a poet himself. His desire was that after his death
there should be placed at the head of his grave an epitaph, which he
prepared himself, in rhyme, in the following words:

     "'Here lies poor Johnnie Kongapod;
       Have mercy on him, gracious God,
       As he would do if he were God
       And you were Johnnie Kongapod.'"

Of course all this had no reference to the case, nor did Lincoln intend
it should have any. It was merely his way of ridiculing the eloquence of
his opponent. The verdict of the jury was for the plaintiff, as Lincoln
expected it would be; and this was the reason of his treating the case
as he did.

A story somewhat similar to the above was told by the late Judge John
Pearson shortly before his death. In the February term, 1850, of the
Circuit Court of Vermilion County, Illinois, a case was being tried in
which a young lady had brought suit for $10,000 against a recreant lover
who had married another girl. The amount sued for was thought to be an
enormous sum in those days, and the ablest talent to be found was
brought into requisition by both sides. Richard Thompson and Daniel W.
Voorhees were associated with O.L. Davis for the fair plaintiff. H.W.
Beckwith, Ward Lamon, and Abraham Lincoln were for the defendant. The
little town of Danville was crowded with people from far and near who
had come to hear the big speeches. The evidence brought out in the
trial was in every way against the defendant, and the sympathy of the
public was, naturally enough, with the young lady plaintiff. Lincoln and
his associate counsel plainly saw the hopelessness of their cause; and
they wisely concluded to let their side of the case stand upon its
merits, without even a plea of extenuating circumstances. Voorhees was
young, ambitious, and anxious to display his oratory. He arranged with
his colleagues at the beginning that he should make a speech, and he
spent several hours in his room at the hotel in the preparation of an
oratorical avalanche. It became generally known that Dan was going to
out-do himself, and the expectation of the community was at its highest
tension. The little old court-house was crowded. The ladies were out in
full force. Voorhees came in a little late, glowing with the excitement
of the occasion. It had been arranged that Davis was to open, Lincoln
was to follow, and Voorhees should come next. Mr. Davis made a clear
statement of the case, recited the character of the evidence, and closed
with a plain logical argument. Then Lincoln arose, and stood in silence
for a moment, looking at the jury. He deliberately re-arranged some of
the books and papers on the table before him, as though "making a good
ready," as he used to say, and began in a spirited but deliberate way:
"Your Honor, the evidence in this case is all in, and doubtless all
concerned comprehend its fullest import without the aid of further
argument. Therefore we will rest our case here." This move, of course,
cut off all future discussion. Voorhees, with his load of pyrotechnics
was shut out. An ominous silence followed Lincoln's remark; then
Voorhees arose, white with rage, and entered a protest against the
tactics of the defense. All the others were disappointed, but amused,
and the only consolation that Voorhees got out of this affair was a
verdict for the full amount claimed by his client. But he never forgave
Lincoln for thus "nipping" his great speech "in the bud."

Mr. Wickizer gives a story which illustrates the off-hand readiness of
Lincoln's wit. "In the court at Bloomington Mr. Lincoln was engaged in a
case of no great importance; but the attorney on the other side, Mr. S.,
a young lawyer of fine abilities, was always very sensitive about being
beaten, and in this case he manifested unusual zeal and interest. The
case lasted until late at night, when it was finally submitted to the
jury. Mr. S. spent a sleepless night in anxiety, and early next morning
learned, to his great chagrin, that he had lost the case. Mr. Lincoln
met him at the court-house and asked him what had become of his case.
With lugubrious countenance and melancholy tone, Mr. S. said, 'It's gone
to hell!' 'Oh, well!' replied Lincoln, 'Never mind,--you can try it
again there!'"

Lincoln was always ready to join in a laugh at his own expense, and used
to tell the following story with intense enjoyment: "In the days when I
used to be 'on the circuit' I was accosted in the cars by a stranger who
said, 'Excuse me, sir, but I have an article in my possession which
belongs to you.' 'How is that?' I asked, considerably astonished. The
stranger took a jack-knife from his pocket. 'This knife,' said he, 'was
placed in my hands some years ago with the injunction that I was to keep
it until I found a man uglier than myself. I have carried it from that
time to this. Allow me to say, sir, that I think you are fairly entitled
to the property.'"

Mr. Gillespie says of Lincoln's passion for story-telling: "As a boon
companion, Lincoln, although he never drank liquor or used tobacco in
any form, was without a rival. No one would ever think of 'putting in'
when he was talking. He could illustrate any subject, it seemed to me,
with an appropriate and amusing anecdote. He did not tell stories merely
for the sake of telling them, but rather by way of illustration of
something that had happened or been said. There seemed to be no end to
his fund of stories." Mr. Lamon states: "Lincoln frequently said that he
lived by his humor and would have died without it. His manner of telling
a story was irresistibly comical, the fun of it dancing in his eyes and
playing over every feature. His face changed in an instant; the hard
lines faded out of it, and the mirth seemed to diffuse itself all over
him like a spontaneous tickle. You could see it coming long before he
opened his mouth, and he began to enjoy the 'point' before his eager
auditors could catch the faintest glimpse of it. Telling and hearing
ridiculous stories was one of his ruling passions." A good illustration
of this fondness for story-telling is given by Judge Sibley, of Quincy,
Illinois, who knew Lincoln when practicing law at Springfield. One day a
party of lawyers were sitting in the law library of the court-house at
Springfield, awaiting the opening of court, and telling stories to fill
the time. Judge Breese of the Supreme bench--one of the most
distinguished of American jurists, and a man of great personal
dignity--passed through the room where the lawyers were sitting, on his
way to open court. Lincoln, seeing him, called out in his hearty way,
"Hold on, Breese! Don't open court yet! Here's Bob Blackwell just going
to tell a new story!" The judge passed on without replying, evidently
regarding it as beneath the dignity of the Supreme Court to delay
proceedings for the sake of a story.




CHAPTER V


     Lincoln in the Legislature--Eight Consecutive Years of Service--His
     Influence in the House--Leader of the Whig Party in Illinois--Takes
     a Hand in National Politics--Presidential Election in 1840--A "Log
     Cabin" Reminiscence--Some Memorable Political Encounters--A Tilt
     with Douglas--Lincoln Facing a Mob--His Physical Courage--Lincoln
     as a Duellist--The Affair with General Shields--An Eye-Witness'
     Account of the Duel--Courtship and Marriage.

In 1838 Lincoln was for a third time a candidate for the State
Legislature. Mr. Wilson, one of his colleagues from Sangamon County,
states that a question of the division of the county was one of the
local issues. "Mr. Lincoln and myself," says Mr. Wilson, "among others
residing in the portion of the county which sought to be organized into
a new county, opposed the division; and it became necessary that I
should make a special canvass through the northwest part of the county,
then known as Sand Ridge. I made the canvass. Mr. Lincoln accompanied
me, and being personally acquainted with everyone we called at nearly
every house. At that time it was the universal custom to keep some
whiskey in the house for private use and to treat friends. The subject
was always mentioned as a matter of politeness, but with the usual
remark to Mr. Lincoln, 'We know you never drink, but maybe your friend
would like to take a little.' I never saw Mr. Lincoln drink. He often
told me he never drank; had no desire for drink, nor for the
companionship of drinking men."

The result of this canvass was that Lincoln was elected to the
Legislature for the session of 1838-39. The next year he was elected
for the session of 1840-41. This ended his legislative service, which
comprised eight consecutive years, from 1834 to 1841. In these later
sessions he was as active and prominent in the House as he had been in
the earlier times when a member from New Salem.

Lincoln's faculty for getting the better of an adversary by an apt
illustration or anecdote was seldom better shown than by an incident
which occurred during his last term in the Legislature. Hon. James C.
Conkling has given the following graphic description of the scene: "A
gentleman who had formerly been Attorney-General of the State was also a
member. Presuming upon his age, experience, and former official
position, he thought it incumbent upon himself to oppose Lincoln, who
was then one of the acknowledged leaders of his party. He at length
attracted the attention of Lincoln, who replied to his remarks, telling
one of his humorous anecdotes and making a personal application to his
opponent which placed the latter in such a ridiculous attitude that it
convulsed the whole House. All business was suspended. In vain the
Speaker rapped with his gavel. Members of all parties, without
distinction, were compelled to laugh. They not only laughed, they
screamed and yelled; they thumped upon the floor with their canes; they
clapped their hands and threw up their hats; they shouted and twisted
themselves into all sorts of contortions, until their sides ached and
the tears rolled down their cheeks. One paroxysm passed away, but was
speedily succeeded by another, and again they laughed and screamed and
yelled. Another lull occurred, and still another paroxysm, until they
seemed to be perfectly exhausted. The ambition of Lincoln's opponent was
abundantly gratified, and for the remainder of the session he lapsed
into profound obscurity."

In June, 1842, ex-President Van Buren was journeying through Illinois
with a company of friends. When near Springfield they were delayed by
bad roads, and were compelled to spend the night at Rochester, some
miles out. The accommodations at this place were very poor, and a few of
the ex-President's Springfield friends proposed to go out to meet him
and try to aid in entertaining him. Knowing Lincoln's ability as a
talker and story-teller, they begged him to go with them and aid in
making their guest at the country inn pass the evening as pleasantly as
possible. Lincoln, with his usual good nature, went with them, and
entertained the party for hours with graphic descriptions of Western
life, anecdotes and witty stories. Judge Peck, who was of the party, and
a warm friend of the ex-President, says that Lincoln was at his best.
There was a constant succession of brilliant anecdotes and funny
stories, accompanied by loud laughter in which Van Buren took his full
share. "He also," says the Judge, "gave us incidents and anecdotes of
Elisha Williams, and other leading members of the New York bar, going
back to the days of Hamilton and Burr. Altogether there was a right
merry time. Mr. Van Buren said the only drawback upon his enjoyment was
that his sides were sore from laughing at Lincoln's stories for a week
thereafter."

Lincoln's eight years of legislative service had given him considerable
reputation in politics, and he had become the acknowledged leader of the
Whig party in Illinois. In the exciting Presidential campaign of 1840,
known as the "Log Cabin" campaign, he took a very active part. He had
been nominated as Presidential Elector on the Harrison ticket, and
stumped a large portion of the State. A peculiarly interesting
reminiscence of Lincoln's appearance on one occasion during the "Log
Cabin" campaign is furnished by Mr. G.W. Harris, who says: "In the fall
of the year 1840 there came into the log school-house in a village in
Southern Illinois where I, a lad, was a pupil, a tall, awkward,
plain-looking young man dressed in a full suit of 'blue jean.'
Approaching the master, he gave his name, and, apologizing for the
intrusion, said, 'I am told you have a copy of Byron's works. I would
like to borrow it for a few hours.' The book was produced and loaned to
him. With his thanks and a 'Good-day' to the teacher, and a smile such
as I have never seen on any other man's face and a look that took in all
of us lads and lassies, the stranger passed out of the room. This was
during a Presidential canvass. Isaac Walker, candidate for Democratic
Elector, and Abraham Lincoln, candidate for Whig Elector, were by
appointment to discuss political matters in the afternoon of that day. I
asked for and got a half-holiday. I had given no thought to the matter
until the appearance of Lincoln (for he it was) in the school-room. But,
something in the man had aroused, not only in me but in others of the
scholars, a strong desire to see him again and to hear him speak. Isaac
Walker in his younger days had been a resident of the village. Lincoln
was aware of this, and shrewdly suspected that Walker in his remarks
would allude to the circumstance; so, having the opening speech, he
determined to 'take the wind out of his sails.' He did so--how
effectually, it is hardly necessary for me to say. He had borrowed
Byron's works to read the opening lines of 'Lara':

    "He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord,
    The long self-exiled chieftain, is restored.
    There be bright faces in the busy hall,
    Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;

           *       *       *       *       *

    "He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
    And whence they know not, why they need not guess;
    They more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er,
    Not that he came, but came not long before."

During this period Lincoln continued to enjoy the hospitality of Mr.
Speed at Springfield. "After he made his home with me," says Mr. Speed,
"on every winter's night at my store, by a big wood fire, no matter how
inclement the weather, eight or ten choice spirits assembled, without
distinction of party. It was a sort of social club without organization.
They came there because they were sure to find Lincoln. His habit was to
engage in conversation upon any and all subjects except politics. But
one evening a political argument sprang up between Lincoln and Douglas,
which for a time ran high. Douglas sprang to his feet and said:
'Gentlemen, this is no place to talk politics; we will discuss the
questions publicly with you.'" A few days later the Whigs held a meeting
and challenged the Democrats to a joint debate. The challenge was
accepted. Douglas, Lamborn, Calhoun, and Jesse Thomas were deputed by
the Democrats to meet Logan, Baker, Browning, and Lincoln on the part of
the Whigs. The intellectual encounter between these noted champions is
still described by those who witnessed it as "the great debate." It took
place in the Second Presbyterian church at Springfield, and lasted eight
nights, each speaker occupying a night in turn. Mr. Speed speaks thus of
Lincoln's effort: "Lincoln delivered his speech without manuscript or
notes. He had a wonderful faculty in that way. He might be writing an
important document, be interrupted in the midst of a sentence, turn his
attention to other matters entirely foreign to the subject on which he
was engaged, and then take up his pen and begin where he left off
without reading the previous part of the sentence. He could grasp,
exhaust, and quit any subject with more facility than any man I have
ever seen or heard of." The subjoined paragraphs from the speech above
referred to show the impassioned feeling which Lincoln poured forth that
night. Those familiar with his admirable style in his later years would
scarcely recognize him in these florid and rather over-weighted periods:

     Many free countries have lost their liberty, and ours may lose
     hers; but if she shall, be it my proudest plume, not that I was
     the last to desert, but that I never deserted her. I know that the
     great volcano at Washington, aroused and directed by the evil
     spirit that reigns there, is belching forth the lava of political
     corruption in a current broad and deep, which is sweeping with
     frightful velocity over the whole length and breadth of the land,
     bidding fair to leave unscathed no green spot or living thing;
     while on its bosom are riding, like demons on the waves of hell,
     the imps of the Evil Spirit, and fiendishly torturing and taunting
     all those who dare resist its destroying course with the
     hopelessness of their effort; and knowing this, I cannot deny that
     all may be swept away. Broken by it, I too may be; bow to it, I
     never will. The probability that we may fall in the struggle ought
     not to deter us from the support of a cause which we deem to be
     just. It shall not deter me. If I ever feel the soul within me
     elevate and expand to those dimensions not wholly unworthy of its
     Almighty architect, it is when I contemplate the cause of my
     country deserted by all the world beside, and I, standing up boldly
     and alone, hurling defiance at her victorious oppressors. And here,
     without contemplating consequences, before high Heaven and in the
     face of the whole world, I swear eternal fidelity to the just
     cause, as I deem it, of the land of my life, my liberty, and my
     love. And who that thinks with me will not fearlessly adopt the
     oath I take? Let none falter who thinks he is right, and we may
     succeed. But if, after all, we shall fail, be it so. We shall have
     the proud consolation of saying to our conscience and to the
     departed shade of our country's freedom, that the cause approved by
     our judgments and adored by our hearts in disaster, in chains, in
     torture, and in death, we never failed in defending.

In this canvass Lincoln came again into collision with Douglas, the
adversary whom he had met two years before and with whom he was to
sustain an almost life-long political conflict. He also had occasion to
show his courage and presence of mind in rescuing from a mob his
distinguished friend, Col. E.D. Baker, afterwards a Senator of the
United States. "Baker was speaking in a large room," says Mr. Arnold,
"rented and used for the court sessions, and Lincoln's office was in an
apartment over the court-room, communicating with it by a trap-door.
Lincoln was in his office listening to Baker through the open trap-door,
when Baker, becoming excited, abused the Democrats, many of whom were
present. A cry was raised, 'Pull him off the stand!' The instant Lincoln
heard the cry, knowing a general fight was imminent, his athletic form
was seen descending from above through the opening of the trap-door,
and, springing to the side of Baker, and waving his hand for silence, he
said with dignity: 'Gentlemen, let us not disgrace the age and country
in which we live. This is a land where freedom of speech is guaranteed.
Baker has a right to speak. I am here to protect him, and no man shall
take him from this stand if I can prevent it.' Quiet was restored, and
Baker finished his speech without further interruption."

A similar occurrence, happening about the same period, is detailed by
General Linder: "On a later occasion, when Colonel Baker and myself were
both battling together in the Whig cause, at a convention held in
Springfield, I made a speech at the State House, which I think now,
looking back at it from this point, was the very best I ever made in my
life. While I was addressing the vast assembly some ruffian in the
galleries flung at me a gross personal insult accompanied with a threat.
Lincoln and Colonel Baker, who were both present and were warm personal
and political friends of mine, anticipating that I might be attacked
when I left the State House, came upon the stand a little while before I
concluded my speech and took their station on each side of me. When I
was through, and after my audience had greeted me with three hearty
cheers, each took one of my arms, and Lincoln said to me: 'Linder, Baker
and I are apprehensive that you may be attacked by some of those
ruffians who insulted you from the galleries, and we have come up to
escort you to your hotel. We both think we can do a little fighting, so
we want you to walk between us until we get you to your hotel. Your
quarrel is our quarrel and that of the great Whig party of this nation.
Your speech upon this occasion is the greatest that has been made by any
of us, for which we wish to honor and defend you.' This I consider no
ordinary compliment, coming from Lincoln, for he was no flatterer nor
disposed to bestow praise where it was undeserved. Colonel Baker
heartily concurred in all he said, and between those two glorious men I
left the stand and we marched out of the State House through our
friends, who trooped after us evidently anticipating what Lincoln and
Baker had suggested to me, accompanying us to my hotel."

That Lincoln had an abundance of physical courage, and was well able to
defend himself when necessity demanded, is clear from the incidents just
given. Mr. Herndon, his intimate friend, adds his testimony on this
point. As Lincoln was grand in his good nature, says Mr. Herndon, so he
was grand in his rage. "Once I saw him incensed at a judge for giving an
unfair decision. It was a terrible spectacle. At another time I saw two
men come to blows in his presence. He picked them up separately and
tossed them apart like a couple of kittens. He was the strongest man I
ever knew, and has been known to lift a man of his own weight and throw
him over a worm fence. Once in Springfield the Irish voters meditated
taking possession of the polls. News came down the street that they
would permit nobody to vote but those of their own party. Mr. Lincoln
seized an axe-handle from a hardware store and went alone to open a way
to the ballot-box. His appearance intimidated them, and we had neither
threats nor collisions all that day."

An unsuspected side of Lincoln's character was shown, at this period of
his life, in the affair with General Shields. With all his gentleness
and his scrupulous regard for the rights of others, Lincoln was not one
to submit to being bullied; while his physical courage had been proved
in many a rough--and--tumble encounter, often against heavy odds, with
the rude and boisterous spirits of his time. These encounters were
usually with nature's weapons; but in the Shields affair--duel, it was
sometimes called--he showed that he would not shrink from the use of
more deadly weapons if forced to do so. In judging this phase of his
character, account must be taken of his Kentucky birth and origin, and
of the customs and standards of his time. James Shields (afterwards a
distinguished Union General and U.S. Senator) was at this time (1842)
living at Springfield, holding the office of State Auditor. He is
described as "a gallant, hot-headed bachelor, from Tyrone County,
Ireland." He was something of a beau in society, and was the subject of
some satirical articles which, in a spirit of fun, Miss Mary Todd
(afterwards Mrs. Lincoln) had written and published in a local journal.
Shields was furious, and, demanding the name of the writer, Lincoln sent
him word that he would assume full responsibility in the matter. A
challenge to a duel followed, which Lincoln accepted and named
broadswords as the weapons. General Linder states that Lincoln said to
him that he did not want to kill Shields, and felt sure he could disarm
him if they fought with broadswords, while he felt sure Shields would
kill him if pistols were the weapons. It seems that Lincoln actually
took lessons in broadsword exercise from a Major Duncan; and at the
appointed time all parties proceeded to the chosen field, near Alton.
But friends appeared on the scene while the preliminaries were being
arranged, and succeeded in effecting a reconciliation. Major Lucas, of
Springfield, who was on the field, stated that he "had no doubt Lincoln
meant to fight. Lincoln was no coward, and he would unquestionably have
held his own against his antagonist, for he was a powerful man and well
skilled in the use of the broadsword. Lincoln said to me, after the
affair was all over, 'I could have split him in two.'" But there can be
little doubt that he was well pleased that the affair proved a
bloodless one.

The mention of Miss Mary Todd, in the preceding paragraph, brings us to
Lincoln's marriage with that lady, which occurred in 1842, he being then
in his thirty--fourth year. Miss Todd was the daughter of the Hon.
Robert T. Todd, of Lexington, Kentucky. She came to Springfield in 1839,
to live with her sister, Mrs. Ninian W. Edwards. "She was young," says
Mr. Lamon, "just twenty-one,--her family was of the best and her
connections in Illinois among the most refined and distinguished people.
Her mother having died when she was a little girl, she had been educated
under the care of a French lady. She was gifted with rare talents, had a
keen sense of the ridiculous, a ready insight into the weaknesses of
individual character, and a most fiery and ungovernable temper. Her
tongue and her pen were equally sharp. Highbred, proud, brilliant,
witty, and with a will that bent every one else to her purpose, she took
Lincoln captive. He was a rising politician, fresh from the people, and
possessed of great power among them. Miss Todd was of aristocratic and
distinguished family, able to lead through the awful portals of 'good
society' whomsoever they chose to countenance. It was thought that a
union between them could not fail of numerous benefits to both parties.
Mr. Edwards thought so; Mrs. Edwards thought so; and it was not long
before Mary Todd herself thought so. She was very ambitious, and even
before she left Kentucky announced her belief that she was destined to
be the wife of some future President. For a while she was courted by
Douglas as well as by Lincoln. Being asked which of them she intended to
have, she answered, 'The one that has the best chance of being
President.' She decided in favor of Lincoln; and in the opinion of some
of her husband's friends she aided to no small extent in the fulfilment
of the prophecy which the bestowal of her hand implied." Mrs. Edwards,
Miss Todd's sister, has related that "Lincoln was charmed with Mary's
wit and fascinated with her quick sagacity, her will, her nature and
culture. I have happened in the room," she says, "where they were
sitting, often and often, and Mary led the conversation. Lincoln would
listen, and gaze on her as if drawn by some superior power--irresistibly
so. He listened, but seldom said a word."

Preparations were made for the marriage between Lincoln and Miss Todd.
But they were interrupted by a painful occurrence--a sudden breaking out
of a fit of melancholy, or temporary insanity, such as had afflicted
Lincoln on a former occasion. This event has been made the subject of no
little gossip, into which it is not now necessary or desirable to go,
further than to mention that at about this time Lincoln seems to have
formed a strong attachment for Miss Matilda Edwards, a sister of Ninian
W. Edwards; and that the engagement with Miss Todd was for a time broken
off. In consequence of these complications, Lincoln's health was
seriously affected. He suffered from melancholy, which was so profound
that "his friends were alarmed for his life." His intimate companion,
Mr. Speed, endeavored to rescue him from the terrible depression, urging
that he would die unless he rallied. Lincoln replied, "I am not afraid
to die, and would be more than willing. But I have an irrepressible
desire to live till I can be assured that the world is a little better
for my having been in it."

Mr. Herndon gives as his opinion that Lincoln's insanity grew out of a
most extraordinary complication of feelings--aversion to the marriage
proposed, a counter--attachment to Miss Edwards, and a revival of his
tenderness for the memory of Anne Rutledge. At all events, his
derangement was nearly if not quite complete. "We had to remove razors
from his room," says Mr. Speed, "take away all knives, and other
dangerous things. It was terrible." Mr. Speed determined to do for him
what Bowlin Greene had done on a similar occasion at New Salem. Having
sold out his store on the first of January,

1841, he took Lincoln with him to his home in Kentucky and kept him
there during most of the summer and fall, or until he seemed
sufficiently restored to be given his liberty again, when he was brought
back to Springfield. His health was soon regained, and on the 4th of
November, 1842, the marriage between him and Miss Todd was celebrated
according to the rites of the Episcopal Church. After the marriage
Lincoln secured pleasant rooms for himself and wife at the Globe Tavern,
at a cost of four dollars a week. In 1844 he purchased of the Rev.
Nathan Dressar the plain dwelling which was his home for the ensuing
seventeen years, and which he left in 1861 to enter the White House.




CHAPTER VI


     Lincoln in National Politics--His Congressional
     Aspirations--Law-Partnership of Lincoln and Herndon--The
     Presidential Campaign of 1844--Visit to Henry Clay--Lincoln Elected
     to Congress--Congressional Reputation--Acquaintance with
     Distinguished Men--First Speech in Congress--"Getting the Hang" of
     the House--Lincoln's Course on the Mexican War--Notable Speech in
     Congress--Ridicule of General Cass--Bill for the Abolition of
     Slavery--Delegate to the Whig National Convention of 1848--Stumping
     the Country for Taylor--Advice to Young Politicians--"Old Abe"--A
     Political Disappointment--Lincoln's Appearance as an Office Seeker
     in Washington--"A Divinity that Shapes our Ends."

In the spring of 1843 Lincoln was among the nominees proposed to
represent the Sangamon district in Congress; but Col. Edward D. Baker
carried the delegation, and was elected. In writing to his friend Speed,
Lincoln treated the circumstance with his usual humor. "We had," he
says, "a meeting of the Whigs of the county here last Monday to appoint
delegates to a district convention. Baker beat me, and got the
delegation instructed to go for him. The meeting, in spite of my attempt
to decline it, appointed me one of the delegates; so that in getting
Baker the nomination I shall be 'fixed' a good deal like a fellow who is
made groomsman to the man who 'cut him out' and is marrying his own
girl."

On the 20th of September, 1843, the partnership between Lincoln and
Judge Logan was dissolved; and the same day a new association was formed
with William H. Herndon, a relative of one of Lincoln's former friends
of Clary Grove. It is said that in spite of their close friendship Mr.
Herndon could not understand it when Lincoln one day plunged up the
office stairs and said, "Herndon, should you like to be my partner?"
"Don't laugh at me, Mr. Lincoln," was the response. Persistent
repetition of the question could hardly gain a hearing; but at last Mr.
Herndon said: "Mr. Lincoln, you know I am too young, and I have no
standing and no money; but if you are in earnest, there is nothing in
this world that would make me so happy." Nothing more was said till the
papers were brought to Herndon to sign. The partnership of "Lincoln &
Herndon" was a happy one, and continued until Lincoln became President,
a period of nearly eighteen years.

The life of Henry Clay, which Lincoln read in his boyhood, had filled
him with enthusiasm for the great Whig leader; and when the latter was
nominated for the Presidency, in 1844, there was no more earnest
adherent of his cause than the "Sangamon Chief," as Lincoln was now
called. Lincoln canvassed Illinois and a part of Indiana during the
campaign, meeting the chief Democratic speakers, and especially Douglas,
in debate. Lincoln had not at this time heard the "silvery-tongued
orator" of Kentucky; but two years later the opportunity was afforded
and eagerly embraced. It is possible, as Dr. Holland remarks, that he
"needed the influence of this visit to restore a healthy tone to his
feelings, and to teach him that the person whom his imagination had
transformed into a demigod was only a man, possessing the full measure
of weaknesses common to men. In 1846 Lincoln learned that Clay was to
deliver a speech at Lexington, Kentucky, in favor of gradual
emancipation. This event seemed to give him an excuse for breaking away
from his business and satisfying his desire to look his demigod in the
face and hear the music of his eloquence. He accordingly went to
Lexington, and arrived there in time to attend the meeting. On returning
to his home from this visit he did not attempt to disguise his
disappointment. Clay's speech was written and read; it lacked entirely
the fire and eloquence which Lincoln had anticipated. At the close of
the meeting Lincoln secured an introduction to the great orator and as
Clay knew what a friend Lincoln had been to him, he invited his admirer
and partisan to Ashland. No invitation could have delighted Lincoln
more. But the result of his private intercourse with Clay was no more
satisfactory than that which followed the speech. Those who have known
both men will not wonder at this; for two men could hardly be more
unlike in their motives and manners than the two thus brought together.
One was a proud man; the other was a humble man. One was princely in his
bearing; the other was lowly. One was distant and dignified; the other
was as simple and approachable as a child. One received the deference of
men as his due; the other received it with an uncomfortable sense of his
unworthiness. A friend of Lincoln, who had a long conversation with him
after his return from Ashland, found that his old enthusiasm was gone.
Lincoln said that though Clay was polished in his manners, and very
hospitable, he betrayed a consciousness of superiority that none could
mistake."

For two years after the Presidential contest between Clay and Polk,
Lincoln devoted himself assiduously to his law practice. But in 1846 he
was again active in politics, this time striving for a seat in the
National Congress. His chief opponent among the Whig candidates was his
old friend John J. Hardin, who soon withdrew from the contest, leaving
Mr. Lincoln alone in the field. The candidate on the Democratic ticket
was Peter Cartwright, the famous Methodist preacher. It was supposed
from his great popularity as a pulpit orator that Mr. Cartwright would
run far ahead of his ticket. Instead of this, Lincoln received a
majority of 1,511 in his district, which in 1844 had given Clay a
majority of only 914 and in 1848 had allowed the Whig candidate for
Congress to be defeated by 106 votes.

Lincoln took his seat in the Thirtieth Congress in December, 1847, the
only Whig member from Illinois. Among the notable members of this
Congress were ex-president John Quincy Adams; Andrew Johnson, elected
Vice-President with Lincoln on his second election; A.H. Stephens,
afterwards Vice-President of the Confederacy; Toombs, Rhett, Cobb, and
others who afterwards became leaders of the Rebellion. In the Senate
were Daniel Webster, Simon Cameron, Lewis Cass, Mason, Hunter, John C.
Calhoun, and Jefferson Davis.

Lincoln entered Congress as the Illinois leader of the Whig party. He
was reputed to be an able and effective speaker. In speaking of the
impression he made upon his associates, the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop
says: "I recall vividly the impressions I then formed both of his
ability and amiability. We were old Whigs together, and agreed entirely
upon all questions of public interest. I could not always concur in the
policy of the party which made him President, but I never lost my
personal regard for him. For shrewdness, sagacity, and keen practical
sense, he has had no superior in our day or generation."

Alexander H. Stephens, writing seventeen years after Lincoln's death,
recalled their service together in Congress. "I knew Mr. Lincoln well
and intimately," said Mr. Stephens. "We both were ardent supporters of
General Taylor for President in 1848. Lincoln, Toombs, Preston, myself,
and others, formed the first Congressional Taylor Club, known as 'The
Young Indians,' and organized the Taylor movement which resulted in his
nomination. Mr. Lincoln was careless as to his manners and awkward in
his speech, but possessed a strong, clear, vigorous mind. He always
attracted and riveted the attention of the House when he spoke. His
manner of speech as well as of thought was original. He had no model. He
was a man of strong convictions, and what Carlyle would have called an
_earnest_ man. He abounded in anecdote. He illustrated everything he
was talking about by an anecdote, always exceedingly apt and pointed;
and socially he always kept his company in a roar of laughter."

Alluding to his first speech in Congress--on some post-office question
of no special interest--Lincoln wrote to his friend Herndon that his
principal object was to "get the hang of the House"; adding that he
"found speaking here and elsewhere about the same thing. I was about as
badly scared as when I spoke in court, but no more so."

Lincoln's mental power, as well as his self-confidence, developed
rapidly under the responsibilities of his new position. During his term
of service in the House he was zealous in the performance of his duties,
alert to seize every opportunity to strike a blow for his party and
acquit himself to the satisfaction of his constituents. In January,
1848, he made a telling speech in support of the "Spot Resolutions," in
which his antagonism to the course of the Administration in regard to
the war on Mexico was uncompromisingly announced. These resolutions were
offered for the purpose of getting from President Polk a statement of
facts regarding the beginning of the war. In this speech Lincoln warned
the President not to try to "escape scrutiny by fixing the public gaze
upon the exceeding brightness of military glory--that attractive rainbow
that rises in showers of blood, that serpent's eye that charms but to
destroy." In writing, a few days after the delivery of this speech, to
Mr. Herndon, Lincoln said: "I will stake my life that if you had been in
my place you would have voted just as I did. Would you have voted what
you felt and knew to be a lie? I know you would not. Would you have gone
out of the House--skulked the vote? I expect not. If you had skulked one
vote you would have had to skulk many more before the end of the
session. Richardson's resolutions, introduced before I made any move or
gave any vote upon the subject, make a direct question of the justice
of the war; so no man can be silent if he would. You are compelled to
speak; and your only alternative is to tell the _truth_ or tell a _lie_.
I cannot doubt which you would do."

Lincoln's position on the Mexican War has been generally approved by the
moral sense of the country; but it gave his political enemies an
opportunity, which they were not slow to improve, for trying to make
political capital out of it and using it to create a prejudice against
him. Douglas in particular never missed an opportunity of referring to
it. In the great joint debate in 1858 he spoke of Lincoln's having
"distinguished himself in Congress by his opposition to the Mexican War,
taking the side of the common enemy against his own country." No better
refutation of these oft-repeated charges could be made than that given
by Lincoln himself on this occasion. "The Judge charges me," he said,
"with having, while in Congress, opposed our soldiers who were fighting
in the Mexican War. I will tell you what he can prove by referring to
the record. You remember I was an old Whig; and whenever the Democratic
party tried to get me to vote that _the war had been righteously begun_
by the President, I would not do it. But whenever they asked for any
money or land-warrants, or anything to pay the soldiers, I gave _the
same vote that Judge Douglas did_. Such is the truth, and the Judge has
a right to make all he can out of it."

The most ambitious utterance of Lincoln during this term in Congress was
that of July 27, 1848, when he took for his subject the very
comprehensive one of "The Presidency and General Politics." It was a
piece of sound and forcible argumentation, relieved by strong and
effective imagery and quiet humor. A considerable portion of it was
occupied with an exposure of the weaknesses of General Cass, the
Presidential candidate opposed to General Taylor. Lincoln ridiculed Cass
with all the wit at his command. An extract from this speech has
already been quoted in this work, in the account of Lincoln in the Black
Hawk War. Another passage, equally telling, relates to the vacillating
action of General Cass on the Wilmot Proviso. After citing a number of
facts in reference to the case, Lincoln says: "These extracts show that
in 1846 General Cass was for the Proviso _at once_; that in March, 1847,
he was still for it, _but not just then_; and that in December, 1847, he
was _against it_ altogether. This is a true index to the whole man. When
the question was raised, in 1846, he was in a blustering hurry to take
ground for it. He sought to be in advance, and to avoid the
uninteresting position of a mere follower. But soon he began to see
glimpses of the great Democratic ox-gad waving in his face, and to hear
indistinctly a voice saying, 'Back! Back, sir! Back a little!' He shakes
his head and bats his eyes and blunders back to his position of March,
1847. But still the gad waves, and the voice grows more distinct and
sharper still, 'Back, sir! Back, I say! Further back!' And back he goes
to the position of December, 1847, at which the gad is still and the
voice soothingly says, 'So! Stand still at that!'"

Again, after extended comment on the extra charges of General Cass upon
the Treasury for military services, he continued in a still more
sarcastic vein: "But I have introduced General Cass's accounts here
chiefly to show the wonderful physical capacities of the man. They show
that he not only did the labor of several men _at the same time_, but
that he often did it _at several places_ many hundred miles apart _at
the same time_. And at eating, too, his capacities are shown to be quite
as wonderful. From October, 1821, to May, 1822, he ate ten rations a day
in Michigan, ten rations a day here in Washington, and near five
dollars' worth a day besides, partly on the road between the two places.
And then there is an important discovery in his example--the art of
being paid for what one eats, instead of having to pay for it.
Hereafter if any nice young man shall owe a bill which he cannot pay in
any other way he can just board it out. Mr. Speaker, we have all heard
of the animal standing in doubt between two stacks of hay and starving
to death. The like of that would never happen to General Cass. Place the
stacks a thousand miles apart, he would stand stock-still midway between
them and eat them _both at once;_ and the green grass along the line
would be apt to suffer some, too, at the same time. By all means make
him President, gentlemen. He will feed you bounteously--if--if--there is
any left after he shall have helped himself."

Lincoln's most important act in the Congress of 1848-9 was the
introduction of a bill for the gradual abolition of slavery in the
District of Columbia. But the state of feeling on the subject of
emancipation was so feverish at the time that the bill could not even be
got before the House.

The Whig National Convention met at Philadelphia the first of June, to
nominate a candidate for the Presidency. Lincoln attended the Convention
as a delegate from Illinois. During the campaign of 1848 he labored
earnestly for the election of General Taylor. This campaign made him
known more generally throughout the country, as he spoke in New York and
New England as well as in Illinois and the West.

While in Washington, Lincoln kept up a free correspondence with his
friend and law-partner Herndon, which affords many interesting glimpses
of his thoughts and views. In one of these letters, endeavoring to
incite Herndon to political ambition, he wrote: "Nothing could afford me
more satisfaction than to learn that you and others of my young friends
at home were doing battle in the contest, endearing themselves to the
people and taking a stand far above any I have ever been able to reach
in their admiration. I cannot conceive that other old men feel
differently. Of course, I cannot demonstrate what I say; but I was young
once, and I am sure I was never ungenerously thrust back. The way for a
young man to rise is to improve himself in every way he can, never
suspecting that anybody wishes to hinder him. Allow me to assure you
that suspicion and jealousy never did help any man in any situation.
There may sometimes be ungenerous attempts to keep a young man down; and
they will succeed, too, if he allows his mind to be diverted from its
true channel, to brood over the attempted injury. Cast about and see if
this feeling has not injured every person you have ever known to fall
into it. Now, in what I have said I am sure you will suspect nothing but
sincere friendship. I would save you from a fatal error. You have been a
laborious, studious young man. You are far better informed on almost all
subjects than I have ever been. You cannot fail in any laudable object
unless you allow your mind to be improperly directed. I have some the
advantage of you in the world's experience, merely by being older; and
it is this that induces me to offer you this advice."

It will be observed that, in this letter Lincoln speaks of himself as an
"old man." This had been a habit with him for years; and yet at this
date he was under thirty-nine. He was already beginning to be known as
"Old Abe." Hon. E.B. Washburne states that he remembers hearing him thus
called, in Chicago, in July, 1847. "One afternoon," says Mr. Washburne,
"several of us sat on the sidewalk under the balcony in front of the
Sherman House, and among the number was the accomplished scholar and
unrivalled orator, Lisle Smith, who suddenly interrupted the
conversation by exclaiming, 'There is Lincoln on the other side of the
street! _Just look at old Abe!_' And from that time we all called him
'Old Abe.' No one who saw him can forget his personal appearance at that
time. Tall, angular, and awkward, he had on a short-waisted, thin,
swallow-tail coat, a short vest of the same material, thin pantaloons
scarcely coming down to his ankles, a straw hat, and a pair of brogans,
with woollen socks."

During the summer following the expiration of Lincoln's term in Congress
(March 4, 1849) he made a strong effort to secure the position of
Commissioner of the General Land Office, but without success. The place
was given to Justin Butterfield of Chicago. It was a severe
disappointment to Lincoln. Major Wilcox, who at the period referred to
lived in McDonough County, Illinois, and in early days was a Whig
politician, visited Washington to aid Lincoln in seeking this
appointment, and has furnished a graphic account of the circumstances
and of Lincoln's appearance at the national capital in the novel
capacity of an office-seeker. Major Wilcox says that in June, 1849, he
went to Washington and had an interview with the newly-inaugurated
President, General Taylor, regarding Lincoln's appointment to the
desired office. The interview was but partially satisfactory, the
President remarking that he was favorable to Lincoln, but that Mr.
Butterfield was very strongly urged for the place and the chances of
appointment were in his favor. Lincoln had arranged to be in Washington
at a time specified, after Major Wilcox should have had opportunity to
look the ground over. Major Wilcox says that he went to the railroad
depot to meet Lincoln at the train. It was in the afternoon, towards
night. The day had been quite warm, and the road was dry and dusty. He
found Lincoln just emerging from the depot. He had on a thin suit of
summer clothes, his coat being a linen duster, much soiled. His whole
appearance was decidedly shabby. He carried in his hand an old-fashioned
carpet-sack, which added to the oddity of his appearance. Major Wilcox
says if it had been anybody else he would have been rather shy of being
seen in his company, because of the awkward and unseemly appearance he
presented. Lincoln immediately began to talk about his chances for the
appointment; whereupon Major Wilcox related to him everything that had
transpired, and what President Taylor had said to him. They proceeded at
once to Major Wilcox's room, where they sat down to look over the
situation. Lincoln took from his pocket a paper he had prepared in the
case, which comprised eleven reasons why he should be appointed
Commissioner of the General Land Office. Amongst other things Lincoln
presented the fact that he had been a member of Congress from Illinois
two years; that his location was in the West, where the government lands
were; that he was a native of the West, and had been reared under
Western influences. He gave reasons why the appointment should be given
to Illinois, and particularly to the southern part of the State. Major
Wilcox says that he was forcibly struck by the clear, convincing, and
methodical statement of Lincoln as contained in these eleven reasons why
he should have the appointment. But it was given to Mr. Butterfield.

After Lincoln became President, a Member of Congress asked him for an
appointment in the army in behalf of a son of the same Justin
Butterfield. When the application was presented, the President paused,
and after a moment's silence, said: "Mr. Justin Butterfield once
obtained an appointment I very much wanted, in which my friends believed
I could have been useful, and to which they thought I was fairly
entitled. I hardly ever felt so bad at any failure in my life. But I am
glad of an opportunity of doing a service to his son." And he made an
order for his commission. In lieu of the desired office, General Taylor
offered Lincoln the post of Governor, and afterwards of Secretary, of
Oregon Territory; but these offers he declined. In after years a friend
remarked to him, alluding to the event: "How fortunate that you
declined! If you had gone to Oregon you might have come back as
Senator, but you would never have been President." "Yes, you are
probably right," said Lincoln; and then, with a musing, dreamy look, he
added: "I have all my life been a fatalist. What is to be, will be; or,
rather, I have found all my life, as Hamlet says,--

    'There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
    Rough-hew them how we will.'"




CHAPTER VII


     Lincoln again in Springfield--Back to the Circuit--His Personal
     Manners and Appearance--Glimpses of Home-Life--His Family--His
     Absent-Mindedness--A Painful Subject--Lincoln a Man of
     Sorrows--Familiar Appearance on the Streets of Springfield--Scenes
     in the Law-Office--Forebodings of a "Great or Miserable End "--An
     Evening with Lincoln in Chicago--Lincoln's Tenderness to His
     Relatives--Death of His Father--A Sensible Adviser--Care of His
     Step-Mother--Tribute from Her.

Retiring, somewhat reluctantly, from Washington life, which he seems to
have liked very much, Lincoln returned to Springfield in 1849 and
resumed the practice of the law. He declined an advantageous offer of a
law-partnership at Chicago, made him by Judge Goodrich, giving as a
reason that if he went to Chicago he would have to sit down and study
hard, and this would kill him; that he would rather go around the
circuit in the country than to sit down and die in a big city. So he
settled down once more in the rather uneventful and fairly prosperous
life of a country lawyer.

A gentleman who knew Lincoln intimately in Springfield, in his maturity,
has given the following capital description of him. "He stands six feet
four inches high in his stockings. His frame is not muscular, but gaunt
and wiry; his arms are long, but not disproportionately so for a person
of his height; his lower limbs are not disproportioned to his body. In
walking, his gait, though firm, is never brisk. He steps slowly and
deliberately, almost always with his head inclined forward and his hands
clasped behind his back. In matters of dress he is by no means precise.
Always clean, he is never fashionable; he is careless, but not slovenly.
In manner he is remarkably cordial and at the same time simple. His
politeness is always sincere but never elaborate and oppressive. A warm
shake of the hand and a warmer smile of recognition are his methods of
greeting his friends. At rest, his features, though those of a man of
mark, are not such as belong to a handsome man; but when his fine dark
gray eyes are lighted up by any emotion, and his features begin their
play, he would be chosen from among a crowd as one who had in him not
only the kindly sentiments which women love but the heavier metal of
which full-grown men and Presidents are made. His hair is black, and,
though thin, is wiry. His head sits well on his shoulders, but beyond
that it defies description. It nearer resembles that of Clay than that
of Webster; but it is unlike either. It is very large, and
phrenologically well proportioned, betokening power in all its
developments. A slightly Roman nose, a wide-cut mouth, and a dark
complexion, with the appearance of having been weather-beaten, complete
the description."

Of Lincoln's life at this period, another writer says: "He lived simply,
comfortably, and respectably, with neither expensive tastes nor habits.
His wants were few and simple. He occupied a small unostentatious house
in Springfield, and was in the habit of entertaining, in a very simple
way, his friends and his brethren of the bar during the terms of the
court and the sessions of the Legislature. Mrs. Lincoln often
entertained small numbers of friends at dinner and somewhat larger
numbers at evening parties. In his modest and simple home everything was
orderly and refined, and there was always, on the part of both Mr. and
Mrs. Lincoln, a cordial and hearty Western welcome which put every guest
at ease. Yet it was the wit and humor, anecdote, and unrivalled
conversation of the host which formed the chief attraction and made a
dinner at Lincoln's cottage an event to be remembered. Lincoln's income
from his profession was now from $2,000 to $3,000 per annum. His
property consisted of his house and lot in Springfield, a lot in the
town of Lincoln which had been given to him, and 160 acres of wild land
in Iowa which he had received for his services in the Black Hawk War. He
owned a few law and miscellaneous books. All his property may have been
of the value of $10,000 or $12,000."

Lincoln was at this time the father of two sons: Robert Todd, born on
the 1st day of August, 1843; and Edward Baker, born on the 10th of
March, 1846. In a letter to his friend Speed, dated October 22 of the
latter year, Lincoln writes: "We have another boy, born the 10th of
March. He is very much such a child as Bob was at his age, rather of a
_longer_ order. Bob is 'short and low,' and I expect he always will be.
He talks very plainly, almost as plainly as anybody. He is quite smart
enough. I sometimes fear he is one of the little _rare-ripe_ sort that
are smarter at about five than ever after. He has a great deal of that
sort of mischief that is the offspring of much animal spirits. Since I
began this letter a messenger came to tell me Bob was lost; but by the
time I reached the house his mother had found him and had him whipped.
By now, very likely, he is run away again."

December 21, 1850, a third son, William Wallace, was born to him; and on
April 4, 1853, a fourth and last child, named Thomas.

"A young man bred in Springfield," says Dr. Holland, "speaks of a vision
of Lincoln, as he appeared in those days, that has clung to his memory
very vividly. The young man's way to school led by the lawyer's door. On
almost any fair summer morning he would find Lincoln on the sidewalk in
front of his house, drawing a child backward and forward in a little
gig. Without hat or coat, wearing a pair of rough shoes, his hands
behind him holding to the tongue of the gig, and his tall form bent
forward to accommodate himself to the service, he paced up and down the
walk forgetful of everything around him and intent only on some subject
that absorbed his mind. The young man says he remembers wondering in his
boyish way how so rough and plain a man should happen to live in so
respectable a house. The habit of mental absorption, or
'absent-mindedness' as it is called, was common with him always, but
particularly during the formative periods of his life. The New Salem
people, it will be remembered, thought him crazy because he passed his
best friends in the street without seeing them. At the table, in his own
family, he often sat down without knowing or realizing where he was, and
ate his food mechanically. When he 'came to himself' it was a trick with
him to break the silence by the quotation of some verse of poetry from a
favorite author. It relieved the awkwardness of the situation, served as
a 'blind' to the thoughts which had possessed him, and started
conversation in a channel that led as far as possible from the subject
that he had set aside."

Mr. Lamon has written with great freedom of the sorrow that brooded over
Lincoln's home. Some knowledge of the blight which this cast upon his
life is necessary for a right interpretation of the gloomy moods that
constantly oppressed him and left their indelible impress on his face
and character. Mr. Lamon states unreservedly that Lincoln's marriage was
an unhappy one. The circumstances preceding his union with Miss Todd
have been related. Mr. Lamon says: "He was conscientious and honorable
and just. There was but one way of repairing the injury he had done Miss
Todd, and he adopted it. They were married; but they understood each
other, and suffered the inevitable consequences. Such troubles seldom
fail to find a tongue; and it is not strange that in this case neighbors
and friends, and ultimately the whole country, came to know the state of
things in that house. Lincoln scarcely attempted to conceal it. He
talked of it with little or no reserve to his wife's relatives, as well
as to his own friends. Yet the gentleness and patience with which he
bore this affliction from day to day and from year to year was enough to
move the shade of Socrates. It touched his acquaintances deeply, and
they gave it the widest publicity." Mrs. Colonel Chapman, daughter of
Dennis Hanks and a relative of Lincoln, made him a long visit previous
to her marriage. "You ask me," says she, "how Mr. Lincoln acted at home.
I can say, and that truly, he was all that a husband, father, and
neighbor should be, kind and affectionate to his wife and child ('Bob'
being the only one they had when I was with them), and very pleasant to
all around him. Never did I hear him utter an unkind word."

It seems impossible to arrive at all the causes of Lincoln's melancholy
disposition. He was, according to his most intimate friends, totally
unlike other people,--was, in fact, "a mystery." But whatever the
history or the cause,--whether physical reasons, the absence of domestic
concord, a series of painful recollections of his mother, of early
sorrows and hardships, of Anne Rutledge and fruitless hopes, or all
these combined,--Lincoln was a terribly sad and gloomy man. "I do not
think that he knew what happiness was for twenty years," says Mr.
Herndon. "'_Terrible_' is the word which all his friends used to
describe him in the black mood. 'It was terrible! It was terrible!' said
one to another." Judge Davis believes that Lincoln's hilarity was mainly
simulated, and that "his stories and jokes were intended to whistle off
sadness." "The groundwork of his social nature was sad," says Judge
Scott. "But for the fact that he studiously cultivated the humorous, it
would have been very sad indeed. His mirth always seemed to me to be put
on; like a plant produced in a hot-bed, it had an unnatural and
luxuriant growth." Mr. Herndon, Lincoln's law-partner and most intimate
friend, describes him at this period as a "thin, tall, wiry, sinewy,
grizzly, raw-boned man, looking 'woe-struck.' His countenance was
haggard and careworn, exhibiting all the marks of deep and protracted
suffering. Every feature of the man--the hollow eyes, with the dark
rings beneath; the long, sallow, cadaverous face intersected by those
peculiar deep lines; his whole air; his walk; his long silent reveries,
broken at long intervals by sudden and startling exclamations, as if to
confound an observer who might suspect the nature of his
thoughts,--showed he was a man of sorrows, not sorrows of to-day or
yesterday, but long-treasured and deep, bearing with him a continual
sense of weariness and pain. He was a plain, homely, sad, weary-looking
man, to whom one's heart warmed involuntarily because he seemed at once
miserable and kind."

Mr. Page Eaton, an old resident of Springfield, says: "Lincoln always
did his own marketing, even after he was elected President and before
he went to Washington. I used to see him at the butcher's or baker's
every morning, with his basket on his arm. He was kind and sociable,
and would always speak to everyone. He was so kind, so childlike, that
I don't believe there was one in the city who didn't love him as a
father or brother." "On a winter's morning," says Mr. Lamon, "he could
be seen wending his way to the market, with a basket on his arm and at
his side a little boy whose small feet rattled and pattered over the
ice-bound pavement, attempting to make up by the number of his short
steps for the long strides of his father. The little fellow jerked at
the bony hand which held his, and prattled and questioned, begged and
grew petulant, in a vain effort to make his father talk to him. But
the latter was probably unconscious of the other's existence, and
stalked on, absorbed in his own reflections. He wore on such occasions
an old gray shawl, rolled into a coil and wrapped like a rope around
his neck. The rest of his clothes were in keeping. 'He did not walk
cunningly--Indian-like--but cautiously and firmly.' His tread was even
and strong. He was a little pigeon-toed; and this, with another
peculiarity, made his walk very singular. He set his whole foot flat
on the ground, and in turn lifted it all at once--not resting
momentarily upon the toe as the foot rose nor upon the heel as it
fell. He never wore his shoes out at the heel and the toe, as most men
do, more than at the middle. Yet his gait was not altogether awkward,
and there was manifest physical power in his step. As he moved along
thus, silent and abstracted, his thoughts dimly reflected in his sharp
face, men turned to look after him as an object of sympathy as well as
curiosity. His melancholy, in the words of Mr. Herndon, '_dripped from
him_ as he walked.' If, however, he met a friend in the street, and
was roused by a hearty 'Good-morning, Lincoln!' he would grasp the
friend's hand with one or both of his own, and with his usual
expression of 'Howdy! howdy!' would detain him to hear a story;
something reminded him of it; it happened in Indiana, and it must be
told, for it was wonderfully pertinent. It was not at home that he
most enjoyed seeing company. He preferred to meet his friends
abroad,--on a street-corner, in an office, at the court-house, or
sitting on nail-kegs in a country store." Mrs. Lincoln experienced
great difficulty in securing the punctual attendance of her husband at
the family meals. Dr. Bateman has repeatedly seen two of the boys
pulling with all their might at his coat-tails, and a third pushing in
front, while _paterfamilias_ stood upon the street cordially shaking
the hand of an old acquaintance.

After his breakfast-hour, says Mr. Lamon, he would appear at his office
and go about the labors of the day with all his might, displaying
prodigious industry and capacity for continuous application, although he
never was a fast worker. Sometimes it happened that he came without his
breakfast; and then he would have in his hands a piece of cheese or
bologna sausage, and a few crackers, bought by the way. At such times he
did not speak to his partner, or his friends if any happened to be
present; the tears perhaps struggling into his eyes, while his pride was
struggling to keep them back. Mr. Herndon knew the whole story at a
glance. There was no speech between them, but neither wished the
visitors at the office to witness the scene. So Lincoln retired to the
back office while Mr. Herndon locked the front one and walked away with
the key in his pocket. In an hour or more the latter would return and
perhaps find Lincoln calm and collected. Otherwise he went out again and
waited until he was so. Then the office was opened and everything went
on as usual.

"His mind was filled with gloomy forebodings and strong apprehensions of
impending evil, mingled with extravagant visions of personal grandeur
and power. He never doubted for a moment that he was formed for some
'great or miserable end.' He talked about it frequently and sometimes
calmly. Mr. Herndon remembers many of these conversations in their
office at Springfield and in their rides around the circuit. Lincoln
said the impression had grown in him all his life; but Mr. Herndon
thinks it was about 1840 that it took the character of a 'religious
conviction.' He had then suffered much, and considering his
opportunities he had achieved great things. He was already a leader
among men, and a most brilliant career had been promised him by the
prophetic enthusiasm of many friends. Thus encouraged and stimulated,
and feeling himself growing gradually stronger and stronger in the
estimation of 'the plain people' whose voice was more potent than all
the Warwicks, his ambition painted the rainbow of glory in the sky,
while his morbid melancholy supplied the clouds that were to overcast
and obliterate it with the wrath and ruin of the tempest. To him it was
fate, and there was no escape or defense. The presentiment never
deserted him. It was as clear, as perfect, as certain as any image
conveyed by the senses. He had now entertained it so long that it was as
much a part of his nature as the consciousness of identity. All doubts
had faded away, and he submitted humbly to a power which he could
neither comprehend nor resist. He was to fall,--fall from a lofty place
and in the performance of a great work."

On one occasion Lincoln visited Chicago as counsel in a case in the
U.S. District Court. The Hon. N.B. Judd, an intimate friend, was also
engaged upon the case, and took Mr. Lincoln home with him as a guest.
The following account of this visit is given by Mrs. Judd in Oldroyd's
Memorial Album: "Mr. Judd had invited Mr. Lincoln to spend the evening
at our pleasant home on the shore of Lake Michigan. After tea, and until
quite late, we sat on the broad piazza, looking out upon as lovely a
scene as that which has made the Bay of Naples so celebrated. A number
of vessels were availing themselves of a fine breeze to leave the
harbor, and the lake was studded with many a white sail. I remember that
a flock of sea-gulls were flying along the beach, dipping their beaks
and white-lined wings in the foam that capped the short waves as they
fell upon the shore. Whilst we sat there the great white moon appeared
on the rim of the eastern horizon and slowly crept above the water,
throwing a perfect flood of silver light upon the dancing waves. The
stars shone with the soft light of a midsummer night, and the breaking
of the low waves upon the shore added the charm of pleasant sound to the
beauty of the night. Mr. Lincoln, whose home was far inland from the
great lakes, seemed greatly impressed with the wondrous beauty of the
scene, and carried by its impressiveness away from all thought of jars
and turmoil of earth. In that mild, pleasant voice, attuned to harmony
with his surroundings, as was his wont when his soul was stirred by
aught that was lovely or beautiful, Mr. Lincoln began to speak of the
mystery which for ages enshrouded and shut out those distant worlds
above us from our own; of the poetry and beauty which was seen and felt
by seers of old when they contemplated Orion and Arcturus as they
wheeled, seemingly around the earth, in their nightly course; of the
discoveries since the invention of the telescope, which had thrown a
flood of light and knowledge on what before was incomprehensible and
mysterious; of the wonderful computations of scientists who had measured
the miles of seemingly endless space which separated the planets in our
solar system from our central sun, and our sun from other suns. He
speculated on the possibilities of knowledge which an increased power of
the lens would give in the years to come. When the night air became too
chilling to remain longer on the piazza we went into the parlor. Seated
on the sofa, his long limbs stretching across the carpet and his arms
folded behind him, Mr. Lincoln went on to speak of other discoveries, of
the inventions which had been made during the long cycles of time lying
between the present and those early days when the sons of Adam began to
make use of material things about them and invent instruments of various
kinds in brass and gold and silver. He gave us a short but succinct
account of all the inventions referred to in the Old Testament, from the
time when Adam walked in the garden of Eden until the Bible record
ended, 600 B.C. I said, 'Mr. Lincoln, I did not know you were such a
Bible student.' He replied: 'I must be honest, Mrs. Judd, and tell you
just how I come to know so much about these early inventions.' He then
went on to say that in discussing with some friend the relative age of
the discovery and use of the precious metals he went to the Bible to
satisfy himself and became so interested in his researches that he made
memoranda of the different discoveries and inventions. Soon after, he
was invited to lecture before some literary society, I think in
Bloomington. The interest he had felt in the study convinced him that
the subject would interest others, and he therefore prepared and
delivered his lecture on The Age of Different Inventions. 'Of course,'
he added, 'I could not after that forget the order or time of such
discoveries and inventions.'"

In all the years that had passed since Lincoln left his father's humble
house, he had preserved an affectionate interest in the welfare of its
various members. He paid them visits whenever he could find opportunity,
and never failed to extend his aid and sympathy whenever needed. He had
risen to success in his profession, was widely known throughout his
section, and though still a poor man he had good prospects and
considerable influence. Yet he ever retained a considerate regard and
remembrance for the poor and obscure relatives he had left plodding in
the humble ways of life. He never assumed the slightest superiority to
them. Whenever, upon his circuit, he found time, he always visited them.
Countless times he was known to leave his companions at the village
hotel after a hard day's work in the court-room and spend the evening
with these old friends and companions of his humbler days. On one
occasion, when urged not to go, he replied, "Why, Aunt's heart would be
broken if I should leave town without calling upon her,"--yet he was
obliged to walk several miles to make the call. As his fortunes improved
he often sent money and presents to his father and step-mother, bought
land for them, and tried in every way to make them comfortable and
happy. The father was gratified at these marks of affection, and felt
great pride in the rising prosperity of his son. Mr. Herndon says that
"for years Lincoln supported or helped to support his aged father and
mother. It is to his honor that he dearly loved his step-mother, and it
is equally true that she idolized her step-son. He purchased a piece of
property in Coles County as a home for his father and mother, and had
it deeded in trust for their use and benefit."

In 1851 Lincoln's father died, at the age of seventy-three. The
following letter, written a few days before this event, reveals the
affectionate solicitude of the son:

     Springfield, Jan. 12,1851.

     DEAR BROTHER:--On the day before yesterday I received a letter from
     Harriet, written at Greenup. She says she has just returned from
     your house, and that father is very low and will hardly recover.
     She also says that you have written me two letters, and that,
     although you do not expect me to come now, you wonder that I do not
     write. I received both your letters; and although I have not
     answered them, it is not because I have forgotten them, or not been
     interested about them, but because it appeared to me I could write
     nothing which could do any good. You already know I desire that
     neither father nor mother shall be in want of any comfort, either
     in health or sickness, while they live; and I feel sure you have
     not failed to use my name, if necessary, to procure a doctor or
     anything else for father in his present sickness. My business is
     such that I could hardly leave home now, if it were not, as it is,
     that my wife is sick a-bed. I sincerely hope father may yet recover
     his health; but, at all events, tell him to remember to call upon
     and confide in our great and good and merciful Maker, who will not
     turn away from him in any extremity. He notes the fall of a
     sparrow, and numbers the hairs of our heads; and He will not forget
     the dying man who puts his trust in Him. Say to him, that if we
     could meet now it is doubtful whether it would not be more painful
     than pleasant; but that if it be his lot to go now he will soon
     have a joyous meeting with loved ones gone before, and where the
     rest of us, through the help of God, hope ere long to join them.

     Write me again when you receive this.

     Affectionately,
     A. LINCOLN.

The step-brother, John Johnston, to whom the foregoing letter is
addressed, was the cause of considerable anxiety to Lincoln. It was with
him that their parents resided, and frequent were his appeals to
Lincoln to extricate him from some pecuniary strait into which he had
fallen through his confirmed thriftlessness and improvidence. "John
Johnston," Mr. Herndon says, "was an indolent and shiftless man, one who
was 'born tired.' Yet he was clever, generous and hospitable." The
following document affords a hint of Lincoln's kindly patience as well
as of his capacity for sound practical advice when it was much needed:

     DEAR JOHNSTON:--Your request for eighty dollars I do not think it
     best to comply with now. At the various times when I have helped
     you a little you have said to me, 'We can get along very well now';
     but in a very short time I find you in the same difficulty again.
     Now, this can only happen by some defect in your conduct. What that
     defect is, I think I know. You are not lazy, and still you are an
     idler. I doubt whether, since I saw you, you have done a good whole
     day's work in any one day. You do not very much dislike to work,
     and still you do not work much, merely because it does not seem to
     you that you could get much for it. This habit of uselessly wasting
     time is the whole difficulty; and it is vastly important to you,
     and still more so to your children, that you should break the
     habit. It is more important to them, because they have longer to
     live, and can keep out of an idle habit before they are in it
     easier than they can get out after they are in. You are now in need
     of some money; and what I propose is that you shall go to work,
     'tooth and nail,' for somebody who will give you money for it. Let
     father and your boys take charge of things at home, prepare for a
     crop, and make the crop, and you go to work for the best
     money-wages, or in discharge of any debt you owe, that you can get;
     and, to secure you a fair reward for your labor, I now promise you,
     that, for every dollar you will, between this and the first of next
     May, get for your own labor, either in money or as your own
     indebtedness, I will then give you one other dollar. By this, if
     you hire yourself at ten dollars a month, from me you will get ten
     more, making twenty dollars a month for your work. In this I do not
     mean you shall go off to St. Louis, or the lead-mines, or the
     gold-mines in California; but I mean for you to go at it, for the
     best wages you can get, close to home, in Coles County. Now, if you
     will do this you will soon be out of debt, and, what is better, you
     will have a habit that will keep you from getting in debt again.
     But if I should now clear you out of debt, next year you would be
     in just as deep as ever. You say you would almost give your place
     in heaven for $70 or $80. Then you value your place in heaven very
     cheap; for I am sure you can, with the offer I make, get the
     seventy or eighty dollars for four or five months' work. You say,
     if I will furnish you the money, you will deed me the land, and if
     you don't pay the money back, you will deliver possession.
     Nonsense! If you can't now live with the land, how will you then
     live without it? You have always been kind to me, and I do not mean
     to be unkind to you. On the contrary, if you will but follow my
     advice, you will find it worth more than eighty times eighty
     dollars to you.

     Affectionately your brother,
     A. LINCOLN.

In other letters he wrote even more sharply to his thriftless
step-brother.

     Shelbyville, Nov. 4, 1851

     DEAR BROTHER:--When I came into Charleston, day before yesterday, I
     learned that you are anxious to sell the land where you live, and
     move to Missouri. I have been thinking of this ever since, and
     cannot but think such a notion is utterly foolish. What can you do
     in Missouri better than here? Is the land any richer? Can you
     there, any more than here, raise corn and wheat and oats without
     work? Will any body there, any more than here, do your work for
     you? If you intend to go to work, there is no better place than
     right where you are; if you do not intend to go to work, you can
     not get along anywhere. Squirming and crawling about from place to
     place can do no good. You have raised no crop this year; and what
     you really want is to sell the land, get the money and spend it.
     Part with the land you have, and, my life upon it, you will never
     after own a spot big enough to bury you in. Half of what you will
     get for the land you will spend in moving to Missouri, and the
     other half you will eat and drink and wear out, and no foot of
     land will be bought. Now, I feel it is my duty to have no hand in
     such a piece of foolery. I feel that it is so even on your own
     account, and particularly on mother's account. The eastern forty
     acres I intend to keep for mother while she lives; if you will not
     cultivate it, it will rent for enough to support her; at least, it
     will rent for something. Her dower in the other two forties she can
     let you have, and no thanks to me. Now, do not misunderstand this
     letter. I do not write it in any unkindness. I write it in order,
     if possible, to get you to face the truth, which truth is, you are
     destitute because you have idled away all your time. Your thousand
     pretences for not getting along better are all nonsense. They
     deceive nobody but yourself. _Go to work_ is the only cure for your
     case.

     Sincerely yours,
     A. LINCOLN.

In still another letter he reveals his tender solicitude for his
step-mother, as well as his care for his step-brother's unfortunate
children.

     Shelbyville, Nov. 9, 1851

     DEAR BROTHER:--When I wrote you before, I had not received your
     letter. I still think as I did; but if the land can be sold so that
     I get $300 to put at interest for mother, I will not object, if she
     does not. But before I will make a deed, the money must be had, or
     secured beyond all doubt, at ten per cent. As to Abram, I do not
     want him on my own account; but I understand he wants to live with
     me, so that he can go to school, and get a fair start in the world,
     which I very much wish him to have. When I reach home, if I can
     make it convenient I will take him, provided there is no mistake
     between us as to the object and terms of my taking him.

     In haste, as ever,
     A. LINCOLN.

In speaking of Lincoln's regard for his step-mother, it is interesting
also to learn her opinion of him. A gentleman visiting the old lady
after her son's death says: "She is eighty-four years old, and quite
feeble. She is a plain, unsophisticated old lady, with a frank, open
countenance, a warm heart full of kindness toward others, and in many
respects very much like the President. Abraham was evidently her idol;
she speaks of him still as her 'good boy,' and with much feeling said,
'He was always a good boy, and willing to do just what I wanted. He and
his step-brother never quarrelled but once, and that, you know, is a
great deal for step-brothers. I didn't want him elected President. I
knowed they would kill him.'" She died in April, 1869, and was buried by
the side of her husband, Thomas Lincoln.




CHAPTER VIII


     Lincoln as a Lawyer--His Appearance in Court--Reminiscences of a
     Law-Student in Lincoln's Office--An "Office Copy" of Byron--Novel
     way of Keeping Partnership Accounts--Charges for Legal
     Services--Trial of Bill Armstrong--Lincoln before a Jury--Kindness
     toward Unfortunate Clients--Refusing to Defend Guilty
     Men--Courtroom Anecdotes--Anecdotes of Lincoln at the Bar--Some
     Striking Opinions of Lincoln as a Lawyer.

The ten years following the close of Lincoln's Congressional service, in
1849, were given to the uninterrupted practice of the law, to which he
devoted himself laboriously and successfully, though not with great
pecuniary gains. His legal fees were regarded by his brethren at the bar
as "ridiculously small." His practice had extended to the Supreme Court
of his State and to the United States District and Circuit Courts, and
he was occasionally retained for cases in other States. With greater
love of money and less sympathy for his fellows, he might have acquired
a fortune in his profession.

Lincoln never speculated. Apparently he had no great desire to acquire
wealth. He had many opportunities in the days of the State's early
growth to make good and safe investments, but he never took advantage of
them. Many of his fellow lawyers were becoming wealthy, but Lincoln
still rode the circuit wearing the familiar gray shawl about his
shoulders, carrying a carpet-bag filled with papers and a change of
underclothing, and a faded, green cotton umbrella with "A. Lincoln" in
large white muslin letters on the inside. The knob was gone from the
handle of the umbrella and a piece of twine kept it from falling open. A
young lawyer who saw him for the first time thus--one who grew to love
him and who afterwards gave his life for the Union--in relating the
circumstance a long time afterward, exclaimed: "He was the _ungodliest_
figure I ever saw."

An interesting and vivid description of Lincoln's personal appearance
and manner in the trial of a case is furnished by one who was a witness
of the scenes which he so admirably describes. The writer says: "While
living in Danville, Illinois, in 1854, I saw Abraham Lincoln for the
first time. The occasion of his visit was as prosecutor of a slander
suit brought by Dr. Fithian against a wealthy farmer whose wife died
under the doctor's hands. The defense was represented by Edward A.
Hannegan, of Indiana, ex-United States Senator and afterward Minister to
Berlin, an able and eloquent man; and O.B. Ficklin, who, after Douglas
and Lincoln, was considered the best lawyer in Illinois. Lincoln had all
he could do to maintain himself against his two formidable adversaries,
but he was equal to the occasion. The trial lasted three or four days,
the examination of witnesses consuming most of the time. In this part of
the work Lincoln displayed remarkable tact. He did not badger the
witnesses, or attempt to confuse them. His questions were plain and
practical, and elicited answers that had a direct bearing upon the case.
He did nothing for effect, and made no attempt to dazzle the jury or
captivate the audience. When he arose to speak he was confronted by an
audience that was too numerous for all to find seats in the court-room.
He was attired in a fine broadcloth suit, silk hat, and polished boots.
His neck was encircled by an old-fashioned silk choker. He perspired
freely, and used a red silk handkerchief to remove the perspiration. His
clothes fitted him, and he was as genteel-looking as any man in the
audience. The slouchy appearance which he is said to have presented on
other occasions was conspicuously absent here. As he stood before the
vast audience, towering above every person around him, he was the centre
of attraction. I can never forget how he looked, as he cast his eyes
over the crowd before beginning his argument. His face was long and
sallow; high cheek bones; large, deep-set eyes, of a grayish-brown
color, shaded by heavy eyebrows; high but not broad forehead; large,
well-formed head, covered with an abundance of coarse black hair, worn
rather long, through which he frequently passed his fingers; arms and
legs of unusual length; head inclined slightly forward, which made him
appear stoop-shouldered. His features betrayed neither excitement nor
anxiety. They were calm and fixed. In short, his appearance was that of
a man who felt the responsibility of his position and was determined to
acquit himself to the best of his ability. I do not remember the points
of his speech; but his manner was so peculiar, so different from that of
other orators whom I have heard, that I can never forget it. He spoke
for almost two hours, entirely without notes and with an eloquence that
I have never heard surpassed. He was all life, all motion; every muscle
and fibre of his body seemed brought into requisition. His voice was
clear, distinct, and well modulated. Every word was clean-cut and
exactly suited to its place. At times he would stoop over until his
hands almost swept the floor. Then he would straighten himself up, fold
his arms across his breast, and take a few steps forward or back. This
movement completed, he would fling his arms above his head, or thrust
them beneath his coat-tails, elevating or depressing his voice to suit
the attitude assumed and the sentiment expressed. Arms and legs were
continually in motion. It seemed impossible for him to stand still. In
the midst of the most impassioned or pathetic portions of his speech, he
would extend his long arms toward the judge or jury, and shake his bony
fingers with an effect that is indescribable. He held his audience to
the last; and when he sat down there was a murmur of applause which the
judge with difficulty prevented from swelling to a roar. The argument
must have been as able as the manner of the speaker was attractive, for
the verdict was in favor of his client.

"When he had retired to his hotel after the trial, and while conversing
with a number of gentlemen who had called to pay their respects to him,
Lincoln was informed that an old <DW52> woman, who had known him years
before in Kentucky, wished to see him. She was too feeble to come to
him, and desired him to go to her. Ascertaining where she lived, Lincoln
started at once, accompanied by a boy who acted as pilot. He found the
woman in a wretched hovel in the outskirts of the town, sick and
destitute. He remembered her very well, as she had belonged to the owner
of the farm upon which Lincoln was born. He gave her money to supply her
immediate wants, promised her that he would see she did not suffer for
the necessaries of life, and when he returned to town hunted up a
physician and engaged him to give the old woman all the medical
attention that her case demanded."

Mr. G.W. Harris, whose first meeting with Lincoln in a log school-house
has been previously described in these pages, subsequently became a
clerk in Lincoln's law-office at Springfield, and furnishes some
excellent reminiscences of that interesting period. "A crack-brained
attorney who lived in Springfield, supported mainly by the other lawyers
of the place, became indebted, in the sum of two dollars and fifty
cents, to a wealthy citizen of the county, a recent comer. The creditor,
failing after repeated efforts to collect the amount due him, came to
Mr. Lincoln and asked him to bring suit. Lincoln explained the man's
condition and circumstances, and advised his client to let the matter
rest; but the creditor's temper was up, and he insisted on having suit
brought. Again Lincoln urged him to let the matter drop, adding, 'You
can make nothing out of him, and it will cost you a good deal more than
the debt to bring suit.' The creditor was still determined to have his
way, and threatened to seek some other attorney who would be more
willing to take charge of the matter than Lincoln appeared to be.
Lincoln then said, 'Well, if you are determined that suit shall be
brought, I will bring it; but my charge will be ten dollars.' The money
was paid him, and peremptory orders were given that the suit be brought
that day. After the client's departure, Lincoln went out of the office,
returning in about an hour with an amused look on his face. I asked what
pleased him, and he replied, 'I brought suit against ----, and then
hunted him up, told him what I had done, handed him half of the ten
dollars, and we went over to the squire's office. He confessed judgment
and paid the bill.' Lincoln added that he didn't see any other way to
make things satisfactory for his client as well as the rest of the
parties.

"Mr. Lincoln had a heart that was more a woman's than a man's--filled to
overflowing with sympathy for those in trouble, and ever ready to
relieve them by any means in his power. He was ever thoughtful of
others' comforts, even to the forgetting of himself. In those early days
his face wore a sad look when at rest--a look that made you feel that
you would like to take from him a part of his burden. One who knew him
then and had known his career since would be inclined to think that he
already felt premonitions of the heavy burdens that his broad shoulders
were to bear, and the sorrows that his kind heart would have to endure.

"Mr. Lincoln was fond of playing chess and checkers, and usually acted
cautiously upon the defensive until the game had reached a stage where
aggressive movements were clearly justified. He was also somewhat fond
of ten-pins, and occasionally indulged in a game. Whatever may have been
his tastes in his younger days, at this period of his life he took no
interest in fishing-rod or gun. He was indifferent to dress, careless
almost to a fault of his personal appearance. The same indifference
extended to money. So long as his wants were supplied--and they were few
and simple--he seemed to have no further use for money, except in the
giving or the lending of it, with no expectation or desire for its
return, to those whom he thought needed it more than he. Debt he
abhorred, and under no circumstances would he incur it. He was
abstemious in every respect. I have heard him say that he did not know
the taste of liquor. At the table he preferred plain food, and a very
little satisfied him.

"Under no circumstances would he, as an attorney, take a case he knew to
be wrong. Every possible means was used to get at the truth before he
would undertake a case. More cases, by his advice, were settled without
trial than he carried into the courts; and that, too, without charge.
When on one occasion I suggested that he ought to make a charge in such
cases, he laughingly answered, 'They wouldn't want to pay me; they don't
think I have earned a fee unless I take the case into court and make a
speech or two.' When trivial cases were brought to him, such as would
most probably be carried no farther than a magistrate's office, and he
could not induce a settlement without trial, he would generally refer
them to some young attorney, for whom he would speak a good word at the
same time. He was ever kind and courteous to these young beginners when
he was the opposing counsel. He had a happy knack of setting them at
their ease and encouraging them. In consequence he was the favorite of
all who came in contact with him. When his heart was in a case he was a
powerful advocate. I have heard more than one attorney say that it was
little use to expect a favorable verdict in any case where Lincoln was
opposing counsel, as his simple statements of the facts had more weight
with the jury than those of the witnesses.

"As a student (if such a term could be applied to Mr. Lincoln) one who
did not know him might have called him indolent. He would pick up a book
and run rapidly over the pages, pausing here and there. At the end of an
hour--never, as I remember, more than two or three hours--he would close
the book, stretch himself out on the office lounge, and with hands under
his head and eyes shut he would digest the mental food he had just
taken.

"In the spring of 1846, war between the United States and Mexico broke
out. Mr. Lincoln was opposed to the war. He looked upon it as
unnecessary and unjust. Volunteers were called for. John J. Hardin, who
lost his life in that war, and Edward D. Baker, who was killed at Ball's
Bluff during our Civil War--both Whigs--were engaged in raising
regiments. Meetings were held and speeches made. At one of them, after
Baker and others had spoken, Lincoln, who was in the audience, was
called for, and the call was repeated until at last he ascended the
platform. He thanked the audience for the compliment paid him in the
wish they had expressed to hear him talk, and said he would gladly make
them a speech if he had anything to say. But he was not going into the
war; and as he was not going himself, he did not feel like telling
others to go. He would simply leave it to each individual to do as he
thought his duty called for. After a few more remarks, and a story 'with
a nib to it,' he bowed himself off the platform.

"About a year after this, Mr. Lincoln was seeking to be nominated as a
candidate for Congress. Finding the writing of letters (at his
dictation) to influential men in the different counties and even
precincts of the district somewhat burdensome, I suggested printing
circulars. He objected, on the ground that a printed letter would not
have the same effect that a written one would; the latter had the
appearance of personality, it was more flattering to the receiver, and
would more certainly gain his assistance, or at least his good-will. In
discussing the probabilities of his nomination, I remarked that there
was so much unfairness, if not downright trickery, used that it appeared
to me almost useless to seek a nomination without resort to similar
means. His reply was: 'I want to be nominated; I would like to go to
Congress; but if I cannot do so by fair means, I prefer to stay at
home.' He was nominated, and in the following fall was elected by a
majority over three times as large as the district had ever before
given.

"Mr. Lincoln, like many others in their callow days, scribbled verses;
and so far as I was capable of judging, their quality was above the
average. It was accidentally that I learned this. In arranging the books
and papers in the office, I found two or three quires of letter-paper
stitched together in book form, nearly filled with poetical effusions in
Mr. Lincoln's handwriting, and evidently original. I looked through them
somewhat hurriedly, and when Lincoln came in I showed him the
manuscript, asking him if it was his. His response was, 'Where did you
find it?' and rolling it up, he put it in his coat-tail pocket; and I
saw it no more. Afterwards, in speaking of the matter to Mr. Lincoln's
partner, he said, 'I believe he has at times scribbled some verses; but
he is, I think, somewhat unwilling to have it known.'"

Lincoln's love of poetry is further shown by the following incident,
related by a gentleman who visited the old law-office of Lincoln &
Herndon, at Springfield. He says: "I took up carelessly, as I stood
thinking, a handsome octavo volume lying on the office table. It opened
so persistently at one place, as I handled it, that I looked to see what
it was, and found that somebody had thoroughly thumbed the pages of 'Don
Juan.' I knew Mr. Herndon was not a man to dwell on it, and it darted
through my mind that perhaps it had been a favorite with Lincoln. 'Did
Mr. Lincoln ever read this book?' I said, hurriedly. 'That book!' said
Herndon, looking up from his writing and taking it out of my hand. 'Oh,
yes; he read it often. It is the office copy.'" Lincoln was so fond of
the book that he kept it ready to his hand.

Mr. John T. Stuart, Lincoln's first law-partner, says of him that his
accounts were correctly kept, but in a manner peculiar to himself. Soon
after their law-partnership was formed, Mr. Stuart was elected to
Congress, thereafter spending much of his time in Washington. Lincoln
conducted the business of the firm in his absence. When Mr. Stuart
reached home, at the close of the first session of Congress, Lincoln
proceeded to give him an account of the earnings of the office during
his absence. The charges for fees and entry of receipts of money were
not in an account book, but stowed away in a drawer in Lincoln's desk,
among the papers in each case. He proceeded to lay the papers before Mr.
Stuart, taking up each case by itself. The account would run in this
way:

  Fees charged in this case................$
  Amount collected.........................$
  Stuart's half............................$

The half that belonged to Mr. Stuart would invariably accompany the
papers in the case. Lincoln had the reputation of being very moderate in
his charges. He was never grasping, and seemed incapable of believing
that his services could be worth much to anyone.

One of the most famous cases in which Lincoln engaged was that of
William D. Armstrong, son of Jack and Hannah Armstrong of New Salem, the
child whom Lincoln had rocked in the cradle while Mrs. Armstrong
attended to other household duties. Jack Armstrong, it will be
remembered, was an early friend of Lincoln's, whom he had beaten in a
wrestling-match on his first arrival in New Salem. He and his wife had
from that time treated the youth with the utmost kindness, giving him a
home when he was out of work, and showing him every kindness it was in
their power to offer. Lincoln never forgot his debt of gratitude to
them; and when Hannah, now a widow, wrote to him of the peril her boy
was in, and besought him to help them in their extremity, he replied
promptly that he would do what he could. The circumstances were these:
"In the summer of 1857, at a camp-meeting in Mason County, one Metzgar
was most brutally murdered. The affray took place about half a mile from
the place of worship, near some wagons loaded with liquor and
provisions. Two men, James H. Norris and William D. Armstrong, were
indicted for the crime. Norris was tried in Mason County, convicted of
manslaughter, and sentenced to the penitentiary for a term of eight
years. The popular feeling being very high against Armstrong in Mason
County, he took a change of venue to Cass County, and was there tried
(at Beardstown) in the spring of 1858. Hitherto Armstrong had had the
services of two able counsellors; but now their efforts were
supplemented by those of a most determined and zealous volunteer. The
case was so clear against the accused that defense seemed almost
useless. The strongest evidence was that of a man who swore that at
eleven o'clock at night he saw Armstrong strike the deceased on the
head; that the moon was shining brightly, and was nearly full; and that
its position in the sky was just about that of the sun at ten o'clock in
the morning, and by it he saw Armstrong give the mortal blow." This was
fatal, unless the effect could be broken by contradiction or
impeachment. Lincoln quietly looked up an almanac, and found that at the
time this witness declared the moon to have been shining with full light
there was no moon at all. Lincoln made the closing argument. "At first,"
says Mr. Walker, one of the counsel associated with him, "he spoke very
slowly and carefully, reviewing the testimony and pointing out its
contradictions, discrepancies and impossibilities. When he had thus
prepared the way, he called for an almanac, and showed that at the hour
at which the principal witness swore he had seen, by the light of the
full moon, the mortal blow given, _there was no moon_. The last fifteen
minutes of his speech were as eloquent as I ever heard; and such were
the power and earnestness with which he spoke to that jury, that all sat
as if entranced, and, when he was through, found relief in a gush of
tears." Said one of the prosecutors: "He took the jury by storm. There
were tears in Mr. Lincoln's eyes while he spoke, but they were genuine.
His sympathies were fully enlisted in favor of the young man, and his
terrible sincerity could not help but arouse the same passion in the
jury. I have said a hundred times that it was Lincoln's speech that
saved that man from the gallows." "Armstrong was not cleared by any want
of testimony against him, but by the irresistible appeal of Mr. Lincoln
in his favor," says Mr. Shaw, one of the associates in the prosecution.
His mother, who sat near during Lincoln's appeal, says: "He told the
stories about our first acquaintance, and what I did for him and how I
did it. Lincoln said to me, 'Hannah, your son will be cleared before
sundown.' He and the other lawyers addressed the jury, and closed the
case. I went down to Thompson's pasture. Stator came to me and told me
that my son was cleared and a free man. I went up to the court-house;
the jury shook hands with me, so did the court, so did Lincoln. We were
all affected, and tears were in Lincoln's eyes. He then remarked to me,
'Hannah, what did I tell you? I pray to God that William may be a good
boy hereafter; that this lesson may prove in the end a good lesson to
him and to all.' After the trial was over, Lincoln came down to where I
was in Beardstown. I asked him what he charged me; told him I was poor.
He said, 'Why, Hannah, I shan't charge you a cent--never. Anything I can
do for you I will do willingly and without charges.' He wrote to me
about some land which some men were trying to get from me, and said,
'Hannah, they can't get your land. Let them try it in the Circuit Court,
and then you appeal it. Bring it to the Supreme Court, and Herndon and I
will attend to it for nothing.'"

Lincoln regarded himself not only as the legal adviser of unfortunate
people, but as their friend and protector; and he would never press them
for pay for his services. A client named Cogdal was unfortunate in
business, and gave Lincoln a note in payment of legal fees. Soon
afterwards he met with an accident by which he lost a hand. Meeting
Lincoln some time after, on the steps of the State House, the kind
lawyer asked him how he was getting along. "Badly enough," replied Mr.
Cogdal. "I am both broken up in business and crippled." Then he added,
"I have been thinking about that note of yours." Lincoln, who had
probably known all about Mr. Cogdal's troubles, and had prepared himself
for the meeting, took out his pocket-book, and saying, with a laugh,
"Well you needn't think any more about it," handed him the note. Mr.
Cogdal protesting, Lincoln said, "Even if you had the money, I would not
take it," and hurried away.

Mr. G.L. Austin thus describes an incident of Lincoln's career at the
bar: "Mr. Lincoln was once associated with Mr. Leonard Swett in
defending a man accused of murder. He listened to the testimony which
witness after witness gave against his client, until his honest heart
could stand it no longer; then, turning to his associate, he said:
'Swett, the man is guilty; you defend him; I can't.' Swett did defend
him, and the man was acquitted. When proffered his share of the large
fee, Lincoln most emphatically declined it, on the ground that 'all of
it belonged to Mr. Swett, whose ardor and eloquence saved a guilty man
from justice.'"

At a term of court in Logan County, a man named Hoblit had brought suit
against a man named Farmer. The suit had been appealed from a justice of
the peace, and Lincoln knew nothing of it until he was retained by
Hoblit to try the case in the Circuit Court. G.A. Gridley, then of
Bloomington, appeared for the defendant. Judge Treat, afterwards on the
United States bench, was the presiding judge at the trial. Lincoln's
client went upon the witness stand and testified to the account he had
against the defendant, gave the amount due after allowing all credits
and set-offs, and swore positively that it had not been paid. The
attorney for the defendant simply produced a receipt in full, signed by
Hoblit prior to the beginning of the case. Hoblit had to admit the
signing of the receipt, but told Lincoln he "supposed the cuss had lost
it." Lincoln at once arose and left the court-room. The Judge told the
parties to proceed with the case; and Lincoln not appearing, Judge Treat
directed a bailiff to go to the hotel and call him. The bailiff ran
across the street to the hotel, and found Lincoln sitting in the office
with his feet on the stove, apparently in a deep study, when he
interrupted him with: "Mr. Lincoln, the Judge wants you." "Oh, does he?"
replied Lincoln. "Well, you go back and tell the Judge I cannot come.
Tell him I have to _wash my hands_." The bailiff returned with the
message, and Lincoln's client suffered a non-suit. It was Lincoln's way
of saying he wanted nothing more to do with such a case.

Lincoln would never advise clients into unwise or unjust lawsuits. He
would always sacrifice his own interests, and refuse a retainer, rather
than be a party to a case which did not command the approval of his
sense of justice. He was once waited upon by a lady who held a
real-estate claim which she desired to have him prosecute, putting into
his hands, with the necessary papers, a check for two hundred and fifty
dollars as a retaining fee. Lincoln said he would look the case over,
and asked her to call again the next day. Upon presenting herself, he
told her that he had gone through the papers very carefully, and was
obliged to tell her frankly that there was "not a peg" to hang her claim
upon, and he could not conscientiously advise her to bring an action.
The lady was satisfied, and, thanking him, rose to go. "Wait," said
Lincoln, fumbling in his vest pocket; "here is the check you left with
me." "But, Mr. Lincoln," returned the lady, "I think you have earned
that." "No, no," he responded, handing it back to her; "that would not
be right. I can't take pay for doing my duty." To a would-be client who
had carefully stated his case, to which Lincoln had listened with the
closest attention, he said: "Yes, there is no reasonable doubt that I
can gain your case for you. I can set a whole neighborhood at
loggerheads; I can distress a widowed mother and her six fatherless
children, and thereby get for you six hundred dollars, which rightfully
belongs, it appears to me, as much to the woman and her children as it
does to you. You must remember that some things that are _legally_ right
are not _morally_ right. I shall not take your case, but will give you a
little advice, for which I will charge you nothing. You seem to be a
sprightly, energetic man. I would advise you to try your hand at _making
six hundred dollars some other way_."

Senator McDonald states that he saw a jury trial in Illinois, at which
Lincoln defended an old man charged with assault and battery. No blood
had been spilled, but there was malice in the prosecution, and the chief
witness was eager to make the most of it. On cross-examination, Lincoln
"gave him rope" and drew him out; asked him how long the fight lasted
and how much ground it covered. The witness thought the fight must have
lasted half an hour and covered an acre of ground. Lincoln called his
attention to the fact that nobody was hurt, and then with an inimitable
air asked him if he didn't think it was "a mighty small crop for an acre
of ground." The jury rejected the prosecution's claim.

Many of the stories told of Lincoln at the bar are extremely
ridiculous, and represent him in anything but a dignified light. But
they are a part of the character of the man, and should be given
wherever there is reason to suppose they are genuine. Besides, they are
usually full of a humor that is irresistible. Such an incident is given
by the Hon. Lawrence Weldon, Lincoln's old friend and legal associate in
Illinois. "I can see him now," says Judge Weldon, "through the decaying
memories of thirty years, standing in the corner of the old court-room,
and as I approached him with a paper I did not understand, he said:
'Wait until I fix this plug for my _gallus_, and I will pitch into that
like a dog at a root.' While speaking, he was busily engaged in trying
to connect his suspender with his trousers by making a 'plug' perform
the function of a button. Lincoln liked old-fashioned words, and never
failed to use them if they could be sustained as proper. He was probably
accustomed to say 'gallows,' and he never adopted the modern word
'suspender.'"

On a certain occasion Lincoln appeared at the trial of a case in which
his friend Judge Logan was his opponent. It was a suit between two
farmers who had had a disagreement over a horse-trade. On the day of the
trial, Mr. Logan, having bought a new shirt, open in the back, with a
huge standing collar, dressed himself in extreme haste, and put on the
shirt with the _bosom at the back_, a linen coat concealing the blunder.
He dazed the jury with his knowledge of "horse points"; and as the day
was sultry, took off his coat and "summed" up in his shirt-sleeves.
Lincoln, sitting behind him, took in the situation, and when his turn
came he remarked to the jury: "Gentlemen, Mr. Logan has been trying for
over an hour to make you believe he knows more about a horse than these
honest old farmers who are witnesses. He has quoted largely from his
'horse doctor,' and now, gentlemen, I submit to you," (here he lifted
Logan out of his chair, and turned him with his back to the jury and
the crowd, at the same time flapping up the enormous standing collar)
"what dependence can you place in his horse knowledge, when he _has not
sense enough to put on his shirt_?" Roars of laughter greeted this
exposition, and the verdict was given to Lincoln.

The preceding incident leads to another, in which Lincoln himself
figures as a horse-trader. The scene is a very humorous one; and, as
usual in an encounter of wit, Lincoln came out ahead. He and a certain
Judge once got to bantering each other about trading horses; and it was
agreed that the next morning at nine o'clock they should make a trade,
the horses to be unseen up to that hour,--and no backing out, under a
forfeit of twenty-five dollars. At the hour appointed the Judge came up,
leading the sorriest looking specimen of a nag ever seen in those parts.
In a few minutes Lincoln was seen approaching with a _wooden saw-horse_
upon his shoulders. Great were the shouts and the laughter of the crowd;
and these increased, when Lincoln, surveying the Judge's animal, set
down his saw-horse, and exclaimed: "Well, Judge, this is the first time
I ever _got the worst of it_ in a horse-trade!"

There has been much discussion as to Lincoln's rank and ability as a
lawyer. Opinion among his contemporaries seems to have been somewhat
divided. Mr. Herndon felt warranted in saying that he was at the same
time a very great and a very insignificant lawyer. His mind was logical
and direct. Generalities and platitudes had no charm for him. He had the
ability to seize the strong points of a case and present them with
clearness and compactness. His power of comparison was great. He rarely
failed in a legal discussion to use this mode of reasoning. Yet he knew
practically nothing of the rules of evidence, of pleading, of practice,
as laid down in the text-books, and seemed to care little about them.
Sometimes he lost cases of the plainest justice which the most
inexperienced lawyer could have won. He looked upon two things as
essential to his success in a case. One was time; he was slow in
reasoning and slow in speech. The other was confidence that the cause he
represented was just. "If either of these were lacking," said Mr.
Herndon, "Lincoln was the weakest man at the bar. When it fell to him to
address the jury he often relied absolutely on the inspiration of the
moment,--but he seldom failed to carry his point."

Among the great number of opinions of Lincoln's rank as a lawyer,
expressed by his professional brethren, a few may properly be given in
closing this chapter, which is devoted chiefly to Mr. Lincoln's
professional career. First we may quote the brief but emphatic words of
the distinguished jurist, Judge Sidney Breese, Chief Justice of
Illinois, who said: "For my single self, I have for a quarter of a
century regarded Mr. Lincoln as the finest lawyer I ever knew, and of a
professional bearing so high-toned and honorable, as justly, and without
derogating from the claims of others, entitling him to be presented to
the profession as a model well worthy of the closest imitation."

Another distinguished Chief Justice, Hon. John Dean Caton; says: "In
1840 or 1841, I met Mr. Lincoln, and was for the first time associated
with him in a professional way. We attended the Circuit Court at
Pontiac, Judge Treat presiding, where we were both engaged in the
defense of a man by the name of Lavinia. That was the first and only
time I was associated with him at the bar. He practiced in a circuit
that was beyond the one in which I practiced, and consequently we were
not brought together much in the practice of the law. He stood well at
the bar from the beginning. I was a younger man, but an older lawyer. He
was not admitted to the bar till after I was. I was not closely
connected with him. Indeed, I did not meet him often, professionally,
until I went on the bench in 1842; and he was then in full practice
before the Supreme Court, and continued to practice there regularly at
every term until he was elected President. Mr. Lincoln understood the
relations of things, and hence his deductions were rarely wrong from any
given state of facts. So he applied the principles of law to the
transactions of men with great clearness and precision. He was a close
reasoner. He reasoned by analogy, and enforced his views by apt
illustration. His mode of speaking was generally of a plain and
unimpassioned character, and yet he was the author of some of the most
beautiful and eloquent passages in our language, which, if collected,
would form a valuable contribution to American literature. The most
punctilious honor ever marked his professional and private life."

The Hon. Thomas Drummond, for many years Judge of the United States
District Court at Chicago, said: "It is not necessary to claim for Mr.
Lincoln attributes or qualities which he did not possess. He had enough
to entitle him to the love and respect and esteem of all who knew him.
He was not skilled in the learning of the schools, and his knowledge of
the law was acquired almost entirely by his own unaided study and by the
practice of his profession. Nature gave him great clearness and
acuteness of intellect and a vast fund of common-sense; and as a
consequence of these he had much sagacity in judging of the motives and
springs of human conduct. With a voice by no means pleasing, and,
indeed, when excited, in its shrill tones sometimes almost disagreeable;
without any of the personal graces of the orator; without much in the
outward man indicating superiority of intellect; without great quickness
of perception,--still, his mind was so vigorous, his comprehension so
exact and clear, and his judgments so sure, that he easily mastered the
intricacies of his profession, and became one of the ablest reasoners
and most impressive speakers at our bar. With a probity of character
known to all, with an intuitive insight into the human heart, with a
clearness of statement which was itself an argument, with an uncommon
power and facility of illustration, often, it is true, of a plain and
homely kind, and with that sincerity and earnestness of manner to carry
conviction, he was perhaps one of the most successful jury lawyers we
have ever had in the State. He always tried a case fairly and honestly.
He never intentionally misrepresented the testimony of a witness or the
arguments of an opponent. He met both squarely, and, if he could not
explain the one or answer the other, substantially admitted it. He never
misstated the law according to his own intelligent view of it. Such was
the transparent candor and integrity of his nature that he could not
well or strongly argue a side or a cause that he thought wrong. Of
course, he felt it his duty to say what could be said, and to leave the
decision to others; but there could be seen in such cases the inward
struggle in his own mind. In trying a cause he might occasionally dwell
too long or give too much importance to an inconsiderable point; but
this was the exception, and generally he went straight to the citadel of
a cause or a question, and struck home there, knowing if that were won
the outwork would necessarily fall. He could hardly be called very
learned in his profession, and yet he rarely tried a cause without fully
understanding the law applicable to it. I have no hesitation in saying
he was one of the ablest lawyers I have ever known. If he was forcible
before the jury he was equally so with the court. He detected with
unerring sagacity the marked points of his opponents' arguments, and
pressed his own views with overwhelming force. His efforts were quite
unequal, and it may have been that he would not on some occasions strike
one as at all remarkable; but let him be thoroughly aroused, let him
feel that he was right and that some great principle was involved in his
case, and he would come out with an earnestness of conviction, a power
of argument, and a wealth of illustration, that I have never seen
surpassed.... Simple in his habits, without pretensions of any kind, and
distrustful of himself, he was willing to yield precedence and place to
others, when he ought to have claimed them for himself. He rarely, if
ever, sought office except at the urgent solicitations of his friends.
In substantiation of this, I may be permitted to relate an incident
which now occurs to me. Prior to his nomination for the Presidency, and,
indeed, when his name was first mentioned in connection with that high
office, I broached the subject upon the occasion of meeting him here.
His response was, 'I hope they will select some abler man than myself.'"

Mr. C.S. Parks, a lawyer associated with Lincoln for some years,
furnishes the following testimony concerning his more prominent
qualities: "I have often said that for a man who was for a quarter of a
century both a lawyer and a politician he was the most _honest_ man I
ever knew. He was not only morally honest, but intellectually so. He
could not reason falsely; if he attempted it, he failed. In politics he
would never try to mislead. At the bar, when he thought he was wrong, he
was the weakest lawyer I ever saw."

Hon. David Davis, afterwards Associate Justice U.S. Supreme Court and
U.S. Senator, presided over the Eighth Judicial Circuit of Illinois
during the remaining years of Lincoln's practice at the bar. He was
united to Lincoln in close bonds of friendship, and year after year
travelled with him over the circuit, put up with him at the same hotels,
and often occupied the same room with him. "This simple life," says
Judge Davis, "Mr. Lincoln loved, preferring it to the practice of the
law in the city. In all the elements that constitute the great lawyer,
he had few equals. He seized the strong points of a cause, and presented
them with clearness and great compactness. He read law-books but
little, except when the cause in hand made it necessary; yet he was
unusually self-reliant, depending on his own resources, and rarely
consulting his brother lawyers either on the management of his case or
the legal questions involved. He was the fairest and most accommodating
of practitioners, granting all favors which he could do consistently
with his duty to his client, and rarely availing himself of an unwary
oversight of his adversary. He hated wrong and oppression everywhere,
and many a man, whose fraudulent conduct was undergoing review in a
court of justice, has withered under his terrific indignation and
rebuke."

Mr. Speed says: "As a lawyer, after his first year he was acknowledged
to be among the best in the State. His analytical powers were
marvellous. He always resolved every question into its primary elements,
and gave up every point on his own side that did not seem to be
invulnerable. One would think, to hear him present his case in the
court, he was giving his case away. He would concede point after point
to his adversary. But he always reserved a point upon which he claimed a
decision in his favor, and his concessions magnified the strength of his
claim. He rarely failed in gaining his cases in court."

The special characteristics of Lincoln's practice at the bar are thus
ably summed up: "He did not make a specialty of criminal cases, but was
engaged frequently in them. He could not be called a great lawyer,
measured by the extent of his acquirement of legal knowledge; he was not
an encyclopaedia of cases; but in the clear perception of legal
principles, with natural capacity to apply them, he had great ability.
He was not a case lawyer, but a lawyer who dealt in the deep philosophy
of the law. He always knew the cases which might be quoted as absolute
authority, but beyond that he contented himself in the application and
discussion of general principles. In the trial of a case he moved
cautiously. He never examined or cross-examined a witness to the
detriment of his side. If the witness told the truth, he was safe from
his attacks; but woe betide the unlucky and dishonest individual who
suppressed the truth or  it against Mr. Lincoln's side. His
speeches to the jury were very effective specimens of forensic oratory.
He talked the vocabulary of the people, and the jury understood every
point he made and every thought he uttered. I never saw him when I
thought he was trying to make an effort for the sake of mere display;
but his imagination was simple and pure in the richest gems of true
eloquence. He constructed short sentences of small words, and never
wearied the minds of the jury by mazes of elaboration."




CHAPTER IX


     Lincoln and Slavery--The Issue Becoming More Sharply
     Defined--Resistance to the Spread of Slavery--Views Expressed by
     Lincoln in 1850--His Mind Made Up--Lincoln as a Party Leader--The
     Kansas Struggle--Crossing Swords with Douglas--A Notable Speech by
     Lincoln--Advice to Kansas Belligerents--Honor in Politics--Anecdote
     of Lincoln and Yates--Contest for the U.S. Senate in
     1855--Lincoln's Defeat--Sketched by Members of the Legislature.

At the death of Henry Clay, in June, 1852, Lincoln was invited to
deliver a eulogy on Clay's life and character before the citizens of
Springfield. He complied with the request on the 16th of July. The same
season he made a speech before the Scott Club of Springfield, in reply
to the addresses with which Douglas had opened his extended campaign of
that summer, at Richmond, Virginia. Except on these two occasions,
Lincoln took but little part in politics until the passage of the
Nebraska Bill by Congress in 1854. The enactment of this measure
impelled him to take a firmer stand upon the question of slavery than he
had yet assumed. He had been opposed to the institution on grounds of
sentiment since his boyhood; now he determined to fight it from
principle. Mr. Herndon states that Lincoln really became an anti-slavery
man in 1831, during his visit to New Orleans, where he was deeply
affected by the horrors of the traffic in human beings. On one occasion
he saw a slave, a beautiful mulatto girl, sold at auction. She was felt
over, pinched, and trotted around to show bidders she was sound. Lincoln
walked away from the scene with a feeling of deep abhorrence. He said to
John Hanks, "_If I ever get a chance to hit that institution, John, I'll
hit it hard_!" Again, in the summer of 1841, he was painfully impressed
by a scene witnessed during his journey home from Kentucky, described in
a letter written at the time to the sister of his friend Speed, in which
he says: "A fine example was presented on board the boat for
contemplating the effect of conditions upon human happiness. A man had
purchased twelve <DW64>s in different parts of Kentucky, and was taking
them to a farm in the South. They were chained six and six together; a
small iron clevis was around the left wrist of each, and this was
fastened to the main chain by a shorter one, at a convenient distance
from the others, so that the <DW64>s were strung together like so many
fish upon a trot-line. In this condition they were being separated
forever from the scenes of their childhood, their friends, their fathers
and mothers, brothers and sisters, and many of them from their wives and
children, and going into perpetual slavery."

Judge Gillespie records a conversation which he had with Lincoln in 1850
on the slavery question, remarking by way of introduction that the
subject of slavery was the only one on which he (Lincoln) was apt to
become excited. "I recollect meeting him once at Shelbyville," says
Judge Gillespie, "when he remarked that something must be done or
slavery would overrun the whole country. He said there were about six
hundred thousand non-slaveholding whites in Kentucky to about
thirty-three thousand slaveholders; that in the convention then recently
held it was expected that the delegates would represent these classes
about in proportion to their respective numbers; but when the convention
assembled, there was not a single representative of the non-slaveholding
class; everyone was in the interest of the slaveholders; 'and,' said he,
'the thing is spreading like wildfire over the country. In a few years
we will be ready to accept the institution in Illinois, and the whole
country will adopt it.' I asked him to what he attributed the change
that was going on in public opinion. He said he had recently put that
question to a Kentuckian, who answered by saying, 'You might have any
amount of land, money in your pocket, or bank-stock, and while
travelling around nobody would be any wiser; but if you had a darkey
trudging at your heels, everybody would see him and know that you owned
a slave. It is the most ostentatious way of displaying property in the
world; if a young man goes courting, the only inquiry is as to how many
<DW64>s he owns.' The love for slave property was swallowing up every
other mercenary possession. Its ownership not only betokened the
possession of wealth, but indicated the gentleman of leisure who scorned
labor. These things Mr. Lincoln regarded as highly pernicious to the
thoughtless and giddy young men who were too much inclined to look upon
work as vulgar and ungentlemanly. He was much excited, and said with
great earnestness that this spirit ought to be met, and if possible
checked; that slavery was a great and crying injustice, an enormous
national crime, and we could not expect to escape punishment for it. I
asked him how he would proceed in his efforts to check the spread of
slavery. He confessed he did not see his way clearly; but I think he
made up his mind that from that time he would oppose slavery actively. I
know that Lincoln always contended that no man had any right, other than
what mere brute force gave him, to hold a slave. He used to say it was
singular that the courts would hold that a man never lost his right to
property that had been stolen from him, but that he instantly _lost his
right to himself_ if he was stolen. Lincoln always contended that the
cheapest way of getting rid of slavery was for the nation to buy the
slaves and set them free."

While in Congress, Lincoln had declared himself plainly as opposed to
slavery; and in public speeches not less than private conversations he
had not hesitated to express his convictions on the subject. In 1850 he
said to Major Stuart: "The time will soon come when we must all be
Democrats or Abolitionists. When that time comes, _my mind is made up_.
The slavery question cannot be compromised." The hour had now struck in
which Lincoln was to espouse with his whole heart and soul that cause
for which finally he was to lay down his life. In the language of Mr.
Arnold, "He had bided his time. He had waited until the harvest was
ripe. With unerring sagacity he realized that the triumph of freedom was
at hand. He entered upon the conflict with the deepest conviction that
the perpetuity of the Republic required the extinction of slavery. So,
adopting as his motto, 'A house divided against itself cannot stand,' he
girded himself for the contest. The years from 1854 to 1860 were on his
part years of constant, active, and unwearied effort. His position in
the State of Illinois was central and commanding. He was now to become
the recognized leader of the anti-slavery party in the Northwest, and in
all the Valley of the Mississippi. Lincoln was a practical statesman,
never attempting the impossible, but seeking to do the best thing
practicable under existing circumstances. He knew that prohibition in
the territories would result in no more slave states and no slave
territory. And now, when the repeal of the Missouri Compromise shattered
all parties into fragments, he came forward to build up the Free Soil
party and threw into the conflict all his strength and vigor. The
conviction of his duty was deep and sincere. Hence he pleaded the cause
of liberty with an energy, ability, and power which rapidly gained for
him a national reputation. Conscious of the greatness of his cause,
inspired by a genuine love of liberty, animated and made strong by the
moral sublimity of the conflict, he solemnly announced his determination
to speak for freedom and against slavery until--in his own
words--wherever the Federal Government has power, 'the sun shall shine,
the rain shall fall, and the wind shall blow upon no man who goes forth
to unrequited toil.'"

The absorbing political topic in 1855 was the contest in Kansas, which
proved the battle-ground for the struggle over the introduction of
slavery into the territories north of the line established by the
"Missouri Compromise." Lincoln's views on the subject are defined in a
notable letter to his friend Joshua Speed, a resident of Kentucky. The
following passages show, in Lincoln's own words, where he stood on the
slavery question at this memorable epoch:

     SPRINGFIELD, AUGUST 24, 1855.

     Dear Speed:--You know what a poor correspondent I am. Ever since I
     received your very agreeable letter of the twenty-second of May, I
     have been intending to write you in answer to it. You suggest that
     in political action now, you and I would differ. You know I dislike
     slavery, and you fully admit the abstract wrong of it. So far,
     there is no cause of difference. But you say that sooner than yield
     your legal right to the slave, especially at the bidding of those
     who are not themselves interested, you would see the Union
     dissolved. I am not aware that any one is bidding you yield that
     right--very certainly I am not. I leave the matter entirely to
     yourself. I also acknowledge your rights and my obligations under
     the Constitution, in regard to your slaves. I confess I hate to see
     the poor creatures hunted down, and caught, and carried back to
     their stripes and unrequited toil; but I bite my lip and keep
     quiet. In 1841 you and I had together a tedious low-water trip on a
     steamboat from Louisville to St. Louis. You may remember, as I well
     do, that from Louisville to the mouth of the Ohio, there were on
     board ten or a dozen slaves, shackled together with irons. That
     sight was a continual torment to me; and I see something like it
     every time I touch the Ohio, or any other slave border. It is not
     fair for you to assume that I have no interest in a thing which
     has, and continually exercises, the power of making me miserable.
     You ought rather to appreciate how much the great body of the
     people of the North do crucify their feelings in order to maintain
     their loyalty to the Constitution and the Union.

     I do oppose the extension of slavery, because my judgment and
     feelings so prompt me; and I am under no obligations to the
     contrary. If for this you and I must differ, differ we must. You
     say, if you were President you would send an army and hang the
     leaders of the Missouri outrages upon the Kansas elections; still,
     if Kansas fairly votes herself a slave State, she must be admitted,
     or the Union must be dissolved. But how if she votes herself a
     slave State unfairly--that is, by the very means for which you
     would hang men? Must she still be admitted, or the Union dissolved?
     That will be the phase of the question when it first becomes a
     practical one. In your assumption that there may be a fair decision
     of the slavery question in Kansas, I plainly see you and I would
     differ about the Nebraska law. I look upon that enactment not as a
     law but a violence from the beginning. It was conceived in
     violence, passed in violence, is maintained in violence, and is
     being executed in violence. I say it was conceived in violence,
     because the destruction of the Missouri Compromise under the
     Constitution was nothing less than violence. It was passed in
     violence, because it could not have passed at all but for the votes
     of many members in violent disregard of the known will of their
     constituents. It is maintained in violence, because the elections
     since clearly demand its repeal; and the demand is openly
     disregarded. That Kansas will form a slave constitution, and with
     it will ask to be admitted into the Union, I take to be already a
     settled question, and so settled by the very means you so pointedly
     condemn. By every principle of law ever held by any court, North or
     South, every <DW64> taken to Kansas is free; yet in utter disregard
     of this--in the spirit of violence merely--that beautiful
     Legislature gravely passes a law to hang any man who shall venture
     to inform a <DW64> of his legal rights. This is the substance and
     real object of the law. If, like Haman, they should hang upon the
     gallows of their own building, I shall not be among the mourners
     for their fate. In my humble sphere I shall advocate the
     restoration of the Missouri Compromise so long as Kansas remains a
     Territory; and, when, by all these foul means, it seeks to come
     into the Union as a slave State, I shall oppose it.... You inquire
     where I now stand. That is a disputed point. I think I am a Whig;
     but others say there are no Whigs, and that I am an Abolitionist.
     When I was in Washington I voted for the Wilmot Proviso as good as
     forty times, and I never heard of any attempt to unwhig me for
     that. I now do no more than oppose the extension of slavery. I am
     not a Know-Nothing--that is certain. How could I be? How can anyone
     who abhors the oppression of the <DW64>s be in favor of degrading
     classes of white people? Our progress in degeneracy appears to me
     to be pretty rapid. As a nation we began by declaring that 'all men
     are created equal.' We now practically read it 'all men are created
     equal, except <DW64>s.' When the Know-Nothings get control, it will
     read, 'all men are created equals, except <DW64>s and foreigners
     and Catholics.' When it comes to that, I should prefer emigrating
     to some other country where they make no pretense of loving
     liberty--to Russia for instance, where despotism can be taken pure,
     and without the base alloy of hypocrisy.

     Your friend forever,
     A. LINCOLN.

Lincoln was soon accorded an opportunity to cross swords again with his
former political antagonist, Douglas, who had lately come from his place
in the Senate Chamber at Washington, where he had carried the obnoxious
Nebraska Bill against the utmost efforts of Chase, Seward, Sumner, and
others, to defeat it. As Mr. Arnold narrates the incident,--"When, late
in September, 1854, Douglas returned to Illinois he was received with a
storm of indignation which would have crushed a man of less power and
will. A bold and courageous leader, conscious of his personal power over
his party, he bravely met the storm and sought to allay it. In October,
1854, the State Fair being then in session at Springfield, with a great
crowd of people in attendance from all parts of the State, Douglas went
there and made an elaborate and able speech in defense of the repeal of
the Missouri Compromise. Lincoln was called upon by the opponents of
this repeal to reply, and he did so with a power which he never
surpassed and had never before equalled. All other issues which had
divided the people were as chaff, and were scattered to the winds by the
intense agitation which arose on the question of extending slavery, not
merely into free territory, but into territory which had been declared
free by solemn compact. Lincoln's speech occupied more than three hours
in delivery, and during all that time he held the vast crowd in the
deepest attention."

Mr. Herndon said of this event: "This anti-Nebraska speech of Mr.
Lincoln was the profoundest that he made in his whole life. He felt
burning upon his soul the truths which he uttered, and all present
felt that he was true to his own soul. His feelings once or twice came
near stifling utterance. He quivered with emotion. He attacked the
Nebraska Bill with such warmth and energy that all felt that a man of
strength was its enemy, and that he intended to blast it, if he could,
by strong and manly efforts. He was most successful, and the house
approved his triumph by loud and continued huzzas, while women waved
their white handkerchiefs in token of heartfelt assent. Douglas felt
the sting, and he frequently interrupted Mr. Lincoln; his friends felt
that he was crushed by the powerful argument of his opponent. The
Nebraska Bill was shivered, and, like a tree of the forest, was torn
and rent asunder by hot bolts of truth. At the conclusion of this
speech, every man, woman, and child felt that it was unanswerable." In
speaking of the same occasion, Mr. Lamon says: "Many fine speeches
were made upon the one absorbing topic; but it is no shame to any one
of these orators that their really impressive speeches were but
slightly appreciated or long remembered beside Mr. Lincoln's splendid
and enduring performance,--enduring in the memory of his auditors,
although preserved upon no written or printed page."

A few days after this encounter, Douglas spoke in Peoria, and was
followed by Lincoln with the same crushing arguments that had served him
at the State Fair, and with the same triumphant effect. His Peoria
speech was written out by him and published after its delivery. A few
specimens will show its style and argumentative power.

     Argue as you will, and as long as you will, this is the naked front
     and aspect of the measure; and in this aspect it could not but
     produce agitation. Slavery is founded in the selfishness of man's
     nature; opposition to it, in his love of justice. These principles
     are an eternal antagonism; and when brought into collision so
     fiercely as slavery extension brings them, shocks, throes, and
     convulsions must ceaselessly follow. Repeal the Missouri
     Compromise; repeal all compromises; repeal the Declaration of
     Independence; repeal all past history,--you still cannot repeal
     human nature. It still will be the abundance of man's heart, that
     slavery extension is wrong; and out of the abundance of his heart,
     his mouth will continue to speak.... When Mr. Pettit, in connection
     with his support of the Nebraska Bill, called the Declaration of
     Independence 'a self-evident lie,' he only did what consistency and
     candor require all other Nebraska men to do. Of the forty-odd
     Nebraska Senators who sat present and heard him, no one rebuked
     him.... If this had been said among Marion's men, Southerners
     though they were, what would have become of the man who said it? If
     this had been said to the men who captured Andre, the man who said
     it would probably have been hung sooner than Andre was. If it had
     been said in old Independence Hall seventy-eight years ago, the
     very doorkeeper would have throttled the man, and thrust him into
     the street.... Thus we see the plain, unmistakable spirit of that
     early age towards slavery was hostility to the principle, and
     toleration only by necessity. But now it is to be transformed into
     a 'sacred right.' Nebraska brings it forth, places it on the high
     road to extension and perpetuity, and with a pat on its back says
     to it: 'Go, and God speed you.' Henceforth it is to be the chief
     jewel of the nation, the very figurehead of the ship of state.
     Little by little, but steadily as man's march to the grave, we have
     been giving the old for the new faith. Nearly eighty years ago we
     began by declaring that all men are created equal; but now from
     that beginning we have run down to that other declaration, 'that
     for _some_ men to enslave others is a sacred right of
     self-government.' ... In our greedy chase to make profit of the
     <DW64>, let us beware lest we cancel and tear to pieces even the
     white man's charter of freedom.... If all earthly power were given
     me, I should not know what to do as to the existing institution. My
     first impulse would be to free all the slaves, and send them to
     Liberia--to their own native land. But, if they were all landed
     there in a day, they would all perish in the next ten days; and
     there are not surplus shipping and surplus money enough to carry
     them there in many times ten days. What then? Free them all, and
     keep them among us as underlings? Is it quite certain that this
     betters their condition? I think I would not hold one in slavery at
     any rate; yet the point is not clear enough for me to denounce
     people upon. What next? Free them, and make them politically and
     socially our equals? My own feelings will not admit of this; and,
     if mine would, we well know that those of the great mass of white
     people will not. A universal feeling, whether well or ill founded,
     cannot be safely disregarded. We cannot then make them equals. It
     does seem to me that systems of gradual emancipation might be
     adopted; but, for their tardiness in this, I will not undertake to
     judge our brethren of the South.

     Our Republican robe is soiled--trailed in the dust. Let us repurify
     it. Let us turn and wash it white, in the spirit, if not the blood,
     of the Revolution. Let us turn slavery from its claims of 'moral
     right,' back upon its existing legal rights and its arguments of
     'necessity.' Let us return it to the position our fathers gave it,
     and there let it rest in peace. Let us re-adopt the Declaration of
     Independence, and with it the practices and policy which harmonize
     with it. Let North and South--let all Americans--let all lovers of
     liberty everywhere--join in the great and good work. If we do
     this, we shall not only have saved the Union, but we shall have so
     saved it as to make and to keep it forever worthy of the saving. We
     shall have so saved it that the succeeding millions of free and
     happy people, the world over, shall rise up and call us blessed to
     the latest generations.

It was in one of these speeches that Lincoln's power of repartee was
admirably illustrated by a most laughable retort made by him to Douglas.
Mr. Ralph E. Hoyt, who was present, says: "In the course of his speech,
Mr. Douglas had said, 'The Whigs are all dead.' For some time before
speaking, Lincoln sat on the platform with only his homely face visible
to the audience above the high desk before him. On being introduced, he
arose from his chair and proceeded to straighten himself up. For a few
seconds I wondered when and where his head would cease its ascent; but
at last it did stop, and 'Honest Old Abe' stood before us. He commenced,
'Fellow-citizens: My friend, Mr. Douglas, made the startling
announcement to-day that the Whigs are all dead. If this be so,
fellow-citizens, you will now experience the novelty of hearing a speech
from a dead man; and I suppose you might properly say, in the language
of the old hymn:

    "Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound!"'

This set the audience fairly wild with delight, and at once brought them
into full confidence with the speaker."

Hating slavery though he did, Lincoln was steadily opposed to all forms
of unlawful or violent opposition to it. At about the time of which we
are speaking a party of Abolitionists in Illinois had become so excited
over the Kansas struggle that they were determined to go to the aid of
the Free-State men in that territory. As soon as Lincoln learned of this
project, he opposed it strongly. When they spoke to him of "Liberty,
Justice, and God's higher law," he replied in this temperate and
judicious strain:

Friends, you are in the minority--in a sad minority; and you can't hope
to succeed, reasoning from all human experience. You would rebel against
the Government, and redden your hands in the blood of your countrymen.
If you have the majority, as some of you say you have, you can succeed
with the ballot, throwing away the bullet. You can peaceably, then,
redeem the Government and preserve the liberties of mankind, through
your votes and voice and moral influence. _Let there be peace_. In a
democracy, where the majority rule by the ballot through the forms of
law, these physical rebellions and bloody resistances are radically
wrong, unconstitutional, and are treason. Better bear the ills you have
than fly to those you know not of. Our own Declaration of Independence
says that governments long established should not be resisted for
trivial causes. Revolutionize through the ballot-box, and restore the
Government once more to the affection and hearts of men, by making it
express, as it was intended to do, the highest spirit of justice and
liberty. Your attempt, if there be such, to resist the laws of Kansas by
force, will be criminal and wicked; and all your feeble attempts will be
follies, and end in bringing sorrow on your heads, and ruin the cause
you would freely die to preserve.

No doubt was felt of Lincoln's sympathies; indeed, he is known to have
contributed money to the Free-State cause. But it is noticeable that in
this exciting episode he showed the same coolness, wisdom, moderation,
love of law and order that so strongly characterized his conduct in the
stormier period of the Civil War, and without which it is doubtful if he
would have been able to save the nation.

Some interesting recollections of the events of this stirring period,
and of Lincoln's part in them, are given by Mr. Paul Selby, for a long
time editor of the "State Journal" at Springfield, and one of
Lincoln's old-time friends and political associates. "While Abraham
Lincoln had the reputation of being inspired by an almost unbounded
ambition," says Mr. Selby, "it was of that generous quality which
characterized his other attributes, and often led him voluntarily to
restrain its gratification in deference to the conflicting aspirations
of his friends. All remember his magnanimity towards Col. Edward D.
Baker, when the latter was elected to Congress from the Springfield
District in 1844, and the frankness with which he informed Baker of
his own desire to be a candidate in 1846--when for the only time in
his life, he was elected to that body. In 1852, Richard Yates of
Jacksonville, then recognized as one of the rising young orators and
statesmen of the West, was elected to Congress for the second time
from the Springfield District. It was during the term following this
election that the Kansas-Nebraska issue was precipitated upon the
country by Senator Douglas, in the introduction of his bill for the
repeal of the Missouri Compromise. Yates, in obedience to his
impulses, which were always on the side of freedom, took strong ground
against the measure--notwithstanding the fact that a majority of his
constituents, though originally Whigs, were strongly conservative, as
was generally the case with people who were largely of Kentucky and
Tennessee origin. In 1854 the Whig party, which had been divided on
the Kansas-Nebraska question, began to manifest symptoms of
disintegration; while the Republican party, though not yet known by
that name, began to take form. At this time I was publishing a paper
at Jacksonville, Yates's home; and although from the date of my
connection with it, in 1852, it had not been a political paper, the
introduction of a new issue soon led me to take decided ground on the
side of free territory. Lincoln at once sprang into prominence as one
of the boldest, most vigorous and eloquent opponents of Mr. Douglas's
measure, which was construed as a scheme to secure the admission of
slavery into all the new territories of the United States. At that
time Lincoln's election to a seat in Congress would probably have been
very grateful to his ambition, as well as acceptable in a pecuniary
point of view; and his prominence and ability had already attracted
the eyes of the whole State toward him in a special degree. Having
occasion to visit Springfield one day while the subject of the
selection of a candidate was under consideration among the opponents
of the Kansas-Nebraska Bill, I encountered Mr. Lincoln on the street.
As we walked along, the subject of the choice of a candidate for
Congress to succeed Yates came up, when I stated that many of the
old-line Whigs and anti-Nebraska men in the western part of the
district were looking to him as an available leader. While he seemed
gratified by the compliment, he said: 'No; Yates has been a true and
faithful Representative, and should be returned.' Yates was
renominated; and although he ran ahead of his ticket, yet so far had
the disorganization of the Whig party then progressed, and so strong a
foothold had the pro-slavery sentiment obtained in the district, that
he was defeated by Major Thomas L. Harris, of Petersburg, whom he had
defeated when he first entered the field as a candidate four years
before. While it is scarcely probable that Lincoln, if he had been a
candidate, could have changed the result, yet the prize was one which
he would then have considered worth contending for; and if the
nomination could have been tendered him without doing injustice to his
friend, he would undoubtedly have accepted it gladly and thrown all
the earnestness and ability which he possessed into the contest. This
instance only illustrates a feature of his character which has so
often been recognized and commented upon--his generosity toward those
among his political friends who might be regarded as occupying the
position of rivals."

In 1854, during Lincoln's absence from Springfield, he was nominated as
a candidate for the State Legislature. It was in one of Lincoln's
periods of profound depression, and it was with the greatest difficulty
that he could be persuaded to accept the nomination. "I went to see
him," says one of his close political friends, Mr. William Jayne, "in
order to get his consent to run. This was at his house. He was then the
saddest man I ever saw--the gloomiest. He walked up and down the floor,
almost crying; and to all my persuasions to let his name stand in the
paper, he said, 'No, I can't. You don't know all. I say you don't begin
to know one-half; and that's enough.'" His name, however, was allowed to
stand, and he was elected by about 600 majority. But Lincoln was then
extremely desirous of succeeding General James Shields, whose term in
the United States Senate was to expire the following March. The Senate
Chamber had long been the goal of his ambition. He summed up his
feelings in a letter to Hon. N.B. Judd, some years after, saying, "I
would rather have a full term in the United States Senate than the
Presidency." He therefore resigned his seat in the Legislature--the fact
that a majority in both houses was opposed to the Nebraska Bill allowing
him to do so without injury to his party--and became a candidate for the
Senate. But the act was futile. When the Legislature met, in February,
1855, to make choice of a Senator, a clique of anti-Nebraska Democrats
held out so firmly against the nomination of Lincoln that there was
danger of the Whigs leaving their candidate altogether. In this dilemma
Lincoln was consulted. Mr. Lamon thus describes the incident: "Lincoln
said, unhesitatingly, 'You ought to drop me and go for Trumbull; that is
the only way you can defeat Matteson.' Judge Logan came up about that
time, and insisted on running Lincoln still; but the latter said, 'If
you do, you will lose both Trumbull and myself; and I think the cause in
this case is to be preferred to men.' We adopted his suggestion, and
took up Trumbull and elected him, although it grieved us to the heart to
give up Lincoln." Mr. Parks, a member of the Legislature at this time,
and one of Lincoln's intimate friends, said: "Mr. Lincoln was very much
disappointed, for I think it was the height of his ambition to get into
the United States Senate. Yet he manifested no bitterness toward Mr.
Judd or the other anti-Nebraska Democrats by whom politically he was
beaten, but evidently thought their motives were right. He told me
several times afterwards that the election of Trumbull was the best
thing that could have happened."

Hon. Elijah M. Haines, ex-Speaker of the Illinois Legislature, a
resident of the State for over half a century, and one of Lincoln's
early friends, was a member of the Legislature during the Senatorial
struggle just referred to. His familiarity with all its incidents lends
value to his distinct and vivid recollections. "Abraham Lincoln had been
elected a member of the House on the Fusion ticket, with Judge Stephen
T. Logan, for the district composed of Sangamon County," writes Mr.
Haines. "But it being settled that the Fusion party--which was an
anti-Douglas combination, including Whigs, Free-Soilers, Know-Nothings,
etc.--would have a majority of the two houses on ballot, Mr. Lincoln was
induced to become a candidate for United States Senator, for the support
of that party. He therefore did not qualify as a member. Although Mr.
Lincoln never acquired the reputation of being an office-seeker, yet it
happened frequently that his name would be mentioned in connection with
some important position. He became quite early in life one of the
prominent leaders of the Whig party of the State, and for a long time,
in connection with a few devoted associates, led the forlorn hope of
that party. During a period of about twenty years there was seldom more
than one Whig member in the Illinois delegation of Congressmen. The
Sangamon district, in which Mr. Lincoln lived, was always sure to elect
a Whig member when the party was united; but it contained quite a number
of aspiring Whig orators, and there was a kind of understanding between
them that no one who attained the position of Representative in Congress
should hold it longer than one term; that he would then give way for the
next favorite. Mr. Lincoln had held the position once, and its return to
him was far in the future. The Fusion triumph in the Legislature was
considered by the Whig element as a success, in which they acknowledged
great obligation to Mr. Lincoln. That element in the Fusion party
therefore urged his claims as the successor of General Shields. His old
associate and tried friend in the Whig cause, Judge Logan, became the
champion of his interests in the House of Representatives. I was present
and saw something of Mr. Lincoln during the early part of the session,
before the vote for Senator was taken. He was around among the members
much of the time. His manner was agreeable and unassuming; he was not
forward in pressing his case upon the attention of members, yet before
the interview would come to a close some allusion to the Senatorship
would generally occur, when he would respond in some such way as this:
'Gentlemen, that is rather a delicate subject for me to talk upon; but I
must confess that I would be glad of your support for the office, if you
shall conclude that I am the proper person for it.' When he had
finished, he would generally take occasion to withdraw before any
discussion on the subject arose. When the election of Senator occurred,
in February, Lincoln received 45 votes--the highest number of any of
the candidates, and within six votes of enough to secure his election.
This was on the first ballot, after which Lincoln's votes declined.
After the ninth ballot, Mr. Lincoln stepped forward--or, as Mr. Richmond
expresses it, _leaned_ forward from his position in the lobby--and
requested the committee to withdraw his name. On the tenth ballot Judge
Trumbull received fifty-one votes and was declared elected." Thus were
Lincoln's political ambitions again frustrated. But their realization
was only delayed for the far grander triumph that was so soon to come,
although no man then foresaw its coming.




CHAPTER X


     Birth of the Republican Party--Lincoln One of Its Fathers--Takes
     His Stand with the Abolitionists--The Bloomington
     Convention--Lincoln's Great Anti-Slavery Speech--A Ratification
     Meeting of Three--The First National Republican
     Convention--Lincoln's Name Presented for the
     Vice-Presidency--Nomination of Fremont and Dayton--Lincoln in the
     Campaign of 1856--His Appearance and Influence on the
     Stump--Regarded as a Dangerous Man--His Views on the Politics of
     the Future--First Visit to Cincinnati--Meeting with Edwin M.
     Stanton--Stanton's First Impressions of Lincoln--Regards Him as a
     "Giraffe"--A Visit to Cincinnati.

The year 1856 saw the dissolution of the old Whig party. It had become
too narrow and restricted to answer the needs of the hour. A new
platform was demanded, one that would admit the great principles and
issues growing out of the slavery agitation. A convention of the Whig
leaders throughout the country met at Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on the
22d of February of that year, to consider the necessity of a new
organization. A little later, Mr. Herndon, in the office of Lincoln,
prepared a call for a convention at Bloomington, Illinois, "summoning
together all those who wished to see the government conducted on the
principles of Washington and Jefferson." This call was signed by the
most prominent Abolitionists of Illinois, with the name of A. LINCOLN at
the head. The morning after its publication, Major Stuart entered Mr.
Herndon's office in a state of extreme excitement, and, as the latter
relates, demanded: "'Sir, did Mr. Lincoln sign that Abolition call which
is published this morning?' I answered, 'Mr. Lincoln did not sign that
call.' 'Did Lincoln authorize you to sign it?' 'No, he never authorized
me to sign it.' 'Then do you know that you have ruined Mr. Lincoln?' 'I
did not know that I had ruined Mr. Lincoln; did not intend to do so;
thought he was a made man by it; that the time had come when
conservatism was a crime and a blunder.' 'You, then, take the
responsibility of your acts, do you?' 'I do, most emphatically.'
However, I instantly sat down and wrote to Mr. Lincoln, who was then in
Pekin or Tremont--possibly at court. He received my letter, and
instantly replied, either by letter or telegraph--most likely by
letter--that he adopted _in toto_ what I had done, and promised to meet
the radicals--Lovejoy and such like men--among us." Mr. Herndon adds:
"Never did a man change as Lincoln did from that hour. No sooner had he
planted himself right on the slavery question than his whole soul seemed
burning. _He blossomed right out._ Then, too, other spiritual things
grew more real to him."

Mr. Herndon had been an Abolitionist from birth. It was an inheritance
with him; but Lincoln's conversion was a gradual process, stimulated and
confirmed by the influence of his companion. "From 1854 to 1860," says
Mr. Herndon, "I kept putting into Lincoln's hands the speeches and
sermons of Theodore Parker, Wendell Phillips, and Henry Ward Beecher. I
took 'The Anti-Slavery Standard' for years before 1856, 'The Chicago
Tribune,' and 'The New York Tribune'; kept them in my office, kept them
purposely on my table, and would read to Lincoln the good, sharp, solid
things, well put. Lincoln was a natural anti-slavery man, as I think,
and yet he needed watching,--needed hope, faith, energy; and I think I
_warmed him_."

It is stated that "when Herndon was very young--probably before Mr.
Lincoln made his first protest in the Legislature of the State in behalf
of liberty--Lincoln once said to him: 'I cannot see what makes your
convictions so decided as regards the future of slavery. What tells you
the thing must be rooted out?' 'I feel it in my bones,' was Herndon's
emphatic answer. 'This continent is not broad enough to endure the
contest between freedom and slavery!' It was almost in these very words
that Lincoln afterwards opened the great contest with Douglas. From this
time forward he submitted all public questions to what he called 'the
test of Bill Herndon's _bone philosophy_'; and their arguments were
close and protracted."

Lincoln's attitude on slavery aroused formidable opposition among his
friends, and even in his own family. Mrs. Lincoln was decidedly
pro-slavery in her views. Once while riding with a friend she said: "If
my husband dies, his spirit will never find me residing outside the
limits of a slave State." But opposition, whether from without or
within, could never swerve him from a course to which conscience and
reason clearly impelled him. Long before Mr. Herndon published the call
for the Bloomington convention, he had said to a deputation of men from
Chicago, in answer to the inquiry whether Lincoln could be trusted for
freedom: "Can you trust yourselves? If you can, you can trust Lincoln
forever."

The convention met at Bloomington, May 29, 1856. One of its chief
incidents was a speech by Lincoln. This speech was one of the great
efforts of his life, and had a powerful influence on the convention.
"Never," says one of the delegates, "was an audience more completely
electrified by human eloquence. Again and again his hearers sprang to
their feet, and by long continued cheers expressed how deeply the
speaker had aroused them." "It was there," says Mr. Herndon in one of
his lectures, "that Lincoln was baptized and joined our church. He made
a speech to us. I have heard or read all of Mr. Lincoln's great
speeches; and I give it as my opinion that the Bloomington speech was
the grand effort of his life. Heretofore, and up to this moment, he had
simply argued the slavery question on grounds of policy,--on what are
called the _statesman's_ grounds,--never reaching the question of the
radical and eternal right. Now he was newly baptized and freshly born;
he had the fervor of a new convert; the smothered flame broke out;
enthusiasm unusual to him blazed up; his eyes were aglow with
inspiration; he felt a new and more vital justice; his heart was alive
to the right; his sympathies burst forth; and he stood before the throne
of the eternal Right, in presence of his God, and then and there
unburdened his penitential and fired soul. This speech was fresh, new,
genuine, odd, original; filled with fervor not unmixed with a divine
enthusiasm; his head breathing out through his tender heart its truths,
its sense of right, and its feeling of the good and for the good. This
speech was full of fire and energy and force; it was logic; it was
pathos; it was enthusiasm; it was justice, equity, truth, right, and
good, set ablaze by the divine fires of a soul maddened by wrong; it was
hard, heavy, knotty, gnarly, edged, and heated. I attempted for about
fifteen minutes, as was usual with me then, to take notes; but at the
end of that time I threw pen and paper to the dogs, and lived only in
the inspiration of the hour. If Mr. Lincoln was six feet four inches
high usually, _at Bloomington he was seven feet_, and inspired at that.
From that day to the day of his death, he stood firm on the right. He
felt his great cross, had his great idea, nursed it, kept it, taught it
to others, and in his fidelity bore witness of it to his death, and
finally sealed it with his precious blood."

The committee on resolutions at the convention found themselves, after
hours of discussion, unable to agree; and at last they sent for Lincoln.
He suggested that all could unite on the principles of the Declaration
of Independence and hostility to the extension of slavery. "Let us,"
said he, "in building our new party make our cornerstone the
Declaration of Independence; let us build on this rock, and the gates of
hell shall not prevail against us." The problem was mastered, and the
convention adopted the following:

     _Resolved_, That we hold, in accordance with the opinions and
     practices of all the great statesmen of all parties for the first
     sixty years of the administration of the government, that under the
     Constitution Congress possesses full power to prohibit slavery in
     the territories; and that while we will maintain all constitutional
     rights of the South, we also hold that justice, humanity, the
     principles of freedom, as expressed in our Declaration of
     Independence and our National Constitution, and the purity and
     perpetuity of our government, require that that power should be
     exerted to prevent the extension of slavery into territories
     heretofore free.

The Bloomington convention concluded its work by choosing delegates to
the National Republican convention to be held at Philadelphia the
following month, for the nomination of candidates for the Presidency and
Vice-presidency of the United States. And thus was organized the
Republican party in Illinois, which revolutionized the politics of the
State and elected Lincoln to the Presidency.

The people of Bloomington seem to have had but little sympathy with this
convention. A few days later, Herndon and Lincoln tried to hold a
ratification meeting; but only three persons were present--Lincoln,
Herndon, and John Pain. "When Lincoln came into the court-room where the
meeting was to be held," says Herndon, "there was an expression of
sadness and amusement on his face. He walked to the stand, mounted it in
a kind of mockery--mirth and sadness all combined--and said, 'Gentlemen,
this meeting is larger than I thought it would be. I knew that Herndon
and myself would come, but I did not know that anyone else would be
here; and yet another has come--you, John Pain. These are sad times,
and seem out of joint. All seems dead; but the age is not yet dead; it
liveth as sure as our Maker liveth. Under all this seeming want of life
and motion, the world does move nevertheless. Be hopeful. And now let us
adjourn and appeal to the people.'"

The National convention of the Republican party met at Philadelphia in
June, 1856, and adopted a declaration of principles substantially based
upon those of the Bloomington convention. John C. Fremont was nominated
as candidate for President. Among the names presented for Vice-president
was that of Abraham Lincoln, who received 110 votes. William L. Dayton
received 259 votes and was unanimously declared the nominee. Fremont and
Dayton thus became the standard-bearers of the new national party. When
the news reached Lincoln, in Illinois, that he had received 110 votes as
nominee for the Vice-presidency, he could not at first believe that he
was the man voted for, and said, "No, it could not be; it must have been
the great Lincoln of Massachusetts!" He was then in one of his
melancholy moods, full of depression and despondency.

In the stirring presidential campaign of 1856, Lincoln was particularly
active, and rendered most efficient service to the Republican party. He
spoke constantly, discussing the great question of "slavery in the
territories" in a manner at once original and masterly. A graphic
picture of one of these campaign gatherings is furnished by Hon. William
Bross, afterwards Lieutenant-Governor of Illinois. "I first met Mr.
Lincoln, to know him," says Governor Bross, "at Vandalia, the old
capital of the State, in October, 1856. There was to be a political
meeting in front of the old State House, in the center of the square, at
2 o'clock. Soon after that hour the sonorous voice of Dr. Curdy rang
through the town: 'O, yes! O, yes! All ye who want to hear public
speaking, draw near!' The crowd at once began to gather from all sides
of the square. The Doctor then introduced the first speaker, and he
proceeded to make the best presentation he could of the principles of
the newly-formed Republican party, and the reasons why Fremont, 'the
gallant pathfinder of the West,' should be elected President. About the
time the first speaker closed his remarks, Hon. Ebenezer Peck and
Abraham Lincoln arrived and took the stand; and both made able and
effective speeches. After that, Lincoln and I frequently met during the
canvass, and often afterwards I spoke with him from the same platform.
The probable result of an election was often canvassed, and a noticeable
fact was that in most cases he would mark the probable result below
rather than above the actual majority."

Some lively reminiscences of Lincoln's appearance and efforts in this
campaign are given by Mr. Noah Brooks, the well-known journalist and
author, who at that time lived in Northern Illinois and attended many of
the great Republican mass-meetings. "At one of these great assemblies in
Ogle County," says Mr. Brooks, "to which the country people came on
horseback, in farm wagons, or afoot, from far and near, there were
several speakers of local celebrity. Dr. Egan of Chicago, famous for his
racy stories, was one; and Joe Knox of Bureau County, a stump speaker of
renown, was another attraction. Several other orators were 'on the
bills' for this long-advertised 'Fremont and Dayton rally,' among them
being a Springfield lawyer who had won some reputation as a close
reasoner, and a capital speaker on the stump. This was Abraham Lincoln,
popularly known as 'Honest Abe Lincoln.' In those days he was not so
famous in our part of the State as the two speakers whom I have named.
Possibly he was not so popular among the masses of the people; but his
ready wit, his unfailing good humor, and the candor which gave him his
character for honesty, won for him the admiration and respect of all
who heard him. I remember once meeting a choleric old Democrat striding
away from an open-air meeting where Lincoln was speaking, striking the
earth with his cane as he stumped along, and exclaiming, 'He's a
dangerous man, sir! A d----d dangerous man! He makes you _believe_ what
he says, in spite of yourself!' It was Lincoln's manner. He admitted
away his whole case apparently--and yet, as his political opponents
complained, he usually carried conviction with him. As he reasoned with
his audience, he bent his long form over the railing of the platform,
stooping lower and lower as he pursued his argument, until, having
reached his point, he clinched it, usually with a question, and then
suddenly sprang upright, reminding one of the springing open of a
jack-knife blade. At the Ogle County meeting to which I refer, Lincoln
led off, the raciest speakers being reserved for the latter part of the
political entertainment. I am bound to say that Lincoln did not awaken
the boisterous applause which some of those who followed him did, but
his speech made a more lasting impression. It was talked about for weeks
afterward in the neighborhood, and it probably changed many votes; for
that was the time when Free-soil votes were being made in Northern
Illinois."

Mr. Brooks had made Lincoln's acquaintance early in the day referred to;
and after Lincoln had spoken, and while some of the other orators were
entertaining the audience, the two drew a little off from the crowd and
fell into a discussion over the political situation and prospects. "We
crawled under the pendulous branches of a tree," says Mr. Brooks, "and
Lincoln, lying flat on the ground, with his chin in his hands, talked
on, rather gloomily as to the present but absolutely confident as to the
future. I was dismayed to find that he did not believe it possible that
Fremont could be elected. As if half pitying my youthful ignorance, but
admiring my enthusiasm, he said, 'Don't be discouraged if we don't
carry the day this year. We can't do it, that's certain. We can't carry
Pennsylvania; those old Whigs down there are too strong for us. But we
shall sooner or later elect our President. I feel confident of that.'
'Do you think we shall elect a Free-soil President in 1860?' I asked.
'Well, I don't know. Everything depends on the course of the Democracy.
There's a big anti-slavery element in the Democratic party, and if we
could get hold of that we might possibly elect our man in 1860. But it's
doubtful, very doubtful. Perhaps we shall be able to fetch it by 1864;
perhaps not. As I said before, the Free-soil party is bound to win in
the long run. It may not be in my day; but it will be in yours, I do
really believe.'" The defeat of Fremont soon verified Lincoln's
prediction on that score.

A peculiarly interesting episode of Lincoln's life belongs to this
period, though unrelated to political events. This was the meeting, in a
professional way, with Edwin M. Stanton, at that time a prominent lawyer
of Pittsburgh, afterwards the great War Secretary of President Lincoln's
cabinet. The circumstances were briefly these: Among Lincoln's law cases
was one connected with the patent of the McCormick Reaper; and in the
summer of 1857 he visited Cincinnati to argue the case before Judge
McLean of the United States Circuit Court. It was a case of great
importance, involving the foundation patent of the machine which was
destined to revolutionize the harvesting of grain. Reverdy Johnson was
on one side of the case, and E.M. Stanton and George Harding on the
other. It became necessary, in addition, to have a lawyer who was a
resident of Illinois; and inquiry was made of Hon. E.B. Washburne, then
in Congress, as to whether he knew a suitable man. The latter replied
that "there was a man named Lincoln at Springfield, who had considerable
reputation in the State." Lincoln was retained in the case, and came on
to Cincinnati with a brief. Stanton and Harding saw in their associate
counsel "a tall, dark, uncouth man, who did not strike them as of any
account, and, indeed, they gave him hardly any chance." An interesting
account of this visit, and of various incidents connected with it, has
been prepared by the Hon. W.M. Dickson of Cincinnati. "Mr. Lincoln came
to the city," says Mr. Dickson, "a few days before the argument took
place, and remained during his stay at the house of a friend. The case
was one of large importance pecuniarily, and in the law questions
involved. Reverdy Johnson represented the plaintiff. Mr. Lincoln had
prepared himself with the greatest care; his ambition was to speak in
the case, and to measure swords with the renowned lawyer from Baltimore.
It was understood between his client and himself, before his coming,
that Mr. Harding of Philadelphia was to be associated with him in the
case, and was to make the 'mechanical argument.' Mr. Lincoln was a
little surprised and annoyed after reaching Cincinnati, to learn that
his client had also associated with him Mr. Edwin M. Stanton, of
Pittsburgh, and a lawyer of our own bar; the reason assigned being that
the importance of the case required a man of the experience and power of
Mr. Stanton to meet Mr. Johnson. The reasons given did not remove the
slight conveyed in the employment, without consultation with Lincoln, of
this additional counsel. He keenly felt it, but acquiesced. The trial of
the case came on; the counsel for defense met each morning for
consultation. On one of these occasions one of the counsel moved that
only two of them should speak in the case. This motion was also
acquiesced in. It had always been understood that Mr. Harding was to
speak to explain the mechanism of the reapers. So this motion excluded
either Mr. Lincoln or Mr. Stanton. By the custom of the bar, as between
counsel of equal standing and in the absence of any action of the
client, the original counsel speaks. By this rule Mr. Lincoln had
precedence. Mr. Stanton suggested to Mr. Lincoln to make the speech. Mr.
Lincoln answered, 'No; you speak,' Mr. Stanton replied, 'I will,' and
taking up his hat, said he would go and make preparation. Mr. Lincoln
acquiesced in this, but was deeply grieved and mortified; he took but
little more interest in the case, though remaining until the conclusion
of the trial. He seemed to be greatly depressed, and gave evidence of
that tendency to melancholy which so marked his character. His parting
on leaving the city cannot be forgotten. Cordially shaking the hand of
his hostess, he said: 'You have made my stay here most agreeable, and I
am a thousand times obliged to you; but as for repeating my visit, I
must say to you I never expect to be in Cincinnati again. I have nothing
against the city, but things have so happened here as to make it
undesirable for me ever to return.' Thus untowardly met for the first
time, Lincoln and Stanton. Little did either then suspect that they were
to meet again on a larger theatre, to become the chief actors in a great
historical epoch."

If Lincoln was "surprised and annoyed" at the treatment he received from
Stanton, the latter was no less surprised, and a good deal more
disgusted, on seeing Lincoln and learning of his connection with the
case. He made no secret of his contempt for the "long, lank creature
from Illinois," as he afterwards described him, "wearing a dirty linen
duster for a coat, on the back of which the perspiration had splotched
wide stains that resembled a dirty map of the continent." He blurted out
his wrath and indignation to his associate counsel, declaring that if
"that giraffe" was permitted to appear in the case he would throw up his
brief and leave it. Lincoln keenly felt the affront, but his great
nature forgave it so entirely that, recognizing the singular abilities
of Stanton beneath his brusque exterior, he afterwards, for the public
good, appointed him to a seat in his cabinet.

Lincoln, says Mr. Dickson, "remained in Cincinnati about a week, moving
freely about. Yet not twenty men in the city knew him personally, or
knew he was here; not a hundred would have known who he was had his name
been given to them. He came with the fond hope of making fame in a
forensic contest with Reverdy Johnson. He was pushed aside, humiliated
and mortified. He attached to the innocent city the displeasure that
filled his bosom, and shook its dust from his feet."

In his Autobiography, Moncure D. Conway records a glimpse of Lincoln
during his Cincinnati visit that seems worth transcribing. "One warm
evening in 1859, passing through the market-place in Cincinnati, I found
there a crowd listening to a political speech in the open air. The
speaker stood on the balcony of a small brick house, some lamps
assisting the moonlight. Something about the speaker, and some words
that reached me, led me to press nearer. I asked the speaker's name, and
learned that it was Abraham Lincoln. Browning's description of the
German professor, 'Three parts sublime to one grotesque,' was applicable
to this man. The face had a battered and bronzed look, without being
hard. His nose was prominent, and buttressed a strong and high forehead.
His eyes were high-vaulted, and had an expression of sadness; his mouth
and chin were too close together, the cheeks hollow. On the whole,
Lincoln's appearance was not attractive until one heard his voice, which
possessed variety of expression, earnestness, and shrewdness in every
tone. The charm of his manner was that he had no manner; he was simple,
direct, humorous. He pleasantly repeated a mannerism of his
opponent,--'This is what Douglas calls his '_gur-reat per-rinciple.'_
But the next words I remember were these: '_Slavery is wrong_.'"




CHAPTER XI


     The Great Lincoln-Douglas Debate--Rivals for the U.S.
     Senate--Lincoln's "House-Divided-against-Itself" Speech--An
     Inspired Oration--Alarming His Friends--Challenges Douglas to a
     Joint Discussion--The Champions Contrasted--Their Opinions of Each
     Other--Lincoln and Douglas on the Stump--Slavery the Leading
     Issue--Scenes and Anecdotes of the Great Debate--Pen-Picture of
     Lincoln on the Stump--Humors of the Campaign--Some Sharp
     Rejoinders--Words of Soberness--Close of the Conflict.

The year 1858 is memorable alike in the career of Lincoln and in the
political history of the country. It was distinguished by the joint
discussions between the two great political leaders of Illinois, which
rank among the ablest forensic debates that have taken place since the
foundation of the republic. The occasion was one to call out the
greatest powers of the two remarkable men who there contested for
political supremacy. It was not alone that Lincoln and Douglas were
opposing candidates for a high office--that of Senator of the United
States: they were the champions and spokesmen of their parties at a
critical period when great issues were to be discussed and great
movements outlined and directed. It was naturally expected that the
winner in the contest would become the political leader of his State.
Little was it imagined that the loser would become the leader and savior
of the Nation.

On the 21st of April the Democratic convention of Illinois met at
Springfield and announced Stephen A. Douglas, then United States
Senator, as its choice for another term. June 16 the Republican
convention met at the same place and declared unanimously that "Abraham
Lincoln is our first and only choice for United States Senator to fill
the vacancy about to be created by the expiration of Mr. Douglas's term
of office." For a number of days previous to the meeting of the
Republican convention Lincoln had been engaged in preparing a speech for
the occasion. It was composed after his usual method--the separate
thoughts jotted down as they came to him, on scraps of paper at hand at
the moment, and these notes were arranged in order and elaborated into a
finished essay, copied on large sheets of paper in a plain and legible
handwriting. This was the speech which afterwards came to be so
celebrated as the "house-divided-against-itself" speech. Lincoln was
gravely conscious of its unusual importance, and gave great care and
deliberation to its composition. The evening of June 16--the day of his
nomination by the convention--Lincoln went to his office, accompanied by
his friend Herndon, and having locked the door proceeded to read his
speech. Slowly and distinctly he read the first paragraph, and then
turned to Herndon with, "What do you think of that?" Mr. Herndon was
startled at its boldness. "I think," said he, "it is all true. But is it
entirely politic to read or speak it as it is written?" "That makes no
difference," said Lincoln. "That expression is a truth of all human
experience,--'a house divided against itself cannot stand.' The
proposition is indisputably true, and has been true for more than six
thousand years; I want to use some universally known figure, expressed
in simple language, that may strike home to the minds of men in order to
rouse them to the peril of the times." Mr. Herndon was convinced by
Lincoln's language, and advised him to deliver the speech just as it was
written. Lincoln was satisfied, but thought it would be prudent to
consult a few other friends in the matter, and about a dozen were called
in. "After seating them at the round table," says John Armstrong, one of
the number, "he read that clause or section of his speech which reads,
'a house divided against itself cannot stand,' etc. He read it slowly
and cautiously, so as to let each man fully understand it. After he had
finished the reading, he asked the opinions of his friends as to the
wisdom or policy of it. Every man among them condemned the speech in
substance and spirit, especially that section quoted above, as unwise
and impolitic if not untrue. They unanimously declared that the whole
speech was too far in advance of the times. Herndon sat still while they
were giving their respective opinions of its unwisdom and impolicy; then
he sprang to his feet and said, 'Lincoln, deliver it _just as it reads_.
If it is in advance of the times, let us lift the people to its level.
The speech is true, wise, and politic, and will succeed now or in the
future. Nay, it will aid you, if it will not make you President of the
United States.' Mr. Lincoln sat still a moment, then rose from his
chair, walked backwards and forwards in the hall, stopped, and said:
'Friends, I have thought about this matter a great deal, have weighed
the questions from all corners, and am thoroughly convinced the time has
come when this speech should be uttered; and if it be that I must go
down because of it, then let me go down linked to truth--die in the
advocacy of what is right and just. This nation cannot live on
injustice; "a house divided against itself cannot stand," I say again
and again.' This was spoken with emotion--the effects of his love of
truth, and sorrow from the disagreement of his friends."

On the next evening the speech was delivered to an immense audience in
the hall of the House of Representatives at Springfield. "The hall and
lobbies and galleries were even more densely crowded and packed than at
any time during the day," says the official report; and as Lincoln
"approached the speaker's stand, he was greeted with shouts and hurrahs,
and prolonged cheers." The prophetic sentences which dropped first from
the lips of the speaker were freighted with a solemn import which even
he could scarcely have divined in full. The seers of old were not more
inspired than he who now, out of the irresistible conviction of his
heart, said to his surprised and unbelieving listeners:

     If we could first know where we are and whither we are tending, we
     could then better judge what to do and how to do it. We are now far
     on in the fifth year since a policy was initiated with the avowed
     object and confident promise of putting an end to slavery
     agitation. Under the operation of that policy, that agitation has
     not only not ceased, but has constantly augmented. In my opinion it
     will not cease until a crisis shall have been reached and passed.
     'A house divided against itself cannot stand.' I believe this
     Government cannot endure, permanently, half slave and half free. I
     do not expect the Union to be dissolved--I do not expect the house
     to fall--but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will
     become all one thing or all the other. Either the opponents of
     slavery will arrest the further spread of it, and place it where
     the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in course of
     ultimate extinction, or its advocates will push it forward till it
     shall become alike lawful in all the States--old as well as
     new--North as well as South.

Mr. Jeriah Bonham, an old citizen of Illinois, relates that he was
present as a delegate at the Springfield convention and heard the famous
speech of Lincoln. According to Mr. Bonham, "The speech was prepared
with unusual care, every paragraph and sentence carefully weighed. The
firm bedrock of principles, the issues of the campaign on which he
proposed to stand and fight his battles, were all well considered, and
his arguments were incontrovertible. In that memorable speech culminated
all the grand thoughts he had ever uttered, embodying divinity,
statesmanship, law, and morals, and even fraught with prophecy. As he
advanced in this argument he towered to his full height, forgetting
himself entirely as he grew warm in his work. Men and women who heard
that speech well remember the wonderful transformation wrought in
Lincoln's appearance. The plain, homely man towered up majestically; his
face lit as with angelic light; the long, bent, angular figure, like the
strong oak of the forest, stood erect, and his eyes flashed with the
fire of inspiration."

The party that had nominated Lincoln for the Senate was not prepared to
endorse his restriction of the coming struggle to the single issue of
the slavery question. His friends dreaded the result of his
uncompromising frankness, while politicians quite generally condemned
it. Even so stanch a friend as Leonard Swett, whose devotion to Lincoln
never wavered throughout his whole career, shared these apprehensions.
Says Mr. Swett: "The first ten lines of that speech defeated him. The
sentiment of the 'house divided against itself' seemed wholly
inappropriate. It was a speech made at the commencement of a campaign,
and apparently made for the campaign. Viewing it in this light alone,
nothing could have been more unfortunate or inappropriate. It was saying
the wrong thing first; yet he felt that it was an abstract truth, and
that standing by the speech would ultimately find him in the right
place. I was inclined at the time to believe these words were hastily
and inconsiderately uttered; but subsequent facts have convinced me they
were deliberate and had been well matured."

A few days after the delivery of this speech, a gentleman named Dr. Long
called on Lincoln and gave him a foretaste of the remarks he was to hear
during the next few months. "Well, Lincoln," said he, "that foolish
speech of yours will kill you--will defeat you in this contest, and
probably for all offices for all time to come. I am sorry, sorry, very
sorry. I wish it was wiped out of existence. Don't you wish so too?"
Laying down the pen with which he had been writing, and slowly raising
his head and adjusting his spectacles, Lincoln replied: "Well, Doctor,
if I had to draw a pen across and erase my whole life from existence,
and I had one poor gift or choice left as to what I should save from the
wreck, _I should choose that speech_, and leave it to the world
unerased."

The Senatorial campaign was now well begun. Douglas opened it by a
speech at Chicago on the 9th of July. Lincoln was present, and on the
next evening spoke in reply from the same place--the balcony of the
Tremont House. A week later Douglas spoke at Bloomington, with Lincoln
again in the audience. The notion of a joint discussion seems to have
originated with Lincoln, who on the 24th of July addressed a note to
Douglas as follows:

     HON. S.A. DOUGLAS--My Dear Sir:--Will it be agreeable to you to
     make an arrangement for you and myself to divide time, and
     address the same audiences during the present canvass? Mr. Judd,
     who will hand you this, is authorized to receive your answer,
     and, if agreeable to you, to enter into the terms of such
     arrangement. Your obedient servant, A. LINCOLN.

The result of this proposal was an agreement that there should be a
joint discussion between the two candidates in each of the seven
Congressional districts in which they had not both already been heard.
Places were named and dates fixed extending to the middle of October. It
was agreed that the opening speech on each occasion should occupy one
hour; the reply, one hour and a half; the close, half an hour; and that
Mr. Douglas should have the first and last voice in four of the seven
meetings.

The champions who were thus to enter the lists in a decisive trial of
forensic strength and skill are forcibly contrasted by Mr. Speed, who
says: "They were the respective leaders of their parties in the State.
They were as opposite in character as they were unlike in their persons.
Lincoln was long and ungainly; Douglas was short and compact. Douglas,
in all elections, was the moving spirit and manager. He was content
with nothing short of a blind submission to himself. He could not
tolerate opposition to his will within his party organization. He held
the reins and controlled the movements of the Democratic chariot. With a
large State majority, with many able and ambitious men in it, he stepped
to the front in his youth and held his place till his death. Lincoln, on
the other hand, shrank from any controversy with his friends. His party
being in a minority in the State, he was forced to the front because his
friends thought he was the only man with whom they could win. In a
canvass his friends had to do all the management. He knew nothing of how
to reach the people except by addressing their reason. If the situation
had been reversed--Lincoln representing the majority and Douglas the
minority--I think it most likely Lincoln would never have had the place.
He had no heart for a fight with friends."

The Hon. James G. Blaine has given a masterly description and analysis
of the comparative powers of the two illustrious debaters. Douglas, says
Mr. Blaine, "was everywhere known as a debater of singular skill. His
mind was fertile in resources. He was a master of logic. No man
perceived more quickly than he the strength or the weakness of an
argument, and no one excelled him in the use of sophistry and fallacy.
Where he could not elucidate a point to his own advantage, he would
fatally becloud it for his opponent. In that peculiar style of debate
which in intensity resembles a physical combat, he had no equal. He
spoke with extraordinary readiness. There was no halting in his phrase.
He used good English, terse, vigorous, pointed. He disregarded the
adornments of rhetoric--rarely used a simile. He was utterly destitute
of humor, and had slight appreciation of wit. He never cited historical
precedents except from the domain of American politics. Inside that
field his knowledge was comprehensive, minute, critical; beyond it his
learning was limited. He was not a reader. His recreations were not in
literature. In the whole range of his voluminous speaking, it would be
difficult to find either a line of poetry or a classical allusion. But
he was by nature an orator, and by long practice a debater. He could
lead a crowd almost irresistibly to his own conclusions. He could, if he
wished, incite a mob to desperate deeds. He was, in short, an able,
audacious, almost unconquerable opponent in public discussion. It would
have been impossible to find any man of the same type able to meet him
before the people of Illinois. Whoever attempted it would probably have
been destroyed in the first encounter. But the man who was chosen to
meet him, who challenged him to the combat, was radically different in
every phase of character. Scarcely could two men be more unlike in
mental and moral constitution than Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A.
Douglas. Lincoln was calm and philosophic. He loved the truth for the
truth's sake. He would not argue from a false premise, or be deceived
himself or deceive others by a false conclusion. He had pondered deeply
on the issues which aroused him to action. He had given anxious thought
to the problems of free government, and to the destiny of the Republic.
He had marked out a path of duty for himself, and he walked it
fearlessly. His mental processes were slower but more profound than
those of Douglas. He did not seek to say merely the thing which was best
for that day's debate, but the thing which would stand the test of time
and square itself with eternal justice. He wished nothing to appear
white unless it was white. His logic was severe and faultless. He did
not resort to fallacy, and could detect it in his opponent and expose it
with merciless directness. He had an abounding sense of humor, and
always employed it in illustration of his argument--but never for the
mere sake of provoking merriment. In this respect he had the wonderful
aptness of Franklin. He often taught a great truth with the felicitous
brevity of an Aesop fable. His words did not flow in an impetuous
torrent, as did those of Douglas; but they were always well chosen,
deliberate and conclusive."

Mr. Arnold, in the course of an extended comparison, says: "At the time
of these discussions, both Lincoln and Douglas were in the full maturity
of their powers. Douglas was forty-five and Lincoln forty-nine years of
age. Physically and mentally, they were as unlike as possible. Douglas
was short, not much more than five feet high, with a large head, massive
brain, broad shoulders, a wide, deep chest, and features strongly
marked. He impressed every one, at first sight, as a strong, sturdy,
resolute, fearless man. Lincoln's herculean stature has already been
described. A stranger who listened to him for five minutes would say:
'This is a kind, genial, sincere, genuine man; a man you can trust,
plain, straightforward, honest, and true.' If this stranger were to hear
him make a speech, he would be impressed with his clear good sense, by
his wit and humor, by his general intelligence, and by the simple,
homely, but pure and accurate language he used. In his long residence at
Washington, Douglas had acquired the bearing and manners of a gentleman
and a man of the world. But he was always a fascinating and attractive
man, and always and everywhere personally popular. He had been for years
carefully and thoroughly trained on the stump, in Congress, and in the
Senate, to meet in debate the ablest speakers in the State and Nation.
For years he had been accustomed to meet on the floor of the Capitol the
leaders of the old Whig and Free-soil parties. Among them were Webster
and Seward, Fessenden and Crittenden, Chase, Trumbull, Hale and others
of nearly equal eminence; and his enthusiastic friends insisted that
never, either in single conflict or when receiving the assault of the
senatorial leaders of a whole party, had he been discomfited. His style
was bold, vigorous, and aggressive; at times even defiant. He was ready,
fluent, fertile in resources, familiar with national and party history,
severe in denunciation, and he handled with skill nearly all the weapons
of debate. His iron will and restless energy, together with great
personal magnetism, made him the idol of his friends and party. His
long, brilliant, and almost universally successful career, gave him
perfect confidence in himself, and at times he was arrogant and
overbearing.... Lincoln also was a thoroughly trained speaker. He had
met successfully, year after year, at the bar and on the stump, the
ablest men of Illinois and the Northwest, including Lamborn, Stephen T.
Logan, John Calhoun, and many others. He had contended, in generous
emulation, with Hardin, Baker, Logan, and Browning; and had very often
met Douglas, a conflict with whom he always courted rather than shunned.
His speeches, as we read them to-day, show a more familiar knowledge of
the slavery question than those of any other statesman of our country.
This is especially true of the Peoria speech and the Cooper Institute
speech. Lincoln was powerful in argument, always seizing the strong
points, and demonstrating his propositions with a clearness and logic
approaching the certainty of mathematics. He had, in wit and humor, a
great advantage over Douglas. Then he had the better temper; he was
always good humored, while Douglas, when hard pressed, was sometimes
irritable. Douglas perhaps carried away the more popular applause;
Lincoln made the deeper and more lasting impression. Douglas did not
disdain an immediate _ad captandum_ triumph; while Lincoln aimed at
permanent conviction. Sometimes, when Lincoln's friends urged him to
raise a storm of applause, which he could always do by his happy
illustrations and amusing stories, he refused, saying, 'The occasion is
too serious; the issues are too grave. I do not seek applause, or to
amuse the people, but to _convince_ them.' It was observed in the
canvass that while Douglas was greeted with the loudest cheers, when
Lincoln closed the people seemed serious and thoughtful, and could be
heard all through the crowd, gravely and anxiously discussing the
subjects on which he had been speaking."

Soon after the arrangements for the debate had been made, Senator
Douglas visited Alton, Illinois. A delegation of prominent Democrats
there paid their respects to him, and during the conversation one of
them congratulated Douglas on the easy task he would have in defeating
Lincoln; at the same time expressing surprise at the champion whom he
had selected. Douglas replied: "Gentlemen, you do not know Mr. Lincoln.
I have known him long and well, and I know that I shall have anything
but an easy task. I assure you I _would rather meet any other man in the
country than Abraham Lincoln."_ This was Douglas's mature opinion of
the man of whom, years before, he had said, in his characteristic way:
"Of all the d----d Whig rascals about Springfield, Abe Lincoln is the
ablest and honestest." On another occasion, Douglas said: "I have known
Lincoln for nearly twenty-five years. There were many points of sympathy
between us when we first got acquainted. We were both comparatively
boys, and both struggling with poverty in a strange land. I was a
school-teacher in the town of Winchester, and he a flourishing
grocery-keeper in the town of Salem. He was more successful in his
occupation than I was in mine, and hence more fortunate in the world's
goods. Lincoln is one of those peculiar men who perform with admirable
skill everything they undertake. I made as good a school-teacher as I
could, and when a cabinet-maker I made as good bedsteads and tables as I
could--although my old boss says that I succeeded better with _bureaus_
and _secretaries_ than with anything else. But I believe that Lincoln
was always more successful in business than I, for his business enabled
him to get into the Legislature. I met him there, however, and had a
sympathy with him because of the up-hill struggle we both had had in
life. He was then just as good at telling an anecdote as now. He could
beat any of the boys in wrestling or running a foot-race, in pitching
quoits or pitching a copper; and the dignity and impartiality with which
he presided at a horse-race or fist-fight excited the admiration and won
the praise of everybody that was present. I sympathized with him because
he was struggling with difficulties, and so was I. Mr. Lincoln served
with me in the Legislature of 1836; then we both retired, and he
subsided, or became submerged, and was lost sight of as a public man for
some years. In 1846, when Wilmot introduced his celebrated proviso, and
the Abolition tornado swept over the country, Lincoln again turned up as
a Member of Congress from the Sangamon district. I was then in the
Senate of the United States, and was glad to welcome my old friend."

Lincoln, in a speech delivered two years before the joint debate, had
spoken thus of Senator Douglas: "Twenty-two years ago, Judge Douglas and
I first became acquainted; we were both young then--he a trifle younger
than I. Even then, we were both ambitious--I perhaps quite as much as
he. With me, the race of ambition has been a failure--a flat failure;
with him, it has been one of splendid success. His name fills the
nation, and is not unknown even in foreign lands. I affect no contempt
for the high eminence he has reached; so reached that the oppressed of
my species might have shared with me in the elevation, I would rather
stand on that eminence than wear the richest crown that ever pressed a
monarch's brow."

A few days before the first discussion was to take place, Lincoln, who
had become conscious that some of his party friends distrusted his
ability to meet successfully a man who, as the Democrats declared and
believed, had never had his equal on the stump, met an old friend from
Vermilion County, and, shaking hands, inquired the news. His friend
replied, "All looks well; our friends are wide awake, but they are
looking forward with some anxiety to these approaching joint discussions
with Douglas." A shade passed over Lincoln's face, a sad expression came
and instantly passed, and then a blaze of light flashed from his eyes,
and with his lips compressed and in a manner peculiar to him, half
serious and half jocular, he said: "My friend, sit down a minute, and I
will tell you a story. You and I, as we have travelled the circuit
together attending court, have often seen two men about to fight. One of
them, the big or the little giant, as the case may be, is noisy and
boastful; he jumps high in the air, strikes his feet together, smites
his fists, brags about what he is going to do, and tries hard to
'_skeer_' the other man. The other man says not a word; his arms are at
his side, his fists are clenched, his teeth set, his head settled firmly
on his shoulders; he saves his breath and strength for the struggle.
_This man will whip,_ as sure as the fight comes off. Good-bye, and
remember what I say."

The spirit and purpose with which Lincoln went into the contest are
shown also in the following words: "I shall not ask any favors at all.
Judge Douglas asks me if I wish to push this matter to the point of
personal difficulty. I tell him, _No!_ He did not make a mistake, in one
of his early speeches, when he called me an 'amiable' man, though
perhaps he did when he called me an 'intelligent' man. I again tell him,
_No!_ I very much prefer, when this canvass shall be over, however it
may result, that we at least part without any bitter recollections of
personal difficulties."

The speeches in these joint discussions were entirely extemporaneous in
form, yet they were reported and printed in all the prominent papers in
the West, and found eager readers throughout the country. The voice and
manner, which add so much to the effect of a speaker, could not be
reproduced on the printed page; nor could full justice be done, in a
hasty transcript, to the force and fitness of the language employed.
Still, the impressions of those who heard them at the time, as well as
later and cooler analyses of them, have agreed in pronouncing these
debates among the most able and interesting on record. The scenes
connected with the different meetings were intensely exciting. Vast
throngs were invariably in attendance, while a whole nation was watching
the result. "At Freeport," says an observer, "Mr. Douglas appeared in an
elegant barouche drawn by four white horses, and was received with great
applause. But when Mr. Lincoln came up, in a 'prairie schooner,'--an
old-fashioned canvas-covered pioneer wagon,--the enthusiasm of the vast
throng was unbounded."

At Charleston Lincoln opened and closed the day's debate. It was the
fourth discussion, and there was no more doubt of his ability to sustain
the conflict. According to Mr. Arnold, "Douglas's reply to Lincoln was
mainly a defense. Lincoln's close was intensely interesting and
dramatic. His logic and arguments were crushing, and Douglas's evasions
were exposed with a power and clearness that left him utterly
discomfited. Republicans saw it. Democrats realized it, and a sort of
panic seized them, and ran through the crowd of upturned faces. Douglas
realized his defeat, and, as Lincoln's blows fell fast and heavy, he
lost his temper. He could not keep his seat; he rose and walked rapidly
up and down the platform, behind Lincoln, holding his watch in his hand,
and obviously impatient for the call of _'time.'_ A spectator says: 'He
was greatly agitated, his long grizzled hair waving in the wind, like
the shaggy locks of an enraged lion.' It was while Douglas was thus
exhibiting to the crowd his eager desire to stop Lincoln, that the
latter, holding the audience entranced by his eloquence, was striking
his heaviest blows. The instant the secondhand of his watch reached the
point at which Lincoln's time was up, Douglas, holding up the watch,
called out: 'Sit down, Lincoln, sit down! Your time is up!' Turning to
Douglas, Lincoln said calmly: 'I will. I _will_ quit. I believe my time
_is_ up.' 'Yes,' said a voice from the platform, 'Douglas has had
enough; it is time you let up on him.'"

The institution of slavery was, of course, the topic around which
circled all the arguments in these joint discussions. It was the great
topic of the hour--the important point of division between the
Republican and Democratic parties. Lincoln's exposition of the subject
was profound and masterly. At the meeting in Quincy the issue was
defined and the argument driven home with unsparing logic and
directness. In closing the debate, he said:

     I wish to return to Judge Douglas my profound thanks for his
     public annunciation here to-day, to be put on record, that his
     system of policy in regard to the institution of slavery
     contemplates that it shall last _forever_. We are getting a
     little nearer the true issue of this controversy, and I am
     profoundly grateful for this one sentence. Judge Douglas asks
     you, 'Why cannot the institution of slavery, or, rather, why
     cannot the nation, part slave and part free, continue as our
     fathers made it forever?' In the first place, I insist that our
     fathers _did not_ make this nation half slave and half free, or
     part slave and part free. I insist that they found the
     institution of slavery existing here. They did not make it so,
     but they left it so, because they knew of no way to get rid of it
     at that time. When Judge Douglas undertakes to say that, as a
     matter of choice, the fathers of the Government made this nation
     part slave and part free, he assumes what is historically a
     _falsehood_. More than that; when the fathers of the Government
     cut off the source of slavery by the abolition of the
     slave-trade, and adopted a system of restricting it from the new
     Territories where it had not existed, I maintain that they placed
     it where they understood, and all sensible men understood, it was
     in the course of ultimate extinction; and when Judge Douglas asks
     me why it cannot continue as our fathers made it, I ask him why
     he and his friends could not let it remain as our friends made
     it? It is precisely all I ask of him in relation to the
     institution of slavery, that it shall be placed upon the basis
     that our fathers placed it upon. Mr. Brooks, of South Carolina,
     once said, and truly said, that when this Government was
     established, no one expected the institution of slavery to last
     until this day; and that the men who formed this Government were
     wiser and better than the men of these days; but the men of these
     days had experience which the fathers had not, and that
     experience had taught them the invention of the cotton-gin, and
     this had made the perpetuation of the institution of slavery a
     necessity in this country. Judge Douglas could not let it stand
     upon the basis on which our fathers placed it, but removed it,
     and put it upon the cotton-gin basis. It is a question,
     therefore, for him and his friends to answer--why they could not
     let it remain where the fathers of the Government originally
     placed it.

In these debates Lincoln often seemed like one transfigured--carried
away by his own eloquence and the force of his conviction. He said to a
friend during the canvass: "Sometimes, in the excitement of speaking, I
seem to see the end of slavery. I feel that the time is soon coming when
the sun shall shine, the rain shall fall, on no man who shall go forth
to unrequited toil.... How this will come, when it will come, by whom it
will come, I cannot tell;--but that time will surely come." Again, at
the first encounter at Alton, he uttered these pregnant sentences:

     On this subject of treating slavery as a wrong, and limiting its
     spread, let me say a word. Has anything ever threatened the
     existence of this Union save and except this very institution of
     slavery? What is it that we hold most dear among us? Our own
     liberty and prosperity. What has ever threatened our liberty and
     prosperity, save and except this institution of slavery? If this
     is true, how do you propose to improve the condition of things by
     enlarging slavery?--by spreading it out and making it bigger? You
     may have a wen or cancer upon your person, and not be able to cut
     it out lest you bleed, to death; but surely it is no way to cure
     it to ingraft it and spread it over your whole body--that is no
     proper way of treating what you regard a wrong. This peaceful way
     of dealing with it as a wrong--restricting the spread of it, and
     not allowing it to go into new countries where it has not already
     existed--that is the peaceful way, the old-fashioned way, the way
     in which the fathers themselves set us the example. Is slavery
     wrong? That is the real issue. That is the issue that will
     continue in this country when these poor tongues of Judge Douglas
     and myself shall be silent. It is the eternal struggle between
     these two principles--right and wrong--throughout the world. They
     are two principles that have stood face to face from the
     beginning of time; and will ever continue to struggle. The one is
     the common right of humanity, and the other the divine right of
     kings. It is the same principle, in whatever shape it develops
     itself. It is the same spirit that says: 'You work, and toil, and
     earn bread, and I'll eat it.' No matter in what shape it comes,
     whether from the mouth of a king who seeks to bestride the people
     of his own nation and live by the fruit of their labor, or from
     one race of men as an apology for enslaving another race, it is
     the same tyrannical principle.

On still another occasion he used these unmistakable words:

     My declarations upon this subject of <DW64> slavery may be
     misrepresented, but cannot be misunderstood. I have said that I
     do not understand the Declaration to mean that all men were
     created equal in all respects. They are not our equal in color.
     But I suppose that it does mean to declare that all men are
     created equal in some respects; they are equal in their right to
     'life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.' Certainly the
     <DW64> is not our equal in color, perhaps not in many other
     respects; still, _in the right to put into his mouth the bread
     that his own hands have earned, he is the equal of every other
     man, white or black_.

It is not in the scope of this narrative to print extended quotations
from the speeches made in this memorable contest, but rather to give
such reminiscences and anecdotes, and description by eye-witnesses, as
will best serve to bring the scenes and actors vividly to mind.
Fortunately, many such records are still in existence, and from them
some most entertaining personal accounts have been obtained. Among these
is an impressive pen-picture of Lincoln on the stump, as admirably
sketched by the Rev. Dr. George C. Noyes, of Chicago. "Mr. Lincoln in
repose," says Dr. Noyes, "was a very different man in personal
appearance from Mr. Lincoln on the platform or on the stump, when his
whole nature was roused by his masterful interest in the subject of his
discourse. In the former case he was, as has often been described, a man
of awkward and ungainly appearance and exceedingly homely countenance.
In the latter case, he was a man of magnificent presence and remarkably
impressive manner. The writer retains to this day a very vivid
impression of his appearance in both these characters, and both on the
same day. It was in Jacksonville, in the summer of 1858, and during the
great contest with Douglas, when the prize contended for was a seat in
the United States Senate. The day was warm; the streets were dusty, and
filled with great crowds of people. When Lincoln arrived on the train
from Springfield, he was met by an immense procession of people on
horseback, in carriages, in wagons and vehicles of every description,
and on foot, who escorted him through the principal streets to his
hotel. The enthusiasm of the multitude was great; but Lincoln's
extremely homely face wore an expression of sadness. He rode in a
carriage near the head of the procession, looking dust-begrimed and worn
and weary; and though he frequently lifted his hat in recognition of the
cheers of the crowds lining the streets, I saw no smile on his face, and
he seemed to take no pleasure in the demonstrations of enthusiasm which
his presence called forth. His clothes were very ill-fitting, and his
long arms and hands protruded far through his coat sleeves, giving him a
peculiarly uncouth appearance. Though I had often seen him before, and
had heard him in court--always with delight in his clearness and cogency
of statement, his illuminating humor, and his conspicuous fairness and
candor--yet I had never before seen him when he appeared so homely; and
I thought him about the ugliest man I had ever seen. There was nothing
in his looks or manner that was prepossessing. Such he appeared as he
rode in the procession on the forenoon of that warm summer day. His
appearance was not different in the afternoon of that day, when, in the
public square, he first stood before the great multitude who had
assembled there to hear him. His powers were aroused gradually as he
went on with his speech. There was much play of humor. 'Judge Douglas
has,' he said, 'one great advantage of me in this contest. When he
stands before his admiring friends, who gather in great numbers to hear
him, they can easily see, with half an eye, all kinds of _fat offices_
sprouting out of his fat and jocund face, and, indeed, from every part
of his plump and well-rounded body. His appearance is therefore
irresistibly attractive. His friends expect him to be President, and
they expect their reward. But when I stand before the people, not the
sharpest vision is able to detect in my lean and lank person, or in my
sunken and hollow cheeks, _the faintest sign or promise_ of an office. I
am not a candidate for the Presidency, and hence there is no beauty in
me that men should desire me.' The crowd was convulsed with laughter at
this sally. As the speech went on, the speaker, though often impressing
his points with apposite and laughter-provoking stories, grew more and
more earnest. He showed that the government was founded in the interest
of freedom, not slavery. He traced the steady aggressions of the slave
power step by step, until he came to declare and to dwell upon the fact
of the irrepressible conflict between the two. Then, as he went on to
show, with wonderful eloquence of speech and of manner, that the country
must and would ultimately become, not all slave, but all free, he was
transfigured before his audience. His homely countenance fairly glowed
with the splendor of his prophetic speech; and his body, no longer
awkward and ungainly, but mastered and swayed by his thought, became an
obedient and graceful instrument of eloquent expression. The whole man
seemed to speak. He seemed like some grand Hebrew prophet, whose face
was glorified by the bright visions of a better day which he saw and
declared. His eloquence was not merely that of clear and luminous
statement, felicitous illustration, or excited yet restrained feeling;
it was the eloquence also of _thought_. With something of the
imaginative, he united rare dialectic power. He felt the truth before he
expounded it; but when once it was felt by him, then his logical power
came into remarkably effective play. Step by step he led his hearers
onward, till at last he placed them on the summit whence they could see
all the landscape of his subject in harmonious and connected order. Of
these two contrasted pictures of Lincoln, it is only the last which
shows him as he was in his real and essential greatness. And not this
fully; for it was in his character that he was greatest. He was not
merely a thinker, but a thinker for man, directing his thought to the
ends of justice, freedom, and humanity. If he desired and sought high
position, it was only that he might thus better serve the cause of
freedom to which he was devoted. From the time when he withdrew, in a
spirit of magnanimity that was never appreciated, in favor of a rival
candidate for the United States Senate, it was evident that the _cause_
was more to him than any personal advantage or advancement."

Another graphic description of Lincoln's appearance and manner on the
stump is given by Mr. Jeriah Bonham, whose account of the famous
"house-divided-against-itself" speech has already found a place in this
narrative. "When Mr. Lincoln took the stand," says Mr. Bonham, "he did
not, on rising, show his full height, but stood in a stooping posture,
his long-tailed coat hanging loosely around his body, and descending
over an ill-fitting pair of pantaloons that covered his not very
symmetrical legs. He began his speech in a rather diffident manner,
seeming for awhile at a loss for words; his voice was irregular, even a
little tremulous, as he began his argument. As he proceeded he seemed to
gain more confidence, his form straightened up, his face brightened, his
language became free and animated. Soon he had drawn the attention of
the crowd by two or three well-told stories that illustrated his
argument; and then he became eloquent, carrying his audience at will, as
tumultuous applause greeted every telling point he made."

Mrs. John A. Logan, in her "Recollections of a Soldier's Wife," says: "I
always like to think of Mr. Lincoln as he was when I saw him with the
eyes of an opponent. His awkwardness has not been exaggerated, but it
gave no effect of self-consciousness. There was something about his
ungainliness and his homely face which would have made anyone who simply
passed him in the street remember him. His very awkwardness was an asset
in public life, in that it attracted attention to him. Douglas, on the
other hand, won by the magnetism of his personality. Lincoln did not
_seem_ to have any magnetism, though of course he actually did have the
rarest and most precious kind. Give Mr. Lincoln five minutes and Mr.
Douglas five minutes before an audience which knew neither, and Mr.
Douglas would make the greater impression. But give them each an hour,
and the contrary would be true."

In the party that attended Lincoln in the Senatorial campaign was the
Hon. Andrew Shuman, afterwards Lieutenant-Governor of Illinois and one
of the veteran journalists of Chicago. Mr. Shuman was detailed to report
the joint debates for his paper; and he accompanied Lincoln through
nearly all of the campaign, travelling with him by night--sometimes
occupying the same room, and when in crowded quarters the same bed. He
thus saw much of Lincoln, and had the best of opportunities for studying
his character; not only hearing all his public speeches, but having long
conversations with him in private, and listening to the stories,
anecdotes, and gay or grave discourse by which the journeys and the
frequent "waits" were enlivened. The group consisted of several
gentlemen, including Norman B. Judd of Chicago, afterwards a member of
Congress; Robert R. Hitt, who was Lincoln's shorthand reporter,
afterwards member of Congress from Illinois; Mr. Villard, later the
President of the Northern Pacific Railroad, then a newspaper
correspondent; Mr. Shuman; and, at various times, other politicians and
journalists. Of this party Lincoln was always the leading spirit in
conversation. He would tell stories himself, and draw out stories from
others; and his laugh, though not the loudest, was always the heartiest.
Then he would pass to soberer themes, and discuss them with a tinge of
that melancholy which, however he might be surrounded, never seemed far
distant from him. At night, stopping at the country tavern or at some
friend's house, the evenings would be spent in discussion and
story-telling, or perhaps in a humorous review of the events of the
day; and after retiring, Lincoln would entertain his companion, often
far into the night, discoursing on many varied subjects,--politics,
literature, views of human life and character, or the prominent men and
measures then before the country.

One day, according to Governor Shuman, Lincoln had been announced to
speak in a town in the extreme southern part of Illinois, in the very
heart of "Egypt," where there was a strong pro-slavery sentiment; and
it was feared there might be trouble, as Lincoln's anti-slavery
tendencies were well known. To make matters worse, a party of
Kentuckians and Missourians had come over to attend the meeting, and
it was noised about that they would not allow Lincoln to speak. He
heard of it, and both he and his friends were somewhat apprehensive of
trouble. The place of the meeting was a grove in the edge of the town,
the speakers occupying an improvised stand. The gathering was a large
one, and it had every appearance of a Southern crowd. It was customary
in those times for the men in that section of the country to carry
pistols and ugly-looking knives strapped to their persons, on public
occasions. It was a semi-barbarous community, and their hatred of the
Abolitionists, as they called all anti-slavery men, was as intense as
was their love of bad whiskey. Lincoln privately told his friends, who
in that locality were very few in number, that "if only they will give
me a fair chance to say a few opening words, I'll fix them all right."
Before mounting the speaker's stand he was introduced to many of the
crowd, and shook their hands in the usual Western way. Getting a small
company of the rough-looking fellows around him, he opened on them.
"Fellow-citizens of Southern Illinois--fellow-citizens of the State of
Kentucky--fellow-citizens of Missouri," he said, in a tone more of
conversation than of oratory, looking them straight in the eye, "I am
told that there are some of you here present who would like to make
trouble for me. I don't understand why they should. I am a plain,
common man, like the rest of you; and why should not I have as good a
right to speak my sentiments as the rest of you? Why, good friends, I
am one of you; I am not an interloper here! I was born in Kentucky,
raised in Illinois, just like the most of you, and worked my way right
along by hard scratching. I know the people of Kentucky, and I know
the people of Southern Illinois, and I think I know the Missourians. I
am one of them, and therefore ought to know them, and they ought to
know me better, and if they did know me better they would know that I
am not disposed to make them trouble; then why should they, or any one
of them, want to make trouble for me? Don't do any such foolish thing,
fellow-citizens. Let us be friends, and treat each other like friends.
I am one of the humblest and most peaceable men in the world--would
wrong no man, would interfere with no man's rights; and all I ask is
that, having something to say, you will give me a decent hearing. And,
being Illinoisans, Kentuckians, and Missourians--brave and gallant
people--I feel sure that you will do that. And now let us reason
together, like the honest fellows we are." Having uttered these words,
his face the very picture of good-nature and his voice full of
sympathetic earnestness, he mounted the speaker's stand and proceeded
to make one of the most impressive speeches against the further
extension of slavery that he ever made in his life. He was listened to
attentively; was applauded when he indulged in flashes of humor, and
once or twice his eloquent passages were lustily cheered. His little
opening remarks had calmed the threatening storm, had conquered his
enemies, and he had smooth sailing. From that day to the time of his
death, Abraham Lincoln held a warm place in the respect of very many
of those rough and rude "Egyptians," and he had no warmer supporters
for the Presidency, or while he was President, than they were.

Mr. Leonard Volk, the sculptor who afterwards made an excellent bust of
Lincoln, says: "My first meeting with Abraham Lincoln was in 1858, when
the celebrated Senatorial contest opened between him and Stephen A.
Douglas. I was invited by the latter to accompany him and his party by a
special train to Springfield, to which train was attached a platform-car
having on board a cannon, which made considerable noise on the journey.
At Bloomington we all stopped over night, as Douglas had a speech to
make there in the evening. The party went to the Landon House--the only
hotel, I believe, in the place at that time. While we were sitting in
the hotel office after supper, Mr. Lincoln entered, carrying an old
carpet-bag in his hand, and wearing a weather-beaten silk hat--too
large, apparently, for his head--a long, loosely-fitting frock-coat of
black alpaca, and vest and trousers of the same material. He walked up
to the counter, and, saluting the clerk pleasantly, passed the bag over
to him, and inquired if he was too late for supper. The clerk replied
that supper was over, but perhaps enough could be 'scraped up' for him.
'All right,' said Mr. Lincoln; 'I don't want much.' Meanwhile, he said,
he would wash the dust off. He was certainly very dusty; it was the
month of June, and quite warm. While he was so engaged, several old
friends, who had learned of his arrival, rushed in to see him, some of
them shouting, 'How are you, Old Abe?' Mr. Lincoln grasped them by the
hand in his cordial manner, with the broadest and pleasantest smile on
his rugged face. This was the first good view I had of the 'coming man.'
The next day we all stopped at the town of Lincoln, where short speeches
were made by the contestants, and dinner was served at the hotel; after
which, as Mr. Lincoln came out on the plank-walk in front, I was
formally presented to him. He saluted me with his natural cordiality,
grasping my hand in both his large hands with a vice-like grip, and
looking down into my face with his beaming, dark, full eyes, said: 'How
do you do? I am glad to meet you. I have read of you in the papers. You
are making a statue of Judge Douglas for Governor Matteson's new house.'
'Yes, sir,' I answered; 'and sometime when you are in Chicago, and can
spare the time, I would like to have you sit to me for a bust.' 'Yes, I
will, Mr. Volk; I shall be glad to, the first opportunity I have.' All
were soon on board the long train, crowded with people, going to hear
the speeches at Springfield. The train stopped on the track, near
Edward's Grove, in the northern outskirts of the town, where staging was
erected and a vast crowd waited under the shade of the trees. On leaving
the train, most of the passengers climbed over the fences and crossed
the stubble-field, taking a short-cut to the grove,--among them Mr.
Lincoln, who stalked forward alone, taking immense strides, the
before-mentioned carpet-bag and an umbrella in his hands, and his coat
skirts flying in the breeze. I managed to keep pretty close in the rear
of the tall, gaunt figure, with the head craned forward, apparently much
over the balance, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, that was moving
something like a hurricane across that rough stubble-field."

The contest between Lincoln and Douglas seemed to be, as expressed by
Dr. Newton Bateman, "one between sharpness and greatness." Lincoln
seemed to Dr. Bateman, "a man strongly possessed by a belief to which he
was earnestly striving to win the people over; while the aim of Mr.
Douglas seemed rather to be simply to defeat Mr. Lincoln." Yet, although
Lincoln was usually earnest and considerate of his opponent, he could,
when occasion required, bring his powers of humor and sarcasm into play
in a very effective manner. A few pointed illustrations may be given. In
his speech at Galesburg, Douglas sneeringly informed the citizens that
"Honest Abe" had been a liquor-seller. Lincoln met this with the candid
admission that once in early life he had, under the pressure of poverty,
accepted and for a few months held a position in a store where it was
necessary for him to retail liquor. "But the difference between Judge
Douglas and myself is just this," he added, "that while I was _behind_
the bar, he was _in front_ of it."

At the close of the joint discussion at Alton, Douglas led off with a
speech an hour long, in which he showed no little irritability. The
campaign was evidently wearing on him. Lincoln, on the contrary, was in
capital spirits. "He sat taking in the speech of Douglas with seeming
immobility," says Mr. Jeriah Bonham, who was present, "and when it was
ended, he rose to reply. As in the opening of all his speeches, he spoke
slowly, did not rise to his full height, leaning forward in a stooping
posture at first, his person showing all the angularities of limb and
face. For the first five or ten minutes he was both awkward and
diffident, as in almost monotonous tones he began to untangle the meshes
of Douglas's sophistry. Proceeding, he gained confidence gradually; his
voice rang out strong and clear; his tall form towered to its full
height; his face grew radiant with impassioned feeling, as he poured
forth an outburst of crushing argument and inspiring eloquence. The
people became wild with enthusiasm, but his voice rang loud above their
cheers. Frequently in his speech he would turn toward Douglas, and say
with emphasis, 'You _know_ these things are so, Mr. Douglas!' or 'You
know these things are _not_ so, Mr. Douglas!' At one time he bent his
long body over his adversary, pouring in his arguments so sharply, that
Douglas, chafing under the attack, rose to explain; but Lincoln would
not allow it. 'Sit down, Mr. Douglas!' said he peremptorily. 'I did not
interrupt you, and you shall not interrupt me. You will have
opportunity to reply to me--if you can--in your closing speech.'"

A good story is told of the occasion on which Lincoln and Douglas spoke
in Chicago. A well-known citizen who on account of his age was known
familiarly as "Father Brewster"--a man of standing, and a member of the
Board of Education--was one of the listeners on the platform. Lincoln
admired the old gentleman very much, and the admiration was mutual. They
sat together while Douglas made the opening speech. He spoke for more
than an hour, and never more brilliantly. When Lincoln's turn came he
could see that Father Brewster was exceedingly anxious as to the
outcome. Lincoln arose, let out all the joints in his long body, slowly
removed his overcoat and laid it across Mr. Brewster's knees. "Father
Brewster," he said, "will you hold my overcoat _while I stone Stephen?_"
Everybody shouted and cheered, and even Douglas joined in the laugh at
his own expense.

Beneath the humors and excitements of the campaign, the prevailing tone
of Lincoln's thought was deeply serious and reflective. Toward the
close, when indications pointed to his defeat for the Senate, he seemed
somewhat depressed, and occasionally his old habitual melancholy would
steal over him and impart to his words a touching pathos. On such an
occasion, in one of the smaller cities of Illinois, Douglas, having the
first speech, made an unusually brilliant effort. He carried the crowd
with him; and when Lincoln rose to reply, it was evident that he felt
his disadvantage--felt, too, that do what he would final defeat was
probable. He made a good speech, but not one of his best. Concluding his
argument, he stopped and stood silent for a moment, looking around upon
the throng of half-indifferent, half-friendly faces before him, with
those deep-sunken weary eyes that always seemed full of unshed tears.
Folding his hands, as if they too were tired of the hopeless fight, he
said, in his peculiar monotone: "My friends, it makes little
difference, very little difference, whether Judge Douglas or myself is
elected to the United States Senate; but the great issue which we have
submitted to you to-day is far above and beyond any personal interests
or the political fortunes of any man. And, my friends, that issue will
live and breathe and burn when the poor, feeble, stammering tongues of
Judge Douglas and myself are silent in the grave." The crowd swayed as
if smitten by a mighty wind. The simple words, and the manner in which
they were spoken, touched every heart to the core.

Lincoln spoke in all about fifty times during the campaign. At its
close, says Mr. Arnold, "both Douglas and Lincoln visited Chicago.
Douglas was so hoarse that he could hardly articulate, and it was
painful to hear him attempt to speak. Lincoln's voice was clear and
vigorous, and he really seemed in better tone than usual. His dark
complexion was bronzed by the prairie sun and winds; his eye was clear,
his step firm, and he looked like a trained athlete, ready to enter,
rather than one who had closed, a conflict."

Of the speeches in this campaign, Mr. Henry J. Raymond, the
distinguished journalist, pronounced the following well-considered
opinion: "While Douglas fully sustained his previous reputation, and
justified the estimate his friends had placed upon his abilities, he
labored under the comparative disadvantage of being much better known to
the country at large than was his antagonist. During his long public
career, people had become partially accustomed to his manner of
presenting arguments and enforcing them. The novelty and freshness of
Lincoln's addresses, on the other hand, the homeliness and force of his
illustrations, their wonderful pertinence, his exhaustless humor, his
confidence in his own resources, engendered by his firm belief in the
justice of the cause he so ably advocated, never once rising, however,
to the point of arrogance or superciliousness, fastened upon him the
eyes of the people everywhere, friends and opponents alike. It was not
strange that more than once, during the course of the unparalleled
excitement which marked this canvass, Douglas should have been thrown
off his guard by the singular self-possession displayed by his
antagonist, and by the imperturbable firmness with which he maintained
and defended a position once taken. The unassuming confidence which
marked Lincoln's conduct was early imparted to his supporters, and each
succeeding encounter added largely to the number of his friends, until
they began to indulge the hope that a triumph might be secured in spite
of the adverse circumstances under which the struggle was commenced."

Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield (Mass.) "Republican," said that
Lincoln "handled Douglas as he would an eel--by main strength.
Sometimes, perhaps, he handled him so strongly that he _slipped through
his fingers_."

"In this canvass," says Mr. Lamon, "Mr. Lincoln earned a reputation as a
popular debater second to that of no man in America--certainly not
second to that of his famous antagonist. He kept his temper; he was not
prone to personalities; he was fair, frank, and manly; and, if the
contest had shown nothing else, it would have shown at least that 'Old
Abe' could behave like a gentleman under very trying circumstances. His
marked success in these discussions was probably no surprise to the
people of the Springfield district, who knew him as well as they did Mr.
Douglas, or even better. But in the greater part of the State, and
throughout the Union, the series of brilliant victories successively won
by an obscure man over an orator of such wide experience and renown was
received with exclamations of astonishment alike by listeners and
readers."

Caleb Cushing, the distinguished Massachusetts lawyer, was one of those
acute minds whose attention was attracted to Lincoln by his debates
with Douglas. Mr. Cushing said that these debates showed Lincoln to be
the superior of Douglas "in every vital element of power"; and added
that "the world does not yet know how much of a man Lincoln really is."
It was soon to know him much more clearly. In less than two years after
the great debate this lately obscure Illinois lawyer was elected
President of the United States.




CHAPTER XII


     A Year of Waiting and Trial--Again Defeated for the
     Senate--Depression and Neglect--Lincoln Enlarging His
     Boundaries--On the Stump in Ohio--A Speech to Kentuckians--Second
     Visit to Cincinnati--A Short Trip to Kansas--Lincoln in New York
     City--The Famous Cooper Institute Speech--A Strong and Favorable
     Impression--Visits New England--Secret of Lincoln's Success as an
     Orator--Back to Springfield--Disposing of a Campaign
     Slander--Lincoln's Account of His Visit to a Five Points Sunday
     School.

On the 2d of November, 1858, the State election was held in Illinois.
The chief significance of this election was due to the fact that the
Legislature then chosen would decide whether Douglas or Lincoln should
be sent to the Senate at Washington. The result showed that Lincoln had,
by his hard efforts, won a victory for his cause and for his party, but
not for himself. The Republican State ticket was elected by a majority
of about 4,000 votes; but in the Legislature a number of members held
over from the election of two years before, and the Republican gains,
though considerable, were not quite sufficient to overcome this adverse
element. When the Legislature met, Douglas was re-elected to the Senate
by a small majority. It is said that Lincoln was deeply grieved by his
defeat. When some one inquired of him how he felt over the result, he
answered that he felt "like the boy that stubbed his toe,--'it hurt too
bad to laugh, and he was too big to cry!'"

A few days after his return to Springfield, there was pressed on the
attention of the defeated candidate a matter which must have been
peculiarly unwelcome at the time, but which was accepted with habitual
fortitude. What this matter was is revealed in the following letter:

     SPRINGFIELD, NOV. 16, 1858.

     HON. N.B. JUDD--_My Dear Sir_:--Yours of the 15th is just received.
     I wrote you the same day. As to the pecuniary matter, I am willing
     to pay according to my ability, but I am the poorest hand living to
     get others to pay. I have been on expense so long, without earning
     anything, that I am absolutely without money now for even household
     expenses. Still, if you can put in two hundred and fifty dollars
     for me towards discharging the debt of the committee, I will allow
     it when you and I settle the private matter between us. This, with
     what I have already paid with an outstanding note of mine, will
     exceed my subscription of five hundred dollars. This, too, is
     exclusive of my ordinary expenses during the campaign, all of
     which, being added to my loss of time and business, bears pretty
     heavily upon one no better off than I am. But as I had the post of
     honor, it is not for me to be over-nice.

     You are feeling badly. _And this, too, shall pass away;_ never
     fear.

     Yours as ever,
     A. LINCOLN.

Hon. E.M. Haines, who was a member of the Legislature of 1858-9, and a
supporter of Lincoln for the Senate, states that Lincoln seemed greatly
depressed by his defeat, and that his friends were also somewhat
disheartened regarding his future prospects, and neglected him to some
extent. "Some time after the Senatorial election," says Mr. Haines,
"Governor Bissell gave a reception at his house, which I attended with
my wife. After we had paid our respects to the Governor and Mrs.
Bissell, we passed on to an adjoining room, where there was quite a
throng of people engaged in conversation. Mr. Lincoln was standing near
the centre of the room, entirely alone, with his usual sad countenance,
and apparently unnoticed by anyone. I said to my wife, 'Here is Mr.
Lincoln; he looks as if he had lost all his friends; come and have an
introduction to him, and cheer him up.' Mr. Lincoln received us very
cordially, and we entered into a general conversation, apparently
unnoticed, and attracting no attention from others as they passed and
repassed around us. Dancing was going on in the adjacent rooms, and Mr.
Lincoln invited my wife to join him in the dancing, which she did, and
he apparently took much pleasure in the recreation. My wife afterwards
related to me much that Mr. Lincoln said in their conversation during
the evening. His despondency became much dispelled after they became
engaged in conversation; indeed, she said that he seemed to be putting
forth an effort to get out of the gloomy condition which had come upon
him from the result of his Senatorial canvass. He had occasion during
their conversation to refer to his age, remarking incidentally that he
was almost fifty years old; whereupon, as if suddenly reflecting that
his age was a good part of a man's life, and as if unwilling to
relinquish his hold upon the future, he suddenly braced himself up, and
said, 'But, Mrs. Haines, I feel that I am good for another fifty years
yet.'"

During the winter following the Senatorial debate Lincoln was occupied
with his private affairs. The love of public speaking had become so
strong with him that he prepared a lecture and delivered it to the
public at several places during the winter. It was somewhat humorous in
character, but was not much of a success, and he soon declined further
invitations to deliver it. To one correspondent he wrote, in March,
1859: "Your note, inviting me to deliver a lecture in Galesburg, is
received. I regret to say that I cannot do so now. I must stick to the
courts for awhile. I read a sort of a lecture to three different
audiences during the last month and this; but I did so under
circumstances which made it a waste of time, of no value whatever."

The following autumn (1859) Senator Douglas visited Ohio and made
speeches for the Democratic party there. From the Republican ranks there
arose a cry for Lincoln, whose superiority to Douglas in the great
debate of the preceding year was still fresh in the public mind. He
promptly answered it, and spoke in that State with marked effect. At
Cincinnati he addressed himself especially to Kentuckians, and said, in
a strain which is now seen to be prophetic:

     I should not wonder if there were some Kentuckians in this
     audience; we are close to Kentucky; but whether that be so or not,
     we are on elevated ground, and by speaking distinctly I should not
     wonder if some of the Kentuckians would hear me on the other side
     of the river. For that purpose I propose to address a portion of
     what I have to say to the Kentuckians. I say, then, in the first
     place, to the Kentuckians, that I am what they call, as I
     understand it, a 'Black Republican.' I think slavery is wrong,
     morally and politically. I desire that it should be no further
     spread in these United States, and I should not object if it should
     gradually terminate in the whole Union. While I say this for
     myself, I say to you Kentuckians, that I understand you differ
     radically with me upon this proposition; that you believe slavery
     is a good thing; that slavery is right; that it ought to be
     extended and perpetuated in this Union. Now, there being this broad
     difference between us, I do not pretend, in addressing myself to
     you Kentuckians, to attempt proselyting you; that would be a vain
     effort. I will tell you, so far as I am authorized to speak for the
     opposition, what we mean to do with you. We mean to treat you, as
     nearly as we possibly can, as Washington, Jefferson, and Madison
     treated you. We mean to leave you alone, and in no way to interfere
     with your institution; to abide by all and every compromise of the
     Constitution, and, in a word, coming back to the original
     proposition, to treat you, so far as degenerated men (if we have
     degenerated) may, according to the examples of those noble
     fathers--Washington, Jefferson and Madison. We mean to remember
     that you are as good as we; that there is no difference between
     us, other than the difference of circumstances. We mean to
     recognize and bear in mind always, that you have as good hearts in
     your bosoms as other people, or as we claim to have, and treat you
     accordingly. We mean to marry your girls, when we have a
     chance--the white ones, I mean--and I have the honor to inform you
     that I once did have a chance in that way. I have told you what we
     mean to do. I want to know now what _you_ mean to do. I often hear
     it intimated that you mean to divide the Union whenever a
     Republican, or anything like it, is elected President of the United
     States. [A voice--'That is so.'] 'That is so,' one of them says; I
     wonder if he is a Kentuckian? [A voice--'He is a Douglas man.']
     Well, then, I want to know what you are going to do with your half
     of it? Are you going to split the Ohio down through, and push your
     half off a piece? Or are you going to keep it right alongside of us
     outrageous fellows? Or are you going to build up a wall some way
     between your country and ours, by which that movable property of
     yours can't come over here any more, to the danger of your losing
     it? Do you think you can better yourselves on that subject by
     leaving us here under no obligation whatever to return those
     specimens of your movable property that come hither? You have
     divided the Union because we would not do right with you, as you
     think, upon that subject; when we cease to be under obligations to
     do anything for you, how much better off do you think you will be?
     Will you make war upon us and kill us all? Why, gentlemen, I think
     you are as gallant and as brave men as live; that you can fight as
     bravely in a good cause, man for man, as any other people living;
     that you have shown yourselves capable of this upon various
     occasions; but man for man, you are not better than we are, and
     there are not so many of you as there are of us. You will never
     make much of a hand at whipping us. If we were fewer in numbers
     than you, I think that you could whip us; if we were equal, it
     would likely be a drawn battle; but being inferior in numbers, you
     will make nothing by attempting to master us.

The Hon. W.M. Dickson, whose interesting account of Lincoln's first
visit to Cincinnati and the disappointments attending it has already
been given in this narrative, says of this second visit as contrasted
with the obscurity of the first: "Lincoln returned to the city with a
fame wide as the continent, with the laurels of the Douglas contest on
his brow, and the Presidency almost in his grasp. He returned, greeted
with the thunder of cannon, the strains of martial music, and the joyous
plaudits of thousands of citizens thronging the streets. He addressed a
vast concourse on Fifth Street Market; was entertained in princely style
at the Burnet House; and there received with courtesy the foremost
citizens, come to greet this Western rising star."

In December of the same year Lincoln visited Kansas and addressed the
people of that troubled State upon the political questions then before
the country. At Leavenworth, Atchison, Elwood, and other places, he was
met by large gatherings of eager listeners who were charmed and
convinced by his fresh and reassuring utterances. His journeys were
complete ovations, and he returned to Illinois leaving a host of new
friends behind him. As several of Lincoln's biographers make no
reference to his Kansas visit, and the entire matter seems more or less
obscured, the following letter, lately written by Mr. Harry W. Stewart,
of Carlsbad, New Mexico, is of much interest: "I have recently seen a
reference to Lincoln's visit to Kansas as if the fact were not clearly
established. In this connection I may offer a personal recollection of
my father, James G. Stewart, who was a physician practicing in the
little town of Elwood, Kansas, from 1856 to 1860. He said that both
Lincoln and Seward came out and spoke in St. Joseph, Mo., just across
the river from Elwood. On each occasion a large following of 'free
state' men went over to St. Jo to hear the speech and incidentally to
support the speaker in case of violence, which had been freely
predicted. According to this reminiscence, Lincoln crossed the Missouri
into Kansas, my father having the honor of taking him in a buggy to a
small town fourteen miles distant from Elwood in Doniphan County. They
drove out to Troy, where Mr. Lincoln made a speech. From here I think he
went on to Lawrence and other places before returning to St. Joseph, but
have no account of his movements beyond Troy. I think it was in the year
1858 and must have been in the summer time, for the party took Mr.
Lincoln over the Missouri on a ferry. It did not make trips oftener than
about once in two hours. When Lincoln came to the bank on the Missouri
side the boat had just gone. There was no waiting-room or benches to sit
on and some of the party were inclined to think they were in hard luck.
When Lincoln found out how it was, he said: 'It's all right. We'll sit
right down on the sand and wait for the boat.' Then they all sat down on
the ground and listened to genuine Lincoln stories till the time was up.
My father often spoke with delight of this incident. I have looked in
vain in Lincoln histories for a more definite account of this Kansas
trip. Of the actual fact there can be no doubt."

Lincoln's fame, as we have seen, had now extended to the East, where he
seems to have been looked upon as a rising man and an interesting figure
in national politics. Invitations to visit the East now began to reach
him. In the following February (1860) he went to Brooklyn, for the
purpose of delivering a lecture in Mr. Beecher's church. The invitation
had given him much pleasure, and he prepared himself thoroughly; indeed,
it is said that no effort of his life cost him so much labor as this. In
the Plymouth congregation of Brooklyn there was an association of young
men which was successful in getting an annual course of six lectures of
the highest order. This association discerned in Lincoln a man worthy of
a place in its course, and invited him to give such a lecture.
Meanwhile, some prominent Republican politicians of New York had heard
of him as a possible candidate for the Presidency, and desired him to
make a speech in that city in order to determine whether he would be the
man to present to the Republican National convention in case Mr. Seward
could not be nominated. Lincoln informed these gentlemen of his Brooklyn
engagement, but said he would speak in New York if the Brooklyn club
gave its consent. That club agreed to this arrangement; and thus it was
decided that Lincoln's speech should be delivered in New York City,
instead of Brooklyn, as had been first intended. Mr. R.C. McCormick, who
was a member of the committee in charge of the arrangements, says: "When
Mr. Lincoln came to New York City, there was some confusion in the
arrangements. He had at first been invited to appear in Brooklyn, but
upon deliberation his friends thought it best that he should be heard in
New York. Reaching the Astor House on Saturday, February 25, he was
surprised to find by announcement in the public prints that he was to
speak at the Cooper Institute. He said he must review his address if it
was to be delivered in New York. What he had prepared for Mr. Beecher's
church-folks might not be altogether appropriate to a miscellaneous
political audience. Saturday was spent in a review of the speech, and on
Sunday morning he went to Plymouth church, where apparently he greatly
enjoyed the service. On Monday morning I waited upon him with several
members of the Young Men's Republican Union, into whose hands the
preparations for the meeting at the Cooper Institute had fallen. We
found him in a suit of black, much wrinkled from its careless packing in
a small valise. He received us cordially, apologizing for the awkward
and uncomfortable appearance he made in his new suit, and expressing
himself surprised at being in New York. His form and manner were indeed
very odd, and we thought him the most unprepossessing public man we had
ever met. I spoke to him of the manuscript of his forthcoming address,
and suggested to him that it should be given to the press at his
earliest convenience, in order that it might be published in full on the
morning following its delivery. He appeared in much doubt as to whether
any of the papers would care to print it; and it was only when I
accompanied a reporter to his room and made a request for it, that he
began to think his words might be of interest to the metropolitan
public. He seemed wholly ignorant of the custom of supplying slips to
the different journals from the office first putting the addresses in
type, and was charmingly innocent of the machinery so generally used,
even by some of our most popular orators, to give success and _eclat_ to
their public efforts. The address was written upon blue foolscap paper,
all in his own hand, and with few interlineations. I was bold enough to
read portions of it, and had no doubt that its delivery would create a
marked sensation throughout the country. Lincoln referred frequently to
Douglas, but always in a generous and kindly manner. It was difficult to
regard them as antagonists. Many stories of the famous Illinois debates
were told us, and in a very short time his frank and sparkling
conversation won our hearts and made his plain face pleasant to us all.
During the day it was suggested that he should be taken up Broadway and
shown the city, of which he knew but little--stating, I think, that he
had been here but once before. At one place he met an Illinois
acquaintance of former years, to whom he said, in his dry, good-natured
way: 'Well, B., how have you fared since you left Illinois?' To which B.
replied, 'I have made a hundred thousand dollars, and lost all. How is
it with you, Mr. Lincoln?' 'Oh, very well,' said Lincoln. 'I have the
cottage at Springfield, and about eight thousand dollars in money. If
they make me Vice-president with Seward, as some say they will, I hope I
shall be able to increase it to twenty thousand; and that is as much as
any man ought to want.' We visited a photographic establishment upon
the corner of Broadway and Bleeker streets, where he sat for his
picture, the first taken in New York. At the gallery he met and was
introduced to Hon. George Bancroft, and had a brief conversation with
that gentleman, who welcomed him to New York. The contrast in the
appearance of the men was most striking; the one courtly and precise in
his every word and gesture, with the air of a trans-Atlantic statesman;
the other bluff and awkward, his very utterance an apology for his
ignorance of metropolitan manners and customs. 'I am on my way to
Massachusetts,' he said to Mr. Bancroft, 'where I have a son at school,
who, if report be true, already knows much more than his father.'"

On the evening of February 27 a large and brilliant audience gathered at
Cooper Institute, to hear the famous Western orator. The scene was one
never to be forgotten by those who witnessed it. Upon the platform sat
many of the prominent men of the Republican party, and in the body of
the hall were many ladies. The meeting was presided over by the
distinguished citizen and poet William Cullen Bryant, of whom Mr.
Lincoln afterward said, "It was worth a journey to the East merely to
see such a man." The orator of the evening was introduced by Mr. Bryant
with some very complimentary allusions, especially to his controversy
with Douglas. "When Mr. Lincoln came on the platform and was introduced
by Mr. Bryant," says one who was present, "he seemed a giant in contrast
with him. His first sentence was delivered in a peculiarly high-keyed
voice, and disappointed us. In a short time the sharp points of his
address began to come, and he had not been speaking for half an hour
before his audience seemed wild with enthusiasm." Another account says:
"His manner was, to a New York audience, a very strange one, but it was
captivating. He held the vast meeting spell-bound, and as one by one
his oddly expressed but trenchant and convincing arguments confirmed the
soundness of his political conclusions, the house broke out in wild and
prolonged enthusiasm. I think I never saw an audience more thoroughly
carried away by an orator." This speech was full of trenchant passages,
which called forth tumultuous applause. The following is a specimen:

     I defy anyone to show that any living man in the whole world ever
     did, prior to the beginning of the present century (and I might
     almost say prior to the beginning of the last half of the present
     century), declare that, in his understanding, any proper division
     of local from Federal authority, or any part of the Constitution,
     forbade the Federal Government to control slavery in the Federal
     territories. To those who now so declare, I give not only our
     fathers who framed the government under which we live, but with
     them all other living men within the century in which it was
     framed, among whom to search, and they shall not be able to find
     the evidence of a single man agreeing with them.

Referring to the South, and the growing political discontent in that
quarter, he said:

     Let all who believe that our fathers understood this question just
     as well as, and even better than, we do now, speak as they spoke
     and act as they acted upon it. This is all Republicans ask--all
     Republicans desire--in relation to slavery. As those fathers marked
     it, so let it be again marked, as an evil not to be extended, but
     to be tolerated and protected only because, and so far as, its
     actual presence among us makes that toleration and protection a
     necessity. Let all the guarantees those fathers gave it be not
     grudgingly but fully and fairly maintained.

His counsel to the young Republican party was timely and full of wisdom.

     A few words now to Republicans: It is exceedingly desirable that
     all parts of this great Confederacy shall be at peace, and in
     harmony one with another. Let us Republicans do our part to have it
     so. Even though much provoked, let us do nothing through passion
     and ill-temper. Even though the Southern people will not so much as
     listen to us, let us calmly consider their demands, and yield to
     them, if in our deliberate view of our duty we possibly can.

The address closed with the following impressive words:

     Wrong as we think slavery is, we can yet afford to let it alone
     where it is, because that much is due to the necessity arising from
     its actual presence in the nation; but can we, while our votes will
     prevent it, allow it to spread into the National Territories, and
     to overrun us here in these free States? If our sense of duty
     forbids this, then let us stand by our duty, fearlessly and
     effectively. Let us be diverted by none of those sophistical
     contrivances wherewith we are so industriously plied and
     belabored--contrivances such as groping for some middle ground
     between the right and the wrong, vain as the search for a man who
     should be neither a living man nor a dead man,--such as a policy of
     'don't care' on a question about which all true men do care,--such
     as Union appeals, beseeching true Union men to yield to
     Disunionists, reversing the divine rule, and calling not the
     sinners but the righteous to repentance,--such as invocations of
     Washington, imploring men to unsay what Washington said and undo
     what Washington did. Neither let us be slandered from our duty by
     false accusations against us, nor frightened from it by menaces of
     destruction to the Government nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us
     have faith that right makes might; and in that faith, let us to the
     end dare to do our duty as we understand it.

The Cooper Institute speech made a profound impression upon the public.
All who saw and heard Lincoln on that occasion felt the influence of his
strange but powerful personality; and acute minds recognized in the
unsophisticated Western lawyer a new force in American politics. This
speech made Lincoln known throughout the country, and undoubtedly did
more than anything else to secure him the nomination for the Presidency.
Aside from its extensive publication in the newspapers, various editions
of it appeared in pamphlet form, one of the best of which was issued by
Messrs. C.C. Nott and Cephas Brainard, who appended to their edition an
estimate of the speech that is well worth reprinting here: "No one who
has not actually attempted to verify its details can understand the
patient research and historical labor which it embodies. The history of
our earlier politics is scattered through numerous journals, statutes,
pamphlets, and letters; and these are defective in completeness and
accuracy of statement, and in indexes and tables of contents. Neither
can any one who has not travelled over this precise ground appreciate
the accuracy of every trivial detail, or the self-denying impartiality
with which Mr. Lincoln has turned from the testimony of 'the fathers' on
the general question of slavery to present the single question which he
discusses. From the first line to the last, from his premises to his
conclusion, he travels with a swift, unerring directness which no
logician ever excelled,--an argument complete and full, without the
affectation of learning, and without the stiffness which usually
accompanies dates and details. A single easy, simple sentence of plain
Anglo-Saxon words contains a chapter of history that, in some instances,
has taken days of labor to verify, and must have cost the author months
of investigation to acquire; and though the public should justly
estimate the labor bestowed on the facts which are stated, they cannot
estimate the greater labor involved on those which are omitted--how many
pages have been read--how many works examined--what numerous statutes,
resolutions, speeches, letters, and biographies have been looked
through. Commencing with this address as a political pamphlet, the
reader will leave it as an historical work--brief, complete, profound,
impartial, truthful,--which will survive the time and the occasion that
called it forth, and be esteemed hereafter no less for its intrinsic
worth than for its unpretending modesty."

Lincoln's oldest son, Robert, was at this time a student in Harvard
University, and, chiefly to visit him, Lincoln made a brief trip to New
England. While there he spoke at Concord and Manchester in New
Hampshire; at Woonsocket in Rhode Island; and at Hartford, New Haven,
Norwich, Meriden, and Bridgeport in Connecticut. These speeches were
heard with delight by large audiences, and received hearty praise from
the press. At Manchester, "The Mirror," a neutral paper, published the
following remarks on Lincoln's style of oratory: "He spoke an hour and a
half, with great fairness, great apparent candor, and with wonderful
interest. He did not abuse the South, the administration, or the
Democrats, nor indulge in any personalities, with the exception of a few
hits at 'Douglas's notions.' He is far from prepossessing in personal
appearance, and his voice is disagreeable; and yet he wins attention and
good-will from the start. He indulges in no flowers of rhetoric, no
eloquent passages. He is not a wit, a humorist, or a clown; yet so fine
a vein of pleasantry and good-nature pervades what he says, gliding over
a deep current of poetical arguments, that he keeps his hearers in a
smiling mood, ready to swallow all he says. His sense of the ludicrous
is very keen; and an exhibition of that is the clincher of all his
arguments--not the ludicrous acts of persons, but ludicrous ideas. For
the first half-hour his opponents would agree with every word he
uttered; and from that point he began to lead them off little by little,
until it seemed as if he had got them all into his fold."

The Rev. John. P. Gulliver, of Norwich, Connecticut, has given a most
interesting reminiscence of Lincoln's speech in that city while on his
tour through New England. On the morning following the speech he met
Lincoln on a railroad train, and entered into conversation with him. In
speaking of his speech, Mr. Gulliver remarked to Lincoln that he thought
it the most remarkable one he ever heard. "Are you sincere in what you
say?" inquired Lincoln. "I mean every word of it," replied the minister;
"indeed, I learned more of the art of public speaking last evening than
I could from a whole course of lectures on rhetoric." Then Lincoln
informed him of a "most extraordinary circumstance" that had occurred at
New Haven a few days previous. A professor of rhetoric in Yale College,
he had been told, came to hear him, took notes of his speech, and gave a
lecture on it to his class the following day, and, not satisfied with
that, followed him to Meriden the next evening and heard him again for
the same purpose. All this seemed to Lincoln to be "very extraordinary."
He had been sufficiently astonished by his success in the West, but he
had no expectation of any marked success in the East, particularly among
literary and learned men. "Now," said Lincoln, "I should like very much
to know what it is in my speech which you thought so remarkable, and
which interested my friend the professor so much." Mr. Gulliver's answer
was: "The clearness of your statements, the unanswerable style of your
reasoning, and especially your illustrations, which were romance and
pathos and fun and logic all welded together." After Mr. Gulliver had
fully satisfied his curiosity by a further exposition of the
politician's peculiar power, Lincoln said: "I am much obliged to you for
this. I have been wishing for a long time to find someone who would make
this analysis for me. It throws light on a subject which has been dark
to me. I can understand very readily how such a power as you have
ascribed to me will account for the effect which seems to be produced
by my speeches. I hope you have not been too flattering in your
estimate. Certainly I have had a most wonderful success for a man of my
limited education." Mr. Gulliver then inquired into the processes by
which he had acquired his education, and was rewarded with many
interesting details. When they were about to part, the minister said:
"Mr. Lincoln, may I say one thing to you before we separate?"
"Certainly; anything you please," was the response. "You have just
spoken," said Mr. Gulliver, "of the tendency of political life in
Washington to debase the moral convictions of our representatives there,
by the admixture of considerations of mere political expediency. You
have become, by the controversy with Mr. Douglas, one of our leaders in
this great struggle with slavery, which is undoubtedly the struggle of
the nation and the age. What I would like to say is this, and I say it
with a full heart: Be true to your principles, and we will be true to
you, and God will be true to us all." Mr. Lincoln, touched by the
earnestness of his interlocutor, took his hand in both his own, and,
with his face full of sympathetic light, exclaimed: "I say _amen_ to
that! _amen to that_!"

After the New England tour, Lincoln returned to his home in Springfield.
As often happens, those least appreciative of his success were his own
neighbors; and certain reflections gained vogue concerning his motives
in visiting the East. It was charged that he had been mercenary; that
his political speeches had been paid for. Something of this sort having
been brought to Lincoln's notice, he disposed of the matter in the
following manly and characteristic letter:

     C.F. McNEILL, ESQ.--_Dear Sir:_--Reaching home yesterday, I found
     yours of the 23d March, enclosing a slip from the 'Middleport
     Press.' It is not true that I ever charged anything for a political
     speech in my life; but this much is true: Last October I was
     requested by letter to deliver some sort of speech in Mr. Beecher's
     church in Brooklyn, $200 being offered in the first letter. I wrote
     that I could do it in February, provided they would take a
     political speech if I could find time to get up no other. They
     agreed; and subsequently I informed them the speech would have to
     be a political one. When I reached New York, I learned for the
     first time that the place was changed to Cooper Institute. I made
     the speech, and left for New England, where I have a son at school,
     neither asking for pay nor having any offered me. Three days after,
     a check for $200 was sent me, and I took it, and did not know it
     was wrong. My understanding now is--though I knew nothing of it at
     the time--that they did charge for admittance at the Cooper
     Institute, and that they took in more than twice $200. I have made
     this explanation to you as a friend; but I wish no explanation made
     to our enemies. What they want is a squabble and a fuss; and that
     they can have if we explain; and they cannot have it if we don't.
     When I returned through New York from New England, I was told by
     the gentleman who sent me the check that a drunken vagabond in the
     club, having learned something about the $200, made the exhibition
     out of which the 'Herald' manufactured the article quoted by the
     'Press' of your town. My judgment is, and therefore my request is,
     that you give no denial, and no explanations.

     Thanking you for your kind interest in the matter, I remain,

     Yours truly, A. LINCOLN.

It appears that on the Sunday which Lincoln spent in New York City he
visited a Sunday School in the notorious region called Five Points, and
there made a short address to the scholars. After his return to
Springfield, one of his neighbors, hearing of this, thought it would be
a good subject for bantering Lincoln about, and accordingly visited him
for that purpose. This neighbor was generally known as "Jim," just as
Lincoln was called "Abe." The following account of his visit, furnished
by Mr. Edward Eggleston, shows that he did not derive as much fun from
the "bantering" as he had expected: "He started for 'Old Abe's' office;
but bursting open the door impulsively, found a stranger in conversation
with Mr. Lincoln. He turned to retrace his steps, when Lincoln called
out, 'Jim! What do you want?' 'Nothing.' 'Yes, you do; come back.' After
some entreaty 'Jim' approached Mr. Lincoln, and remarked, with a twinkle
in his eye, 'Well, Abe, I see you have been making a speech to Sunday
School children. What's the matter?' 'Sit down, Jim, and I'll tell you
all about it.' And with that Lincoln put his feet on the stove, and
began: 'When Sunday morning came, I didn't know exactly what to do. Mr.
Washburne asked me where I was going. I told him I had nowhere to go;
and he proposed to take me down to the Five Points Sunday School, to
show me something worth seeing. I was very much interested by what I
saw. Presently, Mr. Pease came up and spoke to Mr. Washburne, who
introduced me. Mr. Pease wanted us to speak. Washburne spoke, and then I
was urged to speak. I told them I did not know anything about talking to
Sunday Schools, but Mr. Pease said many of the children were friendless
and homeless, and that a few words would do them good. Washburne said I
must talk. And so I rose to speak; but I tell you, Jim, I didn't know
what to say. I remembered that Mr. Pease said they were homeless and
friendless, and I thought of the time when I had been pinched by
terrible poverty. And so I told them that I had been poor; that I
remembered when my toes stuck out through my broken shoes in winter;
when my arms were out at the elbows; when I shivered with the cold. And
I told them there was only one rule; that was, always do the very best
you can. I told them that I had always tried to do the very best I
could; and that, if they would follow that rule, they would get along
somehow. That was about what I said. And when I got through, Mr. Pease
said it was just the thing they needed. And when the school was
dismissed, all the teachers came up and shook hands with me, and thanked
me; although I did not know that I had been saying anything of any
account. But the next morning I saw my remarks noticed in the papers.'
Just here Mr. Lincoln put his hand in his pocket, and remarked that he
had never heard anything that touched him as had the songs which those
children sang. With that he drew forth a little book, saying that they
had given him one of the books from which they sang. He began to read a
piece with all the earnestness of his great, earnest soul. In the middle
of the second verse his friend 'Jim' felt a choking in his throat and a
tickling in his nose. At the beginning of the third verse he saw that
the stranger was weeping, and his own tears fell fast. Turning toward
Lincoln, who was reading straight on, he saw the great blinding tears in
his eyes, so that he could not possibly see the pages. He was repeating
that little song from memory. How often he had read it, or how long its
sweet and simple accents continued to reverberate through his soul, no
one can know."




CHAPTER XIII


     Looking Towards the Presidency--The Illinois Republican Convention
     of 1860--A "Send-Off" for Lincoln--The National Republican
     Convention at Chicago--Contract of the Leading Candidates--Lincoln
     Nominated--Scenes at the Convention--Sketches by
     Eye-Witnesses--Lincoln Hearing the News--The Scene at
     Springfield--A Visit to Lincoln at His Home--Recollections of a
     Distinguished Sculptor--Receiving the Committee of the
     Convention--Nomination of Douglas--Campaign of 1860--Various
     Campaign Reminiscences--Lincoln and the Tall Southerner--The Vote
     of the Springfield Clergy--A Graceful Letter to the Poet
     Bryant--"Looking up Hard Spots."

In the latter part of the year 1859, after Lincoln had gained
considerable national prominence through events already briefly
narrated, some of his friends began to consider the expediency of
bringing him forward as a candidate for the Presidency in 1860. The
young Republican party had thus far been in the minority, and the
necessity was generally felt of nominating a man who would not render
himself objectionable by advocating extreme or unpopular measures. The
subject was mentioned to Lincoln, but he seems not to have taken it very
seriously. He said that there were distinguished men in the party who
were more worthy of the nomination, and whose public services entitled
them to it. Toward spring in 1860 Lincoln consented to a conference on
the subject with some of his more intimate friends. The meeting took
place in a committee-room in the State House. Mr. Bushnell, Mr. Hatch
(then Secretary of State), Mr. Judd (Chairman of the Republican State
Central Committee), Mr. Peck, and Mr. Grimshaw were present. They were
unanimous in opinion as to the expediency and propriety of making
Lincoln a candidate. But he was still reluctant; he doubted that he
could get the nomination even if he wished it, and asked until the next
morning to consider the matter. The next day he authorized his friends
to work for him, if they so desired, as a candidate for the Presidency,
at the National Republican convention to be held in May at Chicago.

It is evident that while Lincoln had no serious expectation of receiving
the nomination, yet having consented to become a candidate he was by no
means indifferent on the subject. The following confidential letter to
his friend N.B. Judd shows his feelings at this time.

     SPRINGFIELD, ILL., FEBRUARY 9, 1860.

     HON. N.B. JUDD--_Dear Sir_:--I am not in a position where it would
     hurt much for me not to be nominated on the national ticket; but I
     am where it would hurt some for me not to get the Illinois
     delegates. What I expected when I wrote the letter to Messrs. Dole
     and others is now happening. Your discomfited assailants are more
     bitter against me, and they will, for revenge upon me, lay to the
     Bates egg in the South and the Seward egg in the North, and go far
     towards squeezing me out in the middle with nothing. Can you not
     help me a little in this matter in your end of the vineyard? (I
     mean this to be private.)

     Yours as ever, A. LINCOLN.

It would seem that the original intention of Lincoln's friends had been
to bring him out as a candidate for the Vice-Presidency. Hon. E.M.
Haines states that as early as the spring of 1859, before the
adjournment of the Legislature of which he was a member, some of the
Republican members discussed the feasibility of urging Lincoln's name
for the Vice-Presidency. Lincoln appears not to have taken very strongly
to the suggestion. "I recollect," says Mr. Haines, "that one day Mr.
Lincoln came to my desk in the House of Representatives, to make some
inquiry regarding another member; and during the conversation, referring
to his growing reputation, I remarked to him that I did not know that
we would be able to make him President, but perhaps we could do the next
best thing, and make him Vice-President. He brightened up somewhat, and
answered by a story which I do not clearly recall, but the application
of which was that he scarcely considered himself a big enough man for
President, while the Vice-Presidency was scarcely big enough office for
one who had aspired to a seat in the Senate of the United States."

On the 9th and 10th of May, 1860, the Republicans of Illinois met in
convention at Decatur. Lincoln was present, although he is said to have
been there as a mere spectator. It was, Mr. Lamon tells us, "A very
large and spirited body, comprising the most brilliant as well as the
shrewdest men in the party. It was evident that something of more than
usual importance was expected to transpire. A few moments after the
convention organized, 'Old Abe' was seen squatting, or sitting on his
heels, just within the door of the convention building. Governor Oglesby
rose and said, amid increasing silence, 'I am informed that a
distinguished citizen of Illinois, and one whom Illinois will ever
delight to honor, is present; and I wish to move that this body invite
him to a seat on the stand.' Here the Governor paused, as if to work
curiosity up to the highest point; then he shouted the magic name,
'_Abraham Lincoln_!' A roar of applause shook every board and joist of
the building. The motion was seconded and passed. A rush was made for
the hero, who still sat on his heels. He was seized and jerked to his
feet. An effort was made to 'jam him through the crowd' to his place of
honor on the stage; but the crowd was too dense. Then he was
'boosted'--lifted up bodily--and lay for a few seconds sprawling and
kicking upon the heads and shoulders of the great throng. In this manner
he was gradually pushed toward the stand, and finally reached it,
doubtless to his great relief, 'in the arms of some half-dozen
gentlemen,' who set him down in full view of his clamorous admirers.
'The cheering was like the roar of the sea. Hats were thrown up by the
Chicago delegation, as if hats were no longer useful.' Mr. Lincoln rose,
bowed, smiled, blushed, and thanked the assembly as well as he could in
the midst of such a tumult. A gentleman who saw it all says, 'I then
thought him one of the most diffident and worst-plagued men I ever saw.'
At another stage of the proceedings, Governor Oglesby rose again with
another provoking and mysterious speech. 'There was,' he said, 'an old
Democrat outside who had something he wished to present to the
convention.' 'Receive it!' 'Receive it!' cried some. 'What is it?' 'What
is it?' yelled some of the lower Egyptians, who seemed to have an idea
that the 'old Democrat' might want to blow them up with an infernal
machine. The door opened; and a fine, robust old fellow, with an open
countenance and bronzed cheeks, marched into the midst of the
assemblage, bearing on his shoulder 'two small triangular heart rails,'
surmounted by a banner with this inscription: '_Two rails from a lot
made by Abraham Lincoln and John Hanks, in the Sangamon Bottom, in the
year 1830_.' The sturdy rail-bearer was old John Hanks himself, enjoying
the great field-day of his life. He was met with wild and tumultuous
cheers, prolonged through several minutes; and it was observed that the
Chicago and Central-Illinois men sent up the loudest and longest
cheering. The scene was tempestuous and bewildering. But it ended at
last; and now the whole body, those in the secret and those out of it,
clamored for a speech from Mr. Lincoln, who in the meantime 'blushed,'
but seemed to shake with inward laughter. In response to the repeated
calls he rose and said: 'Gentlemen, I suppose you want to know something
about those things' (pointing to old John and the rails). 'Well, the
truth is, John Hanks and I did make rails in the Sangamon Bottom. I
don't know whether we made those rails or not; the fact is, I don't
think they are a credit to the makers' (laughing as he spoke). 'But I do
know this: I made rails then, and I think I could make better ones than
these now.' By this time the innocent Egyptians began to open their
eyes; they saw plainly enough the admirable Presidential scheme unfolded
to their view. The result of it all was a resolution declaring that
'Abraham Lincoln is the first choice of the Republican party of Illinois
for the Presidency, and instructing the delegates to the Chicago
convention to use all honorable means to secure his nomination, and to
cast the vote of the State as a unit for him.'"

On the 16th of May, 1860, the National Republican convention met at
Chicago. An immense building called "The Wigwam," erected for the
occasion, was filled with an excited throng numbering fully twelve
thousand. After the usual preliminaries the convention settled down to
the serious work of nominating a candidate for the Presidency. From the
outset the contest was clearly between Abraham Lincoln of Illinois and
William H. Seward of New York. On the first ballot, Seward's vote of
173-1/2 was followed by Lincoln with 102--the latter having more than
double the vote of his next competitor, Simon Cameron of Pennsylvania
(51 votes), who was followed by Salmon P. Chase of Ohio (49 votes) and
Edward Bates of Missouri (48 votes). A contrast between these two
remarkable men, Seward and Lincoln, now political antagonists but soon
to be intimately associated at the head of the Government--one as
President and the other as his prime minister--is most interesting and
instructive. Seward was a trained statesman and experienced politician
of ripe culture and great sagacity, the acknowledged leader of the
Republican party, New York's ex-Governor and now its most distinguished
Senator. His position and career were therefore far more conspicuous
than those of Lincoln. His supporters in the convention were
well-organized, bold, confident, and expected that he would be nominated
by acclamation. Lincoln, on the other hand, was still essentially a
country lawyer, who had come into prominence mainly as the competitor of
Senator Douglas in Illinois in 1858. With all his native strength of
mind and force of character, he was, compared with the polished Seward,
a rude backwoodsman, unskilled in handling the reins of government,
unfamiliar with the wiles of statecraft, and unused to the company of
diplomats and social leaders. His political reputation, and his support
in the convention, were chiefly Western. Yet his Cooper Institute
speech, delivered three months before the convention met, had done much
for him in the East; and the homely title of "Honest Old Abe" had
extended throughout the free States. Unlike Seward, he had no political
enemies, and was the second choice of most of the delegates whose first
choice was some other candidate.

In political management and strategy the Western men at the convention
soon showed that they were at best a match for those from the East. Soon
after the opening of the convention, Lincoln's friends saw that there
was an organized body of men in the crowd who cheered vociferously
whenever Seward's name was mentioned. "At a meeting of the Illinois
delegation at the Tremont House," says Mr. Arnold, "on the evening of
the first day, at which Judd, Davis, Cook and others were present, it
was decided that on the second day Illinois and the West should be
heard. There was then living in Chicago a man whose voice could drown
the roar of Lake Michigan in its wildest fury; nay, it was said that his
shout could be heard on a calm day across that lake. Cook of Ottawa knew
another man living on the Illinois river, a Dr. Ames, who had never
found his equal in his ability to shout and hurrah. He was, however, a
Democrat. Cook telegraphed to him to come to Chicago by the first
train. These two men with stentorian voices met some of the Illinois
delegation at the Tremont House, and were instructed to organize each a
body of men to cheer and shout, which they speedily did, out of the
crowds which were in attendance from the Northwest. They were placed on
opposite sides of the Wigwam, and instructed that when they saw Cook
take out his white handkerchief they were to cheer and not to cease
until he returned it to his pocket. Cook was conspicuous on the
platform, and at the first utterance of the name of Lincoln,
simultaneously with the wave of Cook's handkerchief, there went up such
a cheer, such a shout as had never before been heard, and which startled
the friends of Seward as the cry of 'Marmion' on Flodden Field 'startled
the Scottish foe.' The New Yorkers tried to follow when the name of
Seward was spoken, but, beaten at their own game, their voices were
drowned by the cheers for Lincoln. This was kept up until Lincoln was
nominated, amidst a storm of applause probably never before equalled at
a political convention."

The result on the first ballot, with Seward leading Lincoln by 71-1/2
votes, has already been given. On the second ballot Seward gained 11
votes, giving him 184-1/2; while Lincoln made the astonishing gain of 78
votes, giving him a total of 181 and reducing Seward's lead of 71-1/2
votes to 3-1/2 votes. There was no longer doubt of the result. The third
ballot came, and Lincoln, passing Seward who had fallen off 3-1/2 votes
from the previous ballot, ran rapidly up to 231-1/2 votes--233 being the
number required to nominate. Lincoln now lacked but a vote and a half to
make him the nominee. At this juncture, the chairman of the Ohio
delegation rose and changed four votes from Chase to Lincoln, giving him
the nomination. The Wigwam was shaken to its foundation by the roaring
cheers. The multitude in the streets answered the multitude within, and
in a moment more all the volunteer artillery of Chicago joined in the
grand acclamation. After a time the business of the convention
proceeded, amid great excitement. All the votes that had heretofore been
cast against Lincoln were cast for him before this ballot concluded. The
convention completed its work by the nomination of Hannibal Hamlin of
Maine for Vice-President.

Mr. F.B. Carpenter, who was present at Lincoln's nomination, furnishes a
graphic sketch of this dramatic episode. "The scene surpassed
description. Men had been stationed upon the roof of the Wigwam to
communicate the result of the different ballots to the thousands
outside, far outnumbering the packed crowd inside. To these men one of
the secretaries shouted: 'Fire the salute! Lincoln is nominated!' Then,
as the cheering inside died away, the roar began on the outside, and
swelled up from the excited masses like the noise of many waters. This
the insiders heard, and to it they replied. Thus deep called to deep
with such a frenzy of sympathetic enthusiasm that even the thundering
salute of cannon was unheard by many on the platform. When the
excitement had partly subsided, Mr. Evarts of New York arose, and in
appropriate words expressed his grief that Seward had not been
nominated. He then moved that the nomination of Abraham Lincoln be made
unanimous. Governor John A. Andrew of Massachusetts and Hon. Carl Schurz
of Wisconsin seconded the motion, and it was carried. Then the
enthusiasm of the multitude burst out anew. A large banner, prepared by
the Pennsylvania delegation, was conspicuously displayed, bearing the
inscription, 'Pennsylvania good for twenty thousand majority for the
people's candidate, Abe Lincoln.' Delegates tore up the sticks and
boards bearing the names of their several States, and waved them aloft
over their heads. A brawny man jumped upon the platform, and pulling
his coat-sleeves up to his elbows, shouted: 'I can't stop! Three times
three more cheers for our next President, Abe Lincoln!' A full-length
portrait of the candidate was produced upon the platform. Mr. Greeley
telegraphed to the N.Y. Tribune: 'There was never another such scene in
America.' Chicago went wild. One hundred guns were fired from the top of
the Tremont House. At night the city was in a blaze of glory. Bonfires,
processions, torchlights, fire-works, illuminations and salutes, 'filled
the air with noise and the eye with beauty.' 'Honest Old Abe' was the
utterance of every man in the streets. The Illinois delegation before it
separated 'resolved' that the millennium had come."

Governor Andrew, who was destined to have highly important and intimate
relations with Lincoln during the Civil War, records his first
impressions of him in a few vivid sentences. "Beyond the experiences of
the journey from Boston to Chicago," says Andrew's biographer, "beyond
even the strain and excitement of those hours in caucus and convention,
was the impression made on him by Lincoln as he saw him for the first
time." Andrew was one of the committee of delegates who went to
Springfield to notify Lincoln of his nomination at Chicago. He and the
other delegates, he says, "saw in a flash that here was a man who was
master of himself. For the first time they understood that he whom they
had supposed to be little more than a loquacious and clever State
politician, had force, insight, conscience; that their misgivings were
vain.... My eyes were never visited with the vision of a human face in
which more transparent honesty and more benignant kindness were combined
with more of the intellect and firmness which belong to masculine
humanity. I would trust my case with the honesty and intellect and heart
and brain of Abraham Lincoln as a lawyer; and I would trust my country's
cause in the care of Abraham Lincoln as its chief magistrate, while the
wind blows and the water runs."

Dr. J.G. Holland gives a vivid picture of Lincoln's reception of the
exciting news. "In the little city of Springfield," says Dr. Holland,
"in the heart of Illinois, two hundred miles from where these exciting
events were in progress, sat Abraham Lincoln, in constant telegraphic
communication with his friends in Chicago. He was apprised of the
results of every ballot, and with some of his friends sat in the
'Journal' office receiving and commenting upon the dispatches. It was
one of the decisive moments of his life--a moment on which hung his fate
as a public man, his place in history. He fully appreciated the
momentous results of the convention to himself and the nation, and
foresaw the nature of the great struggle which his nomination and
election would inaugurate. At last, in the midst of intense excitement,
a messenger from the telegraph office entered with the decisive dispatch
in his hand. Without handing it to anyone, he took his way solemnly to
the side of Mr. Lincoln, and said: 'The convention has made a
nomination, and Mr. Seward is--the second man on the list.' Then he
jumped upon the editorial table and shouted, 'Gentlemen, I propose three
cheers for Abraham Lincoln, the next President of the United States!'
and the call was boisterously responded to. He then handed the dispatch
to Mr. Lincoln, who read it in silence, and then aloud. After exchanging
greetings and receiving congratulations from those around him, he strove
to get out of the crowd, and as he moved off he remarked to those near
him: 'Well, there is a little woman who will be interested in this news,
and I will go home and tell her,' and he hurried on, with the crowd
following and cheering."

As soon as the news spread about Springfield a salute of a hundred guns
was fired, and during the afternoon Lincoln's friends and neighbors
thronged his house to tender their congratulations and express their
joy. "In the evening," says one narrator, "the State House was thrown
open and a most enthusiastic meeting held by the Republicans. At the
close they marched in a body to the Lincoln mansion and called for the
nominee. Mr. Lincoln appeared, and after a brief, modest, and hearty
speech, invited as many as could get into the house to enter; the crowd
responding that after the fourth of March they would give him a larger
house. The people did not retire until a late hour, and then moved off
reluctantly, leaving the excited household to their rest."

Among the more significant and intimate of the personal reminiscences of
Lincoln are those by Mr. Leonard W. Volk, the distinguished sculptor
already mentioned in these pages. Mr. Volk arrived in Springfield on the
day of Lincoln's nomination, and had some unusually interesting
conversation with him. He had already, only a month before, made the
life-mask of Lincoln that became so well and favorably known. It is one
of the last representations showing him without a beard. The
circumstances and incidents attending the taking of this life-mask, as
narrated by Mr. Volk, are well worth reproducing here. "One morning in
April, 1860," says Mr. Volk, "I noticed in the paper that Abraham
Lincoln was in Chicago,--retained as one of the counsel in a 'Sand-bar'
trial in which the Michigan Central Railroad was either plaintiff or
defendant. I at once decided to remind him of his promise to sit to me,
made two years before. I found him in the United States District Court
room, his feet on the edge of the table, and his long dark hair standing
out at every imaginable angle. He was surrounded by a group of lawyers,
such as James F. Joy, Isaac N. Arnold, Thomas Hoyne, and others. Mr.
Arnold obtained his attention in my behalf, when he instantly arose and
met me outside the rail, recognizing me at once with his usual grip of
both hands. He remembered his promise, and said, in answer to my
question, that he expected to be detained by the case for a week. He
added: 'I shall be glad to give you the sittings. When shall I come, and
how long will you need me each time?' Just after breakfast every morning
would, he said, suit him the best, and he could remain till court opened
at ten o'clock. I answered that I would be ready for him the next
morning (Thursday). 'Very well, Mr. Volk, I will be there, and I'll go
to a barber and have my hair cut before I come.' I requested him not to
let the barber cut it too short, and said I would rather he would leave
it as it was; but to this he would not consent.... He was on hand
promptly at the time appointed; indeed, he never failed to be on time.
My studio was in the fifth story. There were no elevators in those days,
and I soon learned to distinguish his step on the stairs, and am sure he
frequently came up two, if not three, steps at a stride. When he sat
down the first time in that hard, wooden, low-armed chair which I still
possess, and which has been occupied by Douglas, Seward, and Generals
Grant and Dix, he said, 'Mr. Volk, I have never sat before to sculptor
or painter--only for daguerreotypes and photographs. What shall I do?' I
told him I would only take the measurements of his head and shoulders
that time, and that the next morning I would make a cast of his face,
which would save him a number of sittings. He stood up against the wall,
and I made a mark above his head, and then measured up to it from the
floor and said: 'You are just twelve inches taller than Judge Douglas;
that is, just six feet four inches.'

"Before commencing the cast next morning, and knowing Mr. Lincoln's
fondness for a story, I told him one in order to remove what I thought
an apprehensive expression--as though he feared the operation might be
dangerous. He sat naturally in the chair when I made the cast, and saw
every move I made in a mirror opposite, as I put the plaster on without
interference with his eyesight or his free breathing through the
nostrils. It was about an hour before the mould was ready to be removed,
and being all in one piece, with both ears perfectly taken, it clung
pretty hard, as the cheek-bones were higher than the jaws at the lobe of
the ear. He bent his head low, and worked the cast off without breaking
or injury; it hurt a little, as a few hairs of the tender temples pulled
out with the plaster and made his eyes water.

"He entered my studio on Sunday morning, remarking that a friend at the
hotel (Tremont House) had invited him to go to church, 'but,' said Mr.
Lincoln, 'I thought I'd rather come and sit for the bust. The fact is,'
he continued, 'I don't like to hear cut-and-dried sermons. No--when I
hear a man preach, I like to see him act as _if he were fighting bees_!'
And he extended his long arms, at the same time suiting the action to
the words. He gave me on this day a long sitting of more than four
hours, and when it was concluded we went to our family apartment to look
at a collection of photographs which I had made in 1855-6-7 in Rome and
Florence. While sitting in the rocking-chair, he took my little son on
his lap and spoke kindly to him, asking his name, age, etc. I held the
photographs up and explained them to him; but I noticed a growing
weariness, and his eyelids closed occasionally as if he were sleepy, or
were thinking of something besides Grecian and Roman statuary and
architecture. Finally he said, 'These things must be very interesting to
you, Mr. Volk; but the truth is, I don't know much of history, and all I
do know of it I have learned from law books.'

"The sittings were continued daily till the Thursday following; and
during their continuance he would talk almost unceasingly, telling some
of the funniest and most laughable of stories, but he talked little of
politics or religion during these sittings. He said, 'I am bored nearly
every time I sit down to a public dining-table by some one pitching into
me on politics.' Many people, presumably political aspirants with an eye
to future prospects, besieged my door for interviews, but I made it a
rule to keep it locked, and I think Mr. Lincoln appreciated the
precaution. On our last sitting I noticed that Mr. Lincoln was in
something of a hurry. I had finished the head, but desired to represent
his breast and brawny shoulders as nature presented them; so he stripped
off his coat, waistcoat, shirt, cravat, and collar, threw them on a
chair, pulled his undershirt down a short distance, tying the sleeves
behind him, and stood up without a murmur for an hour or so. I then said
I had done, and was a thousand times obliged to him for his promptness
and patience, and offered to assist him to re-dress, but he said, 'No, I
can do it better alone.' I kept at my work without looking toward him,
wishing to catch the form as accurately as possible while it was fresh
in my memory. He left hurriedly, saying he had an engagement, and with a
cordial 'Good-bye! I will see you again soon,' passed out. A few minutes
after, I recognized his steps rapidly returning. The door opened and in
he came, exclaiming, 'Hello, Mr. Volk! I got down on the sidewalk, and
found I had forgotten to put on my undershirt, and thought it wouldn't
do to go through the streets this way.' Sure enough, there were the
sleeves of that garment dangling below the skirts of his broadcloth
frock-coat! I went at once to his assistance, and helped to undress and
re-dress him all right, and out he went with a hearty laugh at the
absurdity of the thing."

Returning to the visit with Lincoln at Springfield on the day of his
nomination, Mr. Volk says. "The afternoon was lovely--bright and sunny,
neither too warm nor too cool; the grass, trees, and the hosts of
blooming roses, so profuse in Springfield, appeared to be vying with
the ringing bells and waving flags. I went straight to Mr. Lincoln's
unpretentious little two-story house. He saw me from his door or window
coming down the street, and as I entered the gate he was on the platform
in front of the door, and quite alone. His face looked radiant. I
exclaimed: 'I am the first man from Chicago, I believe, who has the
honor of congratulating you on your nomination for President.' Then
those two great hands took both of mine with a grasp never to be
forgotten. And while shaking them, I said: 'Now that you will doubtless
be the next President of the United States, I want to make a statue of
you, and shall do my best to do you justice.' Said he, 'I don't doubt
it, for I have come to the conclusion that you are an honest man,' and
with that greeting I thought my hands were in a fair way of being
crushed. I was invited into the parlor, and soon Mrs. Lincoln entered,
holding a rose-bouquet in her hand, which she presented to me after the
introduction; and in return I gave her a cabinet-size bust of her
husband, which I had modelled from the large one, and happened to have
with me. Before leaving the house it was arranged that Mr. Lincoln would
give Saturday forenoon to obtaining full-length photographs to serve me
for the proposed statue. On Saturday evening, the committee appointed by
the convention to notify Mr. Lincoln formally of his nomination, headed
by Mr. Ashmun of Massachusetts, reached Springfield by special train,
bearing a large number of people, two or three hundred of whom carried
rails on their shoulders, marching in military style from the train to
the old State House Hall of Representatives, where they stacked them
like muskets. The evening was beautiful and clear, and the entire
population was astir. The bells pealed, flags waved, and cannon
thundered forth the triumphant nomination of Springfield's distinguished
citizen. The bonfires blazed brightly, and especially in front of that
prim-looking white house on Eighth street. The committee and the vast
crowd following it passed in at the front door, and made their exit
through the kitchen door in the rear, Mr. Lincoln giving them all a
hearty shake of the hand as they passed him in the parlor. By
appointment, I was to cast Mr. Lincoln's hands on the Sunday following
this memorable Saturday, at nine A.M. I found him ready, but he looked
more grave and serious than he had appeared on the previous days. I
wished him to hold something in his right hand, and he looked for a
piece of pasteboard, but could find none. I told him a round stick would
do as well as anything. Thereupon he went to the wood-shed, and I heard
the saw go, and he soon returned to the dining-room (where I did the
work), whittling off the end of a piece of broom-handle. I remarked to
him that he need not whittle off the edges. 'Oh, well,' said he, 'I
thought I would like to have it nice.' When I had successfully cast the
mould of the right hand, I began the left, pausing a few moments to hear
Mr. Lincoln tell me about a scar on the thumb. 'You have heard that they
call me a rail-splitter, and you saw them carrying rails in the
procession Saturday evening; well, it is true that I did split rails,
and one day, while I was sharpening a wedge on a log, the axe glanced
and nearly took my thumb off, and there is the scar, you see.' The right
hand appeared swollen as compared with the left, on account of excessive
hand-shaking the evening before; this difference is distinctly shown in
the cast. That Sunday evening I returned to Chicago with the moulds of
his hands, three photographic negatives of him, the identical black
alpaca campaign suit of 1858, and a pair of Lynn newly-made pegged
boots. The clothes were all burned up in the great Chicago fire. The
casts of the face and hands I saved by taking them with me to Rome, and
they have crossed the sea four times. The last time I saw Mr. Lincoln
was in January, 1861, at his house in Springfield. His little parlor
was full of friends and politicians. He introduced me to them all, and
remarked to me aside that since he had sat to me for his bust, eight or
nine months before, he had lost forty pounds in weight. This was easily
perceptible, for the lines of his jaws were very sharply defined through
the short beard which he was allowing to grow. Then he turned to the
company and explained in a general way that I had made a bust of him
before his nomination, and that he was then giving daily sittings to
another sculptor; that he had sat to him for a week or more, but could
not see the likeness, though he might yet bring it out. 'But,' continued
Mr. Lincoln, 'in two or three days after Mr. Volk began my bust, there
was the animal himself!' And this was about the last, if not the last,
remark I ever heard him utter, except the good-bye and his good wishes
for my success."

Saturday, May 19, the committee of the Chicago convention arrived at
Springfield to notify Mr. Lincoln of his nomination. The Hon. George
Ashmun, as chairman of the committee, delivered the formal address, to
which Lincoln listened with dignity, but with an air of profound
sadness, as though the trials in store for him had already "cast their
shadows before." In response to the address, Lincoln said:

     MR. CHAIRMAN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE COMMITTEE:--I tender to you and
     through you to the Republican National convention, and all the
     people represented in it, my profoundest thanks for the high honor
     done me, which you now formally announce. Deeply and even painfully
     sensible of the great responsibility which is inseparable from this
     high honor--a responsibility which I could almost wish had fallen
     upon some one of the far more eminent men and experienced statesmen
     whose distinguished names were before the convention--I shall, by
     your leave, consider more fully the resolutions of the convention,
     denominated the platform, and, without unnecessary and
     unreasonable delay, respond to you, Mr. Chairman, in writing, not
     doubting that the platform will be found satisfactory, and the
     nomination gratefully accepted. And now I will not longer defer the
     pleasure of taking you, and each of you, by the hand.

A letter was then handed Lincoln containing the official notice,
accompanied by the resolutions of the convention. To this letter he
replied, a few days later, as follows:

     SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS, MAY 23, 1860.

     SIR--I accept the nomination tendered to me by the convention over
     which you presided, of which I am formally apprised in a letter of
     yourself and others acting as a Committee of the Convention for
     that purpose. The declaration of principles and sentiments which
     accompanies your letter meets my approval, and it shall be my care
     not to violate it, or disregard it in any part. Imploring the
     assistance of Divine Providence, and with due regard to the views
     and feelings of all who were represented in the convention, to the
     rights of all the States and Territories and people of the nation,
     to the inviolability of the Constitution, and the perpetual union,
     harmony and prosperity of all, I am most happy to co-operate for
     the practical success of the principles declared by the convention.

In June Mr. Douglas was nominated for the Presidency by the Democratic
convention, which met at Baltimore on the 18th. Mr. Douglas made a
personal canvass, speaking in most of the states, North and South, and
exerting all the powers of which he was master to win success. The
campaign, as Mr. Arnold states, "has had no parallel. The enthusiasm of
the people was like a great conflagration, like a prairie fire before a
wild tornado. A little more than twenty years had passed since Owen
Lovejoy, brother of Elijah Lovejoy, on the bank of the Mississippi,
kneeling on the turf not then green over the grave of the brother who
had been killed for his fidelity to freedom, had sworn eternal war
against slavery. From that time on, he and his associate Abolitionists
had gone forth preaching their crusade against oppression, with hearts
of fire and tongues of lightning; and now the consummation was to be
realized of a President elected on the distinct ground of opposition to
the extension of slavery. For years the hatred of that institution had
been growing and gathering force. Whittier, Bryant, Lowell, Longfellow,
and others, had written the lyrics of liberty; the graphic pen of Mrs.
Stowe, in 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' had painted the cruelties of the overseer
and the slaveholder; but the acts of slaveholders themselves did more to
promote the growth of anti-slavery than all other causes. The
persecutions of Abolitionists in the South; the harshness and cruelty
attending the execution of the fugitive laws; the brutality of Brooks in
knocking down, on the floor of the Senate, Charles Sumner, for words
spoken in debate: these and many other outrages had fired the hearts of
the people of the free States against this barbarous institution.
Beecher, Phillips, Channing, Sumner, and Seward, with their eloquence;
Chase with his logic; Lincoln, with his appeals to the principles of the
Declaration of Independence, and to the opinions of the founders of the
republic, his clear statements, his apt illustrations, and, above all,
his wise moderation,--all had swelled the voice of the people, which
found expression through the ballot-box, and which declared that slavery
should go no further."

Among the various reminiscences of the memorable Presidential campaign
of 1860, some of peculiar interest are furnished by Dr. Newton Bateman,
President of Knox College, Illinois. Dr. Bateman had known Lincoln since
1842; and from the year 1858, when Dr. Bateman was elected State
Superintendent of Public Instruction in Illinois, to the close of
Lincoln's residence in Springfield in 1861, they saw each other daily.
The testimony of so intimate an acquaintance, and one so well qualified
to judge the character and abilities of men, is of unusual value; and it
is worth noting that Dr. Bateman remarks that, while he was always an
admirer of Lincoln, yet the greatness of the man grew upon him as the
years pass by. In his professional and public work, says Dr. Bateman,
Lincoln not only proved himself equal to every emergency and to every
successive task, but made, from the outset, the impression upon the mind
of those who knew him of being in possession of great reserve force.
Perhaps the secret of this lies in part in the fact that he was
accustomed to ponder deeply upon the ultimate principles of government
and society, and strove to base his discussions upon the firm ground of
ethical truth. Says Dr. Bateman, "He was the saddest man I ever knew."
It was a necessity of his nature to be much alone; and he said that all
his serious work--by which he meant the process of getting down to the
bed-rock of first principles--must be done in solitude. Upon one
occasion he called Dr. Bateman to him, and spent more than two hours in
earnest conversation upon the most serious themes. At the close, Dr.
Bateman said: "I did not know, Mr. Lincoln, that it was your habit to
think so deeply upon this class of subjects." "Didn't you?" said Mr.
Lincoln. "I can almost say that I think of _nothing else_."

One day there entered Lincoln's room a tall Southerner, a Colonel
Somebody from Mississippi, whose eye's hard glitter spoke supercilious
distrust and whose stiff bearing betokened suppressed hostility. It was
beautiful, says Dr. Bateman, to see the cold flash of the Southerner's
dark eye yield to a warmer glow, and the haughty constraint melt into
frank good-nature, under the influence of Lincoln's words of simple
earnestness and unaffected cordiality. They got so far in half an hour
that Lincoln could say, in his hearty way: "Colonel, how tall are you?"
"Well, taller than you, Mr. Lincoln," replied the Mississippian. "You
are mistaken there," retorted Lincoln. "Dr. Bateman, will you measure
us?" "You will have to permit me to stand on a chair for that,"
responded the Doctor. So a big book was adjusted above the head of each,
and pencil marks made at the respective points of contact with the white
wall. Lincoln's altitude, as thus indicated, was a quarter inch above
that of the Colonel. "I knew it," said Lincoln. "They raise tall men
down in Mississippi, but you go home and tell your folks that _Old Abe
tops you a little_." The Colonel went away much mollified and impressed.
"My God!" said he to Dr. Bateman, as he went out. "There's going to be
war; but could my people know what I have learned within the last hour,
there need be no war."

During the Presidential campaign, the vote of the city of Springfield
was canvassed house by house. There were at that time twenty-three
clergymen residing in the city (not all pastors). All but three of these
signified their intention to vote _against_ Lincoln. This fact seemed to
grieve him somewhat. Soon after, in conversing upon the subject with Dr.
Bateman, he said, as if thinking aloud: "These gentlemen know that Judge
Douglas does not care a cent whether slavery in the territories is voted
up or voted down, for he has repeatedly told them so. They know that I
_do_ care." Then, drawing from a breast pocket a well-thumbed copy of
the New Testament, he added, after a pause, tapping upon the book with
his bony finger: "I do not so understand this book."

The poet Bryant was conspicuous among the prominent Eastern men who
favored Lincoln's nomination for the Presidency in 1860. He had
introduced Lincoln to the people of New York at the Cooper Institute
meeting of the previous winter, and was a firm believer in the Western
politician. After the convention Mr. Bryant wrote Lincoln a most
friendly and timely letter, full of good feeling and of wise advice.
Especially did he warn Lincoln to be cautious in committing himself to
any specific policy, or making pledges or engagements of any kind. Mr.
Bryant's letter contained much political wisdom, and was written in that
scholarly style for which he was distinguished. But it could not surpass
the simple dignity and grace of Lincoln's reply:

     SPRINGFIELD, ILL., JUNE 28, 1860.

     Please accept my thanks for the honor done me by your kind letter
     of the 16th. I appreciate the danger against which you would guard
     me; nor am I wanting in the _purpose_ to avoid it. I thank you for
     the additional strength your words give me to maintain that
     purpose.

     Your friend and servant, A. LINCOLN.

Mr. A.J. Grover relates that about this time he met Lincoln, and had a
memorable conversation with him on the Fugitive Slave Law. Lincoln
detested this law, but argued that until it was declared
unconstitutional it must be obeyed. This was a short time after the
rescue of a fugitive slave at Ottawa, Illinois, by John Hossack, James
Stout, Major Campbell, and others, after Judge John D. Caton, acting as
United States Commissioner, had given his decision remanding him to the
custody of his alleged owner; and the rescuers were either in prison or
out on bail, awaiting their trials. Says Mr. Grover: "When Mr. Lincoln
had finished his argument I said, 'Constitutional or not, I will never
obey the Fugitive Slave Law. I would have done as Hossack and Stout and
Campbell did at Ottawa. I will never catch and return slaves in
obedience to any law or constitution. I do not believe a man's liberty
can be taken from him constitutionally without a trial by jury. I
believe the law to be not only unconstitutional, but most inhuman.'
'Oh,' said Mr. Lincoln, and I shall never forget his earnestness as he
emphasized it by striking his hand on his knee, 'it is ungodly! it is
ungodly! no doubt it is ungodly! but it is the law of the land, and we
must obey it as we find it.' I said: 'Mr. Lincoln, how often have you
sworn to support the Constitution? We propose to elect you President.
How would you look taking an oath to support what you declare is an
ungodly Constitution, and asking God to help you?' He felt the force of
the question, and, inclining his head forward and running his fingers
through his hair several times, seemed lost in reflection; then he
placed his hand upon my knee and said, very earnestly: 'Grover, it's no
use to be always _looking up these hard spots_!'" In the terrible years
then almost upon him, Lincoln found many such "hard spots" without
taking the trouble to look them up.




CHAPTER XIV


     Lincoln Chosen President--The Election of 1860--The Waiting-time at
     Springfield--A Deluge of Visitors--Various Impressions of the
     President-elect--Some Queer Callers--Looking over the Situation
     with Friends--Talks about the Cabinet--Thurlow Weed's Visit to
     Springfield--The Serious Aspect of National Affairs--The South in
     Rebellion--Treason at the National Capital--Lincoln's Farewell
     Visit to his Mother--The Old Sign, "Lincoln & Herndon"--The Last
     Day at Springfield--Farewell Speech to Friends and Neighbors--Off
     for the Capital--The Journey to Washington--Receptions and Speeches
     along the Route--At Cincinnati: A Hitherto Unpublished Speech by
     Lincoln--At Cleveland: Personal Descriptions of Mr. and Mrs.
     Lincoln--At New York City: Impressions of the New President--Perils
     of the Journey--The Baltimore Plot--Change of Route--Arrival at the
     Capital.

The Presidential campaign of 1860, with its excitements and struggles,
its "Wide-awake" clubs and boisterous enthusiasm throughout the North,
and its bitter and threatening character throughout the South, was at
last ended; and on the 6th of November Abraham Lincoln was elected
President of the United States.[A] His cause had been aided not a little
by an unexpected division in the Democratic party. Douglas had been
nominated for the Presidency by this party in its convention at
Baltimore on the 18th of June; but he was bitterly opposed by the
extreme slavery element of the Democracy, and this faction held a
convention of its own at Baltimore ten days later and nominated for
President John C. Breckenridge of Kentucky. There was still another
party, though a very minor one, in the field--the "Constitutional Union
Party," based chiefly on a desire to avoid the issue of slavery in
national politics--which on the 9th of May had nominated John Bell of
Tennessee as its candidate for the Presidency, with Edward Everett of
Massachusetts for the Vice-Presidency. There were thus four tickets in
the field--the Republican, including if not representing the
anti-slavery element in the North; the Democratic, which was pro-slavery
in its tendencies but had so far failed to satisfy the Southern
wing--now grown alarmed and restless at the growth and tendencies of the
Republican party--that this element nominated as a third ticket an
out-and-out pro-slavery candidate; and (fourth) a "Constitutional Union"
ticket, representing a well-meant but fatuous desire to keep slavery out
of national politics altogether.

This eventful contest was therefore determined largely on sectional
lines, with slavery as the great underlying issue. Lincoln's
gratification at his election was not untempered with disappointments.
While he had a substantial majority of the electoral vote (180 to 123),
the popular vote was toward a million (930,170), more against him than
for him. Fifteen States gave him no electoral vote, and in nine States'
he received not a single popular vote. The slave States--"the Solid
South"--were squarely against him. Lincoln saw the significance of this,
and it filled him with regret and apprehension. But he faced the future
without dismay, and with a calm resolve to do his duty. With all his
hatred of slavery, loyalty to the Constitution had always been paramount
in his mind; and those who knew him best never doubted that it would
continue so.

Lincoln took no active part in the campaign, preferring to remain
quietly at his home in Springfield. Scarcely was the election decided
than he was beset with visitors from all parts of the country, who came
to gratify curiosity or solicit personal favors of the incoming
President. The throng became at last so great, and interfered so much
with the comfort of Lincoln's home, that the Executive Chamber in the
State House was set apart as his reception room. Here he met all who
chose to come--"the millionaire and the menial, the priest and the
politician, men, women, and children, old friends and new friends, those
who called for love and those who sought for office. From morning until
night this was his occupation; and he performed it with conscientious
care and the most unwearying patience." The situation at the Lincoln
home at this time, and the spirit prevailing there, is well depicted by
one of these callers, Mr. R.C. McCormick, whose interesting account of
his meeting with Lincoln in New York City has already been quoted in
these pages. "In January, 1861," says Mr. McCormick, "at the instance of
various friends in New York who wished a position in the Cabinet for a
prominent Kentuckian, I went to Springfield armed with documents for his
consideration. I remained there a week or more, and was at the Lincoln
cottage daily. Of the numerous formal and informal interviews that I
witnessed, I remember all with the sincerest pleasure. I never found the
man upon whom rested the great responsibilities of the nation impatient
or ill-humored. The plainest and most tedious visitors were made welcome
and happy in his presence; the poor commanded as much of his time as the
rich. His recognition of old friends and companions in frontier life,
whom many elevated as he had been would have found it convenient to
forget, was especially hearty. His correspondence was already immense,
and the town was alive with cabinet-makers and office-seekers; but he
met all with a calm temper." Mr. Don Piatt relates that he had met
Lincoln during the Presidential campaign, and had been invited to visit
Springfield. He did so, and was asked to supper at the Lincoln house.
"It was a plain, comfortable structure," says Mr. Piatt, "and the supper
was mainly of cake, pies, and chickens, the last evidently killed in the
morning, to be eaten that evening. After the supper we sat far into the
night, talking over the situation. Mr. Lincoln was the homeliest man I
ever saw. His body seemed to me a huge skeleton in clothes. Tall as he
was, his hands and feet looked out of proportion, so long and clumsy
were they. Every movement was awkward in the extreme. He sat with one
leg thrown over the other, and the pendent foot swung almost to the
floor. And all the while two little boys, his sons, clambered over those
legs, patted his cheeks, pulled his nose, and poked their fingers in his
eyes, without reprimand. He had a face that defied artistic skill to
soften or idealize. It was capable of few expressions, but those were
extremely striking. When in repose, his face was dull, heavy, and
repellent. It brightened like a lit lantern when animated. His dull eyes
would fairly sparkle with fun, or express as kindly a look as I ever
saw, when moved by some matter of human interest."

Hon. George W. Julian, of Indiana, was another visitor to the Lincoln
home in January. He says: "I had a curiosity to see the famous
'rail-splitter,' as he was then familiarly called, and as a member-elect
of the Thirty-seventh Congress I desired to form some acquaintance with
the man who was to play so conspicuous a part in the impending national
crisis. On meeting him I found him far better looking than the campaign
pictures had represented him. His face, when lighted up in conversation,
was not unhandsome, and the kindly and winning tones of his voice
pleaded for him like the smile that played about his rugged features.
He was full of anecdote and humor, and readily found his way to the
hearts of those who enjoyed a welcome to his fireside. His face,
however, was sometimes marked by that touching expression of sadness
which became so noticeable in the years following. On the subject of
slavery I was gratified to find him less reserved and more emphatic than
I had expected. I was much pleased with our first Republican Executive,
and I returned home more fully inspired than ever with the purpose to
sustain him to the utmost in facing the duties of his great office."

The wide range of these callers and their diverse errands are
illustrated by examples furnished by Mr. Lamon. Two tall, ungainly
fellows,--"Suckers," as they were called,--entered Lincoln's room one
day while he was engaged in conversation with a friend. They lingered
bashfully near the door, and Lincoln, noticing their embarrassment, rose
and said good-naturedly, "How do you do, my good fellows? What can I do
for you? Will you sit down?" The spokesman of the pair, the shorter of
the two, declined to sit, and explained the object of the call. He had
had a talk about the relative height of Lincoln and his companion, and
had asserted his belief that they were of exactly the same height. He
had come in to verify his judgment. Lincoln smiled, then got his cane,
and placing the end of it upon the wall said, "Here, young man, come
under here!" The young man came under the cane, as Lincoln held it, and
when it was perfectly adjusted to his height Lincoln said, "Now come out
and hold up the cane." This he did, while Lincoln stepped under. Rubbing
his head back and forth to see that it worked easily under the
measurement, he stepped out, and declared that the young man had guessed
with remarkable accuracy--that he and the tall fellow were exactly of
the same height. Then he shook hands with them and sent them on their
way. The next caller was a very different person--an old and modestly
dressed woman who tried to explain that she knew Lincoln. As he did not
at first recognize her, she tried to recall to his memory certain
incidents connected with his rides upon the circuit--especially his
dining at her house upon the road at different times. Then he remembered
her and her home. Having fixed her own place in his recollection, she
tried to recall to him a certain scanty dinner of bread and milk that he
once ate at her house. He could not remember it--on the contrary, he
only remembered that he had always fared well at her house. "Well," said
she, "one day you came along after we had got through dinner, and we had
eaten up everything, and I could give you nothing but a bowl of bread
and milk; you ate it, and when you got up you said it was _good enough
for the President of the United States_." The good woman, remembering
the remark, had come in from the country, making a journey of eight or
ten miles, to relate to Lincoln this incident, which in her mind had
doubtless taken the form of prophecy. Lincoln placed her at her ease,
chatted with her of old times, and dismissed her in the most happy and
complacent frame of mind.

Among the judicious friends of Lincoln who gave him timely counsel at
this important epoch of his life was Judge John D. Caton, who, though a
Democrat, was a far-sighted man who saw plainly the tendency of
political affairs and was anxious for the preservation of the Union. "I
met Lincoln in Springfield," writes Judge Caton, "and we had a
conference in the law-library. I told him it was plain that he had a war
on his hands; that there was a determination on the part of the South to
secede from the Union, and that there would be throughout the North an
equal determination to maintain the Union. I advised him to avoid
bringing on the war by precipitate action, but let the Southerners begin
it; to forbear as long as forbearance could be tolerated, in order to
unite the North the more effectually to support his hands in the
struggle that was certain to come; that by such a course the great body
of the people of the North, of all parties, would come to his support.
Mr. Lincoln listened intently, and replied that he foresaw that the
struggle was inevitable, but that it would be his desire and effort to
unite the people in support of the Government and for the maintenance of
the Union; that he was aware that no single party could sustain him
successfully, and that he must rely upon the great masses of the people
of all parties, and he would try to pursue such a course as would secure
their support. The interview continued perhaps an hour."

Judge David Davis, a most intimate and confidential friend of Lincoln,
states that the latter was firmly determined to appoint "Democrats and
Republicans alike to office." Mr. Lamon corroborates the statement,
pointedly remarking: "He felt that his strength lay in conciliation at
the outset; that was his ruling conviction during all those months of
preparation for the great task before him. It showed itself not only in
the appointments which he sought to make but in those which he did make.
Harboring no jealousies, entertaining no fears concerning his personal
interests in the future, he called around him the most powerful of his
late rivals--Seward, Chase, Bates--and unhesitatingly gave into their
hands powers which most Presidents would have shrunk from committing to
their equals, and much more to their superiors, in the conduct of public
affairs." In a noted instance where the most powerful influence was
brought to bear upon Lincoln to induce him to make what he regarded as
an unworthy appointment, he exclaimed: "All that I am in the world--the
Presidency and all else--I owe to the opinion of me which the people
express when they call me 'Honest Old Abe.' Now, what would they think
of their _honest_ Abe if he should make such an appointment as the one
proposed?"

Hon. Leonard Swett, who knew Lincoln from 1848 to the time of his death,
and had "traveled the circuit" with him in Illinois, relates that soon
after the election he and Judge Davis advised Lincoln to consult Thurlow
Weed regarding the formation of the Cabinet and on political affairs
generally. "Mr. Lincoln asked me," says Mr. Swett, "to write Mr. Weed
and invite him to a conference at Lincoln's house in Springfield. I did
so, and the result was that Judge Davis, Thurlow Weed, and myself spent
a whole day with him in discussing the men and measures of his
administration. At that meeting, which took place in less than a month
after Lincoln's election, or early in December, 1860, Lincoln became
convinced that war was imminent between the North and the South. Mr.
Weed was a very astute man, and had a wonderful knowledge of what was
going on. He told Lincoln of preparations being made in the Southern
States that could mean nothing less than war. It was a serious time with
all of us, of course, but Lincoln took it with the imperturbability that
always distinguished him."

The account given by Thurlow Weed, the veteran New York editor and
journalist, of his visit to Lincoln on this occasion is of peculiar
interest. Mr. Weed remained in Springfield two or three days in close
consultation with the President-elect, the formation of the new Cabinet
being the subject principally discussed. After expressing gratification
at his election, and an apprehension of the dangers which threatened the
incoming administration, says Mr. Weed, in his autobiography, "Mr.
Lincoln remarked, smiling, that he supposed I had had some experience in
cabinet-making; that he had job on hand, and as he had never learned
that trade he was disposed to avail himself of the suggestions of
friends. The question thus opened became the subject of conversation, at
intervals, during that and the following day. I say at intervals,
because many hours were consumed in talking of the public men connected
with former administrations, interspersed, illustrated, and seasoned
pleasantly with Mr. Lincoln's stories, anecdotes, etc. And here I feel
called upon to vindicate Mr. Lincoln, as far as my opportunities and
observation go, from the frequent imputation of telling indelicate and
ribald stories. I saw much of him during his whole Presidential term,
with familiar friends and alone, when he talked without restraint; but I
_never heard him use a profane or indecent word, or tell a story that
might not be repeated in the presence of ladies_."

"Mr. Lincoln observed," continues Mr. Weed, "that the making of a
Cabinet, now that he had it to do, was by no means as easy as he had
supposed; that he had, even before the result of the election was known,
assuming the probability of success, fixed upon the two leading members
of his Cabinet, but that in looking about for suitable men to fill the
other departments he had been much embarrassed, partly from his want of
acquaintance with the prominent men of the day, and partly because he
believed that while the population of the country had immensely
increased _really great men were scarcer than they used to be_.... As
the conversation progressed, Lincoln remarked that he intended to invite
Governor Seward to take the State Department and Governor Chase the
Treasury Department, remarking that aside from their long experience in
public affairs and their eminent fitness they were prominently before
the people and the convention as competitors for the Presidency, each
having higher claims than his own for the place which he was to occupy.
On naming Hon. Gideon Welles as the man he thought of as the
representative of New England in the Cabinet, I remarked that I thought
he could find several New England gentlemen whose selection for a place
in his Cabinet would be more acceptable to the people of New England.
'But,' said Mr. Lincoln, 'we must remember that the Republican party is
constituted of two elements, and that we must have men of Democratic as
well as of Whig antecedents in the Cabinet.' ... In the course of our
conversations Mr. Lincoln remarked that it was particularly pleasant to
him to reflect that he was coming into office unembarrassed by promises.
He owed, he supposed, his exemption from importunities to the
circumstance that his name as a candidate was but a short time before
the people, and that only a few sanguine friends anticipated the
possibility of his nomination. 'I have not,' said he, 'promised an
office to any man, nor have I, but in a single instance, mentally
committed myself to an appointment.'"

"In this way two days passed very pleasantly," says Mr. Weed, "the
conversation being alternately earnest and playful. I wish it were
possible to give, in Mr. Lincoln's amusing but quaint manner, the many
stories, anecdotes, and witticisms with which he interlarded and
enlivened what with almost any of his predecessors in the high office of
President would have been a grave, dry consultation. The great merit of
Mr. Lincoln's stories, like Captain Bunsby's opinion, 'lays in the
application on it.' They always and exactly suited the occasion and the
object, and none to which I ever listened seemed far-fetched or
pointless. I will attempt to repeat one of them. If I have an especial
fondness for any particular luxury, it manifests itself in a remarkable
way when properly made December sausages are placed before me. While at
breakfast, Judge Davis, noticing that, after having been bountifully
served with sausage, like Oliver Twist I wanted some more, said, 'You
seem fond of our Illinois sausages.' To which I responded affirmatively,
adding that I thought the article might be relied on where pork was
cheaper than dogs. 'That,' said Mr. Lincoln, 'reminds me of what
occurred down at Joliet, where a popular grocer supplied all the
villagers with sausages. One Saturday evening, when his grocery was
filled with customers for whom he and his boys were busily engaged in
weighing sausages, a neighbor with whom he had had a violent quarrel
that day, came into the grocery and made his way up to the counter
holding by the tail two enormous dead cats which he deliberately threw
on to the counter, saying, 'This makes seven to-day. I'll call around
Monday and get my money for them.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

During the months intervening between his election and his departure for
Washington, Lincoln maintained a keen though quiet watchfulness of the
threatening aspect of affairs at the national capital and throughout the
South. He was careful not to commit himself by needless utterances as to
his future policy; but in all his demeanor, as a friend said, he
displayed the firmness and determination, without the temper, of
Jackson. In December following his election he wrote the following
letters to his intimate friend, Hon. E.B. Washburne, then a member of
Congress from Illinois:

     SPRINGFIELD, ILL., Dec. 13, 1860.

     HON. E.B. WASHBURNE--_My Dear Sir_: Your long letter received.
     Prevent, as far as possible, any of our friends from demoralizing
     themselves and our cause by entertaining propositions for
     compromise of any sort on the slavery extension. There is no
     possible compromise upon it but which puts us under again, and
     leaves us all our work to do over again. Whether it be a Missouri
     line, or Eli Thayer's Popular Sovereignty, it is all the same. Let
     either be done, and immediately filibustering and extending slavery
     recommences. On that point hold firm, as with a chain of steel.

     Yours as ever, A. LINCOLN.


     SPRINGFIELD, ILL., Dec. 21, 1860.

     HON. E.B. WASHBURNE--_My Dear Sir_: Last night I received your
     letter giving an account of your interview with General Scott, and
     for which I thank you. Please present my respects to the General,
     and tell him confidentially that I shall be obliged to him to be as
     well prepared as he can to either _hold_ or retake the forts, as
     the case may require, at and after the inauguration.

     Yours as ever, A. LINCOLN.

The Southern States, led on by South Carolina, which formally severed
its connection with the Union November 17, 1860 (only eleven days after
Lincoln's election), were preparing to dissolve their alliance with the
Free States. Mississippi passed the ordinance of secession January 9,
1861; Florida followed on the 10th; Alabama on the 11th; Georgia on the
19th; Louisiana on the 25th; and Texas on the 1st day of February. The
plans of the seceders went on, unmolested by the Buchanan
administration. Southerners in the Cabinet and in Congress conspired to
deplete the resources of the Government, leaving it helpless to contest
the assumptions of the revolted States. The treasury was deliberately
bankrupted; the ships of the navy were banished to distant ports; the
Northern arsenals were rifled to furnish arms for the seceded States;
the United States forts and armaments on the Southern coast were
delivered into the hands of the enemy, with the exception of Fort
Sumter, which was gallantly held by Major Robert Anderson. While this
system of bold and unscrupulous treachery was carried on by men in the
highest places of trust, the chief executive of the nation remained a
passive spectator. The South was in open rebellion, and the North was
powerless to interfere. The weeks prior to the inauguration of the new
administration dragged slowly along, each day adding fresh cause for
anxiety and alarm.

Amidst these portentous scenes Lincoln, watching them from a distance,
maintained his calm and vigilant attitude. No one knew better than he
the significance of these ominous events that were taking place at the
nation's capital and in the disaffected States; but there was nothing he
could do about them. His time for action had not yet come. He said
little, but enough to show unmistakably what he thought of the situation
and what course he had resolved upon to meet it. As early as December
17, 1860--a little more than a month after his election--in writing to
Thurlow Weed, he said: "_My opinion is that no State can in any way get
out of the Union without the consent of the other States_; and that _it
is the duty of the President to run the machine as it is_." He had been
made the pilot of the ship of State, and his duty and purpose were to
save the vessel.[B] Upon this mighty task were concentrated all the
powers of his intellect and will; and through all the desperate voyage
that followed he never wavered or faltered in his course, from the time
of his supreme resolve, made in the quiet of his country home, to the
hour when

     "From fearful trip the victor ship came in with object won"--

but with her more than heroic but now victorious Captain "fallen cold
and dead" upon her deck.

As the winter wore away, and the time for Lincoln's inauguration as
President drew near, he began making preparation for leaving the
familiar scenes where his life had thus far been spent. Early in
February he made a parting visit to his relatives in Coles County, to
whom in this hour of grave trial and anxiety his heart turned with fresh
yearning. He spent a night at Charleston, where his cousin Dennis Hanks,
and Mrs. Colonel Chapman, a daughter of Dennis, resided. We are told
that "the people crowded by hundreds to see him; and he was serenaded by
'both the string and brass bands of the town, but declined making a
speech." The following morning he passed on to Farmington, to the home
of his beloved step-mother, who was living with her daughter, Mrs.
Moore. Mr. Lamon relates that "the meeting between him and the old lady
was of a most affectionate and tender character. She fondled him as her
own 'Abe,' and he her as his own mother. Then Lincoln and Colonel
Chapman drove to the house of John Hall, who lived on the old 'Lincoln
farm' where Abe split the celebrated rails and fenced in the little
clearing in 1830. Thence they went to the spot where Lincoln's father
was buried. The grave was unmarked and utterly neglected. Lincoln said
he wanted to 'have it enclosed, and a suitable tombstone erected,'" and
gave the necessary instructions for this purpose. "We then returned,"
says Colonel Chapman, "to Farmington, where we found a large crowd of
citizens--nearly all old acquaintances--waiting to see him. His
reception was very enthusiastic, and seemed to gratify him very much.
After taking dinner at his stepsister's (Mrs. Moore's), he returned to
Charleston. Our conversation during the trip was mostly concerning
family affairs. On the way down to Farmington Mr. Lincoln spoke to me of
his step-mother in the most affectionate manner; said she had been his
best friend, and that no son could love a mother more than he loved her.
He also told me of the condition of his father's family at the time he
married his step-mother, and of the change she made in the family, and
of the encouragement he had received from her.... He spoke of his
father, and related some amusing incidents of the bull-dog's biting the
old man on his return from New Orleans; of the old man's escape, when a
boy, from an Indian who was shot by his uncle Mordecai, etc. He spoke of
his uncle Mordecai as being a man of very great natural gifts. At
Charleston we found the house crowded by people wishing to see him. The
crowd finally became so great that it was decided to hold a public
reception at the Town Hall that evening at seven o'clock; until then
Lincoln wished to be left with relatives and friends. At the Town Hall
large numbers of people from the town and surrounding country,
irrespective of party, called to see him. His reception by his old
acquaintances was very gratifying to him."

A characteristic anecdote showing Lincoln's friendship and love of old
associations is told among those relating to his last days at
Springfield. When he was about to leave for Washington he went to the
dingy little law office, sat down on the couch, and said to his
law-partner, Herndon, "Billy, you and I have been together nearly twenty
years, and have never 'passed a word.' Will you let my name stay on the
old sign till I come back from Washington?" The tears started to Mr.
Herndon's eyes. He put out his hand. "Mr. Lincoln," said he, "I will
never have any other partner while you live"; and to the day of the
assassination all the doings of the firm were in the name of "Lincoln &
Herndon."

Governor Bross, of Illinois, relates that he was with Lincoln at
Springfield on the day before he left for Washington. "We were walking
slowly to his home from some place where we had met, and the condition
and prospects of the country, and his vast responsibility in assuming
the position of President, were the subjects of his thoughts. These were
discussed with a breadth and anxiety full of that pathos peculiar to Mr.
Lincoln in his thoughtful moods. He seemed to have a thorough prescience
of the dangers through which his administration was to pass. No
President, he said, had ever had before him such vast and far-reaching
responsibilities. He regarded war--long, bitter, and dreadful--as almost
sure to come. He distinctly and reverently placed his hopes for the
result in the strength and guidance of Him on whom Washington relied in
the darkest hours of the Revolution. He would take the place to which
Providence and his countrymen had called him, and do the best he could
for the integrity and the welfare of the Republic. For himself, he
scarcely expected ever to see Illinois again."

On the morning of the 11th of February, 1861, Lincoln left his home in
Springfield for the scene where he was to spend the most anxious,
toilsome, and painful years of his life. An elaborate programme had been
prepared for his journey to Washington, which was to conduct him through
the principal cities of Indiana, Ohio, New York, New Jersey,
Pennsylvania, and Maryland, and consume much of the time intervening
before the 4th of March. Special trains, preceded by pilot-engines,
were prepared for his accommodation. He was accompanied at his departure
by his wife and three sons, and a party of friends, including Governor
Yates, ex-Governor Moore, Dr. W.M. Wallace (his brother-in-law), N.B.
Judd, O.H. Browning, Ward H. Lamon, David Davis, Col. E.E. Ellsworth,
and John M. Hay and J.G. Nicolay, the two latter to be his private
secretaries. Mr. Lamon thus graphically describes the incidents of his
leave-taking: "It was a gloomy day; heavy clouds floated overhead, and a
cold rain was falling. Long before eight o'clock a great mass of people
had collected at the railway station. At precisely five minutes before
eight, Mr. Lincoln, preceded by Mr. Wood, emerged from a private room in
the depot building, and passed slowly to the car, the people falling
back respectfully on either side, and as many as possible shaking his
hands. Having reached the train, he ascended the rear platform, and,
facing about to the throng which had closed around him, drew himself up
to his full height, removed his hat, and stood for several seconds in
profound silence. His eye roved sadly over that sea of upturned faces,
as if seeking to read in them the sympathy and friendship which he never
needed more than then. There was an unusual quiver in his lip, and a
still more unusual tear on his shriveled cheek. His solemn manner, his
long silence, were as full of melancholy eloquence as any words he could
have uttered. What did he think of? Of the mighty changes which had
lifted him from the lowest to the highest estate on earth? Of the weary
road which had brought him to this lofty summit? Of his poor mother
lying beneath the tangled underbrush in a distant forest? Of that other
grave in the quiet Concord cemetery? Whatever the character of his
thoughts, it is evident that they were retrospective and sad. To those
who were anxiously waiting to catch his words it seemed long until he
had mastered his feelings sufficiently to speak. At length he began, in
a husky voice, and slowly and impressively delivered his farewell to his
neighbors. Imitating his example, many in the crowd stood with heads
uncovered in the fast-falling rain." Abraham Lincoln spoke none but true
and sincere words, and none more true and heartfelt ever fell from his
lips than these, so laden with pathos, with humility, with a craving for
the sympathy of his friends and the people, and for help above and
beyond all earthly power and love.

     _My Friends_:--No one not in my position can realize the sadness I
     feel at this parting. To this people I owe all that I am. Here I
     have lived more than a quarter of a century. Here my children were
     born, and here one of them lies buried. I know not how soon I shall
     see you again. I go to assume a task more difficult than that which
     has devolved upon any other man since the days of Washington. He
     never would have succeeded except for the aid of Divine Providence,
     upon which he at all times relied. I feel that I cannot succeed
     without the same Divine blessing which sustained him; and on the
     same Almighty Being I place my reliance for support. And I hope
     you, my friends, will all pray that I may receive that Divine
     assistance, without which I cannot succeed, but with which success
     is certain. Again I bid you an affectionate farewell.

The route chosen for the journey to Washington, as has been stated, was
a circuitous one. It seems to have been Lincoln's desire to meet
personally the people of the great Northern States upon whose devotion
and loyalty he prophetically felt he must depend for the salvation of
the Republic. Everywhere he met the warmest and most generous greetings
from the throngs assembled at the railway stations in the various cities
through which he passed. At Indianapolis, where the first important halt
was made, cannon announced the arrival of the party, and a royal welcome
was accorded the distinguished traveler. In this, as in the other cities
at which he stopped, Lincoln made a brief address to the people. His
remarks were well considered and temperate; his manner was serious, his
expressions thoughtful and full of feeling. He entreated the people to
be calm and patient; to stand by the principles of liberty inwrought
into the fabric of the Constitution; to have faith in the strength and
reality of the Government, and faith in his purpose to discharge his
duties honestly and impartially. He referred continually to his trust in
the Almighty Ruler of the Universe to guide the nation safely out of its
present peril and perplexity. "I judge," he said at Columbus, "that all
we want is time and patience, and a reliance in that God who has never
forsaken His people." Again, he said: "Let the people on both sides keep
their self-possession, and just as other clouds have cleared away in due
time, so will this; and this great nation shall continue to prosper as
heretofore." Alluding more definitely to his purposes for the future, he
declared: "I shall do all that may be in my power to promote a peaceful
settlement of all our difficulties. The man does not live who is more
devoted to peace than I am--none who would do more to preserve it. _But
it may be necessary to put the foot down firmly_."

At the conclusion of Lincoln's speech at Columbus, a tremendous crowd
surged forward to shake his hand. Says Dr. Holland: "Every man in the
crowd was anxious to wrench the hand of Abraham Lincoln. He finally gave
both hands to the work, with great good nature. To quote one of the
reports of the occasion: 'People plunged at his arms with frantic
enthusiasm, and all the infinite variety of shakes, from the wild and
irrepressible pump-handle movement to the dead grip, was executed upon
the devoted _dexter_ and _sinister_ of the President. Some glanced at
his face as they grasped his hand; others invoked the blessings of
heaven upon him; others affectionately gave him their last gasping
assurance of devotion; others, bewildered and furious, with hats crushed
over their eyes, seized his hands in a convulsive grasp, and passed on
as if they had not the remotest idea who, what, or where they were.' The
President at last escaped, and took refuge in the Governor's residence,
although he held a levee at the State House in the evening, where in a
more quiet way he met many prominent citizens."

At Cincinnati, where Lincoln had had so distasteful an experience a few
years before, a magnificent ovation greeted him. The scene is described
by one who witnessed it--Hon. William Henry Smith, at that time a
resident of Cincinnati. "It was on the 13th of February that Mr. Lincoln
reached the Queen City. The day was mild for mid-winter, but the sky was
overcast with clouds, emblematic of the gloom that filled the hearts of
the unnumbered thousands who thronged the streets and covered the
house-tops. Lincoln rode in an open carriage, standing erect with
uncovered head, and steadying himself by holding on to a board fastened
to the front part of the vehicle. A more uncomfortable ride than this,
over the bouldered streets of Cincinnati, cannot well be imagined.
Perhaps a journey over the broken roads of Eastern Russia, in a
tarantass, would secure to the traveler as great a degree of discomfort.
Mr. Lincoln bore it with characteristic patience. His face was very sad,
but he seemed to take a deep interest in everything. It was not without
due consideration that the President-elect touched on the border of a
slave State on his way to the capital. In his speech in reply to the
Mayor of Cincinnati, recognizing the fact that among his auditors were
thousands of Kentuckians, he addressed them directly, calling them
'Friends,' 'Brethren.' He reminded them that when speaking in Fifth
Street Market square in 1859 he had promised that when the Republicans
came into power they would treat the Southern or slave-holding people as
Washington, Jefferson, and Madison treated them; that they would
interfere with their institutions in no way, but abide by all and every
compromise of the Constitution, and 'recognize and bear in mind always
that you have as good hearts in your bosoms as other people, or as we
claim to have, and treat you accordingly.' Then, to emphasize this, he
said--in a passage omitted by Mr. Raymond and all other biographers of
Lincoln--

     And now, fellow-citizens of Ohio, have you who agree in political
     sentiment with him who now addresses you ever entertained other
     sentiments towards our brethren of Kentucky than those I have
     expressed to you? [_Loud and repeated cries of 'No!' 'No!'_] If
     not, then why shall we not, as heretofore, be recognized and
     acknowledged as brethren again, living in peace and harmony, one
     with another? [_Cries of 'We will!'_] I take your response as the
     most reliable evidence that it may be so, along with other
     evidence, trusting to the good sense of the American people, on all
     sides of all rivers in America, under the Providence of God, who
     has never deserted us, that we shall again be brethren, forgetting
     all parties--ignoring all parties.

"This statesmanlike expression of conservative opinion," continues Mr.
Smith, "alarmed some of the Republicans, who feared that the new
President might sell out his party; and steps were taken, later in the
day, to remind him of certain principles deemed fundamental by those who
had been attracted to the party of Freedom. The sequel will show how
this was done, and how successfully Mr. Lincoln met the unexpected
attack. In the evening I called, with other citizens, at Mr. Lincoln's
rooms at the Burnet House to pay my respects. Mr. Lincoln had put off
the melancholy mood that appeared to control him during the day, and was
entertaining those present with genial, even lively, conversation. The
pleasant entertainment was interrupted by the announcement that a
delegation of German workingmen were about to serenade Mr. Lincoln.
Proceeding to the balcony, there were seen the faces of nearly two
thousand of the substantial German citizens who had voted for Mr.
Lincoln because they believed him to be a stout champion of free labor
and free homesteads. The remarks of their spokesman, Frederick
Oberkleine, set forth in clear terms what they expected. He said:

     We, the German free workingmen of Cincinnati, avail ourselves of
     this opportunity to assure you, our chosen Chief Magistrate, of our
     sincere and heartfelt regard. You earned our votes as the champion
     of Free Labor and Free Homesteads. Our vanquished opponents have,
     in recent times, made frequent use of the terms "Workingmen" and
     "Workingmen's Meetings," in order to create an impression that the
     mass of workingmen were _in favor of compromises between the
     interests of free labor and slave labor, by which the victory just
     won would be turned into a defeat_. This is a despicable device of
     dishonest men. _We spurn such compromises. We firmly adhere to the
     principles which directed our votes in your favor. We trust that
     you, the self-reliant because self-made man, will uphold the
     Constitution and the laws against secret treachery and avowed
     treason_. If to this end you should be in need of men, the German
     free workingmen, with others, will rise as one man at your call,
     ready to risk their lives in the effort to maintain the victory
     already won by freedom over slavery.

"This was bringing the rugged issue boldly to the front, and challenging
the President-elect to meet the issue or risk the loss of the support of
an important section of his own party. Oberkleine spoke with great
effect, but the remarks were hardly his own. Some abler man had put into
his mouth these significant words. Mr. Lincoln replied, very
deliberately, but without hesitation, as follows:

     MR. CHAIRMAN:--I thank you, and those you represent, for the
     compliment paid me by the tender of this address. In so far as
     there is an allusion to our present national difficulty, and the
     suggestion of the views of the gentlemen who present this address,
     I beg you will excuse me from entering particularly upon it. I deem
     it due to myself and the whole country, in the present
     extraordinary condition of the country and of public opinion, that
     I should wait and see the last development of public opinion before
     I give my views or express myself at the time of the inauguration.
     I hope at that time to be false to nothing you have been taught to
     expect of me. [_Cheers_.]

     I agree with you, Mr. Chairman, and with the address of your
     constituents, in the declaration that workingmen are the basis of
     all governments. That remark is due to them more than to any other
     class, for the reason that there are more of them than of any other
     class. And as your address is presented to me not only on behalf of
     workingmen, but especially of Germans, I may say a word as to
     classes. I hold that the value of life is to improve one's
     condition. Whatever is calculated to advance the condition of the
     honest, struggling laboring man, so far as my judgment will enable
     me to judge of a correct thing, I am for that thing.

     An allusion has been made to the Homestead Law. I think it worthy
     of consideration, and that the wild lands of the country should be
     distributed so that every man should have the means and opportunity
     of benefiting his condition. [_Cheers_.] I have said that I do not
     desire to enter into details, nor will I.

     In regard to Germans and foreigners, I esteem foreigners no better
     than other people--nor any worse. [_Laughter and cheers_.] They are
     all of the great family of men, and if there is one shackle upon
     any of them it would be far better to lift the load from them than
     to pile additional loads upon them. [_Cheers_.] And inasmuch as the
     continent of America is comparatively a new country, and the other
     countries of the world are old countries, there is more room here,
     comparatively speaking, than there is elsewhere; and if they can
     better their condition by leaving their old homes, there is nothing
     in my heart to forbid them coming, and I bid them all God speed.
     [_Cheers_.] Again, gentlemen, thanking you for your address, I bid
     you good night.

"If anyone," says Mr. Smith, "had expected to trap Mr. Lincoln into
imprudent utterances, or the indulgence of the rhetoric of a demagogue,
this admirable reply showed how completely they were disappointed. The
preservation of this speech is due to my accidental presence. The
visitation of the Germans was not on the programme, and none of the
representatives of the press charged with the duty of reporting the
events of the day were present. Observing this, I took short-hand notes
on the envelope of an old letter loaned me for the occasion, and
afterwards wrote them out. The words of Mr. Lincoln, exactly as spoken,
are given above."

At Cleveland the party remained over for a day, and Lincoln was greeted
with the usual friendly enthusiasm. An immense crowd met him at the
depot, and he was escorted to the Weddell House, where a reception was
given him in the evening. Hon. A.G. Riddle, then a resident of
Cleveland, and a newly elected member of the Congress which was to share
with Lincoln the burdens and responsibilities of the Civil War, was
present on that occasion, and furnishes the following interesting
personal recollections of it: "I saw Abraham Lincoln for the first time,
at the Weddell House that evening. He stood on the landing-place at the
top of a broad stairway, and the crowd approached him from below. This
gave him an exaggerated advantage of his six feet four inches of length.
The shapelessness of the lathy form, the shock of coarse black hair
surmounting the large head, the retreating forehead--these were not
apparent where we stood. My heart sprang up to him--the coming man. Of
the thousand times I afterward saw him, the first view remains the most
distinct impression; and never again to me was he more imposing. As we
approached, someone whispered of me to him; he took my hand in both his
for an instant, and we wheeled into the already crowded rooms. His
manner was strongly Western; his speech and pronunciation Southwestern.
Wholly without self-consciousness with men, he was constrained and ill
at ease when surrounded, as he several times was, by fashionably dressed
ladies. One incident of the evening I particularly recall. Ab McElrath
was in the crowd--a handsome giant, an Apollo in youth, of about Mr.
Lincoln's height. What brought it about, I do not know; but I saw them
standing back to back, in a contest of altitude--Mr. Lincoln and Ab
McElrath--the President-elect, the chosen, the nation's leader in the
thick-coming darkness, and the tavern-keeper and fox-hunter. The crowd
applauded.

"Mr. Lincoln presented me to the gentlemen of his party--Mr. Browning,
Mr. Judd, and Mr. Lamon, I remember, as I later became very well
acquainted with them; also the rough-looking Colonel Sumner of the army.
Mr. Lincoln invited me to accompany him for at least a day on his
eastward journey. I joined him the next morning at the station. The
vivacity of the night before had utterly vanished, and the rudely
sculptured cliffy face struck me as one of the saddest I had ever seen.
The eyes especially had a depth of melancholy which I had never seen in
human eyes before. Some things he wished to know from me, especially
regarding Mr. Chase, whom, among others, he had called to Springfield.
He asked me no direct questions, but I very soon found myself speaking
freely to him, and was able to explain some not well-known features of
Ohio politics--and much to his satisfaction, as he let me see. There was
then some talk of Mr. Seward, and more of Senator Cameron. All three had
been his rivals at Chicago, and were, as I then thought, in his mind as
possible Cabinet ministers; although no word was said by him of such an
idea in reference to either. Presently he conducted me to Mrs. Lincoln,
whom I had not before seen. Presenting me, he returned to the gentlemen
of the party, and I saw little more of him except once when he returned
to us, before I left the train. Mrs. Lincoln impressed me very
favorably, as a woman of spirit, intelligence, and decided opinions,
which she put very clearly. Our conversation was mainly of her husband.
I remarked that all the likenesses I had ever seen of him did him
injustice. This evidently pleased her. I suggested that a full beard
from the under lip down (his face was shaven) would relieve and help him
very much. This interested her, and we discussed it and the character
of his face quite fully. The impression I then formed of this most
unfortunate lady was only deepened by the pleasant acquaintance she
permitted, down to the time of the national calamity, which unsettled
her mind as I always thought."

Of the New York City visit, an excellent account is given by the
distinguished preacher and writer, Dr. S. Irenaeus Prime. "The country
was at that moment," says Dr. Prime, "in the first throes of the great
rebellion. Millions of hearts were beating anxiously in view of the
advent to power of this untried man. Had he been called of God to the
throne of power at such a time as this, to be the leader and deliverer
of the people? As the carriage in which he sat passed slowly by me on
the Fifth avenue, he was looking weary, sad, feeble, and faint. My
disappointment was excessive; so great, indeed, as to be almost
overwhelming. He did not look to me to be the man for the hour. The next
day I was with him and others in the Governor's room in the City Hall,
when the Mayor of the city made an official address. Mr. Lincoln's reply
was so modest, firm, patriotic, and pertinent, that my fears of the day
before began to subside, and I saw in this new man a promise of great
things to come. It was not boldness or dash, or high-sounding pledges;
nor did he while in office, with the mighty armies of a roused nation at
his command, ever assume to be more than he promised in that little
upper chamber in New York, on his journey to the seat of Government, to
take the helm of the ship of state then tossing in the storm."

Before the end of the journey, strong fears prevailed in the minds of
Lincoln's friends that an attempt would be made to assassinate him
before he should reach Washington. Every precaution was taken to thwart
such endeavor; although Lincoln himself was disturbed by no thought of
danger. He had done, he contemplated doing, no wrong, no injustice to
any citizen of the United States; why then should there be a desire to
strike him down? Thus he reasoned; and he was free from any dread of
personal peril. But the officials of the railroads over which he was to
pass, and his friends in Washington, felt that there was cause for
apprehension. It was believed by them that a plot existed for making
away with Lincoln while passing through Baltimore, a city in the heart
of a slave State, and rife with the spirit of rebellion. Detectives had
been employed to discover the facts in the matter, and their reports
served to confirm the most alarming conjectures. A messenger was
despatched from Washington to intercept the Presidential party and warn
Lincoln of the impending danger. Dr. Holland states that "the detective
and Mr. Lincoln reached Philadelphia nearly at the same time, and there
the former submitted to a few of the President's friends the information
he had secured. An interview between Mr. Lincoln and the detective was
immediately arranged, and took place in the apartments of the former at
the Continental Hotel. Mr. Lincoln, having heard the officer's statement
in detail, then informed him that he had promised to raise the American
flag on Independence Hall the following morning--the anniversary of
Washington's birthday--and that he had accepted an invitation to a
reception by the Pennsylvania Legislature in the afternoon of the same
day. 'Both of these engagements I will keep,' said Mr. Lincoln, '_if it
costs me my life_.' For the rest, he authorized the detective to make
such arrangements as he thought proper for his safe conduct to
Washington."

In the meantime, according to Dr. Holland, General Scott and Senator
Seward, both of whom were in Washington, learned from independent
sources that Lincoln's life was in danger, and concurred in sending Mr.
Frederick W. Seward to Philadelphia to urge upon him the necessity of
proceeding immediately to Washington in a quiet way. The messenger
arrived late on Thursday night, after Lincoln had retired, and requested
an audience. Lincoln's fears had already been aroused, and he was
cautious, of course, in the matter of receiving a stranger. But
satisfied that the messenger was indeed the son of Mr. Seward, he
received him. Nothing needed to be done except to inform him of the plan
entered into with the detective, by which the President was to arrive in
Washington early on Saturday morning, in advance of his family and
party.

On the morning of the 22d, Lincoln, as he had promised, attended the
flag-raising at Independence Hall in Philadelphia, the historic building
in which had been adopted the Declaration of Independence. The occasion
was a memorable one, and Lincoln's address eloquent and impressive. "All
the political sentiments I entertain," said he, "have been drawn from
the sentiments which were given to the world from this hall." He spoke
calmly but firmly of his resolve to stand by the principles of the
immortal Declaration and of the Constitution of his country; and, as
though conscious of the dangers of his position, he added solemnly: "I
have said nothing but what I am willing to live by, _and, if it be the
pleasure of Almighty God, to die by_."

From Philadelphia Lincoln went immediately to Harrisburg, and attended
the reception given him by the Pennsylvania Legislature, in the
afternoon of the same day. Then, leaving his hotel in the evening,
attended only by Mr. Lamon and the detective (Mr. Allan Pinkerton), he
was driven to the depot, where he took the regular train for Washington.
The train passed through Baltimore in the night, and early the next
morning (February 23) reached the capital. Mr. Washburne, who had been
notified to be at the depot on the arrival of the train, says: "I
planted myself behind one of the great pillars in the old Washington and
Baltimore depot, where I could see and not be observed. Presently, the
train came rumbling in on time. When it came to a stop I watched with
fear and trembling to see the passengers descend. I saw every car
emptied, and there was no Mr. Lincoln. I was well-nigh in despair, and
when about to leave I saw three persons slowly emerge from the last
sleeping-car. I could not mistake the long, lank form of Mr. Lincoln,
and my heart bounded with joy and gratitude. He had on a soft
low-crowned hat, a muffler around his neck, and a short overcoat. Anyone
who knew him at that time could not have failed to recognize him at
once; but I must confess he looked more like a well-to-do farmer from
one of the back towns of Jo Daviess County, coming to Washington to see
the city, take out his land warrant and get the patent for his farm,
than the President of the United States. The only persons that
accompanied Mr. Lincoln were Pinkerton, the well-known detective, and
Ward H. Lamon. When they were fairly on the platform, and a short
distance from the car, I stepped forward and accosted the President:
'How are you, Lincoln?' At this unexpected and rather familiar
salutation the gentlemen were apparently somewhat startled; but Mr.
Lincoln, who had recognized me, relieved them at once by remarking in
his peculiar voice: 'This is only Washburne!' Then we all exchanged
congratulations, and walked out to the front of the depot, where I had a
carriage in waiting. Entering the carriage (all four of us), we drove
rapidly to Willard's Hotel, entering on Fourteenth Street, before it was
fairly daylight."

General Stone, who was in command at Washington at that time, states
that both General Scott and himself "considered it almost a certainty
that Mr. Lincoln could not pass through Baltimore alive on the day
fixed," and adds: "I recommended that Mr. Lincoln should be officially
warned; and suggested that it would be best that he should take the
train that evening from Philadelphia, and so reach Washington early the
next day. General Scott directed me to see Mr. Seward, to whom he wrote
a few lines, which he handed me. I did not succeed in finding Mr. Seward
until past noon. I handed him the General's note. He listened
attentively to what I said, and asked me to write down my information
and suggestions. Then, taking the paper I had written, he hastily left.
The note I wrote was what Mr. Frederick Seward carried to Mr. Lincoln in
Philadelphia. Mr. Lincoln has stated that it was _this note_ which
induced him to change his journey as he did. _The stories of disguises
are all nonsense_. Mr. Lincoln merely took the sleeping-car in the night
train."

There is little doubt that the fears of Lincoln's friends regarding his
passage through Baltimore were well grounded; and that but for the
timely warnings and precautions the assassination of April, 1865, might
have taken place in February of 1861.




CHAPTER XV


     Lincoln at the Helm--First Days in Washington--Meeting Public Men
     and Discussing Public Affairs--The Inauguration--The Inaugural
     Address--A New Era Begun--Lincoln in the White House--The First
     Cabinet--The President and the Office-seekers--Southern Prejudice
     against Lincoln--Ominous Portents, but Lincoln not Dismayed--The
     President's Reception Room--Varied Impressions of the New
     President--Guarding the White House.

The week following Lincoln's arrival in Washington, and preceding his
inauguration, was for him one of incessant activity. From almost the
first moment he was engrossed either in preparations for his
inauguration and the official responsibilities which would immediately
follow that event, or in receiving the distinguished callers who
hastened to meet him and in discussing with them the grave aspects of
political affairs. Without rest or opportunity to survey the field that
lay before him, or any preparations save such as the resources of his
own strong character might afford him, he was plunged instantly into the
great political maelstrom in which he was to remain for four long years,
and whose wild vortex might well have bewildered an eye less sure, a
will less resolute, and a brain less cool than his. As Emerson put it,
"The new pilot was hurried to the helm in a tornado."

"Mr. Lincoln's headquarters," says Congressman Riddle of Ohio, "were at
Willard's Hotel; and the few days before the inauguration were given up
to a continuous reception in the broad corridor of the second floor,
near the stairway. I remember a notable morning when the majestic
General Scott, in full dress, sword, plumes, and bullion, came to pay
his respects to the incoming President. The scene was impressive. By the
unknown law that ruled his spirits, Mr. Lincoln was at his best,
complete master of himself and of all who came within the magic of his
presence. Never was he happier, speaking most of the time, flashing with
anecdote and story. That time now seems as remote as things of a hundred
years ago. The war antiquated all that went before it. The Washington,
the men, the spirit of that now ancient time, have faded past all power
to recall and reproduce them. The real Washington was as essentially
Southern as Richmond or Baltimore. 'Lincoln and his vandals,' fresh from
the North and West, were thronging the wide, squat, unattractive city,
from which the bolder and braver rebel element had not yet departed."

Dr. George B. Loring, of Massachusetts, who was one of the first to meet
Lincoln after his arrival in Washington, says: "I saw him on his
arrival, and when he made his first appearance in a public place. I was
standing in the upper hall of Willard's Hotel, conversing with a friend
and listening to the confused talk of the crowded drawing-room
adjoining. As we stood there, a tall and awkward form appeared above the
stairs, especially conspicuous, as it came into view, for a new and
stylish hat. It was evidently President Lincoln, whom neither of us had
seen before. As soon as his presence was known, the hall was thronged
from the drawing-rooms. He seemed somewhat startled by the crowd, did
not remove his hat, wended his way somewhat rapidly and with mere
passing recognition, and took shelter in his room. When the crowd had
dispersed, my friend and myself--although we had opposed his
election--called upon him to pay our respects. He received us with great
cordiality, spoke freely of the difficulties by which he was surrounded,
and referred with evident satisfaction to the support he had received
in Massachusetts. 'I like your man Banks,' said he, 'and have tried to
find a place for him in my Cabinet; but I am afraid I shall not quite
fetch it.' He bore the marks of anxiety in his countenance, which, in
its expression of patience, determination, resolve, and deep innate
modesty, was extremely touching."

Before leaving Springfield Lincoln had prepared his inaugural message
with great care, and placed it in a "gripsack" for transportation to
Washington. An odd incident, by which the message came near being lost
on the journey, was afterwards related by Lincoln to a friend. When the
party reached Harrisburg Lincoln asked his son Robert where the message
was, and was taken aback by his son's confession that in the excitement
caused by the enthusiastic reception he believed he had let a waiter
have the gripsack. Lincoln, in narrating the incident, said: "My heart
went up into my mouth, and I started downstairs, where I was told that
if a waiter had taken the gripsack I should probably find it in the
baggage-room. Going there, I saw a large pile of gripsacks and other
baggage, and thought that I discovered mine. My key fitted it, but on
opening there was nothing inside but a few paper collars and a flask of
whisky. A few moments afterward I came across my own gripsack, with the
document in it all right."

The fourth of March soon came, and with it the impressive ceremonies of
Lincoln's inauguration as President. A good description of the scene is
given by Dr. J.G. Holland. "The morning broke beautifully clear, and it
found General Scott and the Washington police in readiness. In the
hearts of the surging crowds there was anxiety; but outside all looked
as usual on such occasions, with the exception of an extraordinary
display of soldiers. The public buildings, the schools, and most of the
places of business, were closed during the day, and the stars and
stripes were floating from every flag-staff. There was a great desire to
hear Lincoln's inaugural; and at an early hour Pennsylvania Avenue was
full of people wending their way to the east front of the Capitol where
it was to be delivered. As the Presidential party reached the platform
erected for the ceremonies, Senator Baker of Oregon, one of Lincoln's
old friends and political rivals in Illinois, introduced him to the
assembly. There was not a very hearty welcome given to the President as
he stepped forward to read his inaugural. The reading was listened to
with profound attention, those passages which contained any allusion to
the Union being vociferously cheered. None listened more carefully than
Mr. Buchanan and Judge Taney, the latter of whom, with noticeable
agitation, administered the oath of office to Mr. Lincoln when his
address was ended."

Another eye-witness has described the dramatic scene, and the principal
actors in it, in the following graphic paragraphs: "Near noon I found
myself a member of the motley crowd gathered around the side entrance to
Willard's Hotel. Soon an open barouche drove up, and the only occupant
stepped out. A large, heavy, awkward-moving man, far advanced in years,
short and thin gray hair, full face plentifully seamed and wrinkled,
head curiously inclined to the left shoulder, a low-crowned,
broad-brimmed silk hat, an immense white cravat like a poultice
thrusting the old-fashioned standing collar up to the ears, dressed in
black throughout, with swallow-tail coat not of the newest style. It was
President Buchanan, calling to take his successor to the Capitol. In a
few minutes he reappeared, with Mr. Lincoln on his arm; the two took
seats side by side, and the carriage rolled away, followed by a rather
disorderly and certainly not very imposing procession. I had ample time
to walk to the Capitol, and no difficulty in securing a place where
everything could be seen and heard to the best advantage. The attendance
at the inauguration was, they told me, unusually small; many being kept
away by anticipated disturbance, as it had been rumored--not without
good grounds--that General Scott himself was fearful of an outbreak, and
had made all possible military preparations to meet the emergency. A
square platform had been built out from the steps to the eastern
portico, with benches for distinguished spectators on three sides.
Senator Douglas, the only one I recognized, sat at the extreme end of
the seat on the right of the narrow passage leading from the steps.
There was no delay, and the gaunt form of the President-elect was soon
visible, slowly making his way to the front. To me, at least, he was
completely metamorphosed--partly by his own fault, and partly through
the efforts of injudicious friends and ambitious tailors. He was raising
(to gratify a very young lady, it is said) a crop of whiskers, of the
blacking-brush variety, coarse, stiff, and ungraceful; and in so doing
spoiled, or at least seriously impaired, a face which, though never
handsome, had in its original state a peculiar power and pathos. On the
present occasion the whiskers were reinforced by brand-new clothes from
top to toe; black dress coat instead of the usual frock; black cloth or
satin vest, black pantaloons, and a glossy hat evidently just out of the
box. To cap the climax of novelty, he carried a huge ebony cane, with a
gold head the size of an egg. In these, to him, strange habiliments, he
looked so miserably uncomfortable that I could not help pitying him.
Reaching the platform, his discomfort was visibly increased by not
knowing what to do with hat and cane; and so he stood there, the target
for ten thousand eyes, holding his cane in one hand and his hat in the
other, the picture of helpless embarrassment. After some hesitation, he
pushed the cane into a corner of the railing, but could not find a place
for the hat, except on the floor, where I could see he did not like to
risk it. Douglas, who fully took in the situation, came to the rescue of
his old friend and rival, and held the precious hat until the owner
needed it again; a service which, if predicted two years before, would
probably have astonished him. The oath of office was administered by
Chief Justice Taney, whose black robes, attenuated figure, and
cadaverous countenance reminded me of a galvanized corpse. Then the
President came forward and read his inaugural address in a clear and
distinct voice. It was attentively listened to by all; but the closest
listener was Douglas, who leaned forward as if to catch every word,
nodding his head emphatically at those passages which most pleased him.
I must not forget to mention the presence of a Mephistopheles in the
person of Senator Wigfall of Texas, who stood with folded arms leaning
against the doorway of the Capitol, looking down upon the crowd and the
ceremony with a contemptuous air which sufficiently indicated his
opinion of the whole performance. To him, the Southern Confederacy was
already an accomplished fact."

"Under the shadow of the great Eastern portico of the Capitol," says
General John A. Logan, "with the retiring President and Cabinet, the
Supreme Court Justices, the Foreign Diplomatic Corps, and hundreds of
Senators, Representatives, and other distinguished persons filling the
great platform on either side and behind them, Abraham Lincoln stood
bareheaded before full thirty thousand people, upon whose uplifted faces
the unveiled glory of the mild Spring sun now shone--stood reverently
before that far greater and mightier Presence termed by himself, 'My
rightful masters, the American people'--and pleaded in a manly,
earnest, and affectionate strain with 'such as were dissatisfied' to
listen to the 'better angels' of their nature. 'Temperate, reasonable,
kindly persuasive'--it seems strange that Lincoln's inaugural address
did not disarm at least the personal resentment of the South toward him,
and sufficiently strengthen Union-loving people there against the
red-hot Secessionists, to put the 'brakes' down on rebellion."

The address was devoted almost exclusively to the great absorbing topic
of the hour--the attempt of the Southern States to withdraw from the
Union and erect an independent republic. The calm, firm, moderate,
judicious spirit which pervaded Lincoln's address is apparent in the
following quotations, which contain its most significant and memorable
passages:

     _Fellow-Citizens of the United States_:--In compliance with a
     custom as old as the Government itself, I appear before you to
     address you briefly, and to take in your presence the oath
     prescribed by the Constitution of the United States to be taken by
     the President "before he enters on the execution of his office."
     ... Apprehension seems to exist among the people of the Southern
     States, that by the accession of a Republican Administration their
     property and their peace and personal security are to be
     endangered. There has never been any reasonable cause for such
     apprehension. Indeed, the most ample evidence to the contrary has
     all the while existed and been open to their inspection. It is
     found in nearly all the published speeches of him who now addresses
     you. I do but quote from one of those speeches when I declare that
     "I have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the
     institution of slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I
     have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do
     so." Those who nominated and elected me did so with full knowledge
     that I had made this and many similar declarations, and have never
     recanted them.... I now reiterate these sentiments; and, in doing
     so, I only press upon the public attention the most conclusive
     evidence of which the case is susceptible, that the property,
     peace, and security of no section are to be in anywise endangered
     by the now incoming Administration. I add, too, that all the
     protection which, consistently with the Constitution and the laws,
     can be given, will be cheerfully given to all the States, when
     lawfully demanded, for whatever cause--as cheerfully to one section
     as to another.... I hold that, in contemplation of universal law,
     and of the Constitution, _the Union of these States is perpetual_.
     Perpetuity is implied, if not expressed, in the fundamental law of
     all National Governments. It is safe to assert that no Government
     proper ever had a provision in its organic law for its own
     termination. Continue to execute all the express provisions of our
     National Constitution, and the Union will endure forever.... I
     therefore consider that, in view of the Constitution and the laws,
     the Union is unbroken, and to the extent of my ability I shall take
     care, as the Constitution itself expressly enjoins upon me, that
     the laws of the Union be faithfully executed in all the States.
     Doing this I deem to be only a simple duty on my part; and I shall
     perform it, so far as practicable, unless my rightful masters, the
     American people, shall withhold the requisite means, or, in some
     authoritative manner, direct the contrary. I trust this will not be
     regarded as a menace, but only as the declared purpose of the Union
     that it will constitutionally defend and maintain itself. In doing
     this, there need be no bloodshed or violence; and there shall be
     none, unless it be forced upon the national authority. The power
     confided to me will be used to hold, occupy, and possess the
     property and places belonging to the Government, and to collect the
     duties and imposts; but beyond what may be but necessary for these
     objects, there will be no invasion, no using of force against or
     among the people anywhere.... Physically speaking, we cannot
     separate. We cannot remove our respective sections from each other,
     nor build an impassable wall between them. A husband and wife may
     be divorced, and go out of the presence and beyond the reach of
     each other; but the different parts of our country cannot do this.
     They cannot but remain face to face; and intercourse, either
     amicable or hostile, must continue between them. It is impossible,
     then, to make that intercourse more advantageous or more
     satisfactory after separation than before. Can aliens make treaties
     easier than friends can make law? Can treaties be more faithfully
     enforced between aliens than laws can among friends? Suppose you go
     to war, you cannot fight always; and when, after much loss on both
     sides and no gain on either, you cease fighting, the identical old
     questions, as to terms of intercourse, are again upon you.... This
     country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit
     it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the existing Government, they
     can exercise their constitutional right of amending it, or their
     revolutionary right to dismember or overthrow it. I cannot be
     ignorant of the fact that many worthy and patriotic citizens are
     desirous of having the National Constitution amended. While I make
     no recommendation of amendments, I fully recognize the rightful
     authority of the people over the whole subject, to be exercised in
     either of the modes prescribed in the instrument itself; and I
     should, under existing circumstances, favor rather than oppose a
     fair opportunity being afforded the people to act upon it.... The
     Chief Magistrate derives all his authority from the people, and
     they have conferred none upon him to fix terms for the separation
     of the States. The people themselves can do this also, if they
     choose; but the Executive, as such, has nothing to do with it. His
     duty is to administer the present Government as it came to his
     hands, and to transmit it, unimpaired by him, to his successor....
     By the frame of the Government under which we live, the same people
     have wisely given their public servants but little power for
     mischief; and have, with equal wisdom, provided for the return of
     that little to their own hands at very short intervals. While the
     people retain their virtue and vigilance, no administration, by any
     extreme of wickedness or folly, can very seriously injure the
     Government in the short space of four years.

     My countrymen, one and all, think calmly and well upon this whole
     subject. Nothing valuable can be lost by taking time. If there be
     an object to hurry any of you in hot haste to a step which you
     would never take deliberately, that object will be frustrated by
     taking time; but no good can be frustrated by it. Such of you as
     are now dissatisfied still have the old Constitution unimpaired,
     and, on the sensitive point, the laws of your own framing under it;
     while the new administration will have no immediate power, if it
     would, to change either. If it were admitted that you who are
     dissatisfied hold the right side in the dispute, there still is no
     single good reason for precipitate action. Intelligence,
     patriotism, Christianity, and a firm reliance on Him who has never
     yet forsaken this favored land, are still competent to adjust, in
     the best way, all our present difficulty.

     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. You have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the
     Government; while I shall have the most solemn one to "preserve,
     protect, and defend" it.

     I am loth to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be
     enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break, our
     bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from
     every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and
     hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of
     the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the
     better angels of our nature.

At the close of the address, which was delivered with the utmost
earnestness and solemnity, Lincoln, "with reverent look and impressive
emphasis, repeated the oath to preserve, protect, and defend the
Constitution of his country. Douglas, who knew the conspirators and
their plots, with patriotic magnanimity then grasped the hand of the
President, gracefully extended his congratulations, and the assurance
that in the dark future he would stand by him, and give to him his
utmost aid in upholding the Constitution and enforcing the laws of his
country."

"At the inauguration," says Congressman Riddle, "I stood within a yard
of Mr. Lincoln when he pronounced his famous address. How full of life
and power it then was, with the unction of his utterance! Surely, we
thought, the South, which rejected the concessions of Congress, would
accept him. How dry and quaint, yet ingenious, much of that inaugural
appears to me now, when the life and soul seem to have gone out of it! A
sad thing--a spectre of the day--will forever haunt my memory: Poor old
President Buchanan, short, stout, pale, white-haired, yet bearing
himself resolutely throughout, linked by the arm to the new President,
into whom from himself was passing the qualifying unction of the
Constitution, jostled hither and thither, as already out of men's sight,
yet bravely maintaining the shadow of dignity and place. How glad he
must have been to take leave of his successor at the White House when
all was ended!"

The formalities of the inauguration concluded, Lincoln passed back
through the Senate Chamber, and, again escorted by Mr. Buchanan, was
conducted to the White House, where the cares and anxieties of his
position immediately descended upon him. "Strange indeed," says General
Logan, "must have been the thoughts that crowded through the brain and
oppressed the heart of Abraham Lincoln that night--his first at the
White House. The City of Washington swarmed with rebels and rebel
sympathizers, and all the departments of Government were honeycombed
with treason and shadowed with treachery and espionage. Every step
proposed or contemplated by the Government would be known to the
so-called Government of the Confederate States almost as soon as thought
of. All means to thwart and delay the carrying out of the Government's
purposes that the excuses of routine and red tape admitted of would be
used by the traitors within the camp to aid the traitors without. No one
knew all this better than Mr. Lincoln. With no army, no navy, not even a
revenue cutter left--with forts and arsenals, ammunition and arms, in
possession of the South, with no money in the National Treasury, and the
National credit blasted--the position must, even to his hopeful nature,
have seemed desperate. Yet even in this awful hour, he was sustained by
confidence in the good effects of his conciliatory message to the South,
and by his trust in the patriotism of the people and the Providence of
God."

Mr. Welles, the incoming Secretary of the Navy, in writing of the period
immediately following the inauguration, says: "A strange state of things
existed at that time in Washington. The atmosphere was thick with
treason. Party spirit and old party differences prevailed amidst the
accumulating dangers. Secession was considered by most persons as a
political party question, not as rebellion. Democrats to a large extent
sympathized with the Rebels more than with the Administration. The
Republicans, on the other hand, were scarcely less partisan and
unreasonable ... clamorous for the removal of all Democrats,
indiscriminately, from office."

The President's first official act was the announcement of his Cabinet,
which was composed of the following persons: William H. Seward,
Secretary of State; Simon Cameron, Secretary of War; Salmon P. Chase,
Secretary of the Treasury; Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy; Caleb
B. Smith, Secretary of the Interior; Montgomery Blair, Postmaster
General; and Edward Bates, Attorney General. Lincoln had selected these
counselors with grave deliberation. In reply to the remonstrances urged,
on political grounds, against the appointment of one or two of them, he
had said: "The times are too grave and perilous for ambitious schemes
and personal rivalries. I need the aid of all of these men. They enjoy
the confidence of their several States and sections, and they will
strengthen the administration." On another occasion he remarked: "It
will require the utmost skill, influence, and sagacity of all of us, to
save the country; let us forget ourselves, and join hands like brothers
to save the Republic. If we succeed, there will be glory enough for
all."

Speculations have been almost endless as to how the Cabinet came to be
made up as it was. But the truth is, according to Secretary Welles, that
it was practically made up in Springfield almost as soon as Lincoln
found himself elected. In Lincoln's own words, as given by Mr. Welles:
"On the day of the Presidential election the operator of the telegraph
in Springfield placed his instrument at my disposal. I was there without
leaving, after the returns began to come in, until we had enough to
satisfy us how the election had gone. This was about two in the morning
of Wednesday. I went home, but not to get much sleep; for I then felt,
as I never had before, the responsibility that was upon me. I began at
once to feel that I needed support,--others to share with me the burden.
This was on Wednesday morning, and before the sun went down I had made
up my Cabinet. It was almost the same that I finally appointed."

The only two members of the Cabinet who served from the beginning to the
end of Lincoln's administration were Welles and Seward. Stanton was not
appointed until January 13, 1862, succeeding Simon Cameron. Chase left
the Treasury Department to become Chief Justice, and was succeeded in
the Treasury Department by ex-Governor Fessenden of Vermont, who in his
turn was succeeded by Hugh McCulloch. The Attorney General's chair was
filled successively by Bates and Speed. Caleb B. Smith was the first
Secretary of the Interior, succeeded (January 1, 1863) by John P. Usher.
The first Postmaster General was Montgomery Blair, who was followed
(September 4, 1864) by ex-Governor Dennison of Ohio. The appointment
that gave the greatest surprise of any in the Cabinet was that of
Stanton as Secretary of War. Stanton had been in Buchanan's cabinet as
Attorney General. He had been outspoken, almost brutal, in his scornful
hostility to Lincoln, and the appointment by him was as great a surprise
to Stanton as his acceptance of it was to everyone. When asked, somewhat
incredulously, what he would do as War Secretary Stanton replied, "_I
will make Abe Lincoln President of the United States_." Of the character
of this remarkable man, Mr. Alonzo Rothschild, in his interesting study
of the relations between Lincoln and Stanton ("Lincoln, Master of Men,"
p. 229), says: "Intense earnestness marked Stanton's every act. So
sharply were all his faculties focused upon the purpose of the hour
that he is to be classed among the one-idea men of history. Whatever
came between him and his goal encountered an iron will.... Quick to
penetrate through the husks of fraud into the very nubbin of things, he
was even more swiftly moved by relentless wrath to insist upon exposure
and punishment. The brief career [as Attorney General] in Buchanan's
cabinet had been long enough to demonstrate his almost savage hostility
toward official dishonesty, as well as his moral courage to grapple with
treason in high places. Above all, he evinced a loyalty to the Union
that rose above the party creed of a lifetime--that might demand of him
any sacrifice however great."

The first weeks of President Lincoln's residence in the Executive
Mansion were occupied with the arduous work of selecting loyal and
capable men for responsible positions in the Government service. The
departments at Washington were filled with disloyal men, who used the
means and influence pertaining to their places to aid the rebellious
States. It was of vital importance that these faithless officials should
be removed at the earliest moment, and their positions filled with men
of tried integrity. Lincoln desired to appoint for this purpose stanch,
competent, and trustworthy citizens, regardless of party distinctions.
But the labor involved in this duty was enormous and exhausting. There
was a multitude of vacant places, there were difficult questions to be
considered in a majority of cases, and there was a host of applicants
and their friends to be satisfied. Mr. Charles A. Dana relates a
circumstance which hints at the troubles encountered by Lincoln in this
province of his Presidential duties. "The first time I saw Mr. Lincoln,"
says Mr. Dana, "was shortly after his inauguration. He had appointed Mr.
Seward to be his Secretary of State; and some of the Republican leaders
of New York, who had been instrumental in preventing Mr. Seward's
nomination to the Presidency and in securing that of Mr. Lincoln, had
begun to fear that they would be left out in the cold in the
distribution of the offices. Accordingly several of them determined to
go to Washington, and I was asked to go with them. We all went up to the
White House together, except Mr. Stanton, who stayed away because he was
himself an applicant for office. Mr. Lincoln received us in the large
room upstairs in the east wing of the White House, where the President
had his working office, and stood up while General Wadsworth, who was
our principal spokesman, stated what was desired. After the interview
was begun, a big Indianian, who was a messenger in attendance in the
White House, came into the room and said to the President, 'She wants
you.' 'Yes, yes,' said Mr. Lincoln, without stirring. Soon afterward the
messenger returned again, exclaiming, 'I say she wants you.' The
President was evidently annoyed, but instead of going out after the
messenger he remarked to us: 'One side shall not gobble up everything.
Make out a list of the places and men you want, and I will endeavor to
apply the rule of give and take.' General Wadsworth answered: 'Our party
will not be able to remain in Washington, but we will leave such a list
with Mr. Carroll, and whatever he agrees to will be agreeable to us.'
Mr. Lincoln continued, 'Let Mr. Carroll come in to-morrow, and we will
see what can be done.'"

Lincoln was regarded with violent animosity by all who were in sympathy
with the peculiar prejudices of the slave States. The inhabitants of the
District of Columbia looked upon him with especial dislike. He was to
them an odious embodiment of the abhorred principles of Abolitionism. As
an illustration of this bitter feeling, Mr. Arnold narrates the
following anecdote: "A distinguished South Carolina lady--one of the
Howards--the widow of a Northern scholar, called upon him out of
curiosity. She was very proud and aristocratic, and was curious to see a
man who had been represented to her as a monster, a mixture of the ape
and the tiger. She was shown into the room where were Mr. Lincoln and
Senators Seward, Hale, Chase, and other prominent members of Congress.
As Mr. Seward, whom she knew, presented her to the President, she hissed
in his ear: 'I am a South Carolinian.' Instantly reading her character,
he turned and addressed her with the greatest courtesy, and dignified
and gentlemanly politeness. After listening a few moments, astonished to
find him so different from what he had been described to her, she said:
'Why, Mr. Lincoln, you look, act, and speak like a kind, good-hearted,
generous man.' 'And did you expect to meet a savage?' said he.
'Certainly I did, or even something worse,' replied she. 'I am glad I
have met you,' she continued, 'and now the best way to preserve peace is
for you to go to Charleston and show the people what you are, and tell
them you have no intention of injuring them.' Returning home, she found
a party of Secessionists, and on entering the room she exclaimed, 'I
have seen him! I have seen him!' 'Who?' they inquired. 'That terrible
monster, Lincoln, and I found him a gentleman, and I am going to his
first levee after his inauguration.' At his first reception, this tall
daughter of South Carolina, dressing herself in black velvet, with two
long white plumes in her hair, repaired to the White House. She was
nearly six feet high, with black eyes and black hair, and in her velvet
and white feathers she was a striking and majestic figure. As she
approached the President he recognized her immediately. 'Here I am
again,' said she, 'that South Carolinian.' 'I am glad to see you,'
replied he, 'and to assure you that the first object of my heart is to
preserve peace, and I wish that not only you but every son and daughter
of South Carolina were here, that I might tell them so.' Mr. Cameron,
Secretary of War, came up, and after some remarks he said, 'South
Carolina [which had already seceded] is the prodigal son.' 'Ah, Mr.
Secretary,' said she, 'if South Carolina is the prodigal son, Uncle Sam,
our father, ought to divide the inheritance, and let her go; but they
say you are going to make war upon us; is it so?' 'Oh, come back,' said
Lincoln, 'tell South Carolina to come back now, and we will kill the
fatted calf.'"

The impression which Lincoln made on those who met him at the outset of
his career as President, and their varied comments and descriptions, are
matters of peculiar interest. At first, many people did not understand
him--hardly knew what to make of a personality so unlike any they had
ever seen in high places before. But he soon began to show those
qualities of calm self-reliance, quickness to grasp the essential
factors of a situation and readiness to meet it, courage, patience,
firmness, breadth of view and kindliness, practical tact and wisdom,
which were a surprise to all who knew him, and are now seen to be but a
rapid and logical unfolding, under the stimulus of his enormous
responsibilities, of his great natural powers. The test had come, the
crisis was upon him; and he met them marvelously well.

General W.T. Sherman contributes an interesting reminiscence at this
point. "One day," says General Sherman, "my brother, Senator Sherman,
took me with him to see Mr. Lincoln. We found the room full of people.
Mr. Lincoln sat at the end of a table, talking with three or four
gentlemen, who soon left. John walked up, shook hands, and took a chair
near him, holding in his hand some papers referring to minor
appointments in the State of Ohio, which formed the subject of
conversation. Mr. Lincoln took the papers, said he would refer them to
the proper heads of departments, and would be glad to make the
appointments asked for, if not already promised. John then turned to me,
and said, 'Mr. President, this is my brother, Colonel Sherman, who is
just up from Louisiana; he may give you some information you want.'
'Ah!' said Mr. Lincoln, 'how are they getting along down there?' I said,
'They think they are getting along swimmingly--they are preparing for
war.' 'Oh, well!' said he, '_I guess we'll manage to keep house_.' I was
silenced, said no more to him, and we soon left. I was sadly
disappointed, and remember that I broke out on John, cursing the
politicians generally, saying, 'You have got things in a ---- of a fix,
and you may get them out as best you can,' adding that the country was
sleeping on a volcano that might burst forth at any minute, but that I
was going to St. Louis to take care of my family, and would have no more
to do with it. John begged me to be more patient, but I said I would
not; that I had no time to wait, that I was off for St. Louis; and off I
went."

The apartment which Lincoln used as an office in which to transact daily
business and to receive informal visits was on the second floor of the
White House. Its simple equipments are thus described by Mr. Arnold: "It
was about twenty-five by forty feet in size. In the centre, on the west,
was a large white marble fireplace, with big old-fashioned brass
andirons, and a large and high brass fender. A wood fire was burning in
cool weather. The large windows opened on the beautiful lawn to the
south, with a view of the unfinished Washington Monument, the
Smithsonian Institution, the Potomac, Alexandria, and on down the river
toward Mt. Vernon. Across the Potomac were Arlington Heights and
Arlington House, late the residence of Robert E. Lee. On the hills
around, during nearly all Lincoln's administration, were the white tents
of soldiers, field fortifications and camps, and in every direction
could be seen the brilliant colors of the national flag. The furniture
of this room consisted of a large oak table covered with cloth,
extending north and south; and it was around this table that the Cabinet
sat when it held its meetings. Near the end of the table, and between
the windows, was another table, on the west side of which the President
sat in a large armchair, and at this table he wrote. A tall desk with
pigeon-holes for papers stood against the south wall. The only books
usually found in this room were the Bible, the United States Statutes,
and a copy of Shakespeare. There were a few chairs and two plain
hair-covered sofas. There were two or three map frames, from which hung
military maps on which the position and movements of the armies were
traced. On the mantel was an old and discolored engraving of General
Jackson and a later photograph of John Bright. Doors opened into this
room from the room of the Secretary, and from the outside hall running
east and west across the House. A bell cord within reach of his hand
extended to the Secretary's office. A messenger who stood at the door
opening from the hall took in the cards and names of visitors. Here, in
this plain room, Lincoln spent most of his time while President. Here he
received everyone, from the Chief Justice and Lieutenant-General to the
private soldier and humblest citizen. Custom had fixed certain rules of
precedence, and the order in which officials should be received. Members
of the Cabinet and the high officers of the army and navy were
generally promptly admitted. Senators and members of Congress were
received in the order of their arrival. Sometimes there would be a crowd
of them waiting their turn. While thus waiting, the loud ringing laugh
of Mr. Lincoln would be heard by the waiting and impatient crowd. Here,
day after day, often from early morning to late at night, Lincoln sat,
listened, talked, and decided. He was patient, just, considerate, and
hopeful. The people came to him as to a father. He saw everyone, and
many wasted his precious time. Governors, Senators, Congressmen,
officers, clergymen, bankers, merchants--all classes approached him with
familiarity. This incessant labor, the study of the great problems he
had to decide, the worry of constant importunity, the quarrels of
officers of the army, the care, anxiety, and responsibility of his
position, wore upon his vigorous frame."

Mr. Ben. Perley Poore states that "the White House, while Mr. Lincoln
occupied it, was a fertile field for news, which he was always ready to
give those correspondents in whom he had confidence; but the
surveillance of the press--first by Secretary Seward, and then by
Secretary Stanton--was as annoying as it was inefficient.... Often when
Mr. Lincoln was engaged, correspondents would send in their cards,
bearing requests for some desired item of news or for the verification
of some rumor. He would either come out and give the coveted
information, or he would write it on the back of the card and send it to
the owner. He wrote a legible hand, slowly and laboriously perfecting
his sentences before he placed them on paper. The long epistles that he
wrote to his generals he copied himself, not wishing anyone else to see
them, and these copies were kept in pigeon-holes for reference.... Mr.
Lincoln used to wear at the White House in the morning, and after
dinner, a long-skirted faded dressing-gown, belted around his waist, and
slippers. His favorite attitude when listening--and he was a good
listener--was to lean forward, and clasp his left knee with both hands,
as if fondling it, and his face would then wear a sad and wearied look.
But when the time came for him to give an opinion on what he had heard,
or to tell a story which something 'reminded him of,' his face would
lighten up with its homely, rugged smile, and he would run his fingers
through his bristly black hair, which would stand out in every direction
like that of an electric experiment doll."

John G. Nicolay, afterward Lincoln's private secretary, says: "The
people beheld in the new President a man six feet four inches in height,
a stature which of itself would be hailed in any assemblage as one of
the outward signs of leadership; joined to this was a spare but muscular
frame, and large strongly-marked features corresponding to his unusual
stature. Quiet in demeanor but erect in bearing, his face even in repose
was not unattractive; and when lit up by his open, genial smile, or
illuminated in the utterance of a strong or stirring thought, his
countenance was positively handsome. His voice, pitched in rather a high
key, but of great clearness and penetration, made his public remarks
audible to a wide circle of listeners."

Henry Champion Deming says of Lincoln's appearance at this time:
"Conceive a tall and giant figure, more than six feet in height, not
only unencumbered with superfluous flesh, but reduced to the minimum
working standard of cord and sinew and muscle, strong and indurated by
exposure and toil, with legs and arms long and attenuated, but not
disproportionately to the long and attenuated trunk; in posture and
carriage not ungraceful, but with the grace of unstudied and careless
ease rather than of cultivated airs and high-bred pretensions. His dress
is uniformly of black throughout, and would attract but little attention
in a well-dressed circle, if it hung less loosely upon him, and if the
ample white shirt collar were not turned over his cravat in Western
style. The face that surmounts this figure is half Roman and half
Indian, bronzed by climate, furrowed by life struggles, seamed with
humor; the head is massive and covered with dark, thick, and
unmanageable hair; the brow is wide and well developed, the nose large
and fleshy, the lips full, cheeks thin and drawn down in strong, corded
lines, which, but for the wiry whiskers, would disclose the machinery
which moves the broad jaw. The eyes are dark gray, sunk in deep sockets,
but bright, soft and beautiful in expression, sometimes lost and half
abstracted, as if their glance was reversed and turned inward, or as if
the soul which lighted them was far away. The teeth are white and
regular, and it is only when a smile, radiant, captivating, and winning
as was ever given to mortal, transfigures the plain countenance, that
you begin to realize that it is not impossible for artists to admire and
women to love it."

Mr. John Bigelow, who was appointed consul to Paris in 1861, and was
afterwards minister to France, describes in his "Retrospections of an
Active Life" his first visit to Lincoln and the impressions gained by
him at that early period in Lincoln's official career. "The day
following my arrival in Washington Preston King, Senator from New York,
invited me to go with him to be presented to President Lincoln, an
invitation which of course I embraced with alacrity; for as yet I had
not met him, and knew him only by his famous senatorial campaign against
Douglas in Illinois and the masterly address which he delivered at the
Cooper Institute shortly before his nomination in New York.... The new
President received us in his private room at an early hour of the
morning; another gentleman was with him at the time, a member of the
Senate, I believe. We were with him from a half to three-quarters of an
hour. The conversation, in which I took little or no part, turned upon
the operations in the field. I observed no sign of weakness in anything
the President said; neither did I hear anything that particularly
impressed me, which, under the circumstances, was not surprising. What
did impress me, however, was what I can only describe as a certain lack
of sovereignty. He seemed to me, nor was it in the least strange that he
did, like a man utterly unconscious of the space which the President of
the United States occupied that day in the history of the human race,
and of the vast power for the exercise of which he had become personally
responsible. This impression was strengthened by Mr. Lincoln's modest
habit of disclaiming knowledge of affairs and familiarity with duties,
and frequent avowals of ignorance, which, even where it exists, it is as
well for a captain as far as possible to conceal from the public. The
authority of an executive officer largely consists in what his
constituents think it is. Up to that time Mr. Lincoln had had few
opportunities of showing the nation the qualities which won all hearts
and made him one of the most conspicuous and enduring historic
characters of the century."

Some uncommonly vivid "first impressions" of Lincoln are given in the
Journals of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who early in February of 1862 made a
visit to Washington for the purpose of delivering a lecture before the
Smithsonian Institution--a lecture which Lincoln is said to have
attended. A day or two afterwards Emerson was taken by Senator Sumner of
Massachusetts to call at the White House. "The President impressed me,"
says Emerson, "more favorably than I had hoped. A frank, sincere,
well-meaning man, with a lawyer's habit of mind, good clear statement of
his facts; correct enough, not vulgar, as described, but with a sort of
boyish cheerfulness, or that kind of sincerity and jolly good meaning
that our class-meetings on Commencement Days show, in telling our old
stories over. When he has made his remark he looks up at you with great
satisfaction, and shows all his white teeth, and laughs.... When I was
introduced to him he said, 'Oh, Mr. Emerson, I once heard you say in a
lecture that a Kentuckian seems to say by his air and manners, "Here am
I; if you don't like me, the worse for you."'" (The point of this of
course is that Lincoln was himself a Kentuckian.) A day or two later
Emerson again called on the President, this time in the company of
Secretary Seward. It being Sunday evening, Seward asked the President if
he had been to church, to which the latter answered that he had
not--that he had been reading, for the first time, Senator Sumner's
speech in the Senate on the Trent affair. This was followed by some
general conversation on the Trent affair, in which the President
expressed his gratification at the friendly attitude taken in the matter
by France and Spain.

Private Secretary Hay thus writes of Lincoln's character and
disposition: "All agree that the most marked characteristic of Mr.
Lincoln's manners was his simplicity and artlessness; this immediately
impressed itself upon the observation of those who met him for the first
time, and each successive interview deepened the impression. People
seemed delighted to find in the ruler of the nation freedom from
pomposity and affectation, mingled with a certain simple dignity which
never forsook him. Though oppressed with the weight of responsibility
resting upon him as President of the United States, he shrank from
assuming any of the honors, or even the titles, of the position. After
years of intimate acquaintance with Mr. Lincoln, the writer cannot now
recall a single instance in which he spoke of himself as President, or
used that title for himself except when acting in an official capacity.
He always spoke of his position and office vaguely, as, 'this place,'
'here,' or other modest phrase. Once, speaking of the room in the
Capitol used by the Presidents of the United States during the close of
a session of Congress, he said, 'That room, you know, that they
call'--dropping his voice and hesitating--'the President's room.' To an
intimate friend who addressed him always by his own proper title, he
said, 'Now call me Lincoln, and I'll promise not to tell of the breach
of etiquette--if _you_, won't--and I shall have a resting-spell from
"Mister President."' With all his simplicity and unacquaintance with
courtly manners, his native dignity never forsook him in the presence of
critical polished strangers; but mixed with his angularities and
_bonhomie_ was something which spoke the fine fiber of the man; and
while his sovereign disregard of courtly conventionalities was somewhat
ludicrous, his native sweetness and straightforwardness of manner served
to disarm criticism and impress the visitor that he was before a man
pure, self-poised, collected, and strong in unconscious strength. Of
him, an accomplished foreigner, whose knowledge of the courts was more
perfect than that of the English language, said, 'He seems to me one
grand _gentilhomme_ in disguise.'" Mr. Hay adds that Lincoln's
simplicity of manner "was marked in his total lack of consideration of
what was due his exalted station. He had an almost morbid dread of what
he called 'a scene'--that is, a demonstration of applause, such as
always greeted his appearance in public. The first sign of a cheer
sobered him; he appeared sad and oppressed, suspended conversation, and
looked out into vacancy; and when it was over, resumed the conversation
just where it was interrupted, with an obvious feeling of relief....
Speaking of an early acquaintance who was an applicant for an office
which he thought him hardly qualified to fill, the President said,
'Well, now, I never thought M---- had any more than average ability,
when we were young men together; really I did not.' [A pause.] 'But,
then, I suppose he thought just the same about me; he had reason to,
and--here I am!'"

General Carl Schurz says: "In the White House, as in his simple home in
Springfield, Mr. Lincoln was the same plain, unaffected, unpretentious
citizen. He won the admiration and affection of even the most
punctilious of the foreign diplomats by the tenderness of his nature and
the touching simplicity of his demeanor.... He was, in mind and heart,
the very highest type of development of a plain man. He was a born
leader of men, and the qualities that made him a leader were of the
plain, common-sense type.... Lincoln had one great advantage over all
the chief statesmen of his day. He had a thorough knowledge of the plain
people. He knew their habits, their modes of thought, their unfailing
sense of justice and right. He relied upon the popular feeling, in great
measure, for his guidance."

Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe said of the qualities which Lincoln exhibited
in the White House: "Lincoln is a strong man, but his strength is of a
peculiar kind; it is not aggressive so much as passive; and among
passive things, it is like the strength not so much of a stone buttress
as of a wire cable. It is strength swaying to every influence, yielding
on this side and on that, to popular needs, yet tenaciously and
inflexibly bound to carry its great end.... Slow and careful in coming
to resolutions, willing to talk with every person who has anything to
show on any side of a disputed subject, long in weighing and pondering,
attached to constitutional limits and time-honored landmarks, Lincoln
certainly was the _safest_ leader a nation could have at a time when the
_habeas corpus_ must be suspended and all the constitutional and minor
rights of citizens be thrown into the hands of their military leader. A
reckless, bold, theorizing, dashing man of genius might have wrecked our
Constitution and ended us in a splendid military despotism."

The fear lest the virulent enemies of the administration should attempt
to assassinate Lincoln was so wide-spread that military measures were
enforced to protect him from secret assault. General Charles P. Stone,
to whom the duty was entrusted of establishing the necessary
precautions, has furnished a brief report on the subject. "From the
first," says General Stone, "I took, under the orders of the
General-in-chief, especial care in guarding the Executive
Mansion--without, however, doing it so ostentatiously as to attract
public attention. It was not considered advisable that it should appear
that the President of the United States was, for his personal safety,
obliged to surround himself by armed guards. Mr. Lincoln was not
consulted in the matter. But Captain Todd, formerly an officer of the
regular army, who was, I believe, the brother-in-law of Mr. Lincoln, was
then residing in the Presidential Mansion, and with him I was daily and
nightly in communication, in order that in case of danger one person in
the President's household should know where to find the main body of the
guard, to the officer commanding which Captain Todd was each night
introduced. Double sentries were placed in the shrubbery all around the
mansion, and the main body of the guard was posted in a vacant
basement-room, from which a staircase led to the upper floors. A person
entering by the main gate and walking up to the front door of the
Executive Mansion during the night could see no sign of a guard; but
from the moment anyone entered the grounds by any entrance, he was under
the view of at least two riflemen standing silent in the shrubbery, and
any suspicious movement on his part would have caused his immediate
arrest; while inside, the call of Captain Todd would have been promptly
answered by armed men. The precautions were taken before Fort Sumter was
fired on, as well as afterward. One night near midnight," continues
General Stone, "I entered the grounds for the purpose of inspecting the
guard, and was surprised to see a bright light in the East room. As I
entered the basement I heard a loud noise, as of many voices talking
loudly, mingled with the ringing of arms, coming from the great
reception room. On questioning the commander of the guard, I learned
that many gentlemen had entered the house at a late hour, but they had
come in boldly; no objection had been made from within, but on the
contrary Captain Todd had told him all was right. I ascended the
interior staircase and entered the East room, where I found more than
fifty men, among whom were Hon. Cassius M. Clay and General Lane. All
were armed with muskets, which they were generally examining, and it was
the ringing of many rammers in the musket barrels which had caused the
noise I had heard. Mr. Clay informed me that he and a large number of
political friends, _deeming it very improper that the President's person
should in such times be unguarded_, had formed a voluntary guard which
would remain there every night and see to it that Mr. Lincoln was well
protected. I applauded the good spirit exhibited, but did not, however,
cease the posting of the outside guards, nor the nightly inspections
myself as before, until the time came when others than myself became
responsible for the safety of the President."

It is stated that Lincoln "had an almost morbid dislike to an escort, or
guard, and daily exposed himself to the deadly aim of an assassin." To
the remonstrances of friends, who feared his constant exposure to
danger, he had but one answer: "If they kill me, the next man will be
just as bad for them; and in a country like this, where our habits are
simple, and must be, assassination is always possible, and will come if
they are determined upon it." A cavalry guard was once placed at the
gates of the White House for a while, and Lincoln said that he "worried
until he got rid of it." He once remarked to Colonel Halpine: "It would
never do for a President to have guards with drawn sabers at his door,
as if he fancied he were, or were trying to be, or were assuming to be,
an emperor." While the President's family were at their summer-house,
near Washington, he rode into town of a morning, or out at night,
attended by a mounted escort; but if he returned to town for a while
after dark, he rode in unguarded, and often alone, in his open carriage.
On more than one occasion, the same writer tells us, he "has gone
through the streets of Washington at a late hour of the night with the
President, without escort, or even the company of a servant, walking all
the way, going and returning. Considering the many open and secret
threats to take his life, it is not surprising that Lincoln had many
thoughts about his coming to a sudden and violent end. He once said that
he felt the force of the expression, 'To take one's life in his hand';
but that he would not like to face death suddenly. He said that he
thought himself a great coward physically, and was sure that he would
make a poor soldier, for unless there was something inspiriting in the
excitement of a battle he was sure that he would drop his gun and run at
the first symptom of danger. That was said sportively, and he added,
'Moral cowardice is something which I think I never had.'"




CHAPTER XVI


     Civil War--Uprising of the Nation--The President's First Call for
     Troops--Response of the Loyal North--The Riots in
     Baltimore--Loyalty of Stephen A. Douglas--Douglas's Death--Blockade
     of Southern Ports--Additional War Measures--Lincoln Defines the
     Policy of the Government--His Conciliatory Course--His Desire to
     Save Kentucky--The President's First Message to Congress--Gathering
     of Troops in Washington--Reviews and Parades--Disaster at Bull
     Run--The President Visits the Army--Good Advice to an Angry
     Officer--A Peculiar Cabinet Meeting--Dark Days for Lincoln--A
     "Black Mood" in the White House--Lincoln's Unfaltering
     Courage--Relief in Story-telling--A Pretty Good Land
     Title--"Measuring up" with Charles Sumner--General Scott "Unable as
     a Politician"--A Good Drawing-plaster--The New York Millionaires
     who Wanted a Gunboat--A Good Bridge-builder--A Sick Lot of
     Office-seekers.

The Confederate attack upon Fort Sumter--a United States fort situated
at the mouth of Charleston Harbor, South Carolina--April 12, 1861, was
the signal that civil war had actually begun. Lincoln had thus far
maintained a conciliatory policy toward the States in rebellion, hoping
to the last that good sense and reason prevailing over rash and violent
impulses would induce them to resume their allegiance to the Government.
Their resort to arms and capture of forts and property of the United
States decided the course of the administration; and on the 15th of
April--forty-two days after his accession to the Presidency--Lincoln
issued a proclamation asking for the immediate enlistment of 75,000
volunteers,[C] and summoning Congress to convene in an extra session on
the 4th of July. The call was sent forth in the following form:

     PROCLAMATION.

     _By the President of the United States_.

     WHEREAS, the laws of the United States have been for some time past
     and now are opposed and the execution thereof obstructed in the
     States of South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Florida, Mississippi,
     Louisiana and Texas, by combinations too powerful to be suppressed
     by the ordinary course of judicial proceedings, or by the powers
     vested in the marshals by law; now, therefore, I, ABRAHAM LINCOLN,
     President of the United States, in virtue of the power in me vested
     by the Constitution and the laws, have thought fit to call forth,
     and hereby do call forth, the militia of the several States of the
     Union, to the aggregate number of seventy-five thousand, in order
     to suppress said combinations and to cause the laws to be duly
     executed.

     The details of this object will be immediately communicated to the
     State authorities through the War Department. I appeal to all loyal
     citizens to favor, facilitate, and aid this effort to maintain the
     honor, the integrity and existence of our National Union, and the
     perpetuity of popular government, and to redress wrongs already
     long enough endured. I deem it proper to say that the first service
     assigned to the forces hereby called forth will probably be to
     repossess the forts, places, and property which have been seized
     from the Union; and in every event the utmost care will be
     observed, consistently with the objects aforesaid, to avoid any
     devastation, any destruction of, or interference with, property, or
     any disturbance of peaceful citizens of any part of the country;
     and I hereby command the persons composing the combinations
     aforesaid to disperse and retire peaceably to their respective
     abodes, within twenty days from this date.

     Deeming that the present condition of public affairs presents an
     extraordinary occasion, I do hereby, in virtue of the power in me
     vested by the Constitution, convene both Houses of Congress. The
     Senators and Representatives are, therefore, summoned to assemble
     at their respective chambers, at twelve o'clock, noon, on Thursday,
     the fourth day of July next, then and there to consider and
     determine such measures as, in their wisdom, the public safety and
     interest may seem to demand.

     In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal
     of the United States to be affixed.

     Done at the City of Washington, this fifteenth day of April, in the
     year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-one, and of
     the independence of the United States the eighty-fifth.

     _By the President_, ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
     WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State.

The issue of this proclamation created the wildest enthusiasm throughout
the North. Scarcely a voice was raised against it, as it was seen to be
a measure of absolute necessity and of self-defense on the part of the
Government. "Every Northern State," says Mr. Henry I. Raymond,
"responded promptly to the President's demand, and from private persons,
as well as by the Legislatures, men, arms, and money were offered in
unstinted profusion, and with the most zealous alacrity, in support of
the Government. Massachusetts was first in the field, and on the first
day after the issue of the proclamation her Sixth regiment, completely
equipped, started from Boston for the national capital. Two more
regiments were also made ready, and took their departure within
forty-eight hours."

The Sixth Massachusetts regiment was attacked on its way to Washington,
on the 19th of April, by a mob in Baltimore, carrying a Confederate
flag, and several of its members were killed or severely wounded.
"This," continues Mr. Raymond, "inflamed to a still higher point the
excitement which already pervaded the country. The whole Northern
section of the Union felt outraged that troops should be assailed and
murdered on their way to protect the capital of the nation. In Maryland,
where the secession party was strong, there was also great excitement,
and the Governor of the State and the Mayor of Baltimore united in
urging, for prudential reasons, that no more troops should be brought
through that city." In answer to the remonstrances of Governor Hicks and
a committee from Maryland, who presented their petition in person,
Lincoln, intent on avoiding every cause of offense, and with a
forbearance that now seems incredible, replied: "Troops must be brought
here; but I make no point of bringing them through Baltimore. Without
any military knowledge myself, of course I must leave details to General
Scott. He hastily said this morning, in the presence of these gentlemen,
'March them around Baltimore, and not through it.' I sincerely hope the
General, on fuller reflection, will consider this practical and proper,
and that you will not object to it. By this, a collision of the people
of Baltimore with the troops will be avoided, unless they go out of
their way to seek it. I hope you will exert your influence to prevent
this. Now and ever, I shall do all in my power for peace, consistently
with the maintenance of the Government."

One of the most encouraging incidents of this opening chapter of the war
was the announcement that Stephen A. Douglas, the great leader of the
Democracy and the life-long political opponent of Lincoln, had declared
his purpose to stand by the Government. The effect of this action, at
this crisis, was most salutary; it ranged the Northern Democrats with
the defenders of the Union, and gave Lincoln a united North as the act
of no other individual could have done. From that time until his death
Douglas never faltered in his loyalty, and stood by the Government with
a zeal and patriotism which were above all lower considerations of
person or of party. On Sunday, the 14th of April, when Washington was
thrilling with excitement over the fall of Fort Sumter, Douglas called
on the President and after a brief conversation authorized a statement
to be telegraphed throughout the country that he was "fully prepared to
sustain the President in the exercise of all his Constitutional
functions, to preserve the Union, maintain the Government, and defend
the Federal capital. A firm policy and prompt action were necessary. The
capital was in danger, and must be defended at all hazards, and at any
expense of men and money." Faithful to his pledge, Douglas immediately
set out upon a tour through the Northwest, to strengthen, by his words
and presence, the spirit of loyalty among the people. He made a series
of eloquent speeches on his journey to Chicago, where he arrived worn
and spent with the fatigue and excitement of his undertaking. It was the
last and noblest service of his life. Illness ensued, and after a few
weeks of suffering he passed away, June 3, at the age of forty-eight.
His death was an irreparable loss, mourned by the President and the
nation.

The President's call for troops was succeeded on the 19th of April by a
proclamation declaring a blockade of Southern ports. The text of this
document is historically important, as definitely formulating the
attitude and policy of the Government.

     _Whereas_, An insurrection against the Government of the United
     States has broken out in the States of South Carolina, Georgia,
     Alabama, Florida, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas, and the laws
     of the United States for the collection of the revenue cannot be
     efficiently executed therein, conformably to that provision of the
     Constitution which requires duties to be uniform throughout the
     United States:

     _And whereas_, A combination of persons, engaged in such
     insurrection, have threatened to grant pretended letters of marque
     to authorize the bearers thereof to commit assaults on the lives,
     vessels, and property of good citizens of the country lawfully
     engaged in commerce on the high seas, and in waters of the United
     States:

     _And whereas_, An Executive Proclamation has already been issued,
     requiring the persons engaged in these disorderly proceedings to
     desist therefrom, calling out a militia force for the purpose of
     repressing the same, and convening Congress in extraordinary
     session to deliberate and determine thereon:

     Now, therefore, I, ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States,
     with a view to the same purposes before mentioned, and to the
     protection of the public peace, and the lives and property of quiet
     and orderly citizens pursuing their lawful occupations, until
     Congress shall have assembled and deliberated on the said unlawful
     proceedings, or until the same shall have ceased, have further
     deemed it advisable to set on foot a blockade of the ports within
     the States aforesaid, in pursuance of the laws of the United
     States, and of the laws of nations in such cases provided. For this
     purpose a competent force will be posted so as to prevent entrance
     and exit of vessels from the ports aforesaid. If, therefore, with a
     view to violate such blockade, a vessel shall approach or shall
     attempt to leave any of the said ports, she shall be duly warned by
     the commander of one of the blockading vessels, who shall indorse
     on her register the fact and date of such warning; and if the same
     vessel shall again attempt to enter or leave the blockaded port,
     she will be captured and sent to the nearest convenient port, for
     such proceedings against her and her cargo, as prize, as may be
     deemed advisable.

     And I hereby proclaim and declare, that if any person, under the
     pretended authority of said States, or under any other pretense,
     shall molest a vessel of the United States, or the persons or cargo
     on board of her, such person will be held amenable to the laws of
     the United States for the prevention and punishment of piracy.

     _By the President_, ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
     WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State.
     WASHINGTON, April 19, 1861.

On the 27th of April the President issued a proclamation by which the
blockade of Southern ports was extended to the ports of North Carolina
and Virginia. And on the 16th of May, by another proclamation, the
President directed the commander of the United States forces in Florida
to "permit no person to exercise any office or authority upon the
islands of Key West, Tortugas, and Santa Rosa, which may be inconsistent
with the laws and Constitution of the United States; authorizing him, at
the same time, if he shall find it necessary, to suspend the writ of
_habeas corpus_, and to remove from the vicinity of the United States
fortresses all dangerous and suspected persons."

The Virginia Convention which passed the ordinance of secession (April
17) having appointed a committee to wait upon the President and
"respectfully ask him to communicate to this Convention the policy which
the Federal Executive intends to pursue in regard to the Confederate
States," Lincoln in reply thus clearly outlined the policy and purposes
of the Government:

     In answer I have to say, that having at the beginning of my
     official term expressed my intended policy as plainly as I was
     able, it is with deep regret and mortification I now learn there is
     great and injurious uncertainty in the public mind as to what that
     policy is and what course I intend to pursue. Not having as yet
     seen occasion to change, it is now my purpose to pursue the course
     marked out in the Inaugural Address. I commend a careful
     consideration of the whole document as the best expression I can
     give to my purposes. As I then and therein said, I now repeat: "The
     power confided in me will be used to hold, occupy, and possess
     property and places belonging to the Government, and to collect the
     duties and imposts; but beyond what is necessary for these objects
     there will be no invasion, no using of force against or among the
     people anywhere." By the words "property and places belonging to
     the Government," I chiefly allude to the military posts and
     property which were in possession of the Government when it came
     into my hands. But if, as now appears to be true, in pursuit of a
     purpose to drive the United States authority from these places, an
     unprovoked assault has been made upon Fort Sumter, I shall hold
     myself at liberty to repossess, if I can, like places which had
     been seized before the Government was devolved upon me; and in any
     event I shall, to the best of my ability, repel force by force. In
     case it proves true that Fort Sumter has been assaulted, as is
     reported, I shall, perhaps, cause the United States mails to be
     withdrawn from all the States which claim to have seceded,
     believing that the commencement of actual war against the
     Government justifies and possibly demands it. I scarcely need to
     say that I consider the military posts and property situated within
     the States which claim to have seceded, as yet belonging to the
     Government of the United States as much as they did before the
     supposed secession. Whatever else I may do for the purpose, I shall
     not attempt to collect the duties and imposts by any armed invasion
     of any part of the country; not meaning by this, however, that I
     may not land a force deemed necessary to relieve a fort upon the
     border of the country. From the fact that I have quoted a part of
     the Inaugural Address, it must not be inferred that I repudiate any
     other part, the whole of which I reaffirm, except so far as what I
     now say of the mails may be regarded as a modification.

     ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

In the early period of Lincoln's administration he was hopeful that many
serious phases of the threatened trouble might be averted, and that the
better judgment of the citizens of the South might prevail. "For more
than a month after his inauguration," says Secretary Welles, "President
Lincoln indulged the hope, I may say felt a strong confidence, that
Virginia would not secede but would adhere to the Union.... That there
should be no cause of offense, no step that would precipitate or justify
secession, he enjoined forbearance from all unnecessary exercise of
political party authority." But he was very decided and determined as to
what his duty was and what his action would be if the secessionists and
disunionists pressed their case. He said: "The disunionists did not want
me to take the oath of office. I have taken it, and I intend to
administer the office for the benefit of the people, in accordance with
the Constitution and the law." He was especially anxious that Kentucky
should not be plunged into a rebellious war, as he saw that this State
would be of the utmost importance to the Union cause. Soon after the
bombardment of Fort Sumter a conference was held between the President
and a number of prominent Kentuckians then in Washington, at which
Lincoln expressed himself in the most earnest words. Kentucky, he
declared, "must not be precipitated into secession. She is the key to
the situation. With her faithful to the Union, the discord in the other
States will come to an end. She is now in the hands of those who do not
represent the people. The sentiment of her State officials must be
counteracted. We must arouse the young men of the State to action for
the Union. We must know what men in Kentucky have the confidence of the
people, and who can be relied on for good judgment, that they may be
brought to the support of the Government at once." He paid a high
tribute to the patriotism of the Southern men who had stood up against
secession. "But," said he, "they are, as a rule, beyond the meridian of
life, and their counsel and example do not operate quickly, if at all,
on the excitable nature of young men who become inflamed by the
preparations for war, and who in such a war as this will be, if it goes
on, are apt to go in on the side that gives the first opportunity. The
young men must not be permitted to drift away from us. I know that the
men who voted against me in Kentucky will not permit this Government to
be swept away by any such issue as that framed by the disunionists."

As Mr. Markland, a prominent Kentuckian, relates, in his reminiscences
of the period: "Immediately a campaign for the Union was begun in
Kentucky. The State could not be dragooned into open secession,
therefore the neutrality policy was adopted. That policy was more
rigidly observed by Mr. Lincoln than it was by his opponents, but he was
not misled by it. Judge Joseph Holt made eloquent appeals for the Union
through the columns of the press and from the forum, as did the Speeds,
the Goodloes, and many others of prominence. Rousseau, Jacobs,
Poundbaker, and others, stood guard in the Legislature, and by their
eloquence stayed the tide of disunion there. The labors of Judge Holt,
the Speeds, the Goodloes, Cassius M. Clay, and their followers, had
brought forth fruit for the Union. The patriotic men in the Legislature
had done their work well. The men in the camps on the north side of the
Ohio river moved over into Kentucky, and the invasion of Confederates
which was to sweep Kentucky into secession was at an end. Kentucky was
saved to the Union by the wise counsel and pacific policy of Abraham
Lincoln."

A special session of Congress convened on the 4th of July, in obedience
to the summons of the President in his proclamation of April 15. The
following day the message of the Executive rehearsed to the joint Houses
the circumstances which had rendered their assembling necessary. It
portrayed in clear and succinct words the situation of affairs, the
aggressive acts of the States aiming to disrupt the Federal Union, and
the measures adopted by the administration to frustrate their attempts.
The assailants of the Government, said the President, "have forced upon
the country the distinct issue, 'immediate dissolution or blood.' And
this issue embraces more than the fate of these United States. It
presents to the whole family of man the question whether a
constitutional Republic or Democracy--a Government of the people by the
same people--can or cannot maintain its territorial integrity against
its own domestic foes. It presents the question whether discontented
individuals, too few in numbers to control administration according to
organic law in any case, can always, upon the pretenses made in this
case, or on any other pretenses, or arbitrarily, without any pretense,
break up their Government, and thus practically put an end to free
government upon the earth. It forces us to ask, 'Is there, in all
Republics, this inherent and fatal weakness? Must a Government, of
necessity, be too strong for the liberties of its own people, or too
weak to maintain its own existence?'" The message requested of Congress
"the legal means for making this contest a short and decisive one; that
you place at the control of the Government, for the work, at least four
hundred thousand men and $400,000,000. That number of men is about
one-tenth of those of proper ages within the regions where, apparently,
all are willing to engage; and the sum is less than a twenty-third part
of the money value owned by the men who seem ready to devote the whole.
A debt of $600,000,000 now is a less sum per head than was the debt of
our Revolution when we came out of that struggle; and the money value in
the country now bears even a greater proportion to what it was then than
does the population. Surely each man has as strong a motive now to
preserve our liberties as each had then to establish them." The message
dwelt upon the encouraging facts "that the free institutions we enjoy
have developed the powers and improved the condition of our whole people
beyond any example in the world. Of this we now have a striking and an
impressive illustration. So large an army as the Government has now on
foot was never before known without a soldier in it but had taken his
place there of his own free choice. But more than this; there are many
single regiments whose members, one and another, possess full practical
knowledge of all the arts, sciences, professions, and whatever else,
whether useful or elegant, is known in the world; and there is scarcely
one from which there could not be selected a President, a Cabinet, a
Congress, and perhaps a Court, abundantly competent to administer the
Government itself." Finally, and eloquently, the message demonstrated
the significance of the war in its effect upon the liberties and
prayers of all mankind. This message again illustrates Lincoln's
singular power of stating clearly and convincingly the nature and
exigencies of the struggle for the Preservation of the Union. Said he:

     This is essentially a people's contest. On the side of the Union it
     is a struggle for maintaining in the world that form and substance
     of government whose leading object is to elevate the condition of
     men; to lift artificial weights from all shoulders; to clear the
     paths of laudable pursuits for all; to afford all an unfettered
     start and a fair chance in the race of life. Yielding to partial
     and temporary departures, from necessity, this is the leading
     object of the Government for whose existence we contend. I am most
     happy to believe that the plain people understand and appreciate
     this. It is worthy of note that while, in this the Government's
     hour of trial, large numbers of those in the army and navy who have
     been favored with the offices have resigned and proved false to the
     hand which had pampered them, not one common soldier or common
     sailor is known to have deserted his flag. Great honor is due to
     those officers who remained true, despite the example of their
     treacherous associates; but the greatest honor, and most important
     fact of all, is the unanimous firmness of the common soldiers and
     common sailors. To the last man, so far as known, they have
     successfully resisted the traitorous efforts of those whose
     commands but an hour before they obeyed as absolute law. This is
     the patriotic instinct of plain people. They understand, without an
     argument, that destroying the Government which was made by
     Washington means no good to them. Our popular Government has often
     been called an experiment. Two points in it our people have already
     settled--the successful establishing and the successful
     administering of it. One still remains--its successful maintenance
     against a formidable internal attempt to overthrow it. It is now
     for them to demonstrate to the world that those who can fairly
     carry an election can also suppress a rebellion; that ballots are
     the rightful and peaceful successors of bullets; and that when
     ballots have fairly and constitutionally decided, there can be no
     successful appeal back to bullets; that there can be no successful
     appeal, except to ballots themselves, at succeeding elections. Such
     will be a great lesson of peace: teaching men that what they cannot
     take by an election, neither can they take by a war; teaching all
     the folly of being the beginners of a war.

Through the early summer of 1861 Washington was alive with preparations
for a military movement against the enemy in Virginia. Troops from the
North were constantly arriving, and as rapidly as possible were assigned
to different organizations and drilled in the art of war. "Few
comparatively know or can appreciate the actual condition of things and
the state of feeling of the members of the Administration in those
days," says Secretary Welles. "Nearly sixty years of peace had unfitted
us for any war; but the most terrible of all wars, a civil war, was upon
us, and it had to be met. Congress had adjourned without making any
provision for the storm, though aware it was at hand and soon to burst
upon the country. A new Administration, its members scarcely acquainted
with each other, and differing essentially in the past, was compelled to
act, promptly and decisively." The burden upon the President began to
grow tremendous; but he did not shrink or falter.

    Upon his back a more than Atlas-load,
      The burden of the Commonwealth, was laid;
    He stooped, and rose up to it, though the road
      Shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed.

He labored incessantly in urging forward the preparations for the great
struggle which, however he might regret it, he now saw was inevitable.
He was in daily conference with the officers of the army and of the War
Department, and was present at innumerable reviews and parades of the
soldiers. The 4th of July was memorable for a grand review of all the
New York troops in and about the city. It was a brilliant and impressive
scene. Says a spectator, Hon. A.G. Riddle: "As they swept
past--twenty-five thousand boys in blue--their muskets flashing, bands
playing, and banners waving, I stood near a distinguished group
surrounding the President, and noted his countenance as he turned to the
massive moving column. All about him were excited, confident, exultant.
He stood silent, pale, profoundly sad, as though his prophetic soul saw
what was to follow. He seemed to be gazing beyond the splendid pageant
before him, upon things hidden from other eyes. Was there presaged to
him a vision of that grander review of our victorious armies at the
close of the war, which he was not to see?"

A few days later, all the troops in Washington crossed the Long Bridge
and marched, gallant and exultant, straight toward the enemy in
Virginia. The advance of our army resulted, on the 21st of July, in the
shameful disaster at Bull Run. The North was filled with surprise and
dismay, and even the stoutest hearts were burdened with anxiety for the
future. Lincoln at first shared somewhat in the general depression, but
his elastic spirits quickly rallied from the shock. Three or four days
after the battle, some gentlemen who had been on the field called upon
him. He inquired very minutely regarding all the circumstances of the
affair, and after listening with the utmost attention, said, with a
touch of humor: "So it's your notion that we _whipped the rebels_, and
then _ran away from them_!" Not long after this, the President made a
personal visit to the army in Virginia. General Sherman, at that time
connected with the Army of the Potomac, says: "I was near the
river-bank, looking at a block-house which had been built for the
defense of the aqueduct, when I saw a carriage coming by the road that
crossed the Potomac river at Georgetown by a ferry. I thought I
recognized in the carriage the person of President Lincoln. I hurried
across a bend, so as to stand by the roadside as the carriage passed. I
was in uniform, with a sword on, and was recognized by Mr. Lincoln and
Mr. Seward, who rode side by side in an open hack. I inquired if they
were going to my camp, and Mr. Lincoln said: 'Yes; we heard that you had
got over the big scare, and we thought we would come over and see the
boys.' The roads had been much changed and were rough. I asked if I
might give directions to his coachman; he promptly invited me to jump
in, and to tell the coachman which way to drive. Intending to begin on
the right and follow round to the left, I turned the driver into a
side-road which led up a very steep hill, and, seeing a soldier, called
to him and sent him up hurriedly to announce to the Colonel whose camp
we were approaching that the President was coming. As we slowly ascended
the hill, I discovered that Mr. Lincoln was full of feeling, and wanted
to encourage our men. I asked if he intended to speak to them, and he
said he would like to. I asked him then to please discourage all
cheering, noise, or any sort of confusion; that we had had enough of it
before Bull Run to ruin any set of men, and that what we needed were
cool, thoughtful, hard-fighting soldiers--no more hurrahing, no more
humbug. He took my remarks in the most perfect good-nature. Before we
had reached the first camp, I heard the drum beating the 'assembly,' saw
the men running for their tents, and in a few minutes the regiment was
in line, arms presented, and then brought to an 'order' and 'parade
rest.' Mr. Lincoln stood up in the carriage, and made one of the
neatest, best, and most feeling addresses I ever listened to, referring
to our late disaster at Bull Run, the high duties that still devolved on
us, and the brighter days yet to come. At one or two points the soldiers
began to cheer, but he promptly checked them, saying: 'Don't cheer,
boys. I confess I rather like it myself, but Colonel Sherman here says
that it is not military; and I guess we had better defer to his
opinion.' In winding up, he explained that, as President, he was
commander-in-chief; that he was resolved that the soldiers should have
everything that the law allowed; and he called on one and all to appeal
to him personally in case they were wronged. The effect of this speech
was excellent. We passed along in the same manner to all the camps of my
brigade; and Mr. Lincoln complimented me highly for the order,
cleanliness, and discipline that he observed. Indeed, he and Mr. Seward
both assured me that it was the first bright moment that they had
experienced since the battle."

"In the crowd at Fort Corcoran," continues General Sherman, "I saw an
officer with whom I had had a little difficulty that morning. His face
was pale and his lips were compressed. I foresaw a scene, but sat on the
front seat of the carriage as quiet as a lamb. This officer forced his
way through the crowd to the carriage, and said: 'Mr. President, I have
a cause of grievance. This morning I went to speak to Colonel Sherman,
and he threatened to shoot me.' Mr. Lincoln, who was still standing,
said, 'Threatened to _shoot you_?' 'Yes, sir, he threatened to shoot
me.' Mr. Lincoln looked at him, then at me; and stooping his tall, spare
form toward the officer, said to him in a loud stage-whisper, easily
heard for some yards around: 'Well, if I were you, and he threatened to
shoot, _I would not trust him_, for _I believe he would do it_.' The
officer turned about and disappeared, and the men laughed at him. Soon
the carriage drove on, and as we descended the hill I explained the
facts to the President, who answered, 'Of course I didn't know anything
about it, but I thought you knew your own business best.' I thanked him
for his confidence, and assured him that what he had done would go far
to enable me to maintain good discipline; and it did."

The days following the Bull Run disaster were full of depression and
discouragement, but Lincoln bore up bravely. He began to feel the
terrible realities of his position, and saw himself brought face to face
with the most awful responsibilities that ever rested upon human
shoulders. A disrupted Union, the downfall of the great American
Republic, so long predicted by envious critics of our institutions,
seemed about to be accomplished. At the best, the Union could be saved
only by the shedding of seas of priceless blood and the expenditure of
untold treasures. And _he_ must act, control, choose, and direct the
measures of the Government and the movements of its vast armies. And
what if all should fail? What if the resources of the Government should
prove inadequate, and its enemies too powerful to be subdued by force?
No wonder he was appalled and well-nigh overwhelmed by the dark prospect
before him.

Rev. Robert Collyer tells of seeing Lincoln in the summer of 1861, on
the steps of the White House, "answering very simply and kindly to the
marks of respect some soldiers had come to pay him, who stood in deep
ranks on the grass, that had been top-dressed with compost enough to
cover the whole District of Columbia, as the chairman of the committee
that had to pass the account told me. And once, curiously, I saw _only
his feet_. It was soon after the battle of Bull Run, when some say that
_we_ ran, and some say that _they_ ran. And all was quiet on the
Potomac; but the nation was stamping and champing the bit. And passing
the White House one day, I saw three pairs of feet on the sill of an
open window; and pausing for a moment, a good-natured fellow said,
'_That's the Cabinet a sittin_', and _them big feet's old Abe's.'_ So,
lecturing in Boston not long after, I said, like a fool as I was,
'That's about all they are good for in Washington, to point their feet
out o' window and talk, but go nowhere and do nothing.' When, indeed,
the good President's heart was even then breaking with anxiety and
trouble."

"One day," says Mr. A.G. Riddle, "I called at the White House to present
a distinguished stranger, who had important matters to bring to Mr.
Lincoln's notice. It was evening--cold, rainy, and cheerless. The
Executive Mansion was gloomy and silent. At Mr. Lincoln's door we were
told by the attendant to enter. We found the room quite dark, and
seemingly vacant. I advanced a step or two, to determine if anyone were
present, and was arrested by a strange apparition, at first not
distinguishable: the long, seemingly lifeless, limbs of a man, as if
thrown upon a chair and left to sprawl in unseemly disorder. A step
further, and the fallen head disclosed the features of the President. I
turned back; a word from my companion reached the drooping figure, and a
sepulchral voice bade us advance. We came upon a man, in some respects
the most remarkable of any time, in the hour of his prostration and
weakness--in the depths of that depression to which his inherited
melancholy at times reduced him, now perhaps coming to overwhelm him as
he thought of the calamities of his country."

An old and intimate friend from Springfield, who visited Lincoln at this
period, found the door of his office in the White House locked; but
going through a private room and a side entrance, he found the President
lying on a sofa, evidently greatly disturbed and much excited,
manifestly displeased with the outlook. Jumping up from his reclining
position, he advanced, saying: "You know better than any man living that
from my boyhood up my ambition was to be President. I am President of
one part of this divided country at least; but look at me! I wish I had
never been born! I've a white elephant on my hands, one hard to manage.
With a fire in my front and rear, having to contend with the jealousies
of the military commanders, and not receiving that cordial co-operation
and support from Congress that could reasonably be expected, with an
active and formidable enemy in the field threatening the very life-blood
of the Government, my position is anything but a bed of roses."

But in the darkest hours of the nation's peril, Lincoln never wavered in
his purpose. Anxious and careworn, his heart bleeding with grief for the
losses of our brave soldiers, and harassed by the grave duties
constantly demanding his attention, he had but one purpose,--to go on
unfalteringly and unhesitatingly in his course until the supremacy of
the Government was restored in every portion of its territory. He wrote
in a private letter: "I expect to maintain this contest until
successful, or till I die, or am conquered, or my term expires, or
Congress or the country forsake me."

Besides his invincible will and courage, Lincoln had one important
resource in his dark hours, an ever-ready relief for his overcharged
emotions. Byron said that he sometimes laughed in order that he might
not weep. Lincoln's life-long solace was his love of story-telling. Hon.
Hugh McCulloch, afterward Secretary of the Treasury, relates that about
a week after the battle of Bull Run he called at the White House, in
company with a few friends, and was amazed when, referring to something
which had been said by one of the company about the battle that was so
disastrous to the Union forces, the President remarked, in his usual
quiet manner, "That reminds me of a story," which he told in a manner so
humorous as almost to lead his listeners to believe that he was free
from care and apprehension. Mr. McCulloch could not then understand how
the President could feel like telling a story, when Washington was in
danger of being captured and the whole North was dismayed. He learned
his mistake afterwards, however, and perceived that his estimate of
Lincoln before his election was well grounded, and that he possessed
even higher qualities than he had been given credit for; that he was "a
man of sound judgment, great singleness and tenacity of purpose, and
extraordinary sagacity; that story-telling was to him a safety-valve,
and that he indulged in it, not only for the pleasure it afforded him,
but for a temporary relief from oppressing cares." It is related that on
the morning after the battle at Fredericksburg, Hon. I.N. Arnold, then a
member of Congress from Illinois, called on the President, and to his
amazement found him engaged in reading "Artemus Ward." Making no
reference to that which occupied the universal thought, he asked Mr.
Arnold to sit down while he read to him Artemus' description of his
visit to the Shakers. Shocked at this proposition, Mr. Arnold said: "Mr.
President, is it possible that with the whole land bowed in sorrow and
covered with a pall in the presence of yesterday's fearful reverse, you
can indulge in such levity?" Throwing down the book, with the tears
streaming down his cheeks and his huge frame quivering with emotion,
Lincoln answered: "Mr. Arnold, if I could not get momentary respite from
the crushing burden I am constantly carrying, my heart would break!"

Ralph Waldo Emerson said: "His broad good humor, running easily into
jocular talk, in which he delighted, and in which he excelled, was a
rich gift to this wise man. It enabled him to keep his secret, to meet
every kind of man, and every rank in society; to take off the edge of
the severest decisions, to mask his own purpose and sound his companion,
and to catch, with true instinct, the temper of every company he
addressed. And, more than all, it is to a man of severe labor, in
anxious and exhausting crises, the natural restorative, good as sleep,
and is the protection of the overdriven brain against rancor and
insanity."

Even amidst the stern realities of war, Lincoln was keenly appreciative
of anything that disclosed the comic or grotesque side of men or
happenings,--largely, doubtless, for the relief afforded him. At the
beginning of Lee's invasion of Pennsylvania, in June, 1863, when the
Union forces under Colonel Milroy were driven out of Harper's Ferry by
the Confederates, great consternation and alarm were caused by reports
that the Army of the Potomac had been routed and was retreating before
Lee, who was pressing forward toward Harrisburg, the capital of
Pennsylvania. Mr. Welles records in his Diary (June 17, 1863) that he
was at the War Department with the President and Secretary Stanton, when
"a messenger came in from General Schenck, declaring that the
stragglers and baggage-trains of Milroy had run away in affright, and
squads of them on different parallel roads had alarmed each other, and
each fled in terror with all speed to Harrisburg. This alone was
asserted to be the basis of the great panic which had alarmed
Pennsylvania and the country. The President," continues Mr. Welles, "was
in excellent humor. He said this flight would be a capital joke for
Orpheus C. Kerr[D] to get hold of. He could give scope to his
imagination over the terror of broken squads of panic-stricken
teamsters, frightened at each other and alarming all Pennsylvania.
General Meigs, who was present, inquired with great simplicity who this
person (Orpheus C. Kerr) was. 'Why,' said the President, 'have you not
read those papers? They are in two volumes; anyone who has not read them
is a heathen.' He said he had enjoyed them greatly--except when they
attempted to play their wit on him, which did not strike him as very
successful, but rather disgusted him. 'Now, the hits that are given to
you, Mr. Welles, or to Chase,' he said, 'I can enjoy; but I daresay they
may have disgusted you while I was laughing at them. So _vice versa_ as
regards myself.'"

Hon. Lawrence Weldon relates that on one occasion he called upon the
President to inquire as to the probable outcome of a conflict between
the civil and military authorities for the possession of a quantity of
cotton in a certain insurrectionary district. As soon as the inquiry had
been made, Lincoln's face began lighting up, and he said: "What has
become of our old friend Bob Lewis, of DeWitt County? Do you remember a
story that Bob used to tell us about his going to Missouri to look up
some Mormon lands that belonged to his father? You know that when
Robert became of age he found among the papers of his father a number of
warrants and patents for lands in Northeast Missouri, and he concluded
the best thing he could do was to go to Missouri and investigate the
condition of things. It being before the days of railroads, he started
on horseback, with a pair of old-fashioned saddlebags. When he arrived
where he supposed his land was situated, he stopped, hitched his horse,
and went into a cabin standing close by the roadside. He found the
proprietor, a lean, lank, leathery looking man, engaged in the pioneer
business of making bullets preparatory to a hunt. On entering, Mr. Lewis
observed a rifle suspended in a couple of buck-horns above the fire. He
said to the man, 'I am looking up some lands that I think belong to my
father,' and inquired of the man in what section he lived. Without
having ascertained the section, Mr. Lewis proceeded to exhibit his title
papers in evidence, and, having established a good title, as he thought,
said to the man, 'Now, that is my title. What is yours?' The pioneer,
who had by this time become somewhat interested in the proceedings,
pointed his long finger toward the rifle. Said he, 'Young man, do you
see that gun?' Mr. Lewis frankly admitted that he did. 'Well,' said he,
'that is my title, and if you don't get out of here pretty d----d quick
you will feel the force of it.' Mr. Lewis very hurriedly put his title
papers in his saddlebags, mounted his pony and galloped down the road,
and, as Bob says, the old pioneer snapped his gun twice at him before he
could turn the corner. Lewis said that he had never been back to disturb
that man's title since. 'Now,' said Mr. Lincoln, 'the military
authorities have the same title against the civil authorities that
closed out Bob's Mormon title in Missouri.'" Judge Weldon says that
after this anecdote he understood what would be the policy of the
Government in the matter referred to as well as though a proclamation
had been issued.

The tedium of meetings of the Cabinet was often relieved, and
troublesome matters before it were illuminated, by some apt and pithy
story. Secretary Welles tells of such an occasion when "Seward was
embarrassed about the Dominican [_sic_] question. To move either way
threatened difficulty. On one side was Spain, on the other side the
<DW64>. The President remarked that the dilemma reminded him of the
interview between two <DW64>s, one of whom was a preacher endeavoring to
admonish and enlighten the other. 'There are,' said Josh the preacher,
'two roads for you, Joe. Be careful which you take. One ob dem leads
straight to hell, de odder go right to damnation.' Joe opened his eyes
under the impressive eloquence and visions of an awful future, and
exclaimed, 'Josh, take which road you please; I go troo de wood.' 'I am
not disposed to take any new trouble,' said the President, 'just at this
time, and shall neither go for Spain nor the <DW64> in this matter, but
shall take to the woods.'"

It is related that Charles Sumner, who was a very tall man, and proud of
his height, once worried the President about some perplexing matter,
when Lincoln sought to change the subject by abruptly challenging his
visitor to measure backs. "Sumner," said Mr. Lincoln, "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_."

A good story of President Lincoln and General Scott is reported by
Major-General Keyes, who at the beginning of the war was on the staff of
General Scott, then commander-in-chief of the armies of the United
States. "I was sent," says General Keyes, "by my chief to the President
with a message that referred to a military subject, and that led to a
discussion. Finding that Mr. Lincoln's observations were beginning to
tangle my arguments, I said, 'That is the opinion of General Scott, and
you know, Mr. President, he is a very able military man.' 'Well,' said
the President, 'if he is as _able_ a military man as he is _unable_ as a
politician, I give up.' This was said with an expression of the eye,
which he turned on me, that was peculiar to him, and which signified a
great deal. The astounding force of Mr. Lincoln's observation was not at
all diminished by the fact that I had long suspected that my chief
lacked something which is necessary to make a successful politician."

Among the numerous delegations which thronged Washington in the early
part of the war was one from New York, which urged very strenuously the
sending of a fleet to the southern cities--Charleston, Mobile, and
Savannah--with the object of drawing off the rebel army from Washington.
Lincoln said the object reminded him of the case of a girl in New Salem,
who was greatly troubled with a "singing" in her head. Various remedies
were suggested by the neighbors, but nothing seemed to afford any
relief. At last a man came along--"a common-sense sort of man," said he,
inclining his head towards his callers pleasantly,--"who was asked to
prescribe for the difficulty. After due inquiry and examination, he said
the cure was very simple. 'What is it?' was the question. 'Make a
plaster of _psalm-tunes_, and apply to her feet, and draw the singing
_down_,' was the rejoinder." Still better was his reply to another
delegation of New York millionaires who waited upon him in 1862, after
the appearance of the rebel ram "Merrimac," and represented to him that
they were very uneasy about the unprotected situation of their city,
which was exposed to attack and bombardment by rebel rams; and they
requested him to detail a gun-boat to defend the city. The gentlemen
were fifty in number, very dignified and respectable in appearance, and
stated that they represented in their own right $100,000,000. Lincoln
did not wish to offend these gentlemen, and yet he intended to give them
a little lesson. He listened with great attention, and seemed to be much
impressed by their presence and their statements. Then he replied, very
deliberately: "Gentlemen, I am by the Constitution commander-in-chief of
the army and navy of the United States; and, as a matter of law, can
order anything done that is practicable to be done. But, as a matter of
fact, I am not in command of the gun-boats or ships of war; as a matter
of fact, I do not know exactly where they are, but presume they are
actively engaged. It is impossible for me, in the present condition of
things, to furnish you a gun-boat. The credit of the Government is at a
very low ebb; greenbacks are not worth more than forty or fifty cents on
the dollar; and in this condition of things, if I was worth half as much
as you, gentlemen, are represented to be, and as badly scared as you
seem to be, I _would build a gun-boat and give it to the Government._" A
gentleman who accompanied the delegation says he never saw one hundred
millions sink to such insignificant proportions, as the committee
recrossed the threshold of the White House, sadder but wiser men.

"Mr. Lincoln had his joke and his 'little story' over the disruption of
the Democracy. He once knew, he said, a sound churchman, of the name of
Brown, who was the member of a very sober and pious committee, having
in charge the erection of a bridge over a dangerous and rapid river.
Several architects had failed, and at last Brown said he had a friend
named Jones who had built several bridges, and could undoubtedly build
that one. So Mr. Jones was called in. 'Can you build this bridge?'
inquired the committee. 'Yes,' replied Jones, 'or any other. I could
build a bridge to h--l, if necessary.' The committee were shocked, and
Brown felt called upon to defend his friend. 'I know Jones so well,'
said he, 'and he is so honest a man, and so good an architect, that if
he states soberly and positively that he can build a bridge to ... to
... the infernal regions, why, I believe it; but I feel bound to say
that I have my doubts about the abutment on the other side.' 'So,' said
Mr. Lincoln, 'when politicians told me that the Northern and Southern
wings of the Democracy could be harmonized, why, I believed them, of
course; but I always had my _doubts about the abutment on the other
side._'"

A delegation once called on Lincoln to ask the appointment of a
gentleman as commissioner to the Sandwich Islands. They presented their
case as earnestly as possible, and, besides his fitness for the place,
they urged that he was in bad health and a residence in that balmy
climate would be of great benefit to him. The President closed the
interview with the good-humored remark: "Gentlemen, I am sorry to say
that there are eight other applicants for that place, and they are _all
sicker than your man._"




CHAPTER XVII


     Lincoln's Wise Statesmanship--The Mason and Slidell
     Affair--Complications with England--Lincoln's "Little Story" on the
     Trent Affair--Building of the "Monitor"--Lincoln's Part in the
     Enterprise--The President's First Annual Message--Discussion of the
     Labor Question--A President's Reception in War Time--A Great
     Affliction--Death in the White House--Chapters from the Secret
     Service--A Morning Call on the President--Goldwin Smith's
     Impressions of Lincoln--Other Notable Tributes.

In November of 1861 occurred one of the most important and perilous
episodes of the war; one whose full significance was not understood,
except by a few cool heads, until long afterwards. Two influential
Southern politicians, Mason and Slidell, had been sent by the
Confederate Government as Commissioners to Great Britain and France, to
try to secure the recognition of the Confederacy; and while on board the
British steamer "Trent" they were taken prisoners by the U.S. steamer
"San Jacinto," and were brought to Washington. Great Britain loudly
protested against what she regarded as an unwarrantable seizure of
passengers under the British flag, and for a time excitement ran high
and war with England seemed almost inevitable. Fortunately for our
country, the controversy was amicably settled by the surrender of the
prisoners, without any sacrifice of the dignity of the Government of the
United States. As stated by "Hosea Biglow,"--

    We gave the critters back, John,
      Cos Abraham thought 't was right;
    It wa'nt your bullyin' clack, John,
      Provokin' us to fight.

The statesmanship displayed by our Government throughout this difficult
affair was of the highest order. Credit for it has been given to Mr.
Seward, the Secretary of State, by whom the correspondence and
negotiations were conducted. Few men could have managed these details
better; yet the course that was so happily determined on was undoubtedly
due to the good sense and shrewd wisdom of the President. He not only
dictated the policy to be followed by Mr. Seward in his despatches to
the American Minister in London, but the more important documents were
revised and materially altered by Lincoln's own hand. His management of
the Trent affair alone, it has been said, would suffice to establish his
reputation as the ablest diplomatist of the war. Coming, as it did, at a
time when Lincoln was overwhelmed with the burden of home affairs, it
showed the surprising resources of his character. The readiness and
ability with which he met this perilous emergency, in a field in which
he had had absolutely no experience or preparation, was equaled only by
his cool courage and self-reliance in following a course radically
opposed to the prevailing public sentiment, to the views of Congress,
and to the advice of his own Cabinet. The Secretary of the Navy had
hastened to approve officially the act of Captain Wilkes, commander of
the "San Jacinto," and Secretary Stanton "cheered and applauded" it.
Even Mr. Seward, cautious and conservative diplomat as he was, at-first
"opposed any concession or surrender of the prisoners." But Lincoln said
significantly, "_One war at a time_." Events have long since afforded
the most ample vindication of his course in this important matter. He
avoided a foreign war, while at the same time, by committing Great
Britain to the doctrine of "peace between neutrals," gained a
substantial diplomatic victory over that government.

An excellent account of the circumstances of the Trent affair is given
by Benson J. Lossing, the author and historian, who was in Washington
when the events occurred. "The act of Captain Wilkes," says Mr. Lossing,
"was universally applauded by all loyal Americans, and the land was
filled with rejoicings because two of the most mischievous men among the
enemies of the Government were in custody. For the moment, men did not
stop to consider the law or the expediency involved in the act. Public
honors were tendered to Captain Wilkes, and resolutions of thanks were
passed by public bodies. The Secretary of the Navy wrote him a
congratulatory letter on the 'great public services' he had rendered in
'capturing the rebel emissaries, Mason and Slidell,' and assured him
that his conduct had 'the emphatic approval of the department.' The
House of Representatives tendered him their thanks for the service he
had done. But there was one thoughtful man in the nation, in whom was
vested the tremendous executive power of the Republic at that time, and
whose vision was constantly endeavoring to explore the mysteries of the
near future, who held calmer and wiser thoughts than most men at that
critical moment, because his feelings were kept in subjection to his
judgment by a sense of heavy responsibility. That man was Abraham
Lincoln. The writer was in the office of the Secretary of War when the
telegraphic despatch announcing the capture of Mason and Slidell was
brought in and read. He can never forget the scene that ensued. Led by
Secretary Stanton, who was followed by Governor Andrew of Massachusetts
and others who were present, cheer after cheer was heartily given by the
company. A little later, the writer was favored with a brief interview
with the President, when the clear judgment of that far-seeing and
sagacious statesman uttered through his lips the words which formed the
suggestion of, and the keynote to, the judicious action of the Secretary
of State afterwards. 'I fear the traitors will prove to be white
elephants,' said Mr. Lincoln. 'We must stick to American principles
concerning the rights of neutrals,' he continued. 'We fought Great
Britain for insisting, by theory and practise, on the right to do just
what Captain Wilkes has just done. If Great Britain shall now protest
against the act, and demand their release, we must give them up,
apologize for the act as a violation of our own doctrines, and thus
_forever bind her over to keep the peace in relation to neutrals_, and
so acknowledge that she has been wrong for sixty years.' Great Britain
did protest and make the demand, and at the same time made preparations
for war against the United States. On the same day that Lord John
Russell sent the protest and demand to Lord Lyons, the British Minister
at Washington, Secretary Seward forwarded a despatch to Minister Adams
in London, informing him that this Government disclaimed the act of
Captain Wilkes, and giving assurance that it was ready to make a
satisfactory arrangement of all difficulties arising out of the
unauthorized act. These despatches passed each other in mid-ocean. The
Government, in opposition to popular sentiment, decided at once to
restore Mason and Slidell to the protection of the British flag. It was
soon afterwards done, war between the two nations was averted, and, in
the language of President Lincoln, the British Government was 'forever
bound to keep the peace in relation to neutrals.' The wise statesmanship
exhibited at that critical time was originated by Abraham Lincoln."

Lincoln once confessed that the Trent affair, occurring as it did at a
very critical period of the war, had given him great uneasiness. When
asked whether it was not a great trial to surrender the two captured
Commissioners, he said: "Yes, that was a pretty bitter pill to swallow,
but I contented myself with believing that England's triumph in the
matter would be short-lived, and that after ending our war successfully
we could if we wished call England to account for the embarrassments she
had inflicted upon us. I felt a good deal like the sick man in Illinois
who was told he probably hadn't many days longer to live, and that he
ought to make peace with any enemies he might have. He said the man he
hated worst of all was a fellow named Brown, in the next village, and he
guessed he had better begin on him. So Brown was sent for, and when he
came the sick man began to say, in a voice as meek as Moses', that he
wanted to die at peace with all his fellow-creatures, and hoped he and
Brown could now shake hands and bury all their enmity. The scene was
becoming altogether too pathetic for Brown, who had to get out his
handkerchief and wipe the gathering tears from his eyes. It wasn't long
before he melted and gave his hand to his neighbor, and they had a
regular love-feast. After a parting that would have softened the heart
of a grindstone, Brown had about reached the room door, when the sick
man rose up on his elbow and said, 'But, see here, Brown, if I _should_
happen to get well, mind _that old grudge stands_!' So I thought if this
nation should happen to get well, we might want that old grudge against
England to stand."

Other controversies with England arose during the progress of the
war--over the fitting out of Confederate cruisers at English ports to
prey upon the commerce of the United States, over captured mails,
etc.--in which all of Lincoln's sagacity and patience were needed to
avert an open rupture with the British government. That the strain was
severe and the danger great is made clear by an entry in Mr. Welles's
Diary, in which he says: "We are in no condition for a foreign war. Torn
by dissensions, an exhausting civil war on our hands, we have a gloomy
prospect, but a righteous cause that will ultimately succeed. God alone
knows through what trials, darkness, and suffering we are to pass."
Again, in dealing with the French invasion of Mexico, Lincoln--as Mr.
John Bigelow (then minister to France) puts it--"wisely limited himself
to a firm repetition of the views and principles held by the United
States in relation to foreign invasion," and thereby gained a diplomatic
victory. How well "the old grudge against England" stood is shown by the
substantial damages obtained from her, some years after the war, on the
claims against the Alabama and other privateers, the foundations of
which had been wisely laid by President Lincoln.

In the autumn of 1861 was originated the plan of a new naval vessel,
which became the "Monitor"--the forerunner of the modern iron-clad, and
the formidable little craft that beat back the "Merrimac" ram at Hampton
Roads, March 9, 1862, saved the Federal Navy, and revolutionized naval
architecture. The interesting story of the project, and of Lincoln's
relation to it, is thus told: "The invention belongs to Captain John
Ericsson, a man of marvelous ability and most fertile brain; but the
creation of the 'Monitor' belongs to two distinguished iron-masters of
the State of New York, viz.: the Hon. John F. Winslow and his partner in
business, the Hon. John A. Griswold. These two gentlemen were in
Washington in the autumn of 1861, for the adjustment of some claims
against the Government for iron plating furnished by them for the
war-ship 'Galena.' There, through Mr. C.S. Bushnell, the agent of
Captain Ericsson, they learned that the plans and specifications for a
naval machine, or a floating iron battery, presented by Captain
Ericsson, found no favor with the special board appointed by Congress in
1861 to examine and report upon the subject of iron-clad ships of war.
Ericsson and his agent, Mr. Bushnell, were thoroughly disheartened and
demoralized at this failure to interest the Government in their plans.
The papers were placed in the hands of Messrs. Winslow and Griswold,
with the earnest request that they would examine them, and, if they
thought well of them, use their influence with the Government for their
favorable consideration. Mr. Winslow carefully read the papers and
became satisfied that Ericsson's plan was both feasible and desirable.
After conference with his friend and partner, Mr. Griswold, it was
determined to take the whole matter to President Lincoln. Accordingly,
an interview was arranged with Mr. Lincoln, to whom the plans of Captain
Ericsson were presented, with all the unction and enthusiasm of an
honest and mastering conviction, by Mr. Winslow and Mr. Griswold, who
had now become thoroughly interested in the undertaking. The President
listened with attention and growing interest. When they were done, Mr.
Lincoln said, 'Gentlemen, why do you bring this matter to me? Why not
take it to the Department having these things in charge?' 'It has been
taken already to the Department, and there met with a repulse, and we
come now to you with it, Mr. President, to secure your influence. We are
here not simply as business men, but as lovers of our country, and we
believe most thoroughly that here is something upon which we can enter
that will be of vast benefit to the Republic,' was the answer. Mr.
Lincoln was roused by the terrible earnestness of Mr. Winslow and his
friend Griswold, and said, in his inimitable manner, 'Well, I don't know
much about ships, though I once contrived a canal-boat--the model of
which is down in the Patent Office--the great merit of which was that it
could run where there was no water. But I think there is something in
this plan of Ericsson's. I'll tell you what I will do. I will meet you
to-morrow at ten o'clock, at the office of Commodore Smith, and we will
talk it all over.' The next morning the meeting took place according to
the appointment. Mr. Lincoln was present. The Secretary of the Navy,
with many of the influential men of the Navy Department, also were
there. The office where they met was rude in its belongings. Mr. Lincoln
sat upon a rough box. Mr. Winslow, without any knowledge of naval
affairs other than that which general reading would give, entered upon
his task with considerable trepidation, but his whole heart was in it,
and his showing was so earnest, practical, and patriotic, that a
profound impression was made. 'Well,' said Mr. Lincoln, after Mr.
Winslow had finished, 'well, Commodore Smith, what do you think of it?'
The Commodore made some general and non-committal reply, whereupon the
President, rising from the box, added, 'Well, I think there is something
in it. Good morning, gentlemen,' and went out. From this interview grew
a Government contract with Messrs. Winslow and Griswold for the
construction of the 'Monitor,' the vessel to be placed in the hands of
the Government within a hundred days at a cost of $275,000. The work was
pushed with all diligence till the 30th of January, 1862, when the ship
was launched at Greenpoint, one hundred and one days from the execution
of the contract, thus making the work probably the most expeditious of
any recorded in the annals of mechanical engineering."

At the assembling of Congress in December, 1861, Lincoln presented his
first Annual Message. Among its most noteworthy passages was that which
touched upon the relations between labor and capital--a subject so
prominent in our later day. It was alluded to in its connection with the
evident tendency of the Southern Confederacy to discriminate in its
legislation in favor of the moneyed class and against the laboring
people. On this point the President said:

     In my present position, I could scarcely be justified were I to
     omit raising a warning voice against this approach of returning
     despotism. It is not needed nor fitting here, that a general
     argument should be made in favor of popular institutions; but there
     is one point, with its connections, not so hackneyed as most
     others, to which I ask a brief attention. It is the effort to place
     _capital_ on an equal footing with, if not above, _labor_, in the
     structure of government. It is assumed that labor is available only
     in connection with capital; that nobody labors unless somebody
     else, owning capital, somehow, by the use of it, induces him to
     labor. This assumed, it is next considered whether it is best that
     capital shall _hire_ laborers, and thus induce them to work by
     their own consent, or _buy_ them, and drive them to it without
     their consent. Having proceeded so far, it is naturally concluded
     that all laborers are either hired laborers or what we call slaves.
     And further, it is assumed that whoever is once a hired laborer is
     fixed in that condition for life. Now, there is no such relation
     between capital and labor as assumed; nor is there any such thing
     as a free man being fixed for life in the condition of a hired
     laborer. Both these assumptions are false, and all inferences from
     them are groundless. Labor is prior to and independent of capital.
     Capital is only the fruit of labor, and could never have existed if
     labor had not first existed. Labor is the superior of capital, and
     deserves much the higher consideration. Capital has its rights,
     which are as worthy of protection as any other rights. Nor is it
     denied that there is, and probably always will be, a relation
     between labor and capital, producing mutual benefits. The error is
     in assuming that the whole labor of community exists within that
     relation. A few men own capital, and those few avoid labor
     themselves, and, with their capital, hire or buy another few to
     labor for them. A large majority belong to neither class--neither
     work for others, nor have others working for them. In most of the
     Southern States, a majority of the whole people of all colors are
     neither slaves nor masters; while in the North, a large majority
     are neither hirers nor hired. Men, with their families--wives,
     sons, and daughters--work for themselves, on their farms, in their
     houses, and in their shops, taking the whole product to themselves,
     and asking no favors of capital on the one hand, nor of hired
     laborers or slaves on the other. It is not forgotten that a
     considerable number of persons mingle their own labor with
     capital--that is, they labor with their own hands, and also buy or
     hire others to labor for them; but this is only a mixed, not a
     distinct class. No principle stated is disturbed by the existence
     of this mixed class. Again, as has already been said, there is not,
     of necessity, any such thing as the free hired laborer being fixed
     to that condition for life. Many independent men everywhere in
     these States, a few years back in their lives, were hired laborers.
     The prudent, penniless beginner in the world labors for wages
     awhile, saves a surplus with which to buy tools or land for
     himself; then labors on his own account another while, and at
     length hires another new beginner to help him. This is the just and
     generous and prosperous system, which opens the way to all, gives
     hope to all, and consequent energy and progress and improvement of
     condition to all. No men living are more worthy to be trusted than
     those who toil up from poverty--none less inclined to take, or
     touch, aught which they have not honestly earned. Let them beware
     of surrendering a political power which they already possess, and
     which, if surrendered, will surely be used to close the door of
     advancement against such as they, and to fix new disabilities and
     burdens upon them till all of liberty shall be lost.

     The struggle _of_ to-day is not altogether _for_ to-day--it is for
     a vast future also. With a reliance on Providence, all the more
     firm and earnest, let us proceed in the great task which events
     have devolved upon us.

The reception given at the White House on New Year's day, 1862, was a
brilliant and memorable affair. It was attended by distinguished army
officers, prominent men from civil life, and the leading ladies of
Washington society. "Army uniforms preponderated over black dress coats,
and the young Germans of Blenker's division were gorgeously arrayed in
tunics embroidered with gold on the collars and cuffs, sword-belts of
gold lace, high boots, and jingling spurs." It was such a scene as that
before the battle of Waterloo, when the

    ... capital had gathered then
    Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
    The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
    A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
    Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,
    Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again,
    And all went merry as a marriage bell.

How many of these brave men were destined never to see another New
Year's day; and how many of those soft eyes would soon be dimmed with
tears! Something of this feeling must have come over the sad soul of
Lincoln. An eye-witness says that he "looked careworn and thoughtful, if
not anxious; yet he had a pleasant word for all."

Early in 1862 an event occurred which added to the sorrow that seemed
to enshroud the life of Lincoln, and afforded a glimpse into the depths
of his tender and sorrowful nature. It was the death of his son Willie,
a bright and promising boy, to whom his father was devotedly attached.
"This," says Dr. J.G. Holland, "was a new burden; and the visitation
which, in his firm faith in Providence, he regarded as providential, was
also inexplicable. Why should he, with so many burdens upon him, and
with such necessity for solace in his home and his affections, be
brought into so tender a trial? It was to him a trial of faith, indeed.
A Christian lady of Massachusetts, who was officiating as nurse in one
of the hospitals, came in to attend the sick children. She reports that
Mr. Lincoln watched with her about the bedside of the sick ones, and
that he often walked the room, saying sadly: 'This is the hardest trial
of my life. Why is it? Why is it?' In the course of conversations with
her, he questioned her concerning her situation. She told him she was a
widow, and that her husband and two children were in heaven; and added
that she saw the hand of God in it all, and that she had never loved Him
so much before as she had since her affliction. 'How is that brought
about?' inquired Mr. Lincoln. 'Simply by trusting in God, and feeling
that He does all things well,' she replied. 'Did you submit fully under
the first loss?' he asked. 'No,' she answered, 'not wholly; but as blow
came upon blow, and all were taken, I could and did submit, and was very
happy.' He responded, 'I am glad to hear you say that. Your experience
will help me to bear my afflictions.' On being assured that many
Christians were praying for him on the morning of the funeral, he wiped
away the tears that sprang in his eyes, and said, 'I am glad to hear
that. I want them to pray for me. I need their prayers.' As he was
going out to the burial, the good lady expressed her sympathy with him.
He thanked her gently, and said, 'I will try to go to God with my
sorrows.' A few days afterward she asked him if he could trust God. He
replied, 'I think I can. I will try. I wish I had that childlike faith
you speak of, and I trust He will give it to me.' And then he spoke of
his mother, whom so many years before he had committed to the dust among
the wilds of Indiana. In this hour of his great trial, the memory of her
who had held him upon her bosom and soothed his childish griefs came
back to him with tenderest recollections. 'I remember her prayers,' said
he, 'and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my
life.'"

An interesting passage in the secret history of the war at this period
is narrated by one of the chief actors, Mr. A.M. Ross, a distinguished
ornithologist of Canada, whose contribution embodies also so many
interesting details of Lincoln's daily life that it seems worth giving
rather fully. A few months after the inauguration of President Lincoln,
Mr. Ross received a letter from the Hon. Charles Sumner, requesting him
to come to Washington at his earliest convenience. "The day after my
arrival in Washington," says Mr. Ross, "I was introduced to the
President. Mr. Lincoln received me very cordially, and invited me to
dine with him. After dinner he led me to a window, distant from the rest
of the party, and said: 'Mr. Sumner sent for you at my request; we need
a confidential person in Canada to look after our interests, and keep us
posted as to the schemes of the Confederates in Canada. You have been
strongly recommended to me for the position. Your mission shall be as
confidential as you please; no one here but your friend Mr. Sumner and
myself shall have any knowledge of your position. Think it over
tonight, and if you can accept the mission come up and see me at nine
o'clock tomorrow morning.' When I took my leave of him, he said, 'I hope
you will decide to serve us.' The position thus offered was one not
suited to my tastes, but, as Mr. Lincoln appeared very desirous that I
should accept it, I concluded to lay aside my prejudices and accept the
responsibilities of the mission. I was also persuaded to this conclusion
by the wishes of my friend, Mr. Sumner.

"At nine o'clock next morning, I waited upon the President, and
announced my decision. He grasped my hand in a hearty manner, and said:
'Thank you, thank you; I am glad of it. You must help us to circumvent
the machinations of the rebel agents in Canada. There is no doubt they
will use your country as a communicating link with Europe, and also with
their friends in New York. It is quite possible, also, that they may
make Canada a base from which to harass and annoy our people along the
frontier.'

"After a lengthy conversation relative to private matters connected with
my mission, I rose to leave, when he said, 'I will walk down to
Willard's with you; the hotel is on my way to the Capitol, where I have
an engagement at noon.' Before we reached the hotel a man came up to the
President and thrust a letter into his hand, at the same time applying
for some office in Wisconsin. I saw that the President was offended at
the rudeness, for he passed the letter back without looking at it,
saying, 'No, sir! I am not going to open shop here.' This was said in a
most emphatic manner, but accompanied by a comical gesture which caused
the rejected applicant to smile. As we continued our walk, the President
spoke of the annoyances incident to his position, saying: 'These
office-seekers are a curse to the country; no sooner was my election
certain, than I became the prey of hundreds of hungry, persistent
applicants for office, whose highest ambition is to feed at the
Government crib.' When he bade me good-bye, he said, 'Let me hear from
you once a week at least.' As he turned to leave me, a young army
officer stopped him and made some request, to which the President
replied with a good deal of humor, 'No, I can't do that; I must not
interfere; they would scratch my eyes out if I did. You must go to the
proper department.'

"Some time later," says Mr. Ross, "I again visited Washington. On my
arrival there (about midnight) I went direct to the Executive Mansion,
and sent my card to the President, who had retired. In a few minutes the
porter returned and requested me to accompany him to the President's
office, where Mr. Lincoln would shortly join me. The room into which I
was ushered was the same in which I had spent several hours with the
President on the occasion of my first interview with him. Scattered
about the floor and lying open on the table were several military maps
and documents, indicating recent use. In a few minutes the President
came in and welcomed me in a most friendly manner; I expressed my regret
at disturbing him at such an hour. He replied in a good-humored manner,
saying, 'No, no! You did right; you may waken me up whenever you please.
I have slept with one eye open ever since I came to Washington; I never
close both, except when an office-seeker is looking for me.' I then laid
before the President the 'rebel mail.' He carefully examined the address
of each letter, making occasional remarks. At length he found one
addressed to Franklin Pierce, ex-President of the United States, then
residing in New Hampshire; and another to ex-Attorney-General Cushing, a
resident of Massachusetts. He appeared much surprised, and remarked
with a sigh, but without the slightest tone of asperity, 'I will have
these letters enclosed in official envelopes, and sent to these
parties.' When he had finished examining the addresses, he tied up all
those addressed to private individuals, saying, 'I won't bother with
them; but these look like official letters; I guess I'll go through them
now.' He then opened them, and read their contents, slowly and
carefully. While he was thus occupied, I had an excellent opportunity of
studying this extraordinary man. A marked change had taken place in his
countenance since my first interview with him. He looked much older, and
bore traces of having passed through months of painful anxiety and
trouble. There was a sad and serious look in his eyes that spoke louder
than words of the disappointments, trials, and discouragements he had
encountered since the war began. The wrinkles about the eyes and
forehead were deeper; the lips were firmer, but indicative of kindness
and forbearance. The great struggle had brought out the hidden riches of
his noble nature, and developed virtues and capacities which surprised
his oldest and most intimate friends. He was simple, but astute; he
possessed the rare faculty of seeing things just as they are. He was a
just, charitable, and honest man.

"When Mr. Lincoln finished reading the letters, I rose to go, saying
that I would go to Willard's, and have a rest. 'No, no,' said the
President, 'it is now three o'clock; you shall stay with me while you
are in town; I'll find you a bed'; and leading the way, he took me into
a bedroom, saying, 'Take a good sleep; you shall not be disturbed.'
Bidding me 'good night,' he left the room to go back and pore over the
rebel letters until daylight, as he afterwards told me. I did not awaken
from my sleep until eleven o'clock in the forenoon, soon after which Mr.
Lincoln came into my room, and laughingly said, 'When you are ready,
I'll pilot you down to breakfast,' which he did. Seating himself at the
table near me, he expressed his fears that trouble was brewing on the
New Brunswick border; he said he had gathered further information on
that point from the correspondence, which convinced him that such was
the case. He was here interrupted by a servant, who handed him a card,
upon reading which he arose, saying, 'The Secretary of War has received
important tidings; I must leave you for the present; come to my room
after breakfast and we'll talk over this New Brunswick affair."

"On entering his room again, I found him busily engaged in writing, at
the same time repeating in a low voice the words of a poem which I
remembered reading many years before. When he stopped writing I asked
him who was the author of that poem. He replied, 'I do not know. I have
written the verses down from memory, at the request of a lady who is
much pleased with them.' He passed the sheet, on which he had written
the verses, to me, saying, 'Have you ever read them?' I replied that I
had, many years previously, and that I should be pleased to have a copy
of them in his handwriting, when he had time and an inclination for such
work. He said, 'Well, you may keep that copy, if you wish.'"

Hon. William D. Kelly, a Member of Congress from Pennsylvania, relates
that during the time of McClellan's Peninsular campaign he called at the
White House one morning, and while waiting to see the President, Senator
Wilson of Massachusetts entered the chamber, having with him four
distinguished-looking Englishmen. The President, says Mr. Kelly, "had
evidently had an early appointment, and had not completed his toilet. He
was in slippers, and his pantaloons, when he crossed one knee over the
other, disclosed the fact that he wore heavy blue woollen stockings. It
was an agreeable surprise to learn that the chief of the visiting party
was Professor Goldwin Smith of Canada, one of the firmest of our British
friends. As the President rose to greet them, he was the very
impersonation of easy dignity, notwithstanding the negligence of his
costume. With a tact that never deserted him, he opened the conversation
with an inquiry as to the health of his friend John Bright, whom he said
he regarded as a friend of our country and of freedom everywhere. The
visitors having been seated, the magnitude of recent battles was
referred to by Professor Smith as preliminary to the question whether
the enormous losses which were so frequently occurring would not so
reduce the industrial resources of the North as to affect seriously the
prosperity of individual citizens and consequently the revenue of the
country. He justified the question by proceeding to recite the number of
killed, wounded, and missing, reported after some of the great battles
recently fought. There were two of Mr. Lincoln's official friends who
lived in dread of his little stories. Neither of them was gifted with
humor, and both could understand his propositions, which were always
distinct and clean cut, without such familiar illustrations as those in
which he so often indulged; and they were chagrined whenever they were
compelled to hear him resort to his stories in the presence of
distinguished strangers. They were Senator Wilson of Massachusetts and
Mr. Stanton, Secretary of War; and, as Professor Smith closed his
arithmetical statement, the time came for the Massachusetts Senator to
bite his lips, for the President, crossing his legs in such a manner as
to show that his blue stockings were long as well as thick, said that,
in settling such matters as that, we must resort to 'darkey arithmetic.'
'To darkey arithmetic!' exclaimed the dignified representative of the
learning and higher thought of Great Britain and her American Dominion.
'I did not know, Mr. President, that you have two systems of arithmetic'
'Oh, yes,' said the President; 'I will illustrate that point by a little
story. Two young contrabands, as we have learned to call them, were
seated together, when one said to the other, "Jim, do you know
'rithmetic?" Jim answered, "No; what is 'rithmetic?" "Well," said the
other, "it's when you add up things. When you have one and one, and you
put dem togedder, dey makes two. And when you subtracts things, when if
you have two things and you takes one away, only one remains." "Is dat
'rithmetic?" "Yah." "Well, 'tain't true, den. It's no good!" Here a
dispute arose, when Jim said, "Now, you 'spose three pigeons sit on that
fence, and somebody shoot one of dem; do t'other two stay dar? I guess
not! dey flies away quickern odder feller falls." And, Professor,
trifling as the story seems, it illustrates the arithmetic you must use
in estimating the actual losses resulting from our great battles. The
statements you have referred to give the killed, wounded, and missing at
the first roll-call after the battle, which always exhibits a greatly
exaggerated total, especially in the column of missing.'"

Mr. Goldwin Smith, the gentleman referred to in the foregoing anecdote,
has summarized his impressions of Lincoln in the following paragraph:
"Such a person as Abraham Lincoln is quite unknown to our official
circles or to those of Continental nations. Indeed, I think his place in
history will be unique. He has not been trained to diplomacy or
administrative affairs, and is in all respects one of the people. But
how wonderfully he is endowed and equipped for the performance of the
duties of the chief executive officer of the United States at this time!
The precision and minuteness of his information on all questions to
which we referred was a succession of surprises to me."

Still terser, but hardly less expressive, is Emerson's characterization
of Lincoln as one who had been "permitted to do more for America than
any other American man."

A striking passage by Mr. Norman Hapgood should have place among these
tributes. "Lincoln had no artificial aids. He merely proved the weapon
of finest temper in the fire in which he was tested. In the struggle for
survival in a national upheaval, he not only proved the living power of
integrity and elasticity, but he easily combined with his feats of
strength and shrewdness some of the highest flights of taste. As we look
back across the changes of his life,--see him passing over the high
places and the low, and across the long stretches of the prairie;
spending years in the Socratic arguments of the tavern, and anon holding
the rudder of state in grim silence; choosing jests which have the
freshness of earth, and principles of eternal right; judging potentates
and laborers in the clear light of nature, and at ease with both; alone
by virtue of a large and melancholy soul, at home with every man by
virtue of love and faith,--this figure takes its place high in our minds
and hearts, not solely through the natural right of strength and
success, but also because his strength is ours, and the success won by
him rested on the fundamental purity and health of the popular will of
which he was the leader and the servant. Abraham Lincoln was in a deep
and lasting sense the first American."

Mr. John Bigelow, already quoted in these pages, summarized Lincoln's
character and achievements in a passage of singular eloquence and force.
"Lincoln's greatness must be sought for in the constituents of his moral
nature. He was so modest by nature that he was perfectly content to
walk behind any man who wished to walk before him. I do not know that
history has made a record of the attainment of any corresponding
eminence by any other man who so habitually, so constitutionally, did to
others as he would have them do to him. Without any pretensions to
religious excellence, from the time he first was brought under the
observation of the nation he seemed, like Milton, to have walked 'as
ever in his great Taskmaster's eye.' St. Paul hardly endured more
indignities and buffetings without complaint. He was not a learned man.
He was not even one who would deserve to be called in our day an
educated man--knew little rather than much of what the world is proud
of. He had never been out of the United States, or seen much of the
portion of them lying east of the Alleghany Mountains. But the spiritual
side of his nature was so highly organized that it rendered superfluous
much of the experience which to most men is indispensable--the choicest
prerogative of genius. It lifted him unconsciously above the world,
above most of the men who surrounded him, and gave him a wisdom in
emergencies which is bestowed only on those who love their fellow-man as
themselves.... In the ordinary sense of the word, Mr. Lincoln was not a
statesman. Had he come to power when Van Buren did, or when Cleveland
did, he would probably have left Washington at the close of his term as
obscure as either of them. The issues presented to the people of the
United States at the Presidential election of 1860 were to a larger
extent moral questions, humanly speaking, than were those presented at
any other Presidential election. They were: first, the right of the
majority to rule; second, the right of eight millions, more or less, of
our fellow-beings to their freedom; and, third, the institutions and
traditions which Washington planted and Jefferson watered, with the
sacrifices necessary for their preservation. These questions
subordinated all other political issues, and appealed more directly and
forcibly to the moral sentiments of this nation than any issues they had
ever before been called to settle either at the ballot-box or by force
of arms. A President was needed at Washington to represent these moral
forces. Such a President was providentially found in Lincoln ... a
President who walked by faith and not by sight; who did not rely upon
his own compass, but followed a cloud by day and a fire by night, which
he had learned to trust implicitly."

A very graphic summing-up of Lincoln in person and character is that of
Mr. John G. Nicolay, one of his private secretaries, who knew him
intimately and understood him well. "President Lincoln was of unusual
stature, six feet four inches, and of spare but muscular build," says
Mr. Nicolay. "He had been in youth remarkably strong and skilful in the
athletic games of the frontier, where, however, his popularity and
recognized impartiality oftener made him an umpire than a champion. He
had regular and prepossessing features, dark complexion, broad, high
forehead, prominent cheek bones, gray, deep-set eyes, and bushy, black
hair, turning to gray at the time of his death. Abstemious in his
habits, he possessed great physical endurance. He was almost as
tender-hearted as a woman. 'I have not willingly planted a thorn in any
man's bosom,' he was able to say. His patience was inexhaustible. He had
naturally a most cheerful and sunny temper, was highly social and
sympathetic, loved pleasant conversation, wit, anecdote, and laughter.
Beneath this, however, ran an undercurrent of sadness; he was
occasionally subject to hours of deep silence and introspection that
approached a condition of trance. In manner he was simple, direct, void
of the least affectation, and entirely free from awkwardness, oddity,
or eccentricity. His mental qualities were a quick analytic perception,
strong logical powers, a tenacious memory, a liberal estimate and
tolerance of the opinions of others, ready intuition of human nature;
and perhaps his most valuable faculty was rare ability to divest himself
of all feeling or passion in weighing motives of persons or problems of
state. His speech and diction were plain, terse, forcible. Relating
anecdotes with appreciating humor and fascinating dramatic skill, he
used them freely and effectively in conversation and argument. He loved
manliness, truth, and justice. He despised all trickery and selfish
greed. In arguments at the bar he was so fair to his opponent that he
frequently appeared to concede away his client's case. He was ever ready
to take blame on himself and bestow praise on others. 'I claim not to
have controlled events,' he said, 'but confess plainly that events have
controlled me.' The Declaration of Independence was his political chart
and inspiration. He acknowledged a universal equality of human rights.
'Certainly the <DW64> is not our equal in color,' he said, 'perhaps not
in many other respects; still, in the right to put into his mouth the
bread that his own hands have earned, he is the equal of every other
man, white or black.' He had unchanging faith in self-government. 'The
people,' he said, 'are the rightful masters of both congresses and
courts, not to overthrow the Constitution, but to overthrow the men who
pervert the Constitution.' Yielding and accommodating in non-essentials,
he was inflexibly firm in a principle or position deliberately taken.
'Let us have faith that right makes might,' he said, 'and in that faith
let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.' ..."




CHAPTER XVIII


     Lincoln and his Cabinet--An Odd Assortment of
     Officials--Misconceptions of Rights and Duties--Frictions and
     Misunderstandings--The Early Cabinet Meetings--Informal
     Conversational Affairs--Queer Attitude toward the War--Regarded as
     a Political Affair--Proximity to Washington a Hindrance to Military
     Success--Disturbances in the Cabinet--A Senate Committee Demands
     Seward's Removal from the Cabinet--Lincoln's Mastery of the
     Situation--Harmony Restored--Stanton becomes War Secretary--Sketch
     of a Remarkable Man--Next to Lincoln, the Master-mind of the
     Cabinet--Lincoln the Dominant Power.

President Lincoln's Cabinet, while containing men of marked ability and
fitness for their positions, was in some respects about as ill-assorted
and heterogeneous a body of men as were ever called to serve together as
ministers and advisers of a great government. Its selection was a
surprise to the country. Mr. John Bigelow said it "had the appearance of
being selected from a grab-bag." "Not one of the members," continues Mr.
Bigelow, "was a personal or much of a political friend of Mr. Lincoln;
not one of them had ever had any experience or training in any executive
office, except Welles of Connecticut, if he could be claimed as an
exception because of having served three years in a bureau of the Navy
in Washington. Of military administration, still less of actual war, no
member knew anything by experience. The heads of the two most important
departments, the Secretaries of State and the Treasury, were both
disappointed candidates for the chair occupied by Mr. Lincoln. It was
nothing less than Providential that the President was so happily
constituted as neither to share nor to provoke any of the jealousies or
envies of either of them, and by his absolute freedom from every selfish
impulse gradually compelled them all to look up to him as the one person
in whose singleness of eye they could all and always confide. Not
immediately, but in the course of two or three years, they got into the
habit of turning to him like quarrelling children to their mother to
settle all the questions that temporarily divided them."

These Cabinet ministers were a devoted and patriotic body of men, but
their misconceptions of their respective rights and duties were at first
grotesque. Mr. Seward, a man of far greater administrative experience
than Lincoln, assumed that he, rather than the President, was to be the
master mind of the new administration. "Premier" he at first called
himself. Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War, thought the Navy should be a
sort of adjunct to the War Department--an error of which Secretary
Welles of the Navy Department speedily relieved him. These two men were
altogether too unlike to get on well together. The cold and somewhat
stately Welles was repelled by Stanton's impulsiveness and violence,
while Stanton was exasperated by Welles's calmness and lack of
excitability. "Lincoln's ministers had no idea that he towered above
them," says Mr. John T. Morse, Jr., "and no one of them was at all
overawed by him in those days. Presiding over them at the Cabinet,
casually meeting them, chatting with them or lounging as was his habit
in Stanton's room, Lincoln seemed only officially superior to them. One
of them had expected to be President, and another meant to be; a third
dared to be insolent and unruly; it seemed to be only by a chance of
politics that these men stood to him as junior partners to a senior, or
like a board of directors to the president of a corporation."

The unfriendly feeling existing between members of the Cabinet comes
out in many entries in Welles's Diary. "Pressing, assuming, violent,
impatient, intriguing, harsh, and arbitrary," are examples of the terms
in which Stanton is spoken of by Welles His contempt for the Committee
on the Conduct of the War is expressed in no less stinging words. The
members of this committee "are most of them narrow and prejudiced
partisans, mischievous busybodies, and a discredit to Congress. Mean and
contemptible partisanship colors all their acts." It is amusing to note
that while Secretary Welles was thus outspoken in his criticisms of
others, he himself did not escape calumny. One critic (Thurlow Weed,
who, it may be remembered, had objected to Welles's appointment to a
Cabinet position when Lincoln suggested it to him in their consultation
at Springfield before the inauguration) declared that "It is worse than
a fault, it is a crime, to keep that old imbecile at the head of the
Navy Department." And another critic expressed the uncomplimentary
opinion that "If Lincoln would send old Welles back to Hartford, it
would be better for the Navy and for the country."

The accounts of the earliest Cabinet meetings, as given by Secretary
Welles, who was nearly always present, are full of interest. "Cabinet
meetings, which at that exciting period should have been daily, were
infrequent, irregular, and without system," says Mr. Welles. "The
Secretary of State notified his associates when the President desired a
meeting of the heads of Departments. It seemed unadvisable to the
Premier--as he liked to be called and considered--that the members
should meet often, and they did not. Consequently there was very little
concerted action. At the earlier meetings there was little or no
formality; the Cabinet meetings were a sort of privy council or
gathering of equals, much like a Senatorial caucus, where there was no
recognized leader and the Secretary of State put himself in advance of
the President. No seats were assigned or regularly taken. The Secretary
of State was invariably present some little time before the Cabinet
assembled, and from his former position as the chief executive of the
largest State in the Union as well as from his recent place as a
Senator, and from his admitted experience and familiarity with affairs,
assumed, and was allowed, as was proper, to take the lead in
consultations and also to give tone and direction to the manner and mode
of proceedings. The President, if he did not actually wish, readily
acquiesced in, this. Mr. Lincoln, having never had experience in
administering the Government, State or National, deferred to the
suggestions and course of those who had. Mr. Seward was not slow in
taking upon himself to prescribe action and to do most of the talking,
without much regard to the modest chief, but often to the disgust of his
associates, particularly Mr. Bates, who was himself always courteous and
respectful, and to the annoyance of Mr. Chase, who had had, like Mr.
Seward, experience as a chief magistrate. Discussions were desultory and
without order or system; but in the summing-up and conclusions the
President, who was a patient listener and learner, concentrated results,
and often determined questions adverse to the Secretary of State,
regarding him and his opinions, as he did those of his other advisers,
for what they were worth and generally no more."

It was perhaps natural, in a country so long free from wars as ours had
been, that the Civil War should be regarded as a sort of political
affair to be directed from Washington rather than by commanders in the
field. For the first year or so the feeling was quite general that
military affairs should be directed by Congress, acting through its
Committee on the Conduct of the War, and by the Secretary of War, who
complained bitterly that he was not allowed to assume control of
military movements and that his plans were thwarted by McClellan (whom
he especially hated). The President himself did not escape this
condemnation. The feeling at this time is expressed in a sentence in
Stanton's complaint, reflected through Chase, that "the President takes
counsel of none but army officers in army matters." Chase declared to
Welles, according to the latter, that the Treasury as well as other
departments "ought to be informed of the particulars of every movement."
The generals engaged in planning the campaigns and fighting the battles
of the war, and their commander-in-chief the President, could hardly
fail to find their task an uphill one when ideas so naive and fatuous as
these prevailed. It is no wonder that General Grant recorded in his
Memoirs the opinion that the great difficulty with the Army of the
Potomac during the first year of the war was its proximity to
Washington; that the conditions made success practically impossible; and
that neither he, nor General Sherman, nor any officer known to him,
could have succeeded in General McClellan's place, under the conditions
that then existed. Gradually, and by slow and often painful experience,
a clearer conception of the meaning and methods of war prevailed. In
this, as in so many things, Lincoln's insight was first and surest. By
patience, tact, shrewdness, firmness, and diplomatic skill, he held the
Cabinet together and stimulated its members to their best efforts for
the common cause.

But the personal frictions and dissensions in the Cabinet, and the more
or less meddlesome attitude of leaders in the Senate and the House, at
times sorely tried the strength and patience of the harassed President,
compelling him to act the part of peacemaker, and sometimes of judge and
arbiter as well. At one time Secretary Stanton threatened to resign; and
Chase declared that in that case he should go with him. Stanton and
Welles were in frequent antagonism, Welles stating in his Diary that
Stanton assumed, or tried to assume, that the Navy should be subject to
the direction of the War Department. Seward was "meddlesome" toward
other departments; "runs to the President two or three times a day;
wants to be Premier," etc., says Welles. "Between Seward and Chase there
was perpetual rivalry and mutual but courtly distrust; they entered the
Cabinet as rivals, and in cold courtesy so continued." The most serious
of these Cabinet embroglios occurred late in December of 1862, while
Lincoln was well-nigh overwhelmed by Burnside's dreadful repulse at
Fredericksburg. The gist of the affair, as given by Mr. Welles, is that
the opposition to Seward in the Senate grew to such a point that a
committee was appointed to wait on the President and request Seward's
removal from the office of Secretary of State. The President, Mr. Welles
tells us, was "shocked and grieved" at this demonstration. He asked all
the members of his Cabinet to meet the Senate committee with him. All
the members of the Cabinet were present except Seward, who had already
sent the President his resignation. The meeting was attended also by
Senators Collamer, Fessenden, Harris, Trumbull, Grimes, Howard, Sumner,
and Pomeroy. The President, says Mr. Welles, opened the subject for
which the meeting was called, taking a conciliatory tone toward the
Senators, and requesting from each in turn an expression of opinion as
to the wisdom of dropping Seward from the Cabinet. Most of them were
strongly of the opinion that Seward ought to go. The President presented
his own views, which were, in effect, that it would be a mistake to let
Seward leave the Cabinet at that particular time. "He managed his own
case," says Mr. Welles, "speaking freely, and showing great tact,
shrewdness, and ability." The meeting continued until nearly midnight,
and the matter was left still in the President's hands. The next morning
Mr. Welles called early at the White House and found Lincoln practically
decided not to accept Seward's resignation, saying that it would never
do to take the course prescribed by the Senators; that "the Government
would cave in; it could not stand--would not hold water; the bottom
would be out," etc. He requested Welles to go at once to Seward and ask
him not to press his resignation. Lincoln's intuitional mind seemed at
once to connect Secretary Chase with the attack on Seward. Before Welles
left the room, the President rang a bell and directed that a message be
sent to Chase requesting him to come at once to the White House. When
Welles returned from his interview with Seward, who readily promised to
withdraw his resignation at the President's request, he found both Chase
and Seward waiting for the President. The latter soon came in, and his
first words were to ask Welles if he "had seen the man," to which Welles
answered that he had, and that he assented to what had been asked of
him. The dramatic scene that followed is thus described by Mr. Welles in
his Diary: "The President turned to Chase and said, 'I sent for you, for
this matter is giving me great trouble.' Chase said he had been
painfully affected by the meeting last evening, which was a total
surprise to him; 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, and took and hastily opened the letter.
'This,' said he, looking toward me with a triumphant air, 'cuts the
Gordian Knot. I can now dispose of this subject without difficulty, I
see my way clear.' Chase sat by Stanton, fronting the fire; the
President beside the fire, his face toward them, Stanton nearest him. I
was on the sofa, near the east window. 'Mr. President,' said Stanton,
with solemnity, 'I informed you day before yesterday that I was ready to
tender you my resignation. I wish you, sir, to consider my resignation
at this time in your possession.' 'You may go to your department,' said
the President; 'I don't want yours. This,' holding out Chase's letter,
'is all I want; this relieves me; my way is clear; the trouble is ended.
I will detain neither of you longer.' We all rose to leave," concludes
Mr. Welles. "Chase and myself came downstairs together. He was moody and
taciturn. Someone stopped him on the lower stairs, and I passed on."

A few days later, the President requested both Seward and Chase to
withdraw their resignations and resume their duties. This was done, and
the trouble was ended for the time. Both Secretaries had got their
lessons, and profited by them. By the exercise of tact and patience,
with firmness and decision when required, the President had let it be
known that he was the head and chief of the Administration.

Next to the President, it was not Secretary Seward, the "Premier" as he
wished to be regarded, but the War Secretary, Stanton, who was the
master-mind of the Cabinet. He was the incarnation of energy, the
embodiment of patriotic zeal. With all his faults of temper and
disposition, he was a man of singular fitness for the responsible
position he occupied, and his services to the Government can hardly be
overestimated. He had been a Democrat, a member of Buchanan's Cabinet,
and was, says Dr. Holland, "the first one in that Cabinet to protest
against the downright treason into which it was drifting. He was a man
of indomitable energy, devoted loyalty, and thorough honesty.
Contractors could not manipulate him, traitors could not deceive him.
Impulsive, perhaps, but true; wilful, it is possible, but placable;
impatient, but persistent and efficient,--he became at once one of the
most marked and important of the members of the Cabinet." Lincoln and
Stanton together were emphatically "a strong team."

Stanton was not a member of Lincoln's first Cabinet, but came into it at
the beginning of 1862, in place of Simon Cameron, who had just been
appointed Minister to Russia. A very interesting account of Cameron's
personal relations with Lincoln, the causes that led to his retirement
from the Cabinet, and the appointment of Stanton in his place, is given
by Cameron himself. He had been the choice of the Pennsylvania
delegation for President, at the Chicago Convention in 1860, and it was
largely due to him that Lincoln received the nomination. "After the
election," said Mr. Cameron, "I made a trip to the West at Mr. Lincoln's
request. He had, by letter, tendered me the position of either Secretary
of War or Secretary of the Treasury; but when I went to see him he said
that he had concluded to make Mr. Seward Secretary of State, and he
wanted to give a place to Mr. Chase. 'Salmon P. Chase,' said he, 'is a
very ambitious man.' 'Very well,' said I, 'then the War Department is
the place for him. We are going to have an armed conflict over your
election, and the place for an ambitious man is in the War Department.
There he will have lots of room to make a reputation.' These thoughts of
mine, that we were to have war, disturbed Mr. Lincoln very much, and he
seemed to think I was entirely too certain about it. Finally, when he
came to make up his Cabinet, doubtless remembering what I had said about
the War Department, he appointed me Secretary of War."

"There has been," continues Mr. Cameron, "a great deal of misstatement
as to Mr. Stanton's appointment as my successor. Stanton had been my
attorney from the time I went into the War Department until he took my
place as Secretary. I had hardly made a move in which the legality of
any question could arise. I had taken his advice. I believed in the
vigorous prosecution of the war from the start, while Mr. Seward
believed in dallying and compromising, and Mr. Chase was constantly
agitated about the expenditure of money; therefore it was that I was
careful to have the advice of an able lawyer. When the question of
changing me from the War Department to the Russian mission came up, Mr.
Lincoln said to me, 'Whom shall I appoint in your place?' My prompt
response was, 'Edwin M. Stanton.' 'But,' said he, 'I had thought of
giving it to Holt.' 'Mr. Lincoln,' said I, 'if I am to retire in the
present situation of affairs, it seems but proper that a friend of mine,
or at least a man not unfriendly to me, should be appointed in my place.
If you give Mr. Stanton the position, you will not only accomplish this
object but will please the State of Pennsylvania and also get an
excellent officer.' 'Very well,' said Mr. Lincoln, 'you go and see him,
and if he will accept the place he shall have it.' I left the White
House and started to find Stanton, passing through the Treasury
Department on my way. As I passed Mr. Chase's office, I stepped in and
told him what had occurred between the President and myself. He said,
'Let's send for Stanton; bring him here and talk it over.' 'Very well,'
said I, and a messenger was at once sent. Stanton came immediately, and
I told him of the conference between the President and myself. He agreed
to accept. We walked to the White House, and the matter was settled.

"One of the troubles in the Cabinet which brought about this change was
that I had recommended in my annual report, in the fall of 1861, that
the <DW64>s should be enlisted as soldiers after they left their
masters. This advanced step was regarded by most of the Cabinet with
alarm. Mr. Lincoln thought it would frighten the border States out of
the Union, and Mr. Seward and Mr. Chase thought it would never do at
all."

Just before the retirement of Mr. Cameron, a number of influential
Senators waited upon the President and represented to him that inasmuch
as the Cabinet had not been chosen with reference to the war and had
more or less lost the confidence of the country, and since the President
had decided to select a new war minister, they thought the occasion was
opportune to change the whole seven Cabinet ministers. They therefore
earnestly advised him to make a clean sweep, select seven new men, and
so restore the waning confidence of the country. The President listened
with patient courtesy, and when the Senators had concluded, he said,
with a characteristic gleam of humor in his eye: "Gentlemen, your
request for a change of the whole Cabinet because I have made one
change, reminds me of a story I once heard in Illinois of a farmer who
was much troubled by skunks. They annoyed his household at night, and
his wife insisted that he should take measures to get rid of them. One
moonlight night he loaded his old shot-gun and stationed himself in the
yard to watch for the intruders, his wife remaining in the house
anxiously awaiting the result. After some time she heard the shotgun go
off, and in a few minutes the farmer entered the house. 'What luck had
you?' said she. 'I hid myself behind the woodpile,' said the old man,
'with the shot-gun pointed toward the hen-roost, and before long there
appeared, not one skunk, but _seven_. I took aim, blazed away, and
killed one--and he raised such a fearful smell I concluded it was best
to let the other six alone.'" The Senators retired, and nothing more was
heard from them about Cabinet reconstruction.

Of the character and abilities of Secretary Stanton, and the relations
between him and the President, General Grant has admirably said: "I had
the fullest support of the President and Secretary of War. No General
could want better backing; for the President was a man of great wisdom
and moderation, the Secretary a man of enormous character and will. Very
often where Lincoln would want to say _Yes_, his Secretary would make
him say _No_; and more frequently, when the Secretary was driving on in
a violent course, the President would check him. United, Lincoln and
Stanton made about as perfect a combination as I believe could, by any
possibility, govern a great nation in time of war.... The two men were
the very opposite of each other in almost every particular, except that
each possessed great ability. Mr. Lincoln gained influence over men by
making them feel that it was a pleasure to serve them. He preferred
yielding his own wish to gratify others, rather than to insist upon
having his own way. It distressed him to disappoint others. In matters
of public duty, however, he had what he wished, but in the least
offensive way. Mr. Stanton never questioned his own authority to
command, unless resisted. He cared nothing for the feeling of others."
In a further comparison of the two men, General Grant said: "Lincoln was
not timid, and he was willing to trust his generals in making and
executing plans. The Secretary [Stanton] was very timid, and it was
impossible for him to avoid interfering with the armies covering the
capital when it was sought to defend it by an offensive movement against
the army guarding the Confederate capital. He could see our weakness,
but he could not see that the enemy was in danger. The enemy would not
have been in danger if Mr. Stanton had been in the field."

With all his force of character, and his overbearing disposition,
Stanton did not undertake to rule the President--though this has
sometimes been asserted. He would frequently overawe and browbeat
others, but he was never imperious in dealing with Lincoln. Mr. Watson,
for some time Assistant Secretary of War, and Mr. Whiting, Solicitor of
the War Department, with many others in a position to know, have borne
positive testimony to this fact. Hon. George W. Julian, a member of the
House Committee on the Conduct of the War, says: "On the 24th of March,
1862, Secretary Stanton sent for the Committee for the purpose of having
a confidential conference as to military affairs. Stanton was thoroughly
discouraged. He told us the President had gone back to his first love,
General McClellan, and that it was needless for him or for us to labor
with him." This language clearly shows that Lincoln, not Stanton, was
the dominant mind.

Wherever it was possible, Lincoln gave Stanton his own way, and did not
oppose him. But there were occasions when, in a phrase used by Lincoln
long before, it was "necessary to _put the foot down firmly_." Such an
occasion is described by General J.B. Fry, Provost Marshal of the United
States during the war. An enlistment agent had applied to the President
to have certain credits of troops made to his county, and the President
promised him it should be done. The agent then went to Secretary
Stanton, who flatly refused to allow the credits as described. The agent
returned to the President, who reiterated the order, but again without
effect. Lincoln then went in person to Stanton's office. General Fry was
called in by Stanton to state the facts in the case. After he concluded,
Stanton remarked that Lincoln must see, in view of such facts, that his
order could not be executed. What followed is thus related by General
Fry: "Lincoln sat upon a sofa, with his legs crossed, and did not say a
word until the Secretary's last remark. Then he said, in a somewhat
positive tone, 'Mr. Secretary, I reckon you'll have to execute the
order.' Stanton replied, with asperity, 'Mr. President, I cannot do it.
The order is an improper one, and I cannot execute it.' Lincoln fixed
his eye upon Stanton, and in a firm voice and with an accent that
clearly showed his determination, he said, 'Mr. Secretary, _it will have
to be done_.' Stanton then realized that he was overmatched. He had made
a square issue with the President, and had been defeated. Upon an
intimation from him, I withdrew, and did not witness his surrender. A
few minutes after I reached my office I received instructions from the
Secretary to carry out the President's order."

Vice-President Wheeler relates a characteristic incident illustrating
the relations between Lincoln and Stanton. The President had promised
Mr. Wheeler an appointment for an old friend as army paymaster, stating
that the Secretary of War would instruct the gentleman to report for
duty. Hearing nothing further from the matter, Mr. Wheeler at length
called upon the Secretary and reminded him of the appointment. Mr.
Stanton denied all knowledge of the matter, but stated, in his brusque
manner, that the name would be sent in, with hundreds of others, to the
Senate for its consideration. Mr. Wheeler argued that his friend had
been appointed by the Commander-in-chief of the Army, and that it was
unjust to ask him to wait for the tardy action of the Senate upon the
nomination, and that he was entitled to be mustered in at once. But all
in vain; the only reply that could be got from the iron Secretary was,
"You have my answer; no argument." Mr. Wheeler went to the chief clerk
of the department, and asked for the President's letter directing the
appointment. Receiving it, he proceeded to the White House, although it
was after executive hours. "I can see Mr. Lincoln now," says Mr.
Wheeler, "as he looked when I entered the room. He wore a long calico
dressing-gown, reaching to his heels; his feet were encased in a pair of
old-fashioned leathern slippers, such as we used to find in the old-time
country hotels, and which had evidently seen much service in
Springfield. Above these appeared the home-made blue woollen stockings
which he wore at all seasons of the year. He was sitting in a splint
rocking-chair, with his legs elevated and stretched across his office
table. He greeted me warmly. Apologizing for my intrusion at that
unofficial hour, I told him I had called simply to ascertain which was
the paramount power in the Government, he or the Secretary of War.
Letting down his legs and straightening himself up in his chair, he
answered, 'Well, it is generally supposed _I am_. What's the matter?' I
then briefly recalled the facts attending Sabin's appointment, when,
without comment, he said, 'Give me my letter.' Then, taking his pen, he
indorsed upon it:

     Let the within named J.A. Sabin be mustered AT ONCE. It is due to
     him and to Mr. W., under the circumstances.

     A. LINCOLN."

Armed with this peremptory order, Mr. Wheeler called on Stanton the next
morning. The Secretary was furious. He charged Mr. Wheeler with
interfering with his prerogatives. Mr. Wheeler remarked that he would
call the next morning for the order to muster in. He called accordingly,
and, handing him the order, in a rage, Stanton said, "I hope I shall
never hear of this matter again."

It is related by Hon. George W. Julian, already quoted, that on a
certain occasion a committee of Western men, headed by Mr. Lovejoy,
procured from the President an important order looking to the exchange
and transfer of Eastern and Western soldiers, with a view to more
effective work. "Repairing to the office of the Secretary, Mr. Lovejoy
explained the scheme, as he had before done to the President, but was
met with a flat refusal. 'But we have the President's order, sir,' said
Lovejoy. 'Did Lincoln give you an order of that kind?' said Stanton. 'He
did, sir.' 'Then he is a d----d fool,' said the irate Secretary. 'Do you
mean to say the President is a d----d fool?' asked Lovejoy, in
amazement. 'Yes, sir, if he gave you such an order as that.' The
bewildered Illinoisan betook himself at once to the President, and
related the result of his conference. 'Did Stanton say I was a d----d
fool?' asked Lincoln, at the close of the recital. 'He did, sir, and
repeated it.' After a moment's pause, and looking up, the President
said, 'If Stanton said I was a d----d fool, then _I must be one_, for he
is nearly always right, and generally says what he means. _I will step
over and see him_.'" The two men met, and the matter was easily
adjusted. It was this rare combination of good-humor and firmness with
an understanding of the other's trials and appreciation of his good
qualities, that reduced the friction of official life and enabled
Lincoln and Stanton to work together, in the main harmoniously and
efficiently, in their great task of prosecuting the war and maintaining
the integrity of the Union.




CHAPTER XIX

     Lincoln's Personal Attention to the Military Problems of the
     War--Efforts to Push forward the War--Disheartening
     Delays--Lincoln's Worry and Perplexity--Brightening
     Prospects--Union Victories in North Carolina and
     Tennessee--Proclamation by the President--Lincoln Wants to See for
     Himself--Visits Fortress Monroe--Witnesses an Attack on the Rebel
     Ram "Merrimac"--The Capture of Norfolk--Lincoln's Account of the
     Affair--Letter to McClellan--Lincoln and the Union Soldiers--His
     Tender Solicitude for the Boys in Blue--Soldiers Always Welcome at
     the White House--Pardoning Condemned Soldiers--Letter to a Bereaved
     Mother--The Case of Cyrus Pringle--Lincoln's Love of Soldiers'
     Humor--Visiting the Soldiers in Trenches and Hospitals--Lincoln at
     "The Soldiers' Rest."

Early in 1862 Lincoln began giving more of his personal attention to
military affairs. He was dissatisfied with the slow movements and small
achievements of our armies, and sought to infuse new zeal and energy
into the Union commanders. He also began a careful study of the great
military problems pressing for solution; and he seemed resolved to
assume the full responsibilities of his position, not only as the civil
head of the Government but as the commander-in-chief of the armies and
navies of the United States. In this he was influenced by no desire for
personal control of the commanders in the field or interference with
their plans; he always preferred to leave them the fullest liberty of
action. But he felt that the situation demanded a single head, ready and
able to take full responsibility for the most important steps; and, true
to himself and his habits of a lifetime, he neither sought
responsibility nor flinched from it.

The leading officers of the Union army were mostly young and
inexperienced men, and none of them had as yet demonstrated the capacity
of a great commander. At best it was a process of experiment, to see
what generals and what strategic movements were most likely to succeed.
In order to be able to judge correctly of measures and men, Lincoln
undertook to familiarize himself with the practical details of military
affairs and operations. Here was developed a new and unsuspected phase
of his character. The plain country lawyer, unversed in the art of war,
was suddenly transformed into the great civil ruler and military
chieftain. "He was already," says Mr. A.G. Riddle, "one of the wariest,
coolest, and most skilful managers of men. _A born strategist_, he was
now rapidly mastering the great outline ideas of the art of war." "The
elements of selfishness and ferocity which are not unusual with
first-class military chiefs," said General Keyes, a prominent officer of
the Union army, "were wholly foreign to Lincoln's nature. Nevertheless,
_there was not one of his most trusted warlike counselors in the
beginning of the war who equaled him in military sagacity_." His
reliance, in the new duties and perils that confronted him, was upon his
simple common-sense, his native power of judgment and discernment.
"Military science," says a distinguished officer, "is common-sense
applied to the affairs of war." While Lincoln made no claim to technical
knowledge in this sphere, and preferred to leave details to his
subordinates, he yet developed an insight into military problems and an
understanding of practical operations in the field which enabled him not
only to approve or disapprove judiciously, but to direct and plan. A
striking confirmation of this is given by Mr. J.M. Winchell, who thus
relates what happened in a personal interview with the President:

     "I was accompanied by one of Mr. Lincoln's personal friends; and
     when we entered the well-known reception-room, a very tall, lanky
     man came quickly forward to meet us. His manner seemed to me the
     perfection of courtesy. I was struck with the simplicity, kindness,
     and dignity of his deportment, so different from the clownish
     manners with which it was then customary to invest him. His face
     was a pleasant surprise, formed as my expectations had been from
     the poor photographs then in vogue, and the general belief in his
     ugliness. I remember thinking how much better-looking he was than I
     had anticipated, and wondering that anyone should consider him
     ugly. His expression was grave and care-worn, but still enlivened
     with a cheerfulness that gave me instant hope. After a brief
     interchange of commonplaces, he entered on a description of the
     situation, giving the numbers of the contending armies, their
     movements, and the general strategical purposes which should govern
     them both. Taking from the wall a large map of the United States,
     and laying it on the table, he pointed out with his long finger the
     geographical features of the vicinity, clearly describing the
     various movements so far as known, reasoning rigidly from step to
     step, and creating a chain of probabilities too strong for serious
     dispute. His apparent knowledge of military science, and his
     familiarity with the special features of the present campaign, were
     surprising in a man who had been all his life a civilian, engrossed
     with politics and the practise of the law, and whose attention must
     necessarily be so much occupied with the perplexing detail of
     duties incident to his position. It was clear that he made the
     various campaigns of the war a subject of profound and intelligent
     study, forming opinions thereon as positive and clear as those he
     held in regard to civil affairs."

Toward the end of January, 1862, Lincoln sought to overcome the inertia
that seemed settling upon the Union forces by issuing the "President's
General Order, No. I," directing that, on the 22d day of February
following, "a general movement of the land and naval forces of the
United States" be made against the insurgent forces, and giving warning
that "the heads of departments, and especially the Secretaries of War
and of the Navy, with all their subordinates, and the General-in-Chief,
with all other commanders and subordinates of land and naval forces,
will severally be held to their strict and full responsibilities for
prompt execution of this order." This order, while it doubtless served
to infuse activity into commanders and officials, did not result in any
substantial successes to our arms. The President, worn by his ceaseless
activities and anxieties, seems to have been momentarily disheartened at
the situation. Admiral Dahlgren, who was in command of the Washington
navy-yard in 1862, narrates that one day, at this period, "the President
drove down to see the hundred-and-fifty-pounder cannon fired. For the
first time I heard the President speak of the bare possibility of our
being two nations--as if alluding to a previous suggestion. He could not
see how the two could exist so near each other. He was evidently much
worried at our lack of military success, and remarked that '_no one
seemed ready_.'"

It is difficult to portray the worry and perplexity that beset Lincoln's
life, and the incessant demands upon his attention, in his efforts to
familiarize himself, as he felt compelled to do, with the practical
operations of the war. Admiral Dahlgren, who saw him almost daily,
relates that one morning the President sent for him, and said, "Well,
Captain, here's a letter about some new powder." He read the letter and
showed the sample of powder,--adding that he had burned some of it and
it did not seem a good article; there was too much residuum. "Now I'll
show you," said he. So he got a small sheet of paper and placed some of
the powder on it, then went to the fire, and with the tongs picked up a
coal, which he blew, with his spectacles still on his nose; then he
clapped the coal to the powder, and after the explosion, remarked:
"There is too much left there." There is something almost grotesque, but
touching and pathetic as well, in this picture of the President of the
United States, with all his enormous cares and responsibilities, engaged
in so petty a matter as testing a sample of powder. And yet so great was
his anxiety for the success of the armies and navies under his control
that he wished to become personally satisfied as to every detail. He did
not wish our armies or our war-vessels to lose battles on account of bad
powder. "At another time," Admiral Dahlgren has related, "the President
sent for me regarding some new invention. After the agent of the
inventor left, the President began on army matters. 'Now,' said he, 'I
am to have a sweat of five or six days'" (alluding to an impending
battle, for the result of which he was very anxious). Again: "The
President sent for me. Some man in trouble about arms; President holding
a breech-loader in his hand. He asked me about the iron-clads, and
Charleston." And again: "Went to the Department and found the President
there. He looks thin, and is very nervous. Said they were doing nothing
at Charleston, only asking for one iron-clad after another. The canal at
Vicksburg was of no account, and he wondered how any sensible man could
favor it. He feared the favorable state of public expectation would pass
away before anything was done. Then he leveled a couple of jokes at the
doings at Vicksburg and Charleston." No wonder the sympathetic
Dahlgren, witnessing the sufferings of the tortured President, should
exclaim: "_Poor gentleman_! How thin and wasted he is!"

The gloomy outlook in the Spring of 1862 was relieved by the substantial
victories of General Burnside in North Carolina and of General Grant in
Tennessee. The President was cheered and elated by these successes. It
is related that General Burnside, visiting Washington at this time,
called on the President, and that "the meeting was a grand spectacle.
The two stalwart men rushed into each other's arms, and warmly clasped
each other for some minutes. When General Burnside was about to leave,
the President inquired, 'Is there anything, my dear General, that I can
do for you?' 'Yes! yes!' was the quick reply, 'and I am glad you asked
me that question. My three brigadiers, you know; everything depended on
them, and they did their duty grandly!--Oh, Mr. President, we owe so
much to them! I should so much like, when I go back, to take them their
promotions.' 'It shall be done!' was Lincoln's hearty response, and on
the instant the promotions were ordered, and General Burnside had the
pleasure of taking back with him to Foster, Reno, and Parke their
commissions as Major-Generals."

Our brightening prospects impelled the President to issue, on the 10th
of April, the following proclamation, breathing his deeply religious
spirit:

     It has pleased Almighty God to vouchsafe signal victories to the
     land and naval forces engaged in suppressing an internal rebellion,
     and at the same time to avert from our country the dangers of
     foreign intervention and invasion. It is therefore recommended to
     the people of the United States that at their next weekly
     assemblages in their accustomed places of public worship which
     shall occur after the notice of this Proclamation shall have been
     received, they especially acknowledge and render thanks to our
     Heavenly Father for these inestimable blessings; that they then and
     there implore spiritual consolation in behalf of all those who have
     been brought into affliction by the casualties and calamities of
     sedition and civil war; and that they reverently invoke the Divine
     guidance for our national counsels, to the end that they may
     speedily result in the restoration of peace, harmony, and unity
     throughout our borders, and hasten the establishment of fraternal
     relations among all the countries of the earth.

     ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

Early in May the President determined on a personal visit to Fortress
Monroe, in order to learn what he could from his own observation of
affairs in that region. The trip was a welcome respite from the cares
and burdens of official life, and he gave himself up, as far as he
could, to its enjoyment. The Secretary of War (Stanton) and the
Secretary of the Treasury (Chase) accompanied the President. A most
interesting account of the expedition is given by General Viele, who was
a member of the party and thus had an opportunity to observe Lincoln
closely. "When on the afternoon of May 4," says General Viele, "I was
requested by the Secretary of War to meet him within an hour at the
navy-yard, with the somewhat mysterious caution to speak to no one of my
movements, I had no conception whatever of the purpose or intention of
the meeting. It was quite dark when I arrived there simultaneously with
the Secretary, who led the way to the wharf on the Potomac, to which a
steamer was moored that proved to be a revenue cutter, the 'Miami.' We
went on board and proceeded at once to the cabin, where to my surprise I
found the President and Mr. Chase, who had preceded us. The vessel
immediately got under way and steamed down the Potomac.... After supper
the table was cleared, and the remainder of the evening was spent in a
general review of the situation, which lasted long into the night. The
positions of the different armies in the field, the last reports from
their several commanders, the probabilities and possibilities as they
appeared to each member of the group, together with many other topics,
relevant and irrelevant, were discussed, interspersed with the usual
number of anecdotes from the never-failing supply with which the
President's mind was stored. It was a most interesting study to see
these men relieved for the moment from the surroundings of their onerous
official duties. The President, of course, was the centre of the
group--kind, genial, thoughtful, tender-hearted, magnanimous Abraham
Lincoln! It was difficult to know him without knowing him intimately,
for he was as guileless and single-hearted as a child; and no man ever
knew him intimately who did not recognize and admire his great
abilities, both natural and acquired, his large-heartedness and
sincerity of purpose.... He would sit for hours during the trip,
repeating passages of Shakespeare's plays, page after page of Browning,
and whole cantos of Byron. His inexhaustible stock of anecdotes gave to
superficial minds the impression that he was not a thoughtful and
reflecting man; whereas the fact was directly the reverse. These
anecdotes formed no more a part of Mr. Lincoln's mind than a smile forms
a part of the face. They came unbidden, and, like a forced smile, were
often employed to conceal a depth of anxiety in his own heart, and to
dissipate the care that weighed upon the minds of his associates. Both
Mr. Chase and Mr. Stanton were under great depression of spirits when we
started, and Mr. Chase remarked with a good deal of seriousness that he
had forgotten to write a very important letter before leaving. It was
too late to remedy the omission, and Mr. Lincoln at once drove the
thought of it from his mind by telling him that a man was sometimes
lucky in forgetting to write a letter, for he seldom knew what it
contained until it appeared again some day to confront him with an
indiscreet word or expression; and then he told a humorous story of a
sad catastrophe that happened in a family, which was ascribed to
something that came in a letter--a catastrophe so far beyond the region
of possibility that it set us all laughing, and Mr. Chase lost his
anxious look. That reminded Mr. Stanton of the dilemma he had been
placed in, just before leaving, by the receipt of a telegram from
General Mitchell, who was in Northern Alabama. The telegram was
indistinct, and could not be clearly understood; there was no time for
further explanation, and yet an immediate answer was required; so the
Secretary took the chances and answered back, 'All right; go ahead.'
'Now, Mr. President,' said he, 'if I have made a mistake, I must
countermand my instructions.' 'I suppose you meant,' said Mr. Lincoln,
'that it was all right if it was good for him, and all wrong if it was
not. That reminds me,' said he, 'of a story about a horse that was sold
at the cross-roads near where I once lived. The horse was supposed to be
fast, and quite a number of people were present at the time appointed
for the sale. A small boy was employed to ride the horse backward and
forward to exhibit his points. One of the would-be buyers followed the
boy down the road and asked him confidentially if the horse had a
splint. 'Well, mister,' said the boy, 'if it's good for him he's got it,
but if it isn't good for him he hasn't.' 'And that's the position,' said
the President, 'you seem to have left General Mitchell in. Well,
Stanton, I guess he'll come out right; but at any rate you can't help
him now.' ... Mr. Lincoln always had a pleasant word to say the last
thing at night and the first thing in the morning. He was always the
first one to awake, although not the first to rise. The day-time was
spent principally upon the quarter-deck, and the President entertained
us with numerous anecdotes and incidents of his life, of the most
interesting character. Few were aware of the physical strength possessed
by Mr. Lincoln. In muscular power he was one in a thousand. One morning,
while we were sitting on deck, he saw an axe in a socket on the
bulwarks, and taking it up, he held it at arm's length at the extremity
of the helve with his thumb and forefinger, continuing to hold it there
for a number of minutes. The most powerful sailors on board tried in
vain to imitate him. Mr. Lincoln said he could do this when he was
eighteen years of age, and had never seen a day since that time when he
could not.[E]

"It was late in the evening," continues General Viele, "when we arrived
at Fortress Monroe.... Answering the hail of the guard-boats, we made a
landing, and the Secretary of War immediately despatched a messenger for
General Wool, the commander of the fort; on whose arrival it was
decided to consult at once with Admiral Goldsborough, the commander of
the fleet, whose flag-ship, the 'Minnesota,' a superb model of naval
architecture, lay a short distance off the shore. The result of this
conference was a plan to get up an engagement the next day between the
'Merrimac' and the 'Monitor,' so that during the fight the 'Vanderbilt,'
which had been immensely strengthened for the purpose, might put on all
steam and run her down. Accordingly, the next morning, the President and
party went over to the Rip Raps to see the naval combat. The 'Merrimac'
moved out of the mouth of the Elizabeth river, quietly and steadily,
just as she had come out only a few weeks before when she had sunk the
'Congress' and the 'Cumberland.' She wore an air of defiance and
determination even at that distance. The 'Monitor' moved up and waited
for her. All the other vessels got out of the way to give the
'Vanderbilt' and the 'Minnesota' room to bear down upon the rebel terror
as soon as she should clear the coast line. It was a calm Sabbath
morning, and the air was still and tranquil. Suddenly the stillness was
broken by the cannon from the vessels and the great guns from the Rip
Raps, that filled the air with sulphurous smoke and a terrific noise
that reverberated from the fortress and the opposite shore like thunder.
The firing was maintained for several hours, but all to no purpose; the
'Merrimac' moved sullenly back to her position. It was determined that
night that on the following day vigorous offensive operations should be
undertaken. The whole available naval force was to bombard Sewall's
Point, and under cover of the bombardment the available troops from
Fortress Monroe were to be landed at that point and move on Norfolk.
Accordingly, the next morning a tremendous cannonading of Sewall's
Point took place. The wooden sheds at that place were set on fire and
the battery was silenced. The 'Merrimac,' coated with mail and lying low
in the water, looked on but took no part. Night came on, and the
cannonading ceased. It was so evident that the 'Merrimac' intended to
act only on the defensive, and that as long as she remained where she
was no troops could be landed in that vicinity, that they were ordered
to disembark. That night the President, with the Secretary of War and
the Secretary of the Treasury, went over on the 'Miami' to the Virginia
shore, and by the light of the moon landed on the beach and walked up
and down a considerable distance to assure himself that there could be
no mistake in the matter. How little the Confederacy dreamed what a
visitor it had that night to the 'sacred soil.'"

The following morning an advance was made upon Norfolk by the route
proposed by General Viele. The attempt was successful, and before night
our forces were in control of the captured city. Some time after
midnight, as General Viele records, "with a shock that shook the city,
and with an ominous sound that could not be mistaken, the magazine of
the 'Merrimac' was exploded, the vessel having been cut off from
supplies and deserted by the crew; and thus this most formidable engine
of destruction, that had so long been a terror, not only to Hampton
Roads, but to the Atlantic coast, went to her doom, a tragic and
glorious _finale_ to the trip of the 'Miami.'"

Secretary Chase had accompanied the expedition against Norfolk,
returning to Fortress Monroe with General Wool immediately after the
surrender of the city. The scene which ensued on the announcement of the
good tidings they brought back to the anxious parties awaiting news of
them was thus described by the President himself: "Chase and Stanton had
accompanied me to Fortress Monroe. While we were there, an expedition
was fitted out for an attack on Norfolk. Chase and General Wool
disappeared about the time we began to look for tidings of the result,
and after vainly waiting their return till late in the evening, Stanton
and I concluded to retire. My room was on the second floor of the
Commandant's house, and Stanton's was below. The night was very
warm,--the moon shining brightly,--and, too restless to sleep, I sat for
some time by the table, reading. Suddenly hearing footsteps, I looked
out of the window, and saw two persons approaching, whom I knew by their
relative size to be the missing men. They came into the passage, and I
heard them rap at Stanton's door and tell him to get up and come
upstairs. A moment afterward they entered my room. 'No time for
ceremony, Mr. President,' said General Wool; 'Norfolk is ours!' Stanton
here burst in, just out of bed, clad in a long night-gown which nearly
swept the floor, his ear catching, as he crossed the threshold, Wool's
last words. Perfectly overjoyed, he rushed at the General, whom he
hugged most affectionately, fairly lifting him from the floor in his
delight. The scene altogether must have been a comical one, though at
the time we were all too greatly excited to take much note of mere
appearances."

Lincoln's general grasp of military strategy, and his keen understanding
of the specific problems confronting the Army of the Potomac in the
critical autumn of 1862, are well indicated in the following
communication to General McClellan:

     EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON,
     October 13, 1862

     MY DEAR SIR:--You remember my speaking to you of what I called your
     over-cautiousness. Are you not over-cautious when you assume that
     you cannot do what the enemy is constantly doing? Should you not
     claim to be at least his equal in prowess, and act upon the claim?

     As I understand, you telegraphed General Halleck that you cannot
     subsist your army at Winchester unless the railroad from Harper's
     Ferry to that point be put in working order. But the enemy does now
     subsist his army at Winchester, at a distance nearly twice as great
     from railroad transportation as you would have to do, without the
     railroad last named. He now wagons from Culpepper Court-House,
     which is just about twice as far as you would have to do from
     Harper's Ferry. He is certainly not more than half as well provided
     with wagons as you are. I certainly should be pleased for you to
     have the advantage of the railroad from Harper's Ferry to
     Winchester; but it wastes all the remainder of autumn to give it to
     you, and, in fact, ignores the question of _time_, which cannot and
     must not be ignored.

     Again, one of the standard maxims of war, as you know, is, "to
     operate upon the enemy's communications as much as possible,
     without exposing your own." You seem to act as if this applies
     _against_ you, but cannot apply in your _favor_. Change positions
     with the enemy, and think you not he would break your communication
     with Richmond within the next twenty-four hours? You dread his
     going into Pennsylvania. But if he does so in full force, he gives
     up his communications to you absolutely, and you have nothing to do
     but to follow and ruin him; if he does so with less than full
     force, fall upon and beat what is left behind all the easier.
     Exclusive of the water line, you are now nearer Richmond than the
     enemy is, by the route that you _can_ and he _must_ take. Why can
     you not reach there before him, unless you admit that he is more
     than your equal on the march? His route is the _arc_ of a circle,
     while yours is the _chord_. The roads are as good on yours as on
     his.

     You know I desired, but did not order, you to cross the Potomac
     below instead of above the Shenandoah and Blue Ridge. My idea was,
     that this would at once menace the enemy's communications, which I
     would seize if he would permit. If he should move northward, I
     would follow him closely, holding his communications. If he should
     prevent our seizing his communications, and move toward Richmond, I
     would press closely to him, fight him if a favorable opportunity
     should present, and at least try to beat him to Richmond on the
     inside track. I say "try," for if we never try, we shall never
     succeed. If he make a stand at Winchester, moving neither north nor
     south, I would fight him there, on the idea that if we cannot beat
     him when he bears the wastage of coming to us, we never can when we
     bear the wastage of going to him. This proposition is a simple
     truth, and is too important to be lost sight of for a moment. In
     coming to us, he tenders us an advantage which we should not waive.
     We should not so operate as to merely drive him away. As we must
     beat him somewhere, or fail finally, we can do it, if at all,
     easier near to us than far away. If we cannot beat the enemy where
     he now is, we never can, he again being within the intrenchments of
     Richmond. Recurring to the idea of going to Richmond on the inside
     track, the facility of supplying from the side away from the enemy
     is remarkable, as it were, by the different spokes of a wheel,
     extending from the hub toward the rim, and this whether you move
     directly by the chord, or on the inside arc, hugging the Blue Ridge
     more closely. The chord-line, as you see, carries you by Aldie,
     Haymarket, and Fredericksburg, and you see how turnpikes,
     railroads, and finally the Potomac by Aquia Creek, meet you at all
     points from Washington. The same, only the lines lengthened a
     little, if you press closer to the Blue Ridge part of the way. The
     gaps through the Blue Ridge I understand to be about the following
     distances from Harper's Ferry, to wit: Vestal's, five miles;
     Gregory's, thirteen; Snicker's, eighteen; Ashby's, twenty-eight;
     Manassas, thirty-eight; Chester, forty-five; and Thornton's,
     fifty-three. I should think it preferable to take the route nearest
     the enemy, disabling him to make an important move without your
     knowledge, and compelling him to keep his forces together for dread
     of you. The gaps would enable you to attack if you should wish. For
     a great part of the way you would be practically between the enemy
     and both Washington and Richmond, enabling us to spare you the
     greatest number of troops from here. When, at length, running to
     Richmond ahead of him enables him to move this way, if he does so,
     turn and attack him in the rear. But I think he should be engaged
     long before such point is reached. It is all easy if our troops
     march as well as the enemy, and it is unmanly to say they cannot do
     it. This letter is in no sense an order.

     Yours truly, A. LINCOLN.
     MAJOR-GENERAL MCCLELLAN.

Throughout the entire war President Lincoln was always keenly solicitous
for the welfare of the Union soldiers. He knew that upon them everything
depended; and he felt bound to them not only by official relations, but
by the tenderer ties of human interest and love. In all his
proclamations and public utterances he gave the fullest credit to the
brave men in the field, and claimed for them the country's thanks and
gratitude. His sympathy for the soldiers was as tender as that of a
woman, and his tears were ever ready to start at the mention of their
hardships, their bravery, their sufferings and losses. Nothing that he
could do was left undone to minister to their comfort in field or camp
or hospital. His most exacting cares were never permitted to divert his
thoughts from them, and his anxious and tender sympathy included all
whom they held dear. Said Mr. Riddle, in a speech in Congress in 1863:
"Let not the distant mother, who has given up a loved one to fearful
death, think that the President does not sympathize with her sorrow, and
would not have been glad--oh, how glad--to so shape events as to spare
the sacrifices. And let not fathers and mothers and wives anywhere think
that as he sees the long blue regiments of brave ones marching away,
stepping to the drum-beat, he does not contemplate them and feel his
responsibility as he thinks how many of them shall go to nameless
graves, unmarked save by the down-looking eyes of God's pitying angels."
The feeling of the soldiers toward Lincoln was one of filial respect and
love. He was not only the President, the commander-in-chief of all the
armies and navies of the United States, but their good "Father Abraham,"
who loved every man, even the humblest, that wore the Union blue.

Of Lincoln's personal relations with the soldiers, enough interesting
anecdotes could be collected to fill a volume. He saw much of them in
Washington, as they marched through that city on their way to the front,
or returned on furlough or discharge, or filled the overcrowded
hospitals of the capital. Often they called upon him, singly or with
companions; and he always had for them a word, however brief, of
sympathy and cheer. He was always glad to see them at the White House.
They were the one class of visitors who seldom came to ask for favors,
and never to pester him with advice. It was a real treat for the harried
President to escape from the politicians and have a quiet talk with a
private soldier. Among the innumerable petitioners for executive
clemency or favor, none were so graciously received as those who
appeared in behalf of soldiers. It was half a victory to say that the
person for whom the favor was desired was a member of the Union army.

As he wrote the pardon of a young soldier, sentenced to be shot for
sleeping while on sentinel duty, the President remarked to a friend
standing by: "I could not think of going into eternity with the blood of
that poor young man on my hands. It is not to be wondered at that a boy
raised on a farm, probably in the habit of going to bed at dark, should,
when required to watch, fall asleep; and I cannot consent that he be
shot for such an act." The youth thus reprieved was afterwards found
among the slain on the field of Fredericksburg, with a photograph of
Lincoln, on which he had written, "God bless President Lincoln," worn
next his heart.

Rev. Newman Hall, of London, has repeated in a sermon an anecdote told
him by a Union general. "The first week of my command," said the
officer, "there were twenty-four deserters sentenced by court martial to
be shot, and the warrants for their execution were sent to the President
to be signed. He refused. I went to Washington and had an interview. I
said: 'Mr. President, unless these men are made an example of, the army
itself is in danger. Mercy to the few is cruelty to the many.' He
replied: 'Mr. General, there are already too many weeping widows in the
United States. For God's sake, don't ask me to add to the number, for _I
won't do it_.'"

It came to the knowledge of Lincoln that a widow living in Boston--a
Mrs. Bixby--had lost five sons in the service of their country. Without
delay he addressed to the bereaved mother the following touching note:

     I have been shown on the file of the War Department a statement of
     the Adjutant-General of Massachusetts, that you are the mother of
     five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel
     how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should
     attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming;
     but I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may
     be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray
     that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your
     bereavements, and leave only the cherished memory of the loved and
     lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so
     costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.

     Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,
     A. LINCOLN.

A case of unusual interest is that of Cyrus Pringle, a Vermont Quaker
who was drafted into the military service in 1863, and refused to serve
on the ground that his religion and his conscience would not permit him
to bear arms. His story, as recorded in his diary, was given to the
world after his death ("Atlantic Monthly," February, 1913). In spite of
his protests, Pringle was taken South and forced to wear a uniform and
carry a gun, though he refused to use it or even to clean it. His
obstinacy, as it was supposed to be, caused him much suffering,
sometimes even physical punishment, all of which he bore patiently,
believing that if he was steadfast in his faith relief would somehow
come. It did come, but not until--after five months of hardship and
distress of mind and body--his case, with that of other Quakers, finally
reached the President. "I want you to go and tell Stanton," said Lincoln
to the gentleman who had presented the case to him, "that it is my wish
that all those young men be sent home at once." The gentleman went to
Stanton with the message, but Stanton was unwilling to obey it. While
they were arguing the matter, the President entered the room. "_It is my
urgent wish_," said he. Stanton yielded, and the unfortunate Quakers
were given permission to return to their homes--none too soon to save
the life of Pringle, who records in his diary: "Upon my arrival in New
York I was seized with delirium, from which I only recovered after many
weeks, through the mercy and favor of Him who in all this trial had been
our guide and strength and comfort."

Anything that savored of the wit and humor of the soldiers was
especially relished by Lincoln. Any incident that showed that "the boys"
were mirthful and jolly amidst their privations seemed to commend itself
to him. There was a story of a soldier in the Army of the Potomac,
carried to the rear of battle with both legs shot off, who, seeing a
pie-woman hovering about, asked, "Say, old lady, are them pies _sewed_
or _pegged_?" And there was another one of a soldier at the battle of
Chancellorsville, whose regiment, waiting to be called into the fight,
was taking coffee. The hero of the story put to his lips a crockery mug
which he had carried, with infinite care, through several campaigns. A
stray bullet, just missing the coffee-drinker's head, dashed the mug
into fragments and left only its handle on his finger. Turning his head
in that direction, the soldier angrily growled, "Johnny, you can't do
that again!" Lincoln, relating these two stories together, said, "It
seems as if neither death nor danger could quench the grim humor of the
American soldier."

A juvenile "brigadier" from New York, with a small detachment of
cavalry, having imprudently gone within the rebel lines near Fairfax
Court House, was captured by "guerillas." Upon the fact being reported
to Lincoln, he said that he was very sorry to lose the horses. "What do
you mean?" inquired his informant. "Why," rejoined the President, "I can
make a 'brigadier' any day; but those horses cost the government a
hundred and twenty-five dollars a head!"

Lincoln was especially fond of a joke at the expense of some high
military or civil dignitary. He was intensely amused by a story told by
Secretary Stanton, of a trip made by him and General Foster up the
Broad river in North Carolina, in a tug-boat, when, reaching our
outposts on the river bank, a Federal picket yelled out, "Who have you
got on board that tug?" The severe and dignified answer was, "The
Secretary of War and Major-General Foster." Instantly the picket roared
back: "We've got Major-Generals enough up here--_why don't you bring us
up some hardtack?_"

On one occasion, when the enemy were threatening the defenses of
Washington, the President made a personal visit to the men in the
trenches, for the purpose, as he stated, of "encouraging the boys." He
walked about among them, telling them to hold their ground and he would
soon give them reinforcements. His presence had a most inspiring effect,
and the trenches were held by a few hundred soldiers of the Invalid
Corps until the promised help came and the enemy withdrew.

On a visit to City Point, Lincoln called upon the head surgeon at that
place and said he wished to visit all the hospitals under his charge.
The surgeon asked if he knew what he was undertaking; there were five or
six thousand soldiers at that place, and it would be quite a tax upon
his strength to visit all the wards. Lincoln answered, with a smile,
that he guessed he was equal to the task; at any rate he would try, and
go as far as he could; he should never, probably, see the boys again,
and he wanted them to know that he appreciated what they had done for
their country. Finding it useless to try to dissuade him, the surgeon
began his rounds with the President, who walked from bed to bed,
extending his hand and saying a few words of sympathy to some, making
kind inquiries of others, and welcomed by all with the heartiest
cordiality. After some hours the tour of the various hospitals was made,
and Lincoln returned with the surgeon to his office. They had scarcely
entered, however, when a messenger came saying that one ward had been
overlooked, and "the boys" wanted to see the President. The surgeon, who
was thoroughly tired, and knew Lincoln must be, tried to dissuade him
from going; but the good man said he must go back; "the boys" would be
so disappointed. So he went with the messenger, accompanied by the
surgeon, shook hands with the gratified soldiers, and then returned to
the office. The surgeon expressed the fear that the President's arm
would be lamed with so much hand-shaking, saying that it certainly must
ache. Lincoln smiled, and saying something about his "strong muscles,"
stepped out at the open door, took up a very large heavy axe which lay
there by a log of wood, and chopped vigorously for a few moments,
sending the chips flying in all directions; and then, pausing, he
extended his right arm to its full length, holding the axe out
horizontally, without its even quivering as he held it. Strong men who
looked on--men accustomed to manual labor--could not hold the axe in
that position for a moment.

In summer Lincoln's favorite home was at "The Soldiers' Rest," a place a
few miles out of Washington, on the Maryland side, where old and
disabled soldiers of the regular army found a refuge. It was a lovely
spot, situated on a beautifully wooded hill, reached by a winding road,
shaded by thick-set branches. On his way there he often passed long
lines of ambulances, laden with the suffering victims of a recent
battle. A friend who met him on such an occasion, says: "When I met the
President, his attitude and expression spoke the deepest sadness. He
paused, and, pointing his hand-towards the wounded men, he said: 'Look
yonder at those poor fellows. I cannot bear it! This suffering, this
loss of life, is dreadful!' Recalling a letter he had written years
before to a suffering friend whose grief he had sought to console, I
reminded him of the incident, and asked him: 'Do you remember writing to
your sorrowing friend these words: "And this too shall pass away. Never
fear. Victory will come."' 'Yes,' replied he, '_victory will come, but
it comes slowly_.'"




CHAPTER XX


     Lincoln and McClellan--The Peninsular Campaign of 1862--Impatience
     with McClellan's Delay--Lincoln Defends McClellan from Unjust
     Criticism--Some Harrowing Experiences--McClellan Recalled from the
     Peninsula--His Troops Given to General Pope--Pope's Defeat at
     Manassas--A Critical Situation--McClellan again in Command--Lincoln
     Takes the Responsibility--McClellan's Account of his
     Reinstatement--The Battle of Antietam--The President
     Vindicated--Again Dissatisfied with McClellan--Visits the Army in
     the Field--The President in the Saddle--Correspondence between
     Lincoln and McClellan--McClellan's Final Removal--Lincoln's
     Summing-up of McClellan--McClellan's "Body-guard."

President Lincoln's relations with no other person have been so much
discussed as those with General McClellan. Volumes have been written on
this subject; many heated and intemperate words have been uttered and
wrong conclusions reached. Whatever defects may have marked McClellan's
qualities as a soldier, he must remain historically one of the most
conspicuous figures of the war. He organized the largest and most
important of the Union armies, and was its first commander in the field.
He was one of the two out of the five commanders of the Army of the
Potomac, before Grant, who led that army to victory; the other three
having led it only to disastrous defeat. Great things were expected of
him; and when he failed to realize the extravagant expectations of those
who thought the war should be ended within a year, he received equally
extravagant condemnation. It is noticeable that this condemnation came
chiefly from civilians--from politicians, from Congress, from the press:
not the best judges of military affairs. His own army--the men who were
with him on the battlefield and risked their lives and their cause under
his leadership--never lost faith in him. Of all the commanders of the
Army of the Potomac, he was the one most believed in by his troops. Even
after his removal, at a grand review of the army by the President, after
the battle of Fredericksburg, it was not for the new commander,
Burnside, but the old commander, McClellan, that the troops gave their
heartiest cheers. It is worth remembering also that the war was not
ended until two and a half years after McClellan's retirement, and until
trial after trial had been made and failure after failure had been met
in the effort to find a successful leader for our armies. The initial
task of organization, of creating a great army in the field, fell upon
him--a task so well performed that General Meade, his first efficient
successor, said, "Had there been no McClellan there could have been no
Grant, for the army [organization] made no essential improvements under
any of his successors." And Grant, the last and finally victorious of
these successors--who was at one time criticized as being "as great a
discouragement as McClellan"--recorded in his Memoirs the conviction
(already quoted in these pages) that the conditions under which
McClellan worked were fatal to success, and that he himself could not
have succeeded in his place under those conditions.

It is not in the province of the present narrative to enter into a
consideration of the merits or demerits of McClellan as a soldier, but
to treat of his personal relations with President Lincoln. Between the
two men, notwithstanding many sharp differences of opinion and of
policy, there seems to have been a feeling of warm personal friendship
and sincere respect. Now that both have passed beyond the reach of
earthly praise or blame, we may well honor their memory and credit each
with having done the best he could to serve his country.

McClellan was appointed to the command of the Union armies upon the
retirement of the veteran General Scott, in November of 1861. He had
been but a captain in the regular army, but his high reputation and
brilliant soldierly qualities had led to his being sent abroad to study
the organization and movements of European armies; and this brought him
into prominence as a military man. It was soon after McClellan took
command that President Lincoln began giving close personal attention to
the direction of military affairs. He formed a plan of operations
against the Confederate army defending Richmond, which differed entirely
from the plan proposed by McClellan. The President's plan was, in
effect, to repeat the Bull Run expedition by moving against the enemy in
Virginia at or hear Manassas. McClellan preferred a transference of the
army to the region of the lower Chesapeake, thence moving up the
Peninsula by the shortest land route to Richmond. (This was a movement,
it may be remarked, which was finally carried out before Richmond fell
in 1865.) The President discussed the relative merits of the two plans
in the following frank and explicit letter to McClellan:

     EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, D.C.,
     February 3, 1862.

     MAJOR-GENERAL MCCLELLAN.

     MY DEAR SIR: You and I have distinct and different plans for a
     movement of the Army of the Potomac; yours to be done by the
     Chesapeake, up the Rappahannock to Urbana, and across to the
     terminus of the railroad on the York river; mine to move directly
     to a point on the railroad southwest of Manassas. If you will give
     me satisfactory answers to the following questions, I shall gladly
     yield my plan to yours:

     1st. Does your plan involve a greatly larger expenditure of _time_
     and _money_ than mine?

     2d. Wherein is a victory more certain by your plan than mine?

     3d. Wherein is a victory _more valuable_ by your plan than mine?

     4th. In fact, would it not be _less_ valuable in this, that it
     would break no great line of the enemy's communication, while mine
     would?

     5th. In case of a disaster, would not a retreat be more difficult
     by your plan than mine?

     Yours truly, ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

To this communication McClellan made an elaborate reply, discussing the
situation very fully, and answering the inquiries apparently to the
satisfaction of the President, who consented to the plan submitted by
McClellan and concurred in by a council of his division commanders, by
which the base of the Army of the Potomac should be transferred from
Washington to the lower Chesapeake. Yet Lincoln must have had misgivings
in the matter, for some weeks later he wrote to McClellan: "You will do
me the justice to remember I always insisted that going down the bay in
search of a field, instead of fighting at or near Manassas, was only
shifting, and not surmounting, a difficulty; that we would find the same
enemy, and the same or equal intrenchments, at either place."

After the transfer of the Army of the Potomac to the Peninsula there was
great impatience at the delays in the expected advance on Richmond. The
President shared this impatience, and his despatches to McClellan took
an urgent and imperative though always friendly tone. April 9 he wrote:
"Your despatches, complaining that you are not properly sustained, while
they do not offend me, do pain me very much. I suppose the whole force
which has gone forward for you is with you by this time. And, if so, I
think it is the precise time for you to _strike a blow_. By delay, the
enemy will relatively gain upon you--that is, he will gain faster by
fortifications and reinforcements than you can by reinforcements alone.
And once more let me tell you, it is indispensable to you that you
_strike a blow_.... I beg to assure you that I have never written to you
or spoken to you in greater kindness of feeling than now, nor with a
fuller purpose to sustain you, so far as, in my most anxious judgment, I
consistently can. But you _must act_."

While Lincoln was thus imperative toward McClellan, he would not permit
him to be unjustly criticized. Considerable ill-feeling having been
developed between McClellan and Secretary Stanton, which was made worse
by certain meddlesome persons in Washington, the President took
occasion, at a public meeting, to express his views in these frank and
manly words: "There has been a very wide-spread attempt to have a
quarrel between General McClellan and the Secretary of War. Now, I
occupy a position that enables me to observe that these two gentlemen
are not nearly so deep in the quarrel as some pretending to be their
friends. General McClellan's attitude is such that, in the very
selfishness of his nature, he cannot but wish to be successful, as I
hope he will be; and the Secretary of War is in precisely the same
situation. If the military commanders in the field cannot be successful,
not only the Secretary of War but myself, for the time being the master
of them both, cannot but be failures. I know General McClellan wishes to
be successful, and I know he does not wish it any more than the
Secretary of War wishes it for him, and both of them together no more
than I wish it. Sometimes we have a dispute about how many men General
McClellan has had, and those who would disparage him say he has had a
very large number, and those who would disparage the Secretary of War
insist that General McClellan has had a very small number. The basis for
this is, there is always a wide difference, and on this occasion perhaps
a wider one than usual, between the grand total on McClellan's rolls and
the men actually fit for duty; and those who would disparage him talk of
the grand total on paper, and those who would disparage the Secretary of
War talk of those at present fit for duty. General McClellan has
sometimes asked for things that the Secretary of War did not give him.
General McClellan is not to blame for asking what he wanted and needed,
and the Secretary of War is not to blame for not giving when he had none
to give."

The summer of 1862 was a sad one for the country, and peculiarly sad for
Lincoln. The Army of the Potomac fought battle after battle, often with
temporary successes, but without apparent substantial results; while
many thousands of our brave soldiers perished on the field, or filled
the hospitals from the fever-swamps of the Chickahominy. The terrible
realities of that dreadful summer, and their strain on Lincoln, are well
shown in the following incident: Colonel Scott, of a New Hampshire
regiment, had been ill, and his wife nursed him in the hospital. After
his convalescence, he received leave of absence, and started for home;
but by a steamboat collision in Hampton Roads, his noble wife was
drowned. Colonel Scott reached Washington, and learning, a few days
later, of the recovery of his wife's body, he requested permission of
the Secretary of War to return for it. A great battle was imminent, and
the request was denied. Colonel Scott thereupon sought the President. It
was Saturday evening; and Lincoln, worn with the cares and anxieties of
the week, sat alone in his room, coat thrown off, and seemingly lost in
thought, perhaps pondering the issue of the coming battle. Silently he
listened to Colonel Scott's sad story; then, with an unusual irritation,
which was probably a part of his excessive weariness, he exclaimed: "Am
I to have no rest? Is there no hour or spot when or where I may escape
these constant calls? Why do you follow me here with such business as
this? Why do you not go to the War-office, where they have charge of all
this matter of papers and transportation?" Colonel Scott told of Mr.
Stanton's refusal; and the President continued: "Then probably you ought
not to go down the river. Mr. Stanton knows all about the necessities of
the hour; he knows what rules are necessary, and rules are made to be
enforced. It would be wrong for me to override his rules and decisions
in cases of this kind; it might work disaster to important movements.
And then, you ought to remember that I have other duties to attend
to--heaven knows, enough for one man!--and I can give no thought to
questions of this kind. Why do you come here to appeal to my humanity?
Don't you know that we are in the midst of war? That suffering and death
press upon all of us? That works of humanity and affection, which we
would cheerfully perform in days of peace, are all trampled upon and
outlawed by war? That there is no room left for them? There is but one
duty now--_to fight_. The only call of humanity now is to conquer peace
through unrelenting warfare. War, and war alone, is the duty of all of
us. Your wife might have trusted you to the care which the Government
has provided for its sick soldiers. At any rate, you must not vex me
with your family troubles. Why, every family in the land is crushed with
sorrow; but they must not each come to me for help. I have all the
burden I can carry. Go to the War Department. Your business belongs
there. If they cannot help you, then bear your burden, as we all must,
until this war is over. Everything must yield to the paramount duty of
finishing the war." Colonel Scott withdrew, crushed and overwhelmed. The
next morning, as he sat in his hotel pondering upon his troubles, he
heard a rap at his door, and opening it found to his surprise the
President standing before him. Grasping his hands impulsively and
sympathetically, Lincoln broke out: "My dear Colonel, I was a brute last
night. I have no excuse for my conduct. Indeed, I was weary to the last
extent; but I had no right to treat a man with rudeness who had offered
his life for his country, much more a man who came to me in great
affliction. I have had a regretful night, and come now to beg your
forgiveness." He added that he had just seen Secretary Stanton, and all
the details were arranged for sending the Colonel down the Potomac and
recovering the body; then, taking him in his carriage, he drove to the
steamer's wharf, where, again pressing his hand, he wished him God-speed
on his sad errand.

Such were Lincoln's harrowing experiences; and thus did his noble and
sympathetic nature assert itself over his momentary weakness and
depression.

In August of 1862 General McClellan was ordered to withdraw his army
from the Peninsula. "With a heavy heart," says McClellan, "I
relinquished the position gained at the cost of so much time and blood."
Without being removed from his command, his troops were taken away from
him and sent to join General Pope, who had been placed in command of a
considerable force in Virginia, for the purpose of trying the
President's favorite plan of an advance on Richmond by way of Manassas.
Either from a confusion of orders or a lack of zeal in executing them,
the Union forces failed to co-operate; and Pope's expected victory
(Manassas, August 30) proved a disastrous and humiliating defeat. His
army was beaten and driven back on Washington in a rout little less
disgraceful than that of Bull Run a year before. This battle came to be
known as the "Second Bull Run."

Thus the autumn of 1862 set in amidst gloom, disorder, and dismay. Our
armies in and around the national capital were on the defensive; while
the victorious Lee, following up his successes at Manassas, was invading
Maryland and threatening Washington and the North. The President was
anxious; the Cabinet and Congress were alarmed. The troops had lost
confidence in General Pope, and there was practically no one in chief
command. The situation was most critical; but Lincoln faced it, as he
always did, unflinchingly. He took what he felt to be the wisest and at
the same time the most unpopular step possible under the circumstances:
he placed McClellan in command of all the troops in and around
Washington. It was a bold act, and required no ordinary amount of moral
courage and self-reliance. Outside the army, it was about the most
unpopular thing that could have been done. McClellan was disliked by all
the members of the Cabinet and prominent officials, and with especial
bitterness by Secretary Stanton. Secretary Welles speaks, in his Diary,
of "Stanton's implacable hostility to McClellan," and records his belief
that "Stanton is determined to destroy McClellan." Welles relates that
on the very day of Pope's defeat at Manassas, Secretary Stanton,
accompanied by Secretary Chase, called on him and asked him to join in
signing a communication to the President demanding McClellan's immediate
dismissal from command of the Army of the Potomac, saying all the
members of the Cabinet would sign it. The document was in Stanton's
handwriting. Welles, though far from friendly toward McClellan, refused
to sign the paper, and the matter was dropped. Welles adds the comment,
"There was a fixed determination to remove, and, if possible, to
disgrace, McClellan."

When it was rumored in Washington that McClellan was to be reinstated,
everyone was thunderstruck. A Cabinet meeting was held on the second day
of September, at which the President, without asking anyone's opinion,
announced that he had reinstated McClellan. Regret and surprise were
openly expressed. Mr. Stanton, with some excitement, remarked that no
such order had issued from the War Department. The President then said,
with great calmness, "No, Mr. Secretary, _the order was mine, and I will
be responsible for it to the country_." He added, by way of explanation,
that, with a retreating and demoralized army tumbling in upon the
capital, and alarm and panic in the community, something had to be done,
and as there did not appear to be anyone else to do it he took the
responsibility on himself. He remarked that McClellan had the confidence
of the troops beyond any other officer, and could, under the
circumstances, more speedily and effectually reorganize them and put
them in fighting trim than any other general. "This is what is now
wanted most," said he, "and these were my reasons for placing McClellan
in command."

Perhaps at no other crisis of the war did Lincoln's strength of
character and power of making quick and important decisions in the face
of general opposition, come out more clearly than on this occasion.
Secretary Welles, who was present at the dramatic and stormy Cabinet
meeting referred to, says: "In stating what he had done, the President
was deliberate, but firm and decisive. His language and manner were kind
and affectionate, especially toward two of the members, who were greatly
disturbed; but every person present felt that he was truly the chief,
and every one knew his decision was as fixed and unalterable as if
given out with the imperious command and determined will of Andrew
Jackson. A long discussion followed, closing with acquiescence in the
decision of the President. In this instance the President, unaided by
others, put forth with firmness and determination the executive
will--the _one-man_ power--against the temporary general sense of the
community, as well as of his Cabinet, two of whom, it has been generally
supposed, had with him an influence almost as great as the Secretary of
State. They had been ready to make issue and resign their places unless
McClellan was dismissed; but knowing their opposition, and in spite of
it and of the general dissatisfaction in the community, the President
had in that perilous moment exalted him to new and important trusts."

It appears from the statement of General McClellan, made shortly before
his death, that on the morning of his reinstatement (before the Cabinet
meeting just described) the President visited him at his headquarters,
near Washington, to ask if he would again assume command. "While at
breakfast, at an early hour," says McClellan, "I received a call from
the President, accompanied by General Halleck. The President informed me
that Colonel Kelton had returned and represented the condition of
affairs as much worse than I had stated to Halleck on the previous day;
that there were 30,000 stragglers on the roads; that the army was
entirely defeated and falling back to Washington in confusion. He then
said that he regarded Washington as lost, and asked me if I would, under
the circumstances, consent to accept command of all the forces. Without
a moment's hesitation, and without making any conditions whatever, I at
once said that I would accept the command, and would stake my life that
I would save the city. Both the President and Halleck again asserted
their belief that it was impossible to save the city, and I repeated my
firm conviction that I could and would save it. They then left, the
President verbally placing me in entire command of the city and of the
troops falling back upon it from the front."

The result of the reappointment of McClellan soon vindicated the wisdom
of the step. He possessed the confidence of the army beyond any other
general at that time, and was able to inspire it with renewed hope and
courage. Leaving Washington on the 7th of September, in command of
Pope's beaten and disintegrated forces which he had to reorganize on the
march, he within two weeks met the flushed and lately victorious troops
of Lee and Jackson and fought the bloody but successful battle of
Antietam (September 17, 1862), which compelled Lee to retreat to the
southern side of the Potomac, and relieved Washington of any immediate
danger.

After the Antietam campaign, the Army of the Potomac rested awhile from
its exhausting and disorganizing labors. Supplies and reinforcements
were necessary before resuming active operations. This delay gave rise
to no little dissatisfaction in Washington, where a clamor arose that
McClellan should have followed up his successes at Antietam by
immediately pursuing Lee into Virginia. In this dissatisfaction the
President shared to some extent. He made a personal visit to the army
for the purpose of satisfying himself of its condition. Of this occasion
McClellan says: "On the first day of October, his Excellency the
President honored the Army of the Potomac with a visit, and remained
several days, during which he went through the different encampments,
reviewed the troops, and went over the battle-field of South Mountain
and Antietam. I had the opportunity, during this visit, to describe to
him the operations of the army since it left Washington, and gave him
my reasons for not following the enemy after he recrossed the Potomac."

Before the grand review that was to be made by the President, some of
McClellan's staff, knowing that the General was a man of great endurance
and expertness in the saddle, laughed at the idea of Lincoln's
attempting to keep up with him in the severe ordeal of "riding down the
lines." "They rather hinted," says a narrator, "that the General would
move somewhat rapidly, to test Mr. Lincoln's capacity as a rider. There
were those on the field, however, who had seen Mr. Lincoln in the saddle
in Illinois; and they were confident of his staying powers. A splendid
black horse, very spirited, was selected for the President to ride. When
the time came, Mr. Lincoln walked up to the animal, and the instant he
seized the bridle to mount, it was evident to horsemen that he 'knew his
business.' He had the animal in hand at once. No sooner was he in the
saddle than the coal-black steed began to prance and whirl and dance as
if he was proud of his burden. But the President sat as unconcerned and
fixed to the saddle as if he and the horse were one. The test of
endurance soon came. McClellan, with his magnificent staff, approached
the President, who joined them, and away they dashed to a distant part
of the field. The artillery began to thunder, the drums beat, and the
bands struck up 'Hail to the Chief,' while the troops cheered. Mr.
Lincoln, holding the bridle-rein in one hand, lifted his tall hat from
his head, and much of the time held it in the other hand. Grandly did
Lincoln receive the salute, appearing as little disturbed by the dashing
movements of the proud-spirited animal as if he had passed through such
an ordeal with the same creature many times before. Next came a further
test of endurance--a long dash over very rough untraveled ground, with
here and there a ditch or a hole to be jumped or a siding to be passed.
But Mr. Lincoln kept well up to McClellan, who made good time. Finally,
the 'riding down the lines' was performed, amidst the flaunting of
standards, the beating of drums, the loud cheering of the men and rapid
discharges of artillery, startling even the best-trained horses. Lincoln
sat easily to the end, when he wheeled his horse into position to
witness the vast columns march in review. McClellan was surprised at so
remarkable a display of horsemanship. Mr. Lincoln was a great lover of
the horse, and a skilled rider. His awkwardness of form did not show in
the saddle. He always looked well when mounted."

After the President's return to Washington he began urging McClellan to
resume active operations; desiring him to "cross the Potomac, and give
battle to the enemy or drive him south." On the 13th of October he
addressed to him the long letter quoted at the end of the preceding
chapter. Subsequent communications from the President to McClellan
showed more and more impatience. On the 25th he telegraphed: "I have
just read your despatch about sore-tongue and fatigued horses. Will you
pardon me for asking what the horses of your army have done since the
battle of Antietam that fatigues anything?" And the next day, after
receiving McClellan's answer to his inquiry, he responded: "Most
certainly I intend no injustice to anyone, and if I have done any I
deeply regret it. To be told, after more than five weeks' total inaction
of the army, and during which period we had sent to that army every
fresh horse we possibly could, amounting in the whole to 7,918, that the
cavalry horses were too much fatigued to move, presented a very
cheerless, almost hopeless, prospect for the future, and it may have
forced something of impatience into my despatches. If not recruited and
rested then, when could they ever be? _I suppose the river is rising,
and I am glad to believe you, are crossing._" But McClellan did not
cross; his preparations for a new campaign were not yet complete; and
the President, at last losing patience, removed him from command, and
put Burnside in his place, November 5, 1862. And a disastrous step this
proved to be. Burnside was under peremptory orders from Washington to
move immediately against the Confederate forces. The result was the
ill-advised attack upon Fredericksburg (December 12, 1862) and
Burnside's bloody repulse. The movement was made against the judgment of
the army officers then, and has been generally condemned by military
critics since. Secretary Welles thus guardedly commented upon it in his
Diary: "It appears to me a mistake to fight the enemy in so strong a
position. They have selected their own ground, and we meet them there."
But it was McClellan's unwillingness to do the very thing that Burnside
is censured for having done, and that proved so overwhelming a disaster,
that was the occasion for McClellan's removal.

A good illustration of Lincoln's disappointed, perhaps unreasonable,
state of mind before McClellan's removal is furnished by Hon. O.M.
Hatch, a former Secretary of State of Illinois and an old friend of
Lincoln's. Mr. Hatch relates that a short time before McClellan's
removal from command he went with President Lincoln to visit the army,
still near Antietam. They reached Antietam late in the afternoon of a
very hot day, and were assigned a special tent for their occupancy
during the night. "Early next morning," says Mr. Hatch, "I was awakened
by Mr. Lincoln. It was very early--daylight was just lighting the
east--the soldiers were all asleep in their tents. Scarce a sound could
be heard except the notes of early birds, and the farm-yard voices from
distant farms. Lincoln said to me, 'Come, Hatch, I want you to take a
walk with me.' His tone was serious and impressive. I arose without a
word, and as soon as we were dressed we left the tent together. He led
me about the camp, and then we walked upon the surrounding hills
overlooking the great city of white tents and sleeping soldiers. Very
little was spoken between us, beyond a few words as to the pleasantness
of the morning or similar casual observations. Lincoln seemed to be
peculiarly serious, and his quiet, abstract way affected me also. It did
not seem a time to speak. We walked slowly and quietly, meeting here and
there a guard, our thoughts leading us to reflect on that wonderful
situation. A nation in peril--the whole world looking at America--a
million men in arms--the whole machinery of war engaged throughout the
country, while I stood by that kind-hearted, simple-minded man who might
be regarded as the Director-General, looking at the beautiful sunrise
and the magnificent scene before us. Nothing was to be said, nothing
needed to be said. Finally, reaching a commanding point where almost
that entire camp could be seen--the men were just beginning their
morning duties, and evidences of life and activity were becoming
apparent--we involuntarily stopped. The President, waving his hand
towards the scene before us, and leaning towards me, said in an almost
whispering voice: 'Hatch--Hatch, what is all this?' 'Why, Mr. Lincoln,'
said I, 'this is the Army of the Potomac' He hesitated a moment, and
then, straightening up, said in a louder tone: 'No, Hatch, no. This is
_General McClellan's body-guard_.' Nothing more was said. We walked to
our tent, and the subject was not alluded to again."




CHAPTER XXI


     Lincoln and Slavery--Plan for Gradual Emancipation--Anti-slavery
     Legislation in 1862--Pressure Brought to Bear on the Executive--The
     Delegation of Quakers--A Visit from Chicago Clergymen--Interview
     between Lincoln and Channing--Lincoln and Horace Greeley--The
     President's Answer to "The Prayer of Twenty Millions of
     People"--Conference between Lincoln and Greeley--Emancipation
     Resolved on--The Preliminary Proclamation--Lincoln's Account of
     It--Preparing for the Final Act--The Emancipation
     Proclamation--Particulars of the Great Document--Fate of the
     Original Draft--Lincoln's Outline of his Course and Views regarding
     Slavery.

The emancipation of slaves in America--the crowning act of Lincoln's
eventful career and the one with which his fame is most indissolubly
linked--is a subject of supreme interest in a study of his life and
character. For this great act all his previous life and training had
been but a preparation. From the first awakening of his convictions of
the moral wrong of human slavery, through all his public and private
utterances, may be traced one logical and consistent development of the
principles which at last found sublime expression in the Proclamation of
Emancipation. In this, as always, he was true to his own inner
promptings. He would not be hurried or worried or badgered into
premature and impracticable measures. He bided his time; and when that
time came the deed was done, unalterably and irrevocably: approved by
the logic of events, and by the enlightened conscience of the world.

The final Emancipation Proclamation was issued on the first day of
January, 1863. The various official measures that preceded it may be
briefly sketched, together with closely related incidents. As early as
the autumn of 1861 the problem of the relation of the war to slavery was
brought forcibly to the President's attention by the action of General
J.C. Fremont, the Union commander in Missouri, who issued an order
declaring the slaves of rebels in his department free. The order was
premature and unauthorized, and the President promptly annulled it.
General Fremont was thus, in a sense, the pioneer in military
emancipation; and he lived to see the policy proposed by him carried
into practical operation by all our armies. Lincoln afterwards said: "I
have great respect for General Fremont and his abilities, but the fact
is that the pioneer in any movement is not generally the best man to
carry that movement to a successful issue. It was so in old times; Moses
began the emancipation of the Jews, but didn't take Israel to the
Promised Land after all. He had to make way for Joshua to complete the
work. It looks as if the first reformer of a thing has to meet such a
hard opposition and gets so battered and bespattered that afterward when
people find they have to accept his reform they will accept it more
easily from another man."

Lincoln at first favored a policy of gradual emancipation. In a special
message to Congress, on the 6th of March, 1862, he proposed such a plan
for the abolition of slavery. "In my judgment," he remarked, "gradual,
and not sudden, emancipation is better for all." He suggested to
Congress the adoption of a joint resolution declaring "that the United
States ought to co-operate with any State which may adopt a gradual
abolition of slavery, giving to such State pecuniary aid to compensate
for the inconvenience, public and private, produced by such change of
system." In conclusion he urged: "In full view of my great
responsibility to my God and to my country, I earnestly beg the
attention of Congress and the people to this subject."

On the 16th of April of this year, Congress passed a bill abolishing
slavery in the District of Columbia--a measure for which Lincoln had
himself introduced a bill while a member of Congress. In confirming the
act as President, he remarked privately: "Little did I dream in 1849,
when as a member of Congress I proposed to abolish slavery at this
capital, and could scarcely get a hearing for the proposition, that it
would be so soon accomplished."

Emancipation measures moved rapidly in 1862. On June 19 Congress enacted
a measure prohibiting slavery forever in all present and future
territories of the United States. July 17 a law was passed authorizing
the employment of <DW64>s as soldiers, and conferring freedom on all who
should render military service, and on the families of all such as
belonged to disloyal owners. Two days later, in a conference appointed
by him at the Executive Mansion, the President submitted to the members
of Congress from the Border States a written appeal, in which he said:

     Believing that you, in the border States, hold more power for good
     than any other equal number of members, I feel it a duty which I
     cannot justifiably waive, to make this appeal to you.... I intend
     no reproach or complaint when I assure you that, in my opinion, if
     you all had voted for the resolution in the gradual emancipation
     message of last March, the war would now be substantially ended.
     And the plan therein proposed is yet one of the most potent and
     swift means of ending it. Let the States which are in rebellion see
     definitely and certainly that in no event will the States you
     represent ever join their proposed confederacy, and they cannot
     much longer maintain the contest.... If the war continues long, as
     it must if the object be not sooner attained, the institution in
     your States will be extinguished by mere friction and abrasion, by
     the mere incidents of the war. It will be gone, and you will have
     nothing valuable in lieu of it. Much of its value is gone already.
     How much better for you and for your people to take the step which
     at once shortens the war and secures substantial compensation for
     that which is sure to be wholly lost in any other event! How much
     better to thus save the money which else we sink forever in the
     war! How much better to do it while we can, lest the war ere long
     render us pecuniarily unable to do it! How much better for you as
     seller, and the nation as buyer, to sell out and buy out that
     without which the war could never have been, than to sink both the
     thing to be sold and the price of it in cutting one another's
     throats!... I do not speak of emancipation _at once_, but of a
     _decision_ to emancipate _gradually_.... Upon these considerations
     I have again begged your attention to the message of March last.
     Before leaving the capital, consider and discuss it among
     yourselves. You are patriots and statesmen, and as such I pray you
     consider this proposition, and at the least commend it to the
     consideration of your States and people. As you would perpetuate
     popular government for the best people in the world, I beseech you
     that you do in nowise omit this. Our common country is in great
     peril, demanding the loftiest views and boldest action to bring a
     speedy relief. Once relieved, its form of government is saved to
     the world, its beloved history and cherished memories are
     vindicated, and its happy future fully assured and rendered
     inconceivably grand. To you, more than any others, the privilege is
     given to assure that happiness and swell that grandeur, and to link
     your own names therewith forever.

In an interview with Mr. Lovejoy and Mr. Arnold, of Illinois, the day
following this conference, Lincoln exclaimed: "Oh, how I wish the
border States would accept my proposition! Then you, Lovejoy, and you,
Arnold, and all of us, would not have lived in vain! The labor of your
life, Lovejoy, would be crowned with success. You would live to see the
end of slavery."

The first occasion on which the President definitely discussed
emancipation plans with members of his Cabinet, according to Secretary
Welles, was on the 13th of July, 1862. On that day, says Mr. Welles,
"President Lincoln invited me to accompany him in his carriage to the
funeral of an infant child of Mr. Stanton. Secretary Seward and Mrs.
Frederick Seward were also in the carriage. Mr. Stanton occupied at that
time for a summer residence the house of a naval officer, some two or
three miles west or northwest of Georgetown. It was on this occasion and
on this ride that he first mentioned to Mr. Seward and myself the
subject of emancipating the slaves by proclamation in case the Rebels
did not cease to persist in their war on the Government and the Union,
of which he saw no evidence. He dwelt earnestly on the gravity,
importance, and delicacy of the movement; said he had given it much
thought, and had about come to the conclusion that it was a military
necessity absolutely essential for the salvation of the Union; that we
must free the slaves or be ourselves subdued, etc.... This was, the
President said, the first occasion when he had mentioned the subject to
anyone, and wished us to frankly state how the proposition struck us.
Mr. Seward said the subject involved consequences so vast and momentous
that he should wish to bestow on it mature reflection before giving a
decisive answer; but his present opinion inclined to the measure as
justifiable, and perhaps he might say expedient and necessary. These
were also my views. Two or three times on that ride the subject, which
was of course an absorbing one for each and all, was adverted to; and
before separating, the President desired us to give the question special
and deliberate attention, for he was earnest in the conviction that
something must be done. It was a new departure for the President, for
until this time, in all our previous interviews, whenever the question
of emancipation or the mitigation of slavery had been in any way alluded
to, he had been prompt and emphatic in denouncing any interference by
the General Government with the subject. This was, I think, the
sentiment of every member of the Cabinet, all of whom, including the
President, considered it a local, domestic question, appertaining to the
States respectively, who had never parted with their authority over it.
But the reverses before Richmond, and the formidable power and
dimensions of the insurrection, which extended through all the Slave
States, and had combined most of them in a confederacy to destroy the
Union, impelled the Administration to adopt extraordinary measures to
preserve the national existence. The slaves, if not armed and
disciplined, were in the service of those who were, not only as field
laborers and producers, but thousands of them were in attendance upon
the armies in the field, employed as waiters and teamsters, and the
fortifications and intrenchments were constructed by them."

It has been shown again and again, by the words of Lincoln and by the
testimony of his friends, that he heartily detested the practice of
slavery, and would joyfully have set every bondman free. Before his
nomination for the Presidency--indeed, from the very beginning of his
public life--he had repeatedly put himself on record as opposed to
slavery, but perhaps nowhere more tersely and unequivocally than in
these words: "There is no reason in the world why the <DW64> is not
entitled to all the natural rights enumerated in the Declaration of
Independence--the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
_I hold that he is as much entitled to them as the white man._" But his
respect for the laws of the land deterred him from measures that might
seem of doubtful constitutionality, and he waited patiently until the
right hour had struck before he issued the edict of emancipation so
eagerly demanded by a large class of earnest and loyal people at the
North. Many of these people, misunderstanding his views and intentions,
were very impatient; and their criticisms and expostulations were a
constant burden to the sorely tried Executive.

In June of this year (1862) the President was waited on by a deputation
of Quakers, or Friends, fifteen or twenty in number, who had been
charged by the Yearly Meeting of their association to present a "minute"
to the President on the subject of slavery and the duty of immediate
emancipation. The visit of these excellent people was not altogether
timely. Bad news had been received from McClellan's army on the
Peninsula, and Lincoln was harassed with cares and anxieties. But he
gave the deputation a cordial though brief greeting, as he announced
that he was ready to hear from the Friends. In the reading of the
minute, it appeared that the document took occasion to remind the
President that, years before, he had said, "I believe that this
Government cannot permanently endure half slave and half free," and from
this was implied a suggestion of his failure to perform his duty as he
had then seen it. Lincoln was decidedly displeased with this criticism;
and after the document had been read to the close, he received it from
the speaker, then drawing himself up, he said, with unusual severity of
manner: "It is true that on the 17th of June, 1858, I said, 'I believe
that this Government cannot permanently endure half slave and half
free,' but I said it in connection with other things from which it
should not have been separated in an address discussing moral
obligations; for this is a case in which the repetition of half a truth,
in connection with the remarks just read, produces the effect of a whole
falsehood. What I did say was, 'If we could first know where we are, and
whither we are tending, we could better judge what to do and how to do
it. We are now far into the fifth year since a policy was initiated with
the avowed object and confident promise of putting an end to the slavery
agitation. Under the operation of that policy this agitation has not
only not ceased but has constantly augmented. In my opinion it will not
cease until a crisis shall have been reached and passed. "A house
divided against itself cannot stand." I believe that this Government
cannot permanently endure half slave and half free. I do not expect the
Union to be dissolved--I do not expect the house to fall--but I do
expect that it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or
all the other. Either the opponents of slavery will arrest the further
spread of it, and place it where the public mind shall rest in the
belief that it is in the course of ultimate extinction, or its advocates
will push it forward till it shall become alike lawful in all the
States, old as well as new, North as well as South.' Take this statement
as a whole, and it does not furnish a text for the homily to which this
audience has listened."

As Lincoln concluded, he was turning away, when another member of the
delegation, a woman, requested permission to detain him with a few
words. Somewhat impatiently he said, "I will hear the Friend." Her
remarks were a plea for the emancipation of the slaves, urging that he
was the appointed minister of the Lord to do the work, and enforcing her
argument by many Scriptural citations. At the close he asked, "Has the
Friend finished?" and receiving an affirmative answer, he said: "I have
neither time nor disposition to enter into discussion with the Friend,
and end this occasion by suggesting for her consideration the question
whether, if it be true that the Lord has appointed me to do the work she
has indicated, it is not probable that He would have communicated
knowledge of the fact to me as well as to her?"

Something like the same views were expressed by Lincoln, on another
occasion, when, in response to a memorial presented by a delegation
representing most of the religious organizations of Chicago, he said,
respectfully but pointedly: "I am approached with the most opposite
opinions and advice, and by religious men who are certain they represent
the Divine Will.... I hope it will not be irreverent in me to say that
if it be probable that God would reveal His will to others, on a point
so closely connected with my duty, it might be supposed he would reveal
it directly to me.... If I can learn His will, I will do it. These,
however, are not the days of miracles, and I suppose I am not to expect
a direct revelation. I must study the plain physical facts of the case,
and learn what appears to be wise and right.... Do not misunderstand me
because I have mentioned these objections. They indicate the
difficulties which have thus far prevented my action in some such way as
you desire. I have not decided against a proclamation of emancipation,
but hold the matter in advisement. The subject is in my mind by day and
by night. Whatever shall appear to be God's will, I will do."

About this period the President had a very interesting conversation with
Rev. William Henry Channing, in which the question of emancipation was
frankly discussed. Mr. M.D. Conway, who was present at the interview,
says: "Mr. Channing having begun by expressing his belief that the
opportunity of the nation to rid itself of slavery had arrived, Mr.
Lincoln asked how he thought they might avail themselves of it. Channing
suggested emancipation, with compensation for the slaves. The President
said he had for years been in favor of that plan. When the President
turned to me, I asked whether we might not look to him as the coming
deliverer of the nation from its one great evil? What would not that man
achieve for mankind who should free America from slavery? He said,
'Perhaps we may be better able to do something in that direction after a
while than we are now.' I said: 'Mr. President, do you believe the
masses of the American people would hail you as their deliverer if, at
the end of this war, the Union should be surviving and slavery still in
it?' 'Yes, if they were to see that slavery was on the down hill.' I
ventured to say: 'Our fathers compromised with slavery because they
thought it on the down hill; hence war to-day.' The President said: 'I
think the country grows in this direction daily, and I am not without
hope that something of the desire of you and your friends may be
accomplished. When the hour comes for dealing with slavery, _I trust I
shall be willing to do my duty, though it costs my life_. And,
gentlemen, lives will be lost.' These last words were said with a smile,
yet with a sad and weary tone. During the conversation Mr. Lincoln
recurred several times to Channing's suggestion of pecuniary
compensation for emancipated slaves, and professed profound sympathy
with the Southerners who, by no fault of their own, had become socially
and commercially bound up with their peculiar institution. Being a
Virginian myself, with many dear relatives and beloved companions of my
youth in the Confederate ranks, I responded warmly to his kindly
sentiments toward the South, albeit feeling more angry than he seemed
to be against the institution preying upon the land like a ghoul. I
forget whether it was on this occasion or on a subsequent one when I was
present that he said, in parting: 'We shall need all the anti-slavery
feeling in the country, and more; you can go home and try to bring the
people to your views; and you may say anything you like about me, if
that will help. Don't spare me!' This was said with some laughter, but
still in earnest."

One of the severest opponents of President Lincoln's policy regarding
slavery was Horace Greeley. He criticized Lincoln freely in the New York
"Tribune," of which he was editor, and said many harsh and bitter things
of the administration. Lincoln took the abuse good-naturedly, saying on
one occasion: "It reminds me of the big fellow whose little wife was
wont to beat him over the head without resistance. When remonstrated
with, the man said, 'Let her alone. It don't hurt me, and it does her a
power of good.'"

In August, 1862, Mr. Greeley published a letter in the New York
"Tribune," headed "The prayer of twenty millions of people," in which he
urged the President, with extreme emphasis, to delay the act of
emancipation no longer. Lincoln answered the vehement entreaty in the
following calm, firm, and explicit words:

     EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON,
     Friday, Aug. 22, 1862.

     HON. HORACE GREELEY.

     DEAR SIR: I have just read yours of the 19th instant, addressed to
     myself, through the New York Tribune.

     If there be in it any statements or assumptions of fact, which I
     may know to be erroneous, I do not now and here controvert them. If
     there be any inferences which I believe to be falsely drawn, I do
     not now and here argue against them. If there be perceptible in it
     an impatient and dictatorial tone, I waive it, in deference to an
     old friend whose heart I have always supposed to be right.

     As to the policy I "seem to be pursuing," as you say, I have not
     meant to leave anyone in doubt. I would save the Union. I would
     save it in the shortest way under the Constitution. The sooner the
     national authority can be restored, the nearer the Union will
     be--the Union as it was. If there be those who would not save the
     Union unless they could at the same time save slavery, I do not
     agree with them. If there be those who would not save the Union
     unless they could at the same time destroy slavery, I do not agree
     with them. _My paramount object is to save the Union, and not
     either to save or destroy slavery._ If I could save the Union
     without freeing any slave, I would do it. And if I could save it by
     freeing all the slaves, I would do it. And if I could save it by
     freeing some, and leaving others alone, I would do that.

     What I do about slavery and the <DW52> race, I do because I
     believe it helps to save the Union; and what I forbear, I forbear
     because I do not believe it would help to save the Union. I shall
     do less whenever I believe what I am doing hurts the cause; and
     shall do more whenever I believe doing more will help the cause. I
     shall try to correct errors, when shown to be errors; and I shall
     adopt new views, so fast as they shall appear to be true views.

     I have here stated my purpose, according to my view of official
     duty, and I intend no modification of my oft-expressed personal
     wish that all men everywhere could be free.

     Yours,
     A. Lincoln.

Mr. Greeley being dissatisfied with Lincoln's explanation, and the
"Tribune" still teeming with complaints and criticisms of the
administration, Lincoln requested Mr. Greeley to come to Washington and
make known in person his complaints, to the end that they might be
obviated if possible. The editor of the "Tribune" came. Lincoln said:
"You complain of me. What have I done, or omitted to do, which has
provoked the hostility of the 'Tribune'?" The reply was, "You should
issue a proclamation abolishing slavery." Lincoln answered: "Suppose I
do that. There are now twenty thousand of our muskets on the shoulders
of Kentuckians, who are bravely fighting our battles. Every one of them
will be thrown down or carried over to the rebels." The reply was: "Let
them do it. The cause of the Union will be stronger if Kentucky should
secede with the rest than it is now." Lincoln answered, "Oh, I can't
think that."

It is evident that these solicitations and counsellings from outside
persons were unnecessary and idle. Lincoln's far-seeing and practical
mind had already grasped, more surely than had his would-be advisers,
the ultimate wisdom and justice of the emancipation of the slaves. But
he was resolved to do nothing rashly. He would wait till the time was
ripe, and then abolish slavery on grounds that would be approved
throughout the world: he would destroy slavery as a necessary step to
the preservation of the Union. In the first year of the war he had said
to a Southern Unionist, who warned him against meddling with slavery,
"_You must not expect me to give up this Government without playing my
last card._" This "last card" was undoubtedly the freeing of the slaves;
and when the time came, Lincoln played it unhesitatingly and
triumphantly. How strong a card it was may be judged by a statement made
in Congress by Mr. Ashmore, a Representative from South Carolina, who
said shortly before the war: "The South can sustain more men in the
field than the North can. _Her four millions of slaves alone will enable
her to support an army of half a million._" This view makes the issue
plain. If the South could maintain armies in the field supported, or
partly supported, by slave labor, it was as much the right and the duty
of the Government to destroy that support as to destroy an establishment
for the manufacture of arms or munitions of war for the Southern armies.
The logic of events had demonstrated the necessity and justice of the
measure, and Lincoln now had with him a Cabinet practically united in
its favor. The case was well stated by Secretary Welles--perhaps the
most cool-headed and conservative member of Lincoln's Cabinet--at a
Cabinet meeting held six or eight weeks after the Emancipation measure
had been brought forward by the President. Mr. Welles, as he relates in
his Diary, pointed out "the strong exercise of power" involved in the
proposal, and denied the power of the Executive to take such a step
under ordinary conditions. "But," said Mr. Welles, "the Rebels
themselves had invoked war on the subject of slavery, had appealed to
arms, and must abide the consequences." Mr. Welles admitted that it was
"an extreme exercise of war powers" which he believed justifiable "under
the circumstances, and in view of the condition of the country and the
magnitude of the contest. The slaves were now an element of strength to
the Rebels--were laborers, producers, and army attendants; they were
considered as _property_ by the Rebels, and _if property_ they were
subject to confiscation; if not property, but _persons_ residing in the
insurrectionary region, we should invite them as well as the whites to
unite with us in putting down the Rebellion." This view was in the main
concurred in by the Cabinet members present, and greatly heartened the
President in his course. On the 22d of September, 1862, he issued what
is known as the "Preliminary Proclamation." The text of this momentous
document is as follows:

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

     That it is my purpose, upon the next meeting of Congress, to again
     recommend the adoption of a practical measure tendering pecuniary
     aid to the free acceptance or rejection of all slave States, so
     called, the people whereof may not then be in rebellion against the
     United States, and which States may then have voluntarily adopted,
     or thereafter may voluntarily adopt, immediate or gradual
     abolishment of slavery within their respective limits; and that the
     effort to colonize persons of African descent, with their consent,
     upon this continent or elsewhere, with the previously obtained
     consent of the governments existing there, will be continued.

     That on the first day of January, in the year of our Lord one
     thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves
     within any State or designated part of a State, the people whereof
     shall then be in rebellion against the United States, shall be
     then, thenceforward, and forever FREE; and the Executive government
     of the United States, including the military and naval authority
     thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons,
     and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them,
     in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.

     That the Executive will, on the first day of January aforesaid, by
     proclamation, designate the States and parts of States, if any, in
     which the people thereof respectively shall then be in rebellion
     against the United States; and the fact that any State, or the
     people thereof, shall on that day be, in good faith, represented in
     the Congress of the United States by members chosen thereto at
     elections wherein a majority of the qualified voters of such State
     shall have participated, shall, in the absence of strong
     countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such
     State, and the people thereof, are not in rebellion against the
     United States.

     That attention is hereby called to an act of Congress entitled "An
     act to make an additional article of war," approved March 13, 1862,
     and which act is in the words and figures following:

     _Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the
     United States of America in Congress assembled_, That hereafter the
     following shall be promulgated as an additional article of war, for
     the government of the army of the United States, and shall be
     obeyed and observed as such.

     ARTICLE.--All officers or persons in the military or naval service
     of the United States are prohibited from employing any of the
     forces under their respective commands for the purpose of returning
     fugitives from service or labor who may have escaped from any
     persons to whom such service or labor is claimed to be due, and any
     officer who shall be found guilty by a court-martial of violating
     this article shall be dismissed from the service.

     SEC. 2. _And be it further enacted_, That this act shall take
     effect from and after its passage.

Also to the ninth and tenth sections of an act entitled "An act to
suppress insurrection, to punish treason and rebellion, to seize and
confiscate property of rebels, and for other purposes," approved July
17, 1862, and which sections are in the words and figures following:

     SEC. 9. _And be it further enacted_, That all slaves of persons who
     shall hereafter be engaged in rebellion against the government of
     the United States or who shall in any way give aid or comfort
     thereto, escaping from such persons and taking refuge within the
     lines of the army; and all slaves captured from such persons or
     deserted by them, and coming under the control of the government of
     the United States; and all slaves of such persons found _on_ [or]
     being within any place occupied by rebel forces, and afterwards
     occupied by the forces of the United States, shall be deemed
     captives of war, and shall be forever free of their servitude, and
     not again held as slaves.

     SEC. 10. _And be it further enacted_, That no slave, escaping into
     any State, Territory, or the District of Columbia, from any other
     State, shall be delivered up, or in any way impeded or hindered of
     his liberty, except for crime, or some offense against the laws,
     unless the person claiming said fugitive shall first make oath that
     the person to whom the labor or service of such fugitive is alleged
     to be due is his lawful owner, and has not borne arms against the
     United States in the present rebellion, nor in any way given aid
     and comfort thereto; and no person engaged in the military or naval
     service of the United States shall, under any pretense whatever,
     assume to decide on the validity of the claim of any person to the
     service or labor of any other person, or surrender up any such
     person to the claimant, on pain of being dismissed from the
     service.

     And I do hereby enjoin upon and order all persons engaged in the
     military and naval service of the United States to observe, obey,
     and enforce, within their respective spheres of service, the act
     and sections above recited.

     And the Executive will in due time recommend that all the citizens
     of the United States who shall have remained loyal thereto
     throughout the rebellion, shall (upon the restoration of the
     constitutional relation between the United States and their
     respective States and people, if that relation shall have been
     suspended or disturbed) be compensated for all losses by acts of
     the United States, including the loss of slaves.

     In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, and caused the
     seal of the United States to be affixed.

     Done at the city of Washington, this twenty-second day of
     September, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and
     sixty-two, and of the Independence of the United States the
     eighty-seventh.

     _By the President_: ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

     WILLIAM H. SEWARD, _Secretary of State_.

Lincoln's own account of this proclamation, and of the steps that led
to it, is given as reported by Mr. F.B. Carpenter. "It had," said
Lincoln, "got to be midsummer, 1862. Things had gone on from bad to
worse, until I felt that we had reached the end of our rope on the plan
of operations we had been pursuing; that we must change our tactics and
play our last card, or lose the game. I now determined upon the adoption
of the emancipation policy; and, without consultation with, or the
knowledge of, the Cabinet, I prepared the original draft of the
proclamation, and, after much anxious thought, called a Cabinet meeting
upon the subject. This was the last of July, or the first part of the
month of August, 1862. This Cabinet meeting took place, I think, upon a
Saturday. All were present excepting Mr. Blair, the Postmaster general,
who was absent at the opening of the discussion, but came in
subsequently. I said to the Cabinet that I had resolved upon this step,
and had called them together, not to ask their advice, but to lay the
subject-matter of a proclamation before them; suggestions as to which
would be in order, after they had heard it read. Mr. Lovejoy was in
error when he informed you that it excited no comment, excepting on the
part of Secretary Seward. Various suggestions were offered. Secretary
Chase wished the language stronger in reference to the arming of the
blacks. Mr. Blair, after he came in, deprecated the policy, on the
ground that it would cost the administration the fall elections.
Nothing, however, was offered that I had not already fully anticipated
and settled in my own mind, until Secretary Seward spoke. He said in
substance: 'Mr. President, I approve of the proclamation, but I question
the expediency of its issue at this juncture. The depression of the
public mind, consequent upon our repeated reverses, is so great that I
fear the effect of so important a step. It may be viewed as the last
measure of an exhausted government, a cry for help; the government
stretching forth its hands to Ethiopia, instead of Ethiopia stretching
forth her hands to the government.' 'His idea,' said the President, 'was
that it would be considered our last _shriek_ on the retreat.' (This was
his precise expression.) 'Now,' continued Mr. Seward, 'while I approve
the measure, I suggest, sir, that you postpone its issue until you can
give it to the country supported by military success, instead of issuing
it, as would be the case now, upon the greatest disasters of the war!'"
Lincoln continued: "The wisdom of the view of the Secretary of State
struck me with very great force. It was an aspect of the case that, in
all my thought upon the subject, I had entirely overlooked. The result
was that I put the draft of the proclamation aside, waiting for a
victory. From time to time I added or changed a line, touching it up
here and there, anxiously waiting the progress of events. Well, the next
news we had was of Pope's disaster at Bull Run. Things looked darker
than ever. Finally, came the week of the battle of Antietam. I
determined to wait no longer.[F] The news came, I think, on Wednesday,
that the advantage was on our side. I was then staying at the Soldiers'
Home (three miles out of Washington). Here I finished writing the second
draft of the preliminary proclamation; came up on Saturday; called the
Cabinet together to hear it; and it was published the following Monday."

Another interesting incident occurred at this Cabinet meeting in
connection with Secretary Seward. The President had written the
important part of the proclamation in these words: "That on the first
day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and
sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any State or designated
part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against
the United States, shall be then, thenceforward, and forever FREE; and
the Executive Government of the United States, including the military
and naval authority thereof, will _recognize_ the freedom of such
persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of
them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom." "When I
finished reading this paragraph," remarked Lincoln, "Mr. Seward stopped
me, and said, 'I think, Mr. President, that you should insert after the
word "_recognize_" "_and maintain_."' I replied that I had already fully
considered the import of that expression in this connection, but I had
not introduced it, because it was not my way to promise what I was not
entirely _sure_ that I could perform, and I was not prepared to say that
I thought we were exactly able to maintain this. But Seward insisted
that we ought to take this ground, and the words finally went in."

The special Cabinet meeting to which Lincoln here refers was one of
uncommon interest even in that day of heroic things. An account of it is
given by Secretary Welles, who was present. "At the Cabinet meeting of
September 22," says Mr. Welles in his Diary, "the special subject was
the Proclamation for emancipating the slaves after a certain date, in
States that shall then be in rebellion. For several weeks the subject
has been suspended, but the President says never lost sight of. In
taking up the Proclamation, the President stated that the question was
finally decided, the act and the consequences were his, but that he
felt it due to us to make us acquainted with the fact and to invite
criticism on the paper which he had prepared. There were, he had found,
not unexpectedly, some differences in the Cabinet, but he had, after
ascertaining in his own way the views of each and all, individually and
collectively, formed his own conclusions and made his own decisions. In
the course of the discussion on this paper, which was long, earnest,
and, on the general principle involved, harmonious, he remarked that he
had made a vow, a covenant, that if God gave us the victory in the
approaching battle, he would consider it an indication of Divine will,
and that it was his duty to move forward in the cause of emancipation.
It might be thought strange, he said, that he had in this way submitted
the disposal of important matters when the way was not clear to his mind
what he should do. God had decided his questions in favor of the slaves.
He was satisfied it was right; and he was confirmed and strengthened in
his action by the vow and the results. His mind was fixed, his decision
made, but he wished his paper announcing his course to be as correct in
terms as it could be made without any change in his determination. He
read the document. One or two unimportant amendments suggested by Seward
were approved. It was then handed to the Secretary of State to publish
to-morrow."

The discussion of Emancipation brought up at once the problem of what
should be done with the freed <DW64>s. The very next day after the
preliminary proclamation was issued (September 23, 1862), the President
presented the matter to the assembled Cabinet. Deportation was
considered, and some of those present urged that this should be
compulsory. The President, however, would not consider this; the
emigration of the <DW64>s, he said, must be voluntary, and without
expense to themselves. It was proposed to deport the freedmen to Costa
Rica, where a large tract of land (known as the Chiriqui Grant) had been
obtained from the government of Central America. Lincoln favored this in
a general way. He "thought it essential to provide an asylum for a race
which we had emancipated but which could never be recognized or admitted
to be our equals," says Mr. Welles. But there was some doubt as to the
validity of the title to the Costa Rica lands, and the matter was
dropped.

In his second annual message to Congress, transmitted to that body in
December, 1862, Lincoln touched, in conclusion, upon the great subject
of Emancipation, in these words of deep import:

     I do not forget the gravity which should characterize a paper
     addressed to the Congress of the nation by the Chief Magistrate of
     the nation. Nor do I forget that some of you are my seniors, nor
     that many of you have more experience than I in the conduct of
     public affairs. Yet I trust that in view of the great
     responsibility resting upon me, you will perceive no want of
     respect to yourselves in any undue earnestness I may seem to
     display.... The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the
     stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we
     must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think
     anew and act anew.

     Fellow citizens, we cannot escape history. We of this Congress and
     this administration will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No
     personal significance, or insignificance, can spare one or another
     of us. The fiery trial through which we pass will light us down, in
     honor or dishonor, to the latest generation. We say we are for the
     Union. The world will not forget that we say this. We know how to
     save the Union. The world knows we do know how to save it. We--even
     we here--hold the power and bear the responsibility. In giving
     freedom to the slave we assure freedom to the free--honorable alike
     in what we give and what we preserve. We shall nobly save, or
     meanly lose, the last best hope of earth. Other means may succeed,
     this could not fail. The way is plain, peaceful, generous, just--a
     way which, if followed, the world will forever applaud, and God
     must forever bless.

An immense concourse attended the reception at the White House on the
first day of 1863, and the President stood for several hours shaking
hands with the endless train of men and women who pressed forward to
greet him. The exhausting ceremonial being ended, the proclamation which
finally and forever abrogated the institution of slavery in the United
States was handed to him for his signature. "Mr. Seward," remarked the
President, "I have been shaking hands all day, and my right hand is
almost paralyzed. If my name ever gets into history, it will be for this
act, and my whole soul is in it. If my hand trembles when I sign the
proclamation, those who examine the document hereafter will say I
hesitated." Then, resting his arm a moment, he turned to the table, took
up the pen, and slowly and firmly wrote, ABRAHAM LINCOLN. He smiled as,
handing the paper to Mr. Seward, he said, "That will do." A few hours
after, he remarked: "The signature looks a little tremulous, for my hand
was tired; but my resolution was firm. I told them in September that if
they did not return to their allegiance I would strike at this pillar of
their strength. And now the promise shall be kept, and not one word of
it will I ever recall."

The text of the great Emancipation Proclamation is as follows:

     Whereas, on the 22d day of September, in the year of our Lord one
     thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, a proclamation was issued by
     the President of the United States, containing, among other things,
     the following, to-wit:

        That on the first day of January, in the year of our Lord
        one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons
        held as slaves within any States or designated part of a
        State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion
        against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward
        and forever free; and the Executive Government of the
        United States, including the military and naval authority
        thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such
        persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such
        persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for
        their actual freedom.

        That the Executive will, on the first day of January
        aforesaid, by proclamation, designate the States and
        parts of States, if any, in which the people thereof
        respectively shall then be in rebellion against the
        United States; and the fact that any State, or the people
        thereof, shall on that day be in good faith represented
        in the Congress of the United States, by members chosen
        thereto at elections wherein a majority of the qualified
        voters of such State shall have participated, shall, in
        the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed
        conclusive evidence that such State, and the people
        thereof, are not then in rebellion against the United
        States.

     Now, therefore, I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United
     States, by virtue of the power in me vested as Commander-in-Chief
     of the Army and Navy of the United States in time of actual armed
     rebellion against the authority and Government of the United
     States, and as a fit and necessary war measure for suppressing
     said rebellion, do, on this first day of January, in the year of
     our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and in
     accordance with my purpose so to do, publicly proclaimed for the
     full period of one hundred days, from the day first above
     mentioned, order and designate as the States and parts of States
     wherein the people thereof respectively are this day in
     rebellion against the United States, the following, to-wit:
     Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana (except the parishes of St. Bernard,
     Plaquemines, Jefferson, St. John, St. Charles, St. James,
     Ascension, Assumption, Terre Bonne, Lafourche, Ste. Marie, St.
     Martin, and Orleans, including the city of New Orleans),
     Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North
     Carolina, and Virginia (except the forty-eight counties
     designated as West Virginia, and also the counties of Berkeley,
     Accomac, Northampton, Elizabeth City, York, Princess Anne, and
     Norfolk, including the cities of Norfolk and Portsmouth), and
     which excepted parts are for the present left precisely as if
     this proclamation were not issued.

     And by virtue of the power and for the purpose aforesaid, I do
     order and declare that all persons held as slaves within said
     designated States and parts of States are and henceforward shall
     be FREE; and that the Executive Government of the United States,
     including the military and naval authorities thereof, will
     recognize and maintain the freedom of said persons.

     And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free to
     abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defense; and
     I recommend to them that, in all cases when allowed, they labor
     faithfully for reasonable wages.

     And I further declare and make known that such persons, of
     suitable condition, will be received into the armed service of
     the United States to garrison forts, positions, stations, and
     other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service.

     And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice,
     warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity, I invoke
     the considerate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of
     Almighty God.

     In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my name, and caused the
     seal of the United States to be affixed.

     Done at the City of Washington, this first day of January, in
     the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three,
     and of the independence of the United States the eighty-seventh.

     _By the President_: ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

     WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State.

It is stated that Lincoln gave the most earnest study to the composition
of the Emancipation Proclamation. He realized, as he afterwards said,
that the proclamation was the central act of his administration and the
great event of the nineteenth century. When the document was completed a
printed copy of it was placed in the hands of each member of the
Cabinet, and criticisms and suggestions were invited. Mr. Chase
remarked: "This paper is of the utmost importance, greater than any
state paper ever made by this Government. A paper of so much importance,
and involving the liberties of so many people, ought, I think, to make
some reference to Deity. I do not observe anything of the kind in it."
Lincoln said: "No, I overlooked it. Some reference to Deity must be
inserted. Mr. Chase, won't you make a draft of what you think ought to
be inserted?" Mr. Chase promised to do so, and at the next meeting
presented the following: "And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an
act of justice, warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity,
I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of
Almighty God." When Lincoln read the paragraph, Mr. Chase said: "You may
not approve it, but I thought this, or something like it, would be
appropriate." Lincoln replied: "I do approve it; it cannot be bettered,
and I will adopt it in the very words you have written."

To a large concourse of people who, two days after the proclamation was
issued, assembled before the White House, with music, the President
said: "What I did, I did after a very full deliberation, and under a
heavy and solemn sense of responsibility. I can only trust in God I have
made no mistake." That he realized to the full the gravity of the step
before taking it is shown again in an incident related by Hon. John
Covode, who, calling on the President a few days before the issue of the
final proclamation, found him walking his room in considerable
agitation. Reference being made to the forthcoming proclamation, Lincoln
said with great earnestness: "I have studied that matter well; my mind
is made up--it _must be done_. I am driven to it. There is to me no
other way out of our troubles. But although my duty is plain, it is in
some respects painful, and I trust the people will understand that I act
not in anger but in expectation of a greater good."

Mr. Ben. Perley Poore makes the interesting statement that "Mr. Lincoln
carefully put away the pen which he had used in signing the document,
for Mr. Sumner, who had promised it to his friend, George Livermore, of
Cambridge, the author of an interesting work on slavery. It was a steel
pen with a wooden handle, the end of which had been gnawed by Mr.
Lincoln--a habit that he had when composing anything that required
thought."

In response to a request of the ladies in charge of the Northwestern
Fair for the Sanitary Commission, which was held in Chicago in the
autumn of 1863, Lincoln conveyed to them the original draft of the
proclamation; saying, in his note of presentation, "I had some desire to
retain the paper; but if it shall contribute to the relief or comfort of
the soldiers, that will be better." The document was purchased at the
Fair by Mr. Thomas B. Bryan, and given by him to the Chicago Historical
Society. It perished in the great fire of October, 1871.

More than a year after the issue of the Emancipation Proclamation,
Lincoln, in writing to a prominent Kentucky Unionist, gave a synopsis of
his views and course regarding slavery, which is so clear in statement,
and so forceful and convincing in logic, that a place must be given it
in this chapter.

     I am naturally anti-slavery. If slavery is not wrong, nothing is
     wrong. I cannot remember when I did not so think and feel; and yet
     I have never understood that the Presidency conferred upon me an
     unrestricted, right to act officially upon this judgment and
     feeling. It was in the oath I took that I would, to the best of my
     ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the
     United States. I could not take the office without taking the oath.
     Nor was it my view that I might take an oath to get power, and
     break the oath in using the power. I understood, too, that in
     ordinary civil administration this oath even forbade me to
     practically indulge my primary abstract judgment on the moral
     question of slavery. I had publicly declared this many times and in
     many ways. And I aver that, to this day, I have done no official
     act in mere deference to my abstract judgment and feeling on
     slavery. I did understand, however, that my oath to preserve the
     Constitution to the best of my ability imposed upon me the duty of
     preserving, by every indispensable means, that Government--that
     Nation of which that Constitution was the organic law. Was it
     possible to lose the nation and yet preserve the Constitution? By
     general law, life _and_ limb must be protected; yet often a limb
     must be amputated to save a life; but a life is never wisely given
     to save a limb. I felt that measures, otherwise unconstitutional,
     might become lawful, by becoming indispensable to the preservation
     of the Constitution, through the preservation of the nation. Right
     or wrong, I assumed this ground, and now avow it. I could not feel
     that, to the best of my ability, I had even tried to preserve the
     Constitution, if, to save slavery, or any minor matter, I should
     permit the wreck of government, country, and constitution,
     altogether. When, early in the war, General Fremont attempted
     military emancipation, I forbade it, because I did not then think
     it an indispensable necessity. When a little later, General
     Cameron, then Secretary of War, suggested the arming of the blacks,
     I objected, because I did not yet think it an indispensable
     necessity. When, still later, General Hunter attempted military
     emancipation, I again forbade it, because I did not yet think the
     indispensable necessity had come. When, in March and May and July,
     1862, I made earnest and successive appeals to the border States to
     favor compensated emancipation, I believed the indispensable
     necessity for military emancipation and arming the blacks would
     come, unless averted by that measure. They declined the
     proposition; and I was, in my best judgment, driven to the
     alternative of either surrendering the Union, and with it the
     Constitution, or of laying strong hand upon the  element. I
     chose the latter. In choosing it, I hoped for greater gain than
     loss; but of this I was not entirely confident. More than a year of
     trial now shows no loss by it in our foreign relations, none in our
     home popular sentiment, none in our white military force, no loss
     by it anyhow or anywhere. On the contrary, it shows a gain of quite
     a hundred and thirty thousand soldiers, seamen, and laborers. These
     are palpable facts, about which, as facts, there can be no
     cavilling. We have the men; and as we could not have had them
     without the measure.

     And now let any Union man who complains of the measure, test
     himself by writing down in one line that he is for subduing the
     rebellion by force of arms; and in the next, that he is for taking
     three hundred and thirty thousand men from the Union side, and
     placing them where they would be but for the measure he condemns.
     If he cannot face his case so stated, it is only because he cannot
     face the truth.

     I attempt no compliment to my own sagacity. I claim not to have
     controlled events, but confess plainly that events have controlled
     me. Now, at the end of three years' struggle, the nation's
     condition is not what either party or any man devised or expected.
     God alone can claim it. Whither it is tending seems plain. If God
     now wills the removal of a great wrong, and wills also that we of
     the North, as well as you of the South, shall pay fairly for our
     complicity in that wrong, impartial history will find therein new
     causes to attest and revere the justice and goodness of God.

     Yours truly,
     A. LINCOLN




CHAPTER XXII


     President and People--Society at the White House in 1862-3--The
     President's Informal Receptions--A Variety of
     Callers--Characteristic Traits of Lincoln--His Ability to Say _No_
     when Necessary--Would not Countenance Injustice--Good Sense and
     Tact in Settling Quarrels--His Shrewd Knowledge of Men--Getting Rid
     of Bores--Loyalty to his Friends--Views of his Own
     Position--"Attorney for the People"--Desire that they Should
     Understand him--His Practical Kindness--A Badly Scared
     Petitioner--Telling a Story to Relieve Bad News--A Breaking Heart
     beneath the Smiles--His Deeply Religious Nature--The Changes
     Wrought by Grief.

In a work which is not intended to cover fully the events of a great
historic period, but rather to trace out the life of a single individual
connected with that period, much must be included which, although not
possessing special historical significance, cannot be overlooked in a
personal study of the subject of the biography. Lincoln's life as
President was by no means made up of Cabinet meetings, official messages
and proclamations, or reviews of armies; interspersed with these
conspicuous acts was a multitude of less heroic but scarcely less
interesting details, with incidents and experiences humorous or sad, but
all, even the most trivial, being expressions of the life and character
of the man whom we are seeking to portray.

"Society," as now understood at the national capital, had but little
existence during the war. At the White House there were the usual
President's receptions, which were quite public in character and were
largely attended. Aside from these democratic gatherings there was
little enough of gaiety. The feeling that prevailed is shown by an
incident that occurred during the winter of 1862-3, when a good deal of
clamor was raised over a party given by Mrs. Lincoln, at which, it was
asserted, dancing was indulged in; and Mrs. Lincoln was severely
censured for what was regarded as inexcusable frivolity. Hon. A.G.
Riddle, who was present on the occasion referred to, states positively
that there was no dancing; the party was a quiet one, intended only to
relieve the rather dull and formal receptions. But the President was
pained by the rumors that "fashionable balls" were permitted at the
White House in war-time; and the party was not repeated.

It was the custom of President Lincoln to open, twice a week, the doors
of his office in the Executive Mansion for the admission of all visitors
who might wish to speak with him. These brief interviews, quite devoid
of ceremony, seemed to reveal the man in his true character, and to set
forth the salient traits that fitted him for his great position, and
endeared him so greatly to the popular heart. They showed how easily
accessible he was to all classes of citizens, how readily he could adapt
himself to people of any station or degree, how deep and true were his
human sympathies, how quickly and keenly he could discriminate
character, and how heartily he detested meanness and all unworthy acts
and appliances to compass a selfish or sordid end. On these occasions,
as may well be imagined, many curious incidents occurred. Lincoln was
usually clad "in a black broadcloth suit, nothing in his dress
betokening disregard of conventionality, save perhaps his neat cloth
slippers, which were doubtless worn for comfort. He was seated beside a
plain cloth-covered table, in a commodious arm-chair." As each visitor
approached the President he was greeted with an encouraging nod and
smile, and a few moments were cordially given him in which to state the
object of the visit; the President listening with the most respectful
and patient attention, and deciding each case with tact, sympathy, and
good humor. "His _Yes_," says Mr. Riddle, "was most gracious and
satisfactory; his _No_, when reached, was often spoken by the
petitioner, and left only a soothed disappointment. He saw the point of
a case unerringly. He had a confidence in the homely views and speech of
the common people, with whom his heart and sympathies ever were."

At these informal meetings with people who usually wanted some favor
from him, no case was too trivial to receive his attention. Taking
advantage of the opportunity, there came one day, says Mr. C. Van
Santvoord, "a sturdy, honest-looking German soldier, minus a leg, who
hobbled up to the President on crutches. In consideration of his
disabled condition, he wanted some situation about Washington, the
duties of which he might be able to discharge; and he had come to the
President, hoping that he would provide the desired situation for him.
On being interrogated as to how he had lost his leg, he answered that it
was the effect of a wound received in battle, mentioning the time and
the place. 'Let me look at your papers,' said Mr. Lincoln. The man
replied that he had none, and that he supposed his word would be
sufficient. 'What!' exclaimed the President, 'no papers, no credentials,
nothing to show how you lost your leg! How am I to know that you did not
lose it by a trap after getting into somebody's orchard?' This was
spoken with a droll expression which amused the bystanders, all except
the applicant, who with a very solemn visage earnestly protested the
truth of his statement, muttering something about the reasons for not
being able to produce his papers. 'Well, well,' said the President, 'it
is a little risky for an army man to be wandering around without papers
to show where he belongs and what he is, but I will see what can be
done for you.' And taking a blank card from a little pile of similar
blanks on the table, he wrote some lines upon it, addressed it, and
handing it to the man bade him deliver it to a certain quartermaster,
who would attend to his case."

The President could, however, be emphatic and even severe when necessary
on such occasions. One day, we are told, "he was approached by a man
apparently sixty years of age, with dress and manner which showed that
he was acquainted with the usages of good society, whose whole exterior,
indeed, would have favorably impressed people who form opinions from
appearances. The object of his visit was to solicit aid in some
commission project, for the success of which Mr. Lincoln's favor was
regarded as essential. The President heard him patiently, but demurred
against being connected with or countenancing the affair, suggesting
mildly that the applicant would better set up an office of the kind
described, and run it in his own way and at his own risk. The man
pleaded his advanced years and obscurity as a reason for not attempting
this, but said if the President would only let him use his name to
advertise and recommend the enterprise, he would then, he thought, need
nothing more. At this the eyes of the President flashed with sudden
indignation, and his whole aspect and manner underwent a portentous
change. 'No!' he broke forth, with startling vehemence, springing from
his seat under the impulse of his emotion. 'No! I'll have nothing to do
with this business, nor with any man who comes to me with such degrading
propositions. What! Do you take the President of the United States to be
a commission broker? You have come to the wrong place; and for you and
every one who comes for such purposes, there is the door!' The man's
face blanched as he cowered and slunk away confounded, without uttering
a word. The President's wrath subsided as speedily as it had risen."

Another example of Lincoln's power to dispose summarily of people who
tried his patience too far is given by Secretary Welles, who records
that a Mrs. White--a sister or half-sister of Mrs. Lincoln--made herself
so obnoxious as a Southern sympathizer in Washington in 1864, that the
President sent her word that "if she did not leave forthwith she might
expect to find herself within twenty-four hours in the Old Capitol
Prison."

With all his kindness and desire to do what was asked of him, Lincoln
could not be persuaded to consent to anything which he felt to be
distinctly wrong, regardless of any unfavorable consequences which his
refusal might bring upon himself. When the members of Congress from
Minnesota, late in 1862, called on him in a body to urge him to order
the execution of three hundred Indian prisoners, captured in their State
and charged with great atrocities, he positively refused, although
realizing that it might cost him the support of those members of the
House, which he greatly needed at that time.

"The President is always disposed to mitigate punishments and grant
favors," says a member of his Cabinet. "As a matter of duty and
friendship, I one day mentioned to him the case of Laura Jones, a young
lady residing in Richmond and there engaged to be married, who came up
three years ago to attend her sick mother and had been unable to pass
through the lines and return. A touching appeal was made by the poor
girl, who truly says her youth is passing. The President at once said he
would give her a pass. I told him her sympathies were with the
secessionists. But he said he would let her go; the war had depopulated
the country and prevented marriages enough, and if he could do a
kindness of this sort he would do it."

Another applicant for a pass through the lines was less fortunate than
the one just noted. One day, in the spring of 1862, a gentleman from
some Northern city entered Lincoln's private office, and earnestly
requested a pass to Richmond. "A pass to Richmond!" exclaimed the
President. "Why, my dear sir, if I should give you one it would do you
no good. You may think it very strange, but there's a lot of fellows
between here and Richmond who either can't read or are prejudiced
against every man who totes a pass from me. I have given McClellan and
more than two hundred thousand others passes to Richmond, _and not a
single one of 'em has got there yet!_"

Lincoln sometimes had a very effective way of dealing with men who asked
troublesome or improper questions. A visitor once asked him how many men
the rebels had in the field. The President replied, very seriously,
"_Twelve hundred thousand_, according to the best authority." The
interrogator blanched in the face, and ejaculated, "Good heavens!" "Yes,
sir, twelve hundred thousand--no doubt of it. You see, all of our
generals, when they get whipped, say the enemy outnumbered them from
three or five to one, and I must believe them. We have four hundred
thousand men in the field, and three times four makes twelve. Don't you
see it?"

Among the many illustrations of the sturdy sense and firmness of
Lincoln's character, the following should be recorded: During the early
part of 1863 the Union men in Missouri were divided into two factions,
which waged a bitter controversy with each other. General Curtis,
commander of the military district comprising Missouri, Kansas, and
Arkansas, was at the head of one faction, while Governor Gamble led the
other. Their differences were a source of great embarrassment to the
Government at Washington, and of harm to the Union cause. The President
was in constant receipt of remonstrances and protests from the
contesting parties, to one of which he made the following curt reply:

     Your despatch of to-day is just received. It is very painful to me
     that you, in Missouri cannot, or will not, settle your factional
     quarrel among yourselves. I have been tormented with it beyond
     endurance, for months, by both sides. Neither side pays the least
     respect to my appeals to reason. I am now compelled to take hold of
     the case.

     A. LINCOLN.

The President promptly followed up this warning by removing General
Curtis, and appointing in his place General Schofield, to whom he soon
after addressed the following letter:

     EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON,
     May 27, 1863.

     GENERAL J.M. SCHOFIELD.

     DEAR SIR: Having removed General Curtis and assigned you to the
     command of the Department of the Missouri, I think it may be of
     some advantage to me to state to you why I did it. I did not remove
     General Curtis because of my full conviction that he had done wrong
     by commission or omission. I did it because of a conviction in my
     mind that the Union men of Missouri, constituting, when united, a
     vast majority of the people, have entered into a pestilent,
     factious quarrel among themselves; General Curtis, perhaps not of
     choice, being the head of one faction, and Governor Gamble that of
     the other. After months of labor to reconcile the difficulty, it
     seemed to grow worse and worse, until I felt it my duty to break it
     up somehow, and as I could not remove Governor Gamble, I had to
     remove General Curtis. Now that you are in the position, I wish you
     to undo nothing merely because General Curtis or Governor Gamble
     did it, but to exercise your own judgment, and do right for the
     public interest. Let your military measures be strong enough to
     repel the invaders and keep the peace, and not so strong as to
     unnecessarily harass and persecute the people. It is a difficult
     _role_, and so much greater will be the honor if you perform it
     well. If both factions, or neither, shall abuse you, you will
     probably be about right. Beware of being assailed by one and
     praised by the other.

     Yours truly, A. LINCOLN.

Firm and unyielding as he was when necessity compelled him to be,
Lincoln was by nature a peace-maker, and was ever anxious that personal
differences be adjusted happily. In his efforts to this end he never
failed to show tact and shrewdness, and would if necessary sacrifice his
own preferences in the interests of peace and harmony. A characteristic
instance of the exercise of these traits occurred in connection with the
Missouri troubles just referred to. General Schofield's course in
command of his department proved satisfactory, and he had been nominated
for a Major-General's commission. He was, however, a somewhat
conservative man, and in spite of his efforts to carry out the
President's injunctions of impartiality, he had given offense to certain
Missouri radicals, who now opposed his promotion, and were able to exert
sufficient influence in the Senate to prevent the confirmation of his
appointment as a Major-General. The Missouri delegation appealed to the
more radical Senators, and the nomination was "hung up" for about six
weeks. Lincoln was very desirous that it should be confirmed, and the
Missouri Congressmen were equally bent on its defeat. In this dilemma,
Lincoln sent for Senator Zack Chandler of Michigan, and proposed a
compromise. "General Rosecrans," said he, "has a great many friends; he
fought the battle of Stone River and won a brilliant victory, and his
advocates begin to grumble about his treatment. Now, I will tell you
what I have been thinking about. If you will confirm Schofield in the
Senate, I will remove him from the command in Missouri and send him down
to Sherman. That will satisfy the radicals. Then I will send Rosecrans
to Missouri, and that will please the latter's friends. In this way the
whole thing can be harmonized." As soon as the Senate grasped the plan
of the President there was no longer any opposition to the confirmation
of Schofield. He was sent to join Sherman in the South, Rosecrans was
appointed to the command in Missouri, and everything worked harmoniously
and pleasantly as the President had predicted and desired.

Secretary Welles remarks that "the President was a much more shrewd and
accurate observer of the characteristics of men--better and more
correctly formed an estimate of their power and capabilities--than the
Secretary of State or most others. Those in the public service he
closely scanned, but was deliberate in forming a conclusion adverse to
any one he had appointed. In giving or withdrawing confidence he was
discriminating and just in his final decision, careful never to wound
unnecessarily the sensibilities of any of their infirmities, always
ready to praise, but nevertheless firm and resolute in discharging the
to him always painful duty of censure, reproof, or dismissal." As an
instance of this sure judgment of the abilities and characters of men,
Mr. Welles gives an anecdote relating to the naval movement under
Admiral Du Pont, against Charleston, S.C. "One day," says Mr. Welles,
"the President said to me that he had but slight expectation that we
should have any great success from Du Pont. 'He, as well as McClellan,'
said Mr. Lincoln, 'hesitates--has _the slows_. McClellan always wanted
more regiments; Du Pont is everlastingly asking for more
gun-boats--more iron-clads. He will do nothing with any. He has
intelligence and system and will maintain a good blockade. You did well
in selecting him for that command, but he will never take Sumter or get
to Charleston. He is no Farragut, though unquestionably a good routine
officer, who obeys orders and in a general way carries out his
instructions.'" The outcome of events proved the soundness of Lincoln's
judgment.

Loyalty to his friends was always a strong trait of Lincoln's character.
It was put to the proof daily during his life in Washington. Mr. Gurdon
S. Hubbard, in a brief but interesting memorial, relates one or two
interviews held with the President, in which the simplicity of his
character and his fidelity to old friendships appear very conspicuously.
Mr. Hubbard's acquaintance with Lincoln was of long standing. "I called
on him in Washington the year of his inauguration," says Mr. Hubbard,
"and was alone with him for an hour or more. I found him greatly
changed, his countenance bearing an expression of great mental anxiety.
The whole topic of our conversation was the war, which affected him
deeply.... Two years after, I again visited Washington, and went to the
White House to pay my respects, in company with my friend Thomas L.
Forrest. It was Saturday; and, as usual, about six o'clock the band from
the navy-yard appeared and began to play. The President, with
Adjutant-General Thomas, was seated on the balcony. The crowd was great,
marching compactly past the President, the men raising their hats in
salutation. As my friend and myself passed he said to me, 'The President
seems to notice you--turn toward him.' 'No,' I said, 'I don't care to be
recognized.' At that instant Mr. Lincoln started from his seat,
advancing quickly to the iron railing, and leaning over, beckoning with
his long arm, called: 'Hubbard! Hubbard! come here!' I left the ranks
and ascended the stone steps to the gate of the balcony, which was
locked, General Thomas saying, 'Wait a moment, I will get the key.'
'Never mind, General,' said Mr. Lincoln, 'Hubbard is used to jumping--he
can scale that fence.' I climbed over, and for about an hour we
conversed and watched the large crowd, the rebel flag being in sight on
Arlington Heights. This was the last time I ever saw his face in life."

It was noted by those about Lincoln during his residence at the White
House that he usually avoided speaking of himself as President or making
any reference to the office which he held. He used some such roundabout
phrase as "since I came into this place," instead of saying "since I
became President." The war he usually spoke of as "this great trouble,"
and he almost never alluded to the enemy as "Confederates" or "the
Confederate Government." He had an unconquerable reluctance to appear to
lead public opinion, and often spoke of himself as the "attorney for the
people." Once, however, when a Senator was urging on him a certain
course which the President was not disposed to pursue, the Senator said,
"You say you are the people's attorney. Now, you will admit that this
course would be most popular." "But I am not going to let my client
manage the case against my judgment," Lincoln replied quickly. "As long
as I am attorney for the people I shall manage the case to the best of
my ability. They will have a chance to put me out by and by if my
management is not satisfactory."

The President was so tormented by visitors seeking interviews for every
sort of frivolous and impertinent matter, that he resorted sometimes, in
desperation, to curious and effective inventions to rid himself of the
intolerable nuisance. At one time, when he was importuned by some
influential people to interfere to prevent the punishment of certain
persons convicted of fraudulent dealings with the government--a class of
cases too common at that time--the President wrote Secretary Welles that
he desired to see the records of the case before it was disposed of.
Upon Mr. Welles calling upon him with the desired information, the
President said, as if by way of apology, "There was no way to get rid of
the crowd that was upon me but by sending you a note." On another
occasion, when he had been quite ill, and therefore less inclined than
usual to listen to these bores, one of them had just seated himself for
a long visit, when the President's physician happened to enter the room,
and Lincoln said, holding out his hands, "Doctor, what are these
blotches?" "That's varioloid, or mild small-pox," said the doctor.
"They're all over me. It is contagious, I believe," said Lincoln. "Very
contagious, indeed!" replied the doctor. "Well, I can't stop, Mr.
Lincoln; I just called to see how you were," said the visitor. "Oh,
don't be in a hurry, sir!" placidly remarked the Executive. "Thank you,
sir; I'll call again," replied the visitor, executing a masterly retreat
from the White House. "Some people," said the President, looking after
him, "said they could not take very well to my proclamation; but now, I
am happy to say, I have _something that everybody can take_."

Among the innumerable nuisances and "cranks" who called on Lincoln at
the White House, were the many who sought to win his favor by claiming
to have been the first to suggest his nomination as President. One of
these claimants, who was the editor of a weekly paper published in a
little village in Missouri, called one day, and was admitted to
Lincoln's presence. He at once began explaining that he was the man who
first suggested Lincoln's name for the Presidency, and pulling from his
pocket an old, worn, defaced copy of his paper, exhibited to the
President an item on the subject. "Do you really think," said Lincoln,
"that announcement was the occasion of my nomination?" "Certainly," said
the editor, "the suggestion was so opportune that it was at once taken
up by other papers, and the result was your nomination and election."
"Ah, well," said Lincoln, with a sigh, and assuming a rather gloomy
countenance, "I am glad to see you and to know this; but you will have
to excuse me, I am just going to the War Department to see Mr. Stanton."
"Well," said the editor, "I will walk over with you." The President,
with that apt good nature so characteristic of him, took up his hat and
said, "Come along." When they reached the door of the Secretary's
office, Mr. Lincoln turned to his companion and said, "I shall have to
see Mr. Stanton alone, and you must excuse me," and taking him by the
hand he continued, "Good-bye. I hope you will feel perfectly easy about
having nominated me; don't be troubled about it; _I forgive you_."

A gentleman who, after the dreadful disaster at Fredericksburg, called
at the White House with news direct from the front, says that Lincoln
appeared so overwhelmed with grief that he was led to remark, "I
heartily wish I might be a welcome messenger of good news instead,--that
I could tell you how to conquer or get rid of these rebellious States."
Looking up quickly, with a marked change of expression, Lincoln said:
"That reminds me of two boys in Illinois who took a short cut across an
orchard, and did not become aware of the presence of a vicious dog until
it was too late to reach either fence. One was spry enough to escape the
attack by climbing a tree; but the other started around the tree, with
the dog in hot pursuit, until by making smaller circles than it was
possible for his pursuer to make, he gained sufficiently to grasp the
dog's tail, and held with desperate grip until nearly exhausted, when he
hailed his companion and called to him to come down. 'What for?' said
the boy. 'I want you to help me let this dog go.' If I could only let
them go!" said the President, in conclusion; "but that is the trouble. I
am compelled to hold on to them and make them stay."

In speaking of Lincoln's fortitude under his trials and sufferings, Mrs.
Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote: "Although we believe he has never made any
religious profession, we see evidence that in passing through this
dreadful national crisis he has been forced by the very anguish of the
struggle to look upward, where any rational creature must look for
support. No man has suffered more and deeper, albeit with a dry, weary,
patient pain, that seemed to some like insensibility. 'Whichever way it
ends,' he said to the writer, 'I have the impression that I sha'n't last
long after it's over.' After the dreadful repulse of Fredericksburg, his
heavy eyes and worn and weary air told how our reverses wore upon him;
and yet there was a never-failing fund of patience at bottom that
sometimes rose to the surface in some droll, quaint saying or story,
that forced a laugh even from himself."

The care and sorrow which Lincoln was called upon to endure in the
responsibilities of his high position graved their melancholy marks on
each feature of his face. He was a changed man. A pathetic picture of
his appearance at this time is given by his old friend, Noah Brooks,
whose description of him as he appeared in 1856, on the stump in Ogle
County, has already been given a place in these pages. "I did not see
Lincoln again," says Mr. Brooks, "until 1862, when I went to Washington
as a newspaper correspondent from California. When Lincoln was on the
stump in 1856, his face, though naturally sallow, had a rosy flush. His
eyes were full and bright, and he was in the fulness of health and
vigor. I shall never forget the shock which the sight of him gave me six
years later in 1862, I took it for granted that he had forgotten the
young man whom he had met five or six times during the Fremont and
Dayton Campaign. He was now President, and was, like Brutus, 'vexed with
many cares.' The change which a few years had made was simply appalling.
His whiskers had grown and had given additional cadaverousness to his
face as it appeared to me. The light seemed to have gone out of his
eyes, which were sunken far under his enormous brows. But there was over
his whole face an expression of sadness, and a far-away look in the
eyes, which were utterly unlike the Lincoln of other days. I was
intensely disappointed. I confess that I was so pained that I could
almost have shed tears."




CHAPTER XXIII


     Lincoln's Home-life in the White House--Comfort in the
     Companionship of his Youngest Son--"Little Tad" the Bright Spot in
     the White House--The President and his Little Boy Reviewing the
     Army of the Potomac--Various Phases of Lincoln's Character--His
     Literary Tastes--Fondness for Poetry and Music--His Remarkable
     Memory--Not a Latin Scholar--Never Read a Novel--Solace in
     Theatrical Representation--Anecdotes of Booth and
     McCullough--Methods of Literary Work--Lincoln as an Orator--Caution
     in Impromptu Speeches--His Literary Style--Management of his
     Private Correspondence--Knowledge of Woodcraft--Trees and Human
     Character--Exchanging Views with Professor Agassiz--Magnanimity
     toward Opponents--Righteous Indignation--Lincoln's Religious
     Nature.

Of the two sons left to Lincoln after the death of Willie in 1862,
Robert, the older, was a student in Harvard College until appointed to
service on the staff of General Grant; and "Little Tad," or Thomas, the
youngest, was the only one remaining in the White House during the last
hard years. He was ten years old in 1863, a bright and lovable child,
with whom his father was associated in constant and affectionate
companionship. The boy was much with him in his walks and journeys about
Washington, and even in his visits to the army in the field. The father
would often gain a brief respite from his heavy cares by sharing in the
sports and frolics of the light-hearted boy, who was a general favorite
at the White House, where he was free to go and come at will. No matter
who was with the President, or how intently he might be absorbed, little
Tad was always welcome. "It was an impressive and affecting sight," says
Mr. Carpenter, an inmate of the White House for several months, "to see
the burdened President lost for the time being in the affectionate
parent, as he would take the little fellow in his arms upon the
withdrawal of visitors, and caress him with all the fondness of a mother
for the babe upon her bosom." Hon. W.D. Kelley, a member of Congress at
that time, says: "I think no father ever loved his children more fondly
than he. The President never seemed grander in my sight than when,
stealing upon him in the evening, I would find him with a book open
before him, with little Tad beside him. There were, of course, a great
many curious books sent to him, and it seemed to be one of the special
delights of his life to open those books at a time when his boy could
stand beside him, and they could talk as he turned over the pages, the
father thus giving to the son a portion of that care and attention of
which he was ordinarily deprived by the heavy duties pressing upon him."
Tad lived to be eighteen years old, dying in Chicago in 1871. It was
well said of him that he "gave to the sad and solemn White House the
only comic relief it knew."

When President Lincoln visited General Hooker's headquarters with the
Army of the Potomac, just before the battle of Chancellorsville, little
Tad went with him, and rode with his father and General Hooker through
the grand reviews that were held. "Over hill and dale," says a member of
the Presidential party, "dashed the brilliant cavalcade of the
General-in-Chief, surrounded by a company of officers in gay attire and
sparkling with gold lace, the party being escorted by the Philadelphia
Lancers, a showy troop of soldiers. In the midst, or at the head, rose
and fell, as the horses galloped afar, the form of Lincoln, conspicuous
by his height and his tall black hat. And ever on the flanks of the
hurrying column flew, like a flag or banneret, Tad's little gray
riding-cloak. The soldiers soon learned of Tad's presence in the army,
and wherever he went on horseback he easily divided the honors with his
father. The men cheered and shouted and waved their hats when they saw
the dear face and tall figure of the good President, then the
best-beloved man in the world; but to these men of war, far away from
home and children, the sight of that fresh-faced and laughing boy seemed
an inspiration. They cheered like mad."

There were various phases of Lincoln's character, as manifested during
his life in the White House, that afford material for an interesting
study. It has been said of him that he lacked imagination. This was
certainly not one of the faculties of his mind which had been largely
cultivated. He relied more upon the exercise of reason and logic, in all
his intellectual processes, than upon fancy or imagination. Still, there
are often striking figures of speech to be met with in his writings, and
he had a great fondness for poetry and music. He had studied Shakespeare
diligently in his youth, and portions of the plays he repeated with
singular accuracy. He had a special liking for the minor poems of Thomas
Hood and of Oliver Wendell Holmes. Dr. Holmes, writing in July, 1885,
says that of all the tributes received by him, the one of which he was
most proud was from "good Abraham Lincoln," who had a great liking for
the poem of "The Last Leaf," and "repeated it from memory to Governor
Andrew, as the Governor himself told me." Mr. Arnold says: "He had a
great love for poetry and eloquence, and his taste and judgment were
excellent. Next to Shakespeare among the poets, his favorite was Burns.
There was a lecture of his upon Burns full of favorite quotations and
sound criticisms." His musical tastes, says Mr. Brooks, who knew him
well, "were simple and uncultivated, his choice being old airs, songs,
and ballads, among which the plaintive Scotch songs were best liked.
'Annie Laurie,' 'Mary of Argyle,' and especially 'Auld Robin Gray,'
never lost their charm for him; and all songs which had for their theme
the rapid flight of time, decay, the recollections of early days, were
sure to make a deep impression. The song which he liked best, above all
others, was one called 'Twenty Years Ago'--a simple air, the words to
which are supposed to be uttered by a man who revisits the playground of
his youth. I remember that one night at the White House, when a few
ladies were with the family, singing at the piano-forte, he asked for a
little song in which the writer describes his sensations when revisiting
the scenes of his boyhood, dwelling mournfully on the vanished joys and
the delightful associations of forty years ago. It is not likely that
there was much in Lincoln's lost youth that he would wish to recall; but
there was a certain melancholy and half-morbid strain in that song which
struck a responsive chord in his heart. The lines sank into his memory,
and I remember that he quoted them, as if to himself, long afterward."

Lincoln's memory was extraordinarily retentive, and he seemed, without
conscious effort, to have stored in his mind almost every whimsical or
ludicrous narrative which he had read or heard. "On several occasions,"
says Mr. Brooks, "I have held in my hand a printed slip while he was
repeating its contents to somebody else, and the precision with which he
delivered every word was marvellous." He was fond of the writings of
"Orpheus C. Kerr" and "Petroleum V. Nasby," who were famous humorists at
the time of the Civil War; and he amused himself and others in the
darkest hours by quoting passages from these now forgotten authors.
Nasby's letter from "Wingert's Corners, Ohio," on the threatening
prospects of a migration of the <DW64>s from the South, and the
President's "evident intenshun of colonizin' on 'em in the North," he
especially relished. After rehearsing a portion of this letter to his
guests at the Soldiers' Home one evening, a sedate New England gentleman
expressed surprise that he could find time for memorizing such things.
"Oh," said Lincoln, "I don't. If I like a thing, it _just sticks_ after
once reading it or hearing it." He once recited a long and doleful
ballad, something like "Vilikins and his Dinah," the production of a
rural Kentucky bard, and when he had finished he added with a laugh, "I
don't believe I have thought of that before for forty years." Mr. Arnold
testifies that "although his reading was not extensive, yet his memory
was so retentive and so ready that in history, poetry, and in general
literature, few if any marked any deficiency. As an illustration of the
powers of his memory, may be related the following: A gentleman called
at the White House one day, and introduced to him two officers serving
in the army, one a Swede and the other a Norwegian. Immediately he
repeated, to their delight, a poem of some eight or ten verses
descriptive of Scandinavian scenery, and an old Norse legend. He said he
had read the poem in a newspaper some years before, and liked it, but it
had passed out of his memory until their visit had recalled it. The two
books which he read most were the Bible and Shakespeare. With these he
was perfectly familiar. From the Bible, as has before been stated, he
quoted frequently, and he read it daily, while Shakespeare was his
constant companion. He took a copy with him almost always when
travelling, and read it at leisure moments."

Lincoln was never ashamed to confess the deficiencies in his early
education. A distinguished party, comprising George Thompson, the
English anti-slavery orator, Rev. John Pierpont, Oliver Johnson, and
Hon. Lewis Clephane, once called upon him, and during the conversation
Mr. Pierpont turned to Mr. Thompson and repeated a Latin quotation from
the classics. Mr. Lincoln, leaning forward in his chair, looked from one
to the other inquiringly, and then remarked, with a smile, "_Which_, I
suppose you are both aware, _I_ do not understand."

While Edwin Forrest was playing an engagement at Ford's Theatre, Mr.
Carpenter spoke to the President one day of the actor's fine
interpretation of the character of Richelieu, and advised him to witness
the performance. "Who wrote the play?" asked the President of Mr.
Carpenter. "Bulwer," was the reply. "Ah!" he rejoined; "well, I knew
Bulwer wrote novels, but I did not know he was a play-writer also. It
may seem somewhat strange to say," he continued, "but _I never read an
entire novel in my life_. I once commenced 'Ivanhoe,' but never finished
it."

Among the few diversions which Lincoln allowed himself in Washington was
an occasional visit to the theater to witness a representation of some
good play by a favorite actor. He felt the necessity of some relaxation
from the terrible strain of anxiety and care; and while seated behind
the screen in a box at the theatre he was secure from the everlasting
importunities of politicians and office-seekers. He could forget himself
and his problems while watching the scenes on the mimic stage before
him. He enjoyed the renditions of Booth with great zest; yet after
witnessing "The Merchant of Venice" he remarked on the way home: "It was
a good performance, but I had a thousand times rather read it at home,
if it were not for Booth's playing. A farce or a comedy is best
_played_; a tragedy is best _read_ at home." He was much pleased one
night with Mr. McCullough's delineation of the character of "Edgar,"
which the actor played in support of Edwin Forrest's "Lear." He wished
to convey his approval to the young actor, and asked Mr. Brooks, his
companion at the moment, with characteristic simplicity, "Do you suppose
he would come to the box if we sent word?" Mr. McCullough was summoned,
and, standing at the door of the box in his stage attire, received the
thanks of the President, accompanied with words of discriminating praise
for the excellence of his delineation.

With his keen sense of humor, Lincoln appreciated to the utmost the
inimitable presentation of "Falstaff" by a well-known actor of the time.
His desire to accord praise wherever it was merited led him to express
his admiration in a note to the actor. An interchange of slight
civilities followed, ending at last in a singular situation. Entering
the President's office late one evening, Mr. Brooks noticed the actor
sitting in the waiting-room. Lincoln inquired anxiously if there were
anyone outside. On being told, he said, half sadly, almost desperately,
"Oh, I can't see him; I can't see him! I was in hopes he had gone away."
Then he added, "Now, this illustrates the difficulty of having pleasant
friends in this place. You know I liked him as an actor, and that I
wrote to tell him so. He sent me a book, and there I thought the matter
would end. He is a master of his place in the profession, I suppose, and
well fixed in it. But just because we had a little friendly
correspondence, such as any two men might have, he wants something. What
do you suppose he wants?" I could not guess, and Lincoln added, "Well,
he wants to be consul at London. Oh, dear!"

Lincoln was not a ready writer, and when preparing documents or speeches
of special importance he altered and elaborated his sentences with
patient care. His public utterances were so widely reported and so
mercilessly discussed that he acquired caution in expressing himself
without due preparation. It is stated, on what seems sufficient
authority, that his Gettysburg speech, brief and simple as it is, was
rewritten many times before it finally met his approval. He began also
to be guarded in responding to demands for impromptu speeches, which
were constantly being called for. Mr. Brooks relates that "once, being
notified that he was to be serenaded, just after some notable military
or political event, he asked me to come to dinner, 'so as to be on hand
and see the fun afterward,' as he said. He excused himself as soon as we
had dined, and while the bands were playing, the crowds cheering and the
rockets bursting outside the house, he made his reappearance in the
parlor with a roll of manuscript in his hand. Perhaps noticing a look of
surprise on my face, he said, 'I know what you are thinking about. You
think it mighty queer that an old stump-speaker like myself should not
be able to address a crowd like this outside without a written speech.
But you must remember that in a certain way I am talking to the country,
and I have to be mighty careful. Now, the last time I made an off-hand
speech, in answer to a serenade, I used the phrase, as applied to the
rebels, "turned tail and ran." Some very nice Boston folks, I am grieved
to hear, were very much outraged by that phrase, which they thought
improper. So I resolved to make no more impromptu speeches if I could
help it.'"

In all Lincoln's writings, even his most important state papers, his
chief desire was to make himself clearly understood by the common
reader. He had a great aversion to what he called "machine writing," and
used the fewest words possible to express his meaning. He never
hesitated to employ a homely expression when it suited his purpose. In
his first message the phrase "sugar-coated" occurred; and when it was
printed, Mr. Defrees, the Public Printer, being on familiar terms with
the President, ventured an objection to the phrase--suggesting that
Lincoln was not now preparing a campaign document or delivering a stump
speech in Illinois, but constructing an important state paper that would
go down historically to all coming time; and that therefore he did not
consider the phrase "sugar-coated" as entirely a becoming and dignified
one. "Well, Defrees," replied Lincoln, good-naturedly, "if you think the
time will ever come when the people will not understand what
'sugar-coated' means, I'll alter it; otherwise, I think I'll let it go."

On the same subject, Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe says: "Our own
politicians were somewhat shocked with his state papers at first. 'Why
not let _us_ make them a little more conventional, and file them to a
classical pattern?' 'No,' was his reply, 'I shall write them myself.
_The people will understand them_.' 'But this or that form of expression
is not elegant, not classical.' '_The people will understand it_,' has
been his invariable reply. And whatever may be said of his state papers
as compared with the classic standards, it has been a fact that they
have always been wonderfully well understood by the people, and that
since the time of Washington the state papers of no President have more
controlled the popular mind. One reason for this is that they have been
informal and undiplomatic. They have more resembled a father's talk to
his children than a state paper. They have had that relish and smack of
the soil that appeal to the simple human heart and head, which is a
greater power in writing than the most artful devices of rhetoric.
Lincoln might well say with the apostle, 'But though I be rude in
speech, yet not in knowledge, but we have been thoroughly _made manifest
among you_ in all things.' His rejection of what is called 'fine
writing' was as deliberate as St. Paul's, and for the same
reason--because he felt that he was speaking on a subject which must be
made clear to the lowest intellect, though it should fail to captivate
the highest. But we say of Lincoln's writing, that for all true manly
purposes there are passages in his state papers that could not be better
put; they are absolutely perfect. They are brief, condensed, intense,
and with a power of insight and expression which make them worthy to be
inscribed in letters of gold."

Hon. William J. Bryan, certainly a competent judge of oratory, says of
Lincoln as an orator: "Brevity is the soul of wit, and a part of
Lincoln's reputation for wit lies in his ability to condense a great
deal into a few words. He was epigrammatic. His Gettysburg speech is the
world's model in eloquence, elegance, and condensation. He was apt in
illustration--no one more so. A simple story or simile drawn from
every-day life flashed before his hearers the argument that he wanted to
present. He made frequent use of Bible language, and of illustrations
drawn from Holy Writ. It is said that when he was preparing his
Springfield speech of 1858 he spent hours in trying to find language
that would express the central idea--that a republic could not
permanently endure part free and part slave. Finally a Bible passage
flashed through his mind, and he exclaimed, 'I have found it--_a house
divided against itself cannot stand_.' Probably no other Bible passage
ever exerted as much influence as this one in the settlement of a great
controversy."

Lincoln was a tireless worker, and delegated no duties to others which
he could perform himself. His health seemed to bear the strain of his
terrible burdens wonderfully well. There are but few references anywhere
to his being incapacitated by illness. One such reference occurs in
Welles's Diary, dated March 14, 1865: "The President was somewhat
indisposed, but not seriously ill. The members [of the Cabinet] met in
his bedroom." His correspondence was extensive and burdensome, and as a
rule he wrote his most important letters with his own hand, frequently
going to the trouble of taking copies, which were filed with careful
order in a cabinet, the interior of which was divided into pigeon-holes.
These pigeon-holes, as Mr. Brooks tells us, "were lettered in
alphabetical order, but a few were devoted to individuals. Horace
Greeley had a pigeon-hole by himself; so did each of several generals
who wrote often to him. One compartment, labelled 'W. & W.,' excited
much curiosity, but I never asked what it meant, and one night, being
sent to the cabinet for a letter which the President wanted, he said, 'I
see you looking at my "W. & W." Can you guess what that stands for?' Of
course it was useless to guess. 'Well,' said he, with a roguish twinkle
of the eye, 'that's Weed and Wood--Thurlow and Fernandy.' Then he added,
with an indescribable chuckle, 'That's a pair of 'em.' When asked why he
did not have a letter-book and copying-press, he said, 'A letter-book
might be easily stolen and carried off, but that stock of filed letters
would be a _back-load_.'"

A lady who once rode with Lincoln, in the Presidential carriage, to the
Soldiers' Home, gives some interesting details concerning his knowledge
of woodcraft. "Around the 'Home,'" says this lady, "grows every variety
of tree, particularly of the evergreen class. Their branches brushed
into the carriage as we passed along, and left with us that pleasant
woodsy smell belonging to fresh leaves. One of the ladies, catching a
bit of green from one of these intruding branches, said it was cedar,
and another thought it spruce. 'Let me discourse on a theme I
understand,' said the President. 'I know all about trees, by right of
being a backwoodsman. I'll show you the difference between spruce,
pine, and cedar, and this shred of green, which is neither one nor the
other, but a kind of illegitimate cypress.' He then proceeded to gather
specimens of each, and explain the distinctive formation of foliage
belonging to every species. 'Trees,' he said, 'are as deceptive in their
likeness to one another as are certain classes of men, amongst whom none
but a physiognomist's eye can detect dissimilar moral features until
events have developed them. Do you know it would be a good thing if in
all the schools proposed and carried out by the improvement of modern
thinkers, we could have _a school of events_?' 'A school of events?'
repeated the lady addressed. 'Yes,' he continued, 'since it is only by
that active development that character and ability can be tested.
Understand me, I now mean men, not trees; _they_ can be tried, and an
analysis of their strength obtained less expensive to life and human
interests than man's. What I say now is a mere whim, you know; but when
I speak of a school of events, I mean one in which, before entering real
life, students might pass through the mimic vicissitudes and situations
that are necessary to bring out their powers and mark the calibre to
which they are assigned. Thus, one could select from the graduates an
invincible soldier, equal to any position, with no such word as fail; a
martyr to right, ready to give up life in the cause; a politician too
cunning to be outwitted; and so on. These things have all to be tried,
and their sometime failure creates confusion as well as disappointment.
There is no more dangerous or expensive analysis than that which
consists of _trying a man_.'"

Among Lincoln's callers one Sunday evening, was the distinguished
scientist Louis Agassiz. The two men were somewhat alike in their
simple, shy, and unpretending nature, and at first felt their way with
each other like two bashful schoolboys. Lincoln began conversation by
saying to Agassiz, "I never knew how to pronounce your name properly;
won't you give me a little lesson at that, please?" Then he asked if the
name were of French or Swiss derivation, to which the Professor replied
that it was partly of each. That led to a discussion of different
languages, the President speaking several words in different languages
which had the same root as similar words in our own tongue; then he
illustrated that by one or two anecdotes. But he soon returned to his
gentle cross-examination of Agassiz, and found out how the Professor
studied, how he composed, and how he delivered his lectures; how he
found different tastes in his audiences in different portions of the
country. When afterwards asked why he put such questions to his learned
visitor, he said, "Why, what we got from him isn't printed in the books;
the other things are." But Lincoln did not do all the questioning. In
his turn, Agassiz asked Lincoln if he had ever engaged in lecturing.
Lincoln gave the outline of a lecture, which he had partly written years
before, to show the origin of inventions and prove that there is nothing
new under the sun. "I think I can show," said he, "at least, in a
fanciful way, that all the modern inventions were known centuries ago."
Agassiz begged that Lincoln would finish the lecture sometime. Lincoln
replied that he had the manuscript somewhere in his papers, "and," said
he, "when I get out of this place, I'll finish it up, perhaps."

So great was Lincoln's magnanimity, and so keen his sense of justice,
that he never allowed personal considerations to influence his official
acts. It is probably true that it was easy for him to forgive an injury;
but he was incapable of using his position as President to gratify his
private resentments. It was once represented to him that a recent
appointee to an important office had been bitterly opposed to him
politically. "I suppose," said he, "the Judge did behave pretty ugly;
but that wouldn't make him any less fit for this place, and I have a
Scriptural authority for appointing him. You recollect that while the
Lord on Mount Sinai was getting out a commission for Aaron, that same
Aaron was at the foot of the mountain making a false god, a golden calf,
for the people to worship; yet Aaron got his commission, you know." At
another time, when remonstrated with upon the appointment to place of
one of his former opponents, he said: "Nobody will deny that he is a
first-rate man for the place, and I am bound to see that his opposition
to me personally shall not interfere with my giving the people a good
officer." And on another similar occasion, when remonstrated with by
members of his Cabinet, he said: "Oh, I can't afford to punish every
person who has seen fit to oppose my election. We want a competent man
in this office, and I know of no one who could perform the duties better
than the one proposed."

With all his self-abnegation, Lincoln could be stern when the occasion
warranted it. As an illustration the following incident is related: An
officer who had been cashiered from the service, forced himself several
times into Lincoln's presence, to plead for a reversal of his sentence.
Each time he read a long argument attempting to prove that he had
received unjust treatment. The President listened to him patiently; but
the facts, on their most favorable showing, did not seem to him to
sanction his interference. In the last interview, the man became angry,
and turning abruptly said: "Well, Mr. President, I see you are
determined not to do me justice!" This was too much, even for the
long-suffering Lincoln. Manifesting, however, no more feeling than that
indicated by a slight compression of the lips, he quietly arose, laid
down a package of papers he held in his hands, and then, suddenly
seizing the disgraced officer by the coat collar, he marched him
forcibly to the door, saying, as he ejected him into the passage, "Sir,
I give you fair warning never to show yourself in this room again. I can
bear censure, but not insult!" In a whining tone the man begged for his
papers, which he had dropped. "Begone, sir," said the President, "your
papers will be sent to you. I wish never to see your face again!"

Much has been said about Lincoln's views on religion. Like many other
great men, he was not what might technically be called a Christian. He
was a religious man in spirit and by nature; yet he never joined a
church. Mrs. Lincoln says that he had no religious faith, in the usual
acceptation of the word, but that religion was a sort of poetry in his
nature. "Twice during his life," she said, "he seemed especially to
think about it. Once was when our boy Willie died. Once--and this time
he thought of it more deeply--was when he went to Gettysburg." But
whatever his inner thoughts may have been, no man on earth had a firmer
faith in Providence than Abraham Lincoln. Perhaps he did not himself
know just where he stood. He believed in God--in immortality. He did not
believe in eternal punishment, but was confident of rest and peace after
this life was over. He may not have felt certain of the divine origin of
all parts of the Bible, but he valued its precepts, and his whole life
gave evidence of faith in a higher power than that of man. Mr. Nicolay,
his secretary, testifies that "his nature was deeply religious, but he
belonged to no denomination; he had faith in the eternal justice and
boundless mercy of Providence, and made the Golden Rule of Christ his
practical creed." And Dr. Phillips Brooks, in an eloquent and expressive
passage, calls him "Shepherd of the people--that old name that the best
rulers ever craved. What ruler ever won it like this President of ours?
He fed us faithfully and truly. He fed us with counsel when we were in
doubt, with inspiration when we sometimes faltered, with caution when we
would be rash, with calm, clear, trustful cheerfulness through many an
hour when our hearts were dark. He fed hungry souls all over the country
with sympathy and consolation. He spread before the whole land feasts of
great duty and devotion and patriotism on which the land grew strong. He
fed us with solemn, solid truths. He taught us the sacredness of
government, the wickedness of treason. He made our souls glad and
vigorous with the love of Liberty that was in his. He showed us how to
love truth, and yet be charitable; how to hate wrong and all oppression,
and yet not treasure one personal injury or insult. He fed all his
people, from the highest to the lowest, from the most privileged down to
the most enslaved. 'He fed them with a faithful and true heart.'"




CHAPTER XXIV


     Trials of the Administration in 1863--Hostility to War
     Measures--Lack of Confidence at the North--Opposition in
     Congress--How Lincoln felt about the "Fire in the Rear"--Criticisms
     from Various Quarters--Visit of "the Boston Set"--The Government on
     a Tight-rope--The Enlistment of <DW52> Troops--Interview between
     Lincoln and Frederick Douglass--Reverses in the Field--Changes of
     Military Leaders--From Burnside to Hooker--Lincoln's First Meeting
     with "Fighting Joe"--The President's Solicitude--His Warning Letter
     to Hooker--His Visit to the Rappahannock--Hooker's Self-confidence
     the "Worst Thing about Him"--The Defeat at Chancellorsville--The
     Failure of our Generals--"Wanted, a Man."

It is impossible, without a close study of the inner history of the war
and of the acts of the administration, to conceive of the harassing and
baffling difficulties which beset President Lincoln's course in every
direction, and of the jealous, narrow, and bitter opposition which his
more important measures provoked. As the struggle advanced he found in
his front a solid and defiant South, behind him a divided and
distrustful North. What might be called the party of action and of
extreme measures developed a sharp hostility to the President. He would
not go fast enough to suit them; they thought him disposed to
compromise. They began by criticizing his policy, and his methods of
prosecuting the war; from this they passed rapidly to a criticism of the
President himself. In the affectionate admiration felt for him now,
people have forgotten how weak and poor and craven they found him then.
So far had this disapproval and hostility gone, that early in 1863 we
find Mr. Greeley searching everywhere for a fitting successor to Lincoln
for the Presidency at the next term. There were but few men in high
official station in Washington who at that time unqualifiedly sustained
him. In the House of Representatives there were but two members who
could make themselves heard, who stood actively by him. This matter,
long since forgotten, must be recalled to show clearly the President's
straits, and his action and bearing amidst his difficulties. It should
be remembered that party lines, which disappeared at the beginning of
the war, were again clearly drawn; and the Democratic wing of Congress,
under the leadership of Vallandigham of Ohio, actively opposed many of
the necessary measures for the prosecution of the war. The cry had
already been raised in Congress, "The South cannot be subjugated"; and
every fresh disaster to the national arms was hailed as proof of the
assertion.

The effect of this abuse and opposition was exceedingly painful to
Lincoln. He said: "I have been caused more anxiety, I have _passed more
sleepless nights_, on account of the temper and attitude of the
Democratic party in the North regarding the suppression of the rebellion
than by the rebels in the South. I have always had faith that our armies
would ultimately and completely triumph; but these enemies in the North
cause me a great deal of anxiety and apprehension. Can it be that there
are opposing opinions in the North as to the necessity of putting down
this rebellion? How can men hesitate a moment as to the duty of the
Government to restore its authority in every part of the country? It is
incomprehensible to me that men living in their quiet homes under the
protection of laws, in possession of their property, can sympathize with
and give aid and comfort to those who are doing their utmost to
overthrow that Government which makes life and everything they possess
valuable."

In January, 1863, a party of distinguished gentlemen from Boston
visited the national capital, in order to confer with the President on
the workings of the emancipation policy. They made the visit chiefly at
the suggestion of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who during all the trying years
of the war never lost faith in Lincoln's honesty and sense of justice.
Secretary Stanton made no secret of his opposition to these gentlemen,
who were spoken of rather slightingly as "that Boston set." The "Boston
set" were uncompromising abolitionists, and nothing would satisfy them
but immediate and aggressive measures for enforcing the policy of
emancipation. As it was the President's instinct to feel his way slowly
in pushing on the great measures necessary to the safe guidance of the
nation in its perilous crisis, they were naturally dissatisfied with his
conservative methods and tendencies. The visitors--including Senator
Wilson, Wendell Phillips, Francis W. Bird, Elizur Wright, J.H.
Stephenson, George L. Stearns, Oakes Ames, and Moncure D. Conway--called
on the President one Sunday evening, at the White House. "The President
met us," says Mr. Conway, "laughing like a boy, saying that in the
morning one of his children had come to inform him that the cat had
kittens, and now another had just announced that the dog had puppies,
and the White House was in a decidedly sensational state. Some of our
party looked a little glum at this hilarity; but it was pathetic to see
the change in the President's face when he presently resumed his burden
of care. We were introduced by Senator Wilson, who began to speak of us
severally, when Mr. Lincoln said he knew perfectly who we were, and
requested us to be seated. Nothing could be more gracious than his
manner, or more simple. The conversation was introduced by Wendell
Phillips, who, with all his courtesy, expressed our gratitude and joy
at the Proclamation of Emancipation, and asked how it seemed to be
working. The President said that he had not expected much from it at
first, and consequently had not been disappointed; he had hoped, and
still hoped, that something would come of it after awhile. Phillips then
alluded to the deadly hostility which the proclamation had naturally
excited in pro-slavery quarters, and gently hinted that the Northern
people, now generally anti-slavery, were not satisfied that it was being
honestly carried out by all of the nation's agents and Generals in the
South. 'My own impression, Mr. Phillips,' said the President, 'is that
the masses of the country generally are dissatisfied chiefly at our lack
of military successes. Defeat and failure in the field make everything
seem wrong.' His face was now clouded, and his next words were somewhat
bitter. 'Most of us here present,' he said, 'have been nearly all our
lives working in minorities, and many have got into a habit of being
dissatisfied.' Several of those present having deprecated this, the
President said, 'At any rate, it has been very rare that an opportunity
of "running" this administration has been lost.' To this Mr. Phillips
answered, in his sweetest voice: 'If we see this administration
earnestly working to free the country from slavery and its rebellion, we
will show you how we can "run" it into another four years of power.' The
President's good humor was restored by this, and he said: 'Oh, Mr.
Phillips, I have ceased to have any personal feeling or expectation in
that matter--I do not say I never had any--so abused and borne upon as I
have been.' ... On taking our leave we expressed to the President our
thanks for his kindly reception, and for his attention to statements of
which some were naturally not welcome. The President bowed graciously at
this, and, after saying he was happy to have met gentlemen known to him
by distinguished services, if not personally, and glad to listen to
their views, added, 'I must bear this load which the country has
intrusted to me as well as I can, and do the best I can with it.'"

To another self-constituted delegation--this time from the West--who
called at the White House one day, excited and troubled about some of
the commissions or omissions of the administration, the President, after
hearing them patiently, replied: "Gentlemen, suppose all the property
you were worth was in gold, and you had put it in the hands of Blondin
to carry across the Niagara river on a rope; would you shake the cable,
or keep shouting out to him, 'Blondin, stand up a little
straighter!--Blondin, stoop a little more--go a little faster--lean a
little more to the north--lean a little more to the south'? No! you
would hold your breath as well as your tongue, and keep your hands off
until he was safe over. The Government is carrying an immense weight.
Untold treasures are in their hands. They are doing the very best they
can. Don't badger them. Keep silence, and we'll get you safe across."

In 1863 the Government, following logically the policy of the
Emancipation act, began the experiment of introducing  soldiers
into our armies. This caused not only intense anger at the South, but
much doubt and dissatisfaction at the North. To discuss some of the
practical and difficult questions growing out of this measure, Frederick
Douglass, the most distinguished representative of the race which
America had so long held in chains, was presented to the President. The
account of the conference, given by Douglass, is singularly interesting.
He says: "I was never more quickly or more completely put at ease in the
presence of a great man than in that of Abraham Lincoln. He was seated,
when I entered, in a low arm-chair, with his feet extended on the
floor, surrounded by a large number of documents and several busy
secretaries. The room bore the marks of business, and the persons in it,
the President included, appeared to be much overworked and tired. Long
lines of care were already deeply written on Mr. Lincoln's brow, and his
strong face, full of earnestness, lighted up as soon as my name was
mentioned. As I approached and was introduced to him, he arose and
extended his hand, and bade me welcome. I at once felt myself in the
presence of an honest man--one whom I could love, honor, and trust,
without reserve or doubt. Proceeding to tell him who I was and what I
was doing, he promptly but kindly stopped me, saying: 'I know who you
are, Mr. Douglass; Mr. Seward has told me all about you. Sit down; I am
glad to see you.' I urged, among other things, the necessity of granting
the  soldiers equal pay and promotion with white soldiers, and
retaliation for  prisoners killed by the enemy. Mr. Lincoln
admitted the justice of my demand for equal pay and promotion of 
soldiers, but on the matter of retaliation he differed from me entirely.
I shall never forget the benignant expression of his face, the tearful
look of his eye, and the quiver in his voice, when he deprecated a
resort to retaliatory measures. 'Once begun,' said he, 'I do not know
where such a measure would stop.' He said he could not take men out and
kill them in cold blood for what was done by others. If he could get
hold of the persons who were guilty of killing the  prisoners in
cold blood, the case would be different; but he could not kill the
innocent for the guilty. Afterwards we discussed the means most
desirable to be employed outside the army to induce the slaves in the
rebel States to come within the Federal lines. The increasing opposition
to the war in the North, and the mad cry against it because it was
being made an abolition war, alarmed Mr. Lincoln, and made him
apprehensive that a peace might be forced upon him which would leave
still in slavery all who had not come within our lines. What he wanted
was to make his proclamation as effective as possible in the event of
such a peace. He said, in a regretful tone, 'The slaves are not coming
into our lines as rapidly and numerously as I had hoped.' I replied that
the slaveholders knew how to keep such things from their slaves, and
probably very few knew of his proclamation. 'Well,' he said, 'I want you
to set about devising some means of making them acquainted with it, and
for bringing them into our lines.' What he said showed a deeper moral
conviction against slavery than I had ever seen before in anything
spoken or written by him. I listened with the deepest interest and
profoundest satisfaction, and, at his suggestion, agreed to undertake
the organizing of a band of scouts, composed of <DW52> men, whose
business should be, somewhat after the original plan of John Brown, to
go into the rebel States beyond the lines of our armies, carry the news
of emancipation, and urge the slaves to come within our boundaries."

Frederick Douglass once remarked that Lincoln was one of the few white
men he ever passed an hour with who failed to remind him in some way,
before the interview terminated, that he was a <DW64>. "He always
impressed me as a strong, earnest man, having no time or disposition to
trifle; grappling with all his might the work he had in hand. The
expression of his face was a blending of suffering with patience and
fortitude. Men called him homely, and homely he was; but it was
manifestly a human homeliness. His eyes had in them the tenderness of
motherhood, and his mouth and other features the highest perfection of a
genuine manhood."

As though the political difficulties that beset President Lincoln in
the first half of 1863 were not discouragement enough, they were
attended by disheartening reverses to our arms. It will be remembered
that on the removal of General McClellan from command of the Army of the
Potomac, in November, 1862, General Burnside succeeded him. The change
proved an unfortunate one. General Burnside was an earnest and gallant
soldier, but was not equal to the vast responsibilities of his new
position. It is said, to his credit, that he was three times offered the
command of the Army of the Potomac, and three times he declined. Finally
it was pressed upon him by positive orders, and he could no longer,
without insubordination, refuse it. In addressing General Halleck, after
his appointment, he said: "Had I been asked to take it, I should have
declined; but being ordered, I cheerfully obey." After his fearful
defeat at Fredericksburg (December 13, 1862), he said: "_The fault was
mine_. The entire responsibility of failure must rest on my shoulders."
By his manly and courageous bearing, and the strong sincerity of his
character, he retained the respect and sympathy of the President and of
the country. He immediately retired from command of the Army of the
Potomac, which, under his brief leadership, had fought the most bloody
and disastrous battle in its history.

General Joseph Hooker, the fourth commander of the heroic but
unfortunate Army of the Potomac, was appointed to that position by
President Lincoln in January, 1863. The two men had met briefly early in
the war, when Hooker, then living in California, hastened to Washington
to offer his services to the Government; but for some reason General
Scott disliked him, and his offer was not accepted. After some months,
Hooker, giving up the idea of getting a command, decided to return to
California; but before leaving he called to pay his respects to the
President. He was introduced as "Captain Hooker." The President, being
pressed for time, was about to dismiss him with a few civil phrases;
when, to his surprise, Hooker began the following speech: "Mr.
President, my friend makes a mistake. I am not 'Captain Hooker,' but was
once 'Lieutenant-Colonel Hooker' of the regular army. I was lately a
farmer in California. Since the rebellion broke out I have been trying
to get into the service; but I find I am not wanted. I am about to
return home; but before going, I was anxious to pay my respects to you,
and to express my wishes for your personal welfare and success in
quelling this rebellion. And I want to say one word more. I was at Bull
Run the other day, Mr. President, and it is no vanity in me to say _am a
d----d sight better general than you had on that field_." This was said,
not in the tone of a braggart, but of a man who knew what he was talking
about; and, as the President afterward said, he appeared at that moment
as if perfectly able to make good his words. Lincoln seized his hand,
making him sit down, and began an extended chat. The result was that
Hooker did not return to California, but in a few weeks _Captain_ Hooker
was _Brigadier-General_ Hooker. He served with distinction under
McClellan in the Peninsular campaign and at Antietam, and commanded the
right wing of the army at Fredericksburg. He had come to be known as
"Fighting Joe Hooker," and was generally regarded as one of the most
vigorous and efficient Generals of the Union army.

Such was the man who, in one of the darkest hours of the Union cause,
was selected to lead once more the Army of the Potomac against the
enemy. This army, since its defeat at Fredericksburg, had remained
disorganized and ineffective. Its new commander, unlike his predecessor
Burnside, was full of confidence. The President, made cautious by
experience, deemed it his duty to accompany the appointment by some
timely words of warning; and accordingly he addressed to General Hooker
the following frank, manly, and judicious letter.

     EXECUTIVE MANSION WASHINGTON, D.C.
     January 26, 1863.

     MAJOR-GENERAL HOOKER.

     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 satisfied with you. I
     believe you to be a brave and skilful soldier, which of course I
     like. I also believe that you do not mix politics with your
     profession, in which you are right. You have confidence in
     yourself, which is a valuable if not 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 with 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 success can be dictators.
     What I now ask from 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 pull 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.

     Yours very truly,
     A. LINCOLN.

In all Lincoln's writings there are few things finer than this letter.
In its candor and friendliness, its simplicity and deep wisdom, and its
clearness of expression, it is almost perfect; and the President's deep
solicitude for the safety of the army and anxiety for its success give a
pathetic touch to the closing sentences. This solicitude found partial
relief in a personal inspection of the Army of the Potomac, which was
made in April, just before the battle of Chancellorsville, and occupied
five or six days. The President was accompanied by Attorney-General
Bates, Mrs. Lincoln, his son Tad, and Mr. Noah P. Brooks. The first
night out was spent on the little steamer which conveyed the party to
their destination. After all had retired to rest except the anxious
President and one or two others, Lincoln gave utterance to his
deep-seated apprehensions in the whispered query to his friend, "How
many of our monitors will you wager are at the bottom of Charleston
Harbor?" "I essayed," writes Mr. Brooks, "to give a cheerful view of the
Charleston situation. But he would not be encouraged. He then went on to
say that he did not believe that an attack by water on Charleston could
ever possibly succeed. He talked a long time about his 'notions,' as he
called them; and at General Halleck's headquarters next day, the first
inquiries were for 'rebel papers,' which were usually brought in from
the picket lines. These he examined with great anxiety, hoping that he
might find an item of news from Charleston. One day, having looked all
over a Richmond paper several times without finding a paragraph which he
had been told was in it, he was mightily pleased to have it pointed out
to him, and said, 'It is plain that newspapers are made for newspaper
men; being only a layman, it was impossible for me to find that.'"

The out-door life, the constant riding, and the respite from the
monstrous burdens at the capital, appeared to afford mental and physical
benefit to the worn President. But in answer to a remark expressing this
conviction, he replied sadly, "I don't know about 'the rest' as you call
it. I suppose it is good for the body. But the tired part of me is
_inside_ and out of reach." "He rode a great deal," says Mr. Brooks,
"while with the army, always preferring the saddle to the elegant
ambulance which had been provided for him. He sat his horse well, but he
rode hard, and during his stay I think he regularly used up at least one
horse each day. Little Tad invariably followed in his father's train;
and, mounted on a smaller horse, accompanied by an orderly, the
youngster was a conspicuous figure, as his gray cloak flew in the wind
while we hung on the flanks of Hooker and his generals."

General Hooker was now planning his great movement against Richmond, and
talked freely of the matter with the President, In the course of a
conversation, Lincoln casually remarked, "If you get to Richmond,
General." But Hooker interrupted him with--"Excuse me, Mr. President,
but there is no 'if' in the case. _I am going straight to Richmond, if I
live_!" Later in the day, Lincoln, privately referring to this
self-confidence of the General, said to Mr. Brooks, rather mournfully,
"It is about the worst thing I have seen since I have been down here."
In further illustration of Hooker's confidence in himself, Mr. Brooks
says: "One night, Hooker and I being alone in his hut, the General
standing with his back to the fireplace, alert, handsome, full of
courage and confidence, said laughingly, 'The President says you know
about that letter he wrote me on taking command.' I acknowledged that
the President had read it to me. The General seemed to think that the
advice was well-meant, but unnecessary. Then he added, with that
charming assurance which became him so well, 'After I have been to
Richmond, I am going to have that letter printed.'" But all that came of
Hooker's confidence, after three months of elaborate preparation, was a
grand forward movement into Virginia and another bloody and humiliating
defeat for the heroic but unfortunate army under his command.

The first of May, 1863, the Army of the Potomac under Hooker met the
Army of Northern Virginia under Lee and Jackson, near Chancellorsville,
Virginia. It was here that Jackson executed his brilliant and successful
flank movement around the Union right, ensuring a victory for his side
but losing his own life. After a contest of several days, involving the
fruitless sacrifice of thousands of gallant soldiers, Hooker's army fell
back and recrossed the Rappahannock.[G]

The news of this fresh disaster was an almost stunning shock to
President Lincoln. During the progress of the battle he was under a
cruel strain of anxiety and suspense. Secretary Welles, who was with
him a part of the time, says: "He had a feverish eagerness for facts;
was constantly up and down, for nothing reliable came from the front."
Mr. Noah Brooks relates that in company with an old friend of Lincoln's
he was waiting in one of the family rooms of the White House. "A door
opened and Lincoln appeared, holding an open telegram in his hand. The
sight of his face and figure was frightful. He seemed stricken with
death. Almost tottering to a chair, he sat down; and then I mechanically
noticed that his face was of the same color as the wall behind him--not
pale, not even sallow, but gray, like ashes. Extending the despatch to
me, he said, with a hollow, far-off voice, 'Read it--news from the
army.' The telegram was from General Butterfield, I think, then chief of
staff to Hooker. It was very brief, simply saying that the Army of the
Potomac had 'safely recrossed the Rappahannock,' and was now at its old
position on the north bank of that stream. The President's friend, Dr.
Henry, an old man and somewhat impressionable, burst into tears,--not so
much, probably, at the news as on account of its effect upon Lincoln.
The President regarded the old man for an instant with dry eyes, and
said, '_What will the country say? Oh, what will the country say_?' He
seemed hungry for consolation and cheer, and sat a little while talking
about the failure. Yet it did not seem that he was disappointed so much
for himself, but that he thought the country would be."

Lincoln's anxiety regarding the effect at the North of these repeated
reverses was not without sufficient cause. Aside from those who were
positively opposed to the war, the loyal people were wearying of the
useless slaughter, the unavailing struggles, of the gallant soldiers.
The growing distrust of the capacity of their military leaders was also
keenly felt. The feeling of that time is so well expressed in a stirring
poem entitled "Wanted, a Man," written by Mr. E.C. Stedman, that it is
given place here. It has an additional personal interest connected with
President Lincoln in the fact that he was so impressed with the piece
that he read it aloud to his assembled Cabinet.

    Back from the trebly crimsoned field
      Terrible words are thunder-tost;
    Full of the wrath that will not yield,
      Full of revenge for battles lost!
      Hark to their echo, as it crost
    The Capital, making faces wan:
      End this murderous holocaust;
    Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!

    Give us a man of God's own mould,
      Born to marshal his fellow-men;
    One whose fame is not bought and sold
      At the stroke of a politician's pen;
      Give us the man of thousands ten,
    Fit to do as well as to plan;
      Give us a rallying-cry, and then,
    Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!

    No leader to shirk the boasting foe,
      And to march and countermarch our brave
    Till they fall like ghosts in the marshes low,
      And swamp-grass covers each nameless grave;
      Nor another, whose fatal banners wave
    Aye in Disaster's shameful van;
      Nor another, to bluster, and lie, and rave,--
    Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!

    Hearts are mourning in the North,
      While the sister rivers seek the main,
    Red with our life-blood flowing forth--
      Who shall gather it up again?
    Though we march to the battle-plain
    Firmly as when the strife began,
      Shall all our offerings be in vain?--
    Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!

    Is there never one in all the land,
      One on whose might the Cause may lean?
    Are all the common ones so grand,
      And all the titled ones so mean?
      What if your failure may have been
    In trying to make good bread from bran,
      From worthless metal a weapon keen?--
    Abraham Lincoln, find us a MAN!

    O, we will follow him to the death,
      Where the foeman's fiercest columns are!
    O, we will use our latest breath,
      Cheering for every sacred star!
      His to marshal us high and far;
    Ours to battle, as patriots can
      When a Hero leads the Holy War!--
    Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!




CHAPTER XXV


     The Battle-summer of 1863--A Turn of the Tide--Lee's Invasion of
     Pennsylvania--A Threatening Crisis--Change of Union
     Commanders--Meade succeeds Hooker--The Battle of
     Gettysburg--Lincoln's Anxiety during the Fight--The Retreat of
     Lee--Union Victories in the Southwest--The Capture of
     Vicksburg--Lincoln's Thanks to Grant--Returning
     Cheerfulness--Congratulations to the Country--Improved State of
     Peeling at the North--State Elections of 1863--The Administration
     Sustained--Dedication of the National Cemetery at
     Gettysburg--Lincoln's Address--Scenes and Incidents at the
     Dedication--Meeting with Old John Burns--Edward Everett's
     Impressions of Lincoln.

Midsummer of 1863 brought a turn in the tide of military affairs. It
came none too soon for the safety of the nation. The repeated reverses
to the Union arms ending with the shocking disasters at Fredericksburg
and Chancellorsville--although slightly relieved by the costly success
of Stone River--had seemed to throw the chances of war in favor of the
South; and the Union cause was at the crisis of its fate. But now
fortune smiled upon the North, and its lost hope and lost ground were
regained at Gettysburg and Vicksburg. These great battles are justly
regarded as marking the turning-point of the war. It was yet far from
finished; there remained nearly two years of desperate fighting, with
heroic struggles and terrible sacrifice of life, before the end should
come. But from this time the character of the struggle seemed to change.
The armies of the South fought, not less desperately, but more on the
defensive; and their final overthrow was in all human probability
chiefly a question of time.

Emboldened by his success at Chancellorsville in May, General Lee again
assumed the offensive, and recrossed the Potomac river into Maryland.
Late in June he invaded Pennsylvania, and occupied a position
threatening Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington. The situation was
most critical. If Lee could once more beat the Army of the Potomac, as
he had done so many times, these three great cities, and even New York,
might be at his mercy. The feeling in Washington is reflected in entries
made at the time in Mr. Welles's Diary. "Something of a panic pervades
the city," says Mr. Welles. "Singular rumors reach us of Rebel advances
into Maryland. It is said they have reached Hagerstown, and some of them
have penetrated as far as Chambersburg in Pennsylvania.... The city is
full of strange, wild rumors of Rebel raids in the vicinity and of
trains seized in sight of the Capital. The War Department is wholly
unprepared for an irruption here, and J.E.B. Stuart might have dashed
into the city to-day [June 28] with impunity.... I have a panic
telegraph from Governor Curtin of Pennsylvania, who is excitable and
easily alarmed, entreating that guns and gunners may be sent from the
Navy Yard at Philadelphia to Harrisburg without delay.... I went again,
at a late hour, to the War Department, but could get no facts or
intelligence from the Secretary. All was vague, opaque, thick darkness.
I really think Stanton is no better posted than myself, and from what
Stanton says am afraid Hooker does not comprehend Lee's intentions nor
know how to counteract them. It looks to me as if Lee was putting forth
his whole energy and force in one great and desperate struggle which
shall be decisive."

Following Lee, the Army of the Potomac, under General Hooker, also
recrossed the Potomac, and pursued the enemy by a somewhat parallel
route, but keeping carefully between him and Washington. The occasion
was one calling for the best resources of a great military commander;
and General Hooker, realizing his unfitness for the responsibility,
asked to be relieved of the command. Thus was thrown upon the President
the hazardous necessity of changing commanders upon the very eve of a
great battle. It was a terrible emergency. Even the stout-hearted
Stanton was appalled. He afterward stated that when he received the
despatch from Hooker, asking to be relieved, his heart sank within him,
and he was more depressed than at any other moment of the war. "I could
not say," said Mr. Stanton, "that any other officer knew General
Hooker's plans, or the position even of the various divisions of the
army. I sent for the President to come at once to the War Office. It was
in the evening, but the President soon appeared. I handed him the
despatch. As he read it his face became like lead, and I said, 'What
shall be done?' He replied instantly, '_Accept his resignation._'"

Immediately an order was sent to Major-General George G. Meade, one of
the most efficient of the corps commanders of the Army of the Potomac,
appointing him to the chief command. Meade was a quiet, unassuming man,
very unlike Hooker. Three days after assuming command, he led his army
against the Southern host at Gettysburg, where, after a most bloody and
memorable battle of three days' duration (July 1, 2, and 3, 1863), was
won the first decisive victory in the history of the gallant Army of the
Potomac. Lee retired, with disastrous losses, across the Potomac to
Virginia; and Washington and the North breathed free again.

Senator Chandler of Michigan, speaking of the terrible strain on Lincoln
during the progress of the battle of Gettysburg, said: "I shall never
forget the painful anxiety of those few days when the fate of the nation
seemed to hang in the balance; nor the restless solicitude of Mr.
Lincoln, as he paced up and down the room, reading despatches,
soliloquizing, and often stopping to trace the position of the
contending armies on the map which hung on the wall; nor the relief we
all felt when the fact was established that victory, though gained at
such fearful cost, was indeed on the side of the Union."

Amidst the murk and gloom of those dark days in Washington, when the
suspense was breathless and the heart of the nation responded in muffled
beats to the dull booming of the cannon of Meade and Lee at Gettysburg,
an episode occurred, with Lincoln as the central figure, which reveals
perhaps more poignantly than any other in his whole career the depths of
feeling in that tender and reverential soul. On Sunday evening, July
4,--the fourth day of that terrible battle, with nothing definite yet
known of the result,--the President drove out in a carriage, in company
with two daughters of Secretary Stanton, to the line of defenses near
Arlington. It was toward sundown; and a brigade of troops were forming
in position for an evening parade or review. The commander of the
brigade, General Tannatt, recognizing the President and his party, rode
up to the carriage and invited them to witness the parade. The President
assented. His face was drawn and haggard in its expression of anxiety
and sorrow. As it was Sunday evening, some of the regimental bands
played familiar religious pieces. The President, hearing them, inquired
of General Tannatt if any of his bands could play "Lead Kindly Light."
Then in a low voice and with touching accents he repeated, as if to
himself, the familiar lines--never more expressive or appropriate than
now,--

    Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,
        Lead thou me on.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see

    The distant scene,--one step enough for me.

As the sweet strains of the familiar hymn floated on the evening air,
Lincoln's sad face became sadder still, and tears were seen coursing
down his cheeks. What emotions were his, who can tell, as he thought of
that great battle-field not far away, its issues yet unknown, its ground
still covered with dead and wounded soldiers whose heroic deeds--to use
his noble words spoken a few months later on that historic field--"have
consecrated it far above our power to add or detract."

General Tannatt, who knew Lincoln well and had spoken with him many
times, never saw him again; and his view of that tragic, tear-wet face
remains to him a vivid and precious memory.[H]

While the eyes of the nation were fastened upon the great drama being
enacted near the capital, events scarcely less momentous were occurring
in the Southwest. The campaign against Vicksburg, the great Confederate
stronghold on the Mississippi river, had been in active progress, under
the personal command of General Grant, for several months. The
importance of this strategic point was fully understood by the enemy,
and it was defended most stubbornly. At first Grant's plans proved
unsuccessful; the cutting of canals and opening of bayous failed--as
President Lincoln had expected and predicted. But these failures only
served to develop the unsuspected energy of Grant's character and the
extent of his military resources. He boldly changed his entire plan of
operations, abandoned his line of communication, removed his army to a
point _below_ Vicksburg and attacked the city in the rear. With dogged
persistence he pressed forward, gaining point by point, beating off
General Johnston's forces on one side and driving Pemberton before him
into Vicksburg; until finally, by the aid of Admiral Porter's gunboats
on the Mississippi, he had entirely invested the city. Gradually and
persistently his lines closed in, pushed forward by assault and siege;
until Vicksburg accepted its doom, and on the 4th of July, 1863,--the
day of Lee's retreat from Gettysburg,--the city and garrison surrendered
to the victorious Grant.

Lincoln's exuberant joy over the capture of Vicksburg is revealed in an
entry made at the time in Mr. Welles's Diary. "I was handed a despatch
from Admiral Porter, communicating the fall of Vicksburg on the Fourth
of July," says Mr. Welles. "I immediately returned to the Executive
Mansion. The President was detailing certain points relative to Grant's
movements on the map to Chase and two or three others, when I gave him
the tidings. Putting down the map he rose at once, said he would drop
these topics, and added, 'I myself will telegraph this news to General
Meade.' He seized his hat, but suddenly stopped, his countenance beaming
with joy; he caught my hand, and throwing his arm around me, exclaimed,
'What can we do for the Secretary of the Navy for this glorious
intelligence? He is always giving us good news. I cannot, in words, tell
you my joy over this result. It is great, Mr. Welles, it is great!' ...
We walked the lawn together. 'This,' said he, 'will relieve Banks. It
will inspire me.'"

The Union victories at Vicksburg and Gettysburg caused great rejoicing
at the North, and gave added zest to the celebration of the national
patriotic holiday. President Lincoln, mindful of the "almost
inestimable services," as he termed them, of General Grant, and as it
was his wont to do in such circumstances, made haste to acknowledge his
own and the country's indebtedness to the man who had accomplished a
great deed. He addressed to the conqueror of Vicksburg the following
letter:

     EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, D.C.
     July 13, 1863.

     MAJOR-GENERAL GRANT.

     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 services you have done the country. I write 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.

     Yours truly, A. LINCOLN.

An officer who was the first from Grant's army to reach Washington after
the surrender of Vicksburg, has recorded the circumstances of his
interview with the President. "Mr. Lincoln received me very cordially,"
says this officer, "and drawing a chair near to himself and motioning me
to be seated said, 'Now I want to hear all about Vicksburg.' I gave him
all the information I could, though he appeared to be remarkably well
posted himself. He put to me a great many questions in detail touching
the siege, the losses, the morale of the army, its sanitary condition,
the hospital service, and General Grant. Said he: 'I guess I was right
in standing by Grant, although there was great pressure made after
Pittsburg Landing to have him removed. I thought I saw enough in Grant
to convince me that he was one on whom the country could depend. That
'unconditional surrender' message to Buckner at Donelson suited me. It
indicated the spirit of the man."

It is interesting to note that before the capture of Vicksburg the
protracted campaign had occasioned no little dissatisfaction with
General Grant; the President had been importuned to remove him, and had
much formidable opposition to encounter in his determination to stand by
him. Only a few days before the capitulation of the beleaguered city,
Senator Wade of Ohio--"Bluff Ben Wade," as he was termed--called upon
the President and urged Grant's dismissal; to which Lincoln
good-naturedly replied, "Senator, that reminds me of a story." "Yes,
yes," rejoined Wade petulantly, "that is the way it is with you, sir,
all _story--story_! You are the father of every military blunder that
has been made during the war. You are on your road to h--l, sir, with
this Government, and you are not a mile off this minute." Lincoln calmly
retorted, "Senator, that is just about the distance from here to the
Capitol, is it not?" The exasperated Wade grabbed his hat and rushed
angrily from the White House.

It is not pleasant to record that the cordial and generous
congratulations to Grant for his achievements at Vicksburg were in
marked contrast to the rather grudging recognition of Meade's much more
important and hard-won victory at Gettysburg. In the latter case the
despatches from Washington took the form not so much of acknowledgments
of what had been done as of complaints at what had not been done. It is
hard to believe that the President dictated, or even authorized, the
ill-timed and peevish despatch sent to General Meade[I] by the
inopportune Halleck, a few days after the battle of Gettysburg, in which
the victor on that desperate field is officially informed that "the
escape of Lee's army has created great dissatisfaction in the mind of
the President, and it will require an active and energetic pursuit to
remove the impression that it has not been sufficiently active before."
To this extraordinary message Meade at once made a simple and manly
rejoinder in which he said: "Having performed my duty conscientiously
and to the best of my ability, the censure of the President, as conveyed
in your despatch, is in my judgment so undeserved that I feel compelled
most respectfully to ask to be immediately relieved from the command of
this army." Halleck replied, rather ineptly, that his despatch had not
been intended as a censure, but as a "stimulus," and was not regarded as
a sufficient cause for Meade's request to be relieved. When one thinks
of the ill-fortunes of the Army of the Potomac under previous
commanders, and of the unlikelihood of finding a successor to Meade as
capable as he had shown himself to be, one shudders at the chances of
what might have happened had another change of leaders been forced upon
that long-suffering and now victorious army. General Meade did not press
his resignation after Halleck's conciliatory telegrams, and remained in
immediate command of the Army of the Potomac until the close of the
war--Grant's accession to the chief command of all the armies having
marked the end of the well-meant but often ill-advised and troublesome
interference with military affairs from Washington.

Mr. Isaac R. Pennypacker, in his Life of General Meade, speaks of
Halleck and other prominent officials in Washington in these terms:
"Possessing much of the skill of the lawyer and disputant, Halleck was
without military ability. The Secretary of War, like many other men who
exercise vast power, was not great enough to refrain from the use of his
authority in matters where his knowledge and experience did not qualify
him to form the soundest views. Acting with these military authorities
were men like Wade and Chandler, whose patriotism was of the exuberant
kind, whose judgment in military affairs was without value, but whose
personal energy impelled them to have a controlling hand, if possible,
in the conduct of the war."

Lincoln's dissatisfaction with General Meade after the battle of
Gettysburg was due, as we now see, to his elation over the splendid
victory for the Union, his intense desire for further and overwhelming
successes, and his failure (a quite natural one) to realize that what
might seem desirable and feasible viewed from Washington might look very
different to the practical and experienced men actually on the ground
and familiar as he could not be with all the factors in the
situation.[J] "He thought," wrote General Halleck in an explanatory
letter sent to Meade two weeks after his despatch of censure, "that
Lee's defeat was so certain that he felt no little impatience at his
unexpected escape." Among military authorities, such a retreat as that
of Lee after Gettysburg is hardly regarded as an "escape." If it were,
then great must be the fault of Lee as a general in allowing the
defeated armies of Burnside and Hooker to "escape" after the battles of
Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, where their repulse was much worse
than was Lee's at Gettysburg. That Lincoln's first feelings of
disappointment and dissatisfaction with General Meade were greatly
modified with fuller knowledge of the actual situation after the battle
of Gettysburg is shown by a remark made by him to Senator Cameron,
referring to Meade: "Why should we censure a man who has done so much
for his country because he did not do a little more?" And if any debt
of recognition or of gratitude yet remained due from him, it was more
than paid a few months later in the unsurpassed tribute at Gettysburg to
"the brave men, living and dead," who gained the victory on that
hallowed field.

The improved condition of public affairs, and the increasing
cheerfulness of the President, after the victories at Gettysburg and
Vicksburg, are exhibited in a letter written by him a few weeks later to
friends at Springfield, Illinois, who had urgently invited him to attend
"a mass-meeting of Unconditional Union men" at his old home. In this
letter he took occasion to declare his sentiments on various questions
paramount at the time. Among these was the subject of a compromise with
the South, against which he argued with great force and feeling. Again,
he defended the Emancipation Proclamation, a measure to which many Union
men were still unreconciled. He referred also to the arming of the
<DW64>s as a just and wise expedient; finally concluding with these
expressive and felicitous words:

     The signs look better. The Father of Waters again goes unvexed to
     the sea. Thanks to the great Northwest for it; nor yet wholly to
     them. Three hundred miles up they met New England, Empire,
     Keystone, and Jersey, hewing their way right and left. The sunny
     South, too, in more colors than one, also lent a helping hand. On
     the spot, their part of the history was jotted down in black and
     white. The job was a great national one, and let none be slighted
     who bore an honorable part in it. And while those who have cleared
     the great river may well be proud, even that is not all. It is hard
     to say that anything has been more bravely and well done than at
     Antietam, Murfreesboro, Gettysburg, and on many fields of less
     note. Nor must Uncle Sam's web-feet be forgotten. At all the
     watery margins they have been present, not only on the deep sea,
     the broad bay, and the rapid river, but also up the narrow, muddy
     bayou, and wherever the ground was a little damp they have been and
     made their tracks. Thanks to all. For the great Republic--for the
     principle it lives by and keeps alive--for man's vast
     future--thanks to all. Peace does not appear so distant as it did.
     I hope it will come soon and come to stay; and so come as to be
     worth the keeping in all future time. It will then have been proved
     that among freemen there can be no successful appeal from the
     ballot to the bullet, and that they who take such appeal are sure
     to lose their case and pay the cost. And there will be some black
     men who can remember that, with silent tongue, and clinched teeth,
     and steady eye, and well-poised bayonet, they have helped mankind
     on to this great consummation; while I fear there will be some
     white ones unable to forget that with malignant heart and deceitful
     speech they have striven to hinder it. Still, let us not be
     over-sanguine of a speedy final triumph. Let us be quite sober. Let
     us diligently apply the means, never doubting that a just God, in
     His own good time, will give us the rightful result.

In a public proclamation, issued October 3, the President gives more
formal expression to his satisfaction and gratitude, and calls upon the
loyal people of the Union to unite in a day of thanksgiving for the
improved prospects of the country.

     The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the
     blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these
     bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to
     forget the source from which they come, others have been added
     which are of so extraordinary a nature that they cannot fail to
     penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible
     to the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a
     civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes
     seemed to invite and provoke the aggressions of foreign states,
     peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been
     maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony
     has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military
     conflict, while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the
     advancing armies and navies of the Union. The needful diversion of
     wealth and strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the
     national defense has not arrested the plough, the shuttle, or the
     ship. The axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the
     mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have
     yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has
     steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in
     the camp, the siege, and the battle-field; and the country,
     rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is
     permitted to expect a continuance of years with large increase of
     freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand
     worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the
     Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins,
     hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and
     proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully
     acknowledged, as with one heart and voice, by the whole American
     people. I do, therefore, invite my fellow-citizens in every part of
     the United States, and also those who are at sea, and those who are
     sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last
     Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and prayer to
     our beneficent Father, who dwelleth in the heavens. And I recommend
     to them that, while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him
     for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with
     humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience,
     commend to His tender care all those who have become widows,
     orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in
     which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the
     interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the
     nation, and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the
     divine purposes, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony,
     tranquility, and union.

The brightening prospects of the Union cause quickly produced a better
state of feeling at the North. In the fall elections of 1863, every
State except New Jersey gave solid majorities on the Republican side,
thus strengthening the administration and giving the President welcome
assurances of popular approval. He had awaited with special anxiety the
returns from Ohio, where the contest was fraught with peculiar
significance. The Democrats had chosen for their candidate the notorious
peace-at-any-price Vallandigham, against whom the Republicans had placed
John Brough of Cleveland. On the night of the election, about ten
o'clock, a message clicked on the wires in the telegraph office of the
latter city, saying, "Where is John Brough? A. Lincoln." Brough was at
hand, and directly the electric voice inquired, "Brough, about what is
your majority now?" Brough replied, "Over 30,000." Lincoln requested
Brough to remain at the office during the night. A little past midnight
the question came again from Lincoln, "Brough, what is your majority by
this time?" Brough replied, "Over 50,000." And the question was thus
repeated and answered several times, with rapidly increasing majorities,
till five o'clock in the morning, when the question came again, "Brough,
what is your majority now?" The latter was able to respond, "Over
100,000." As soon as the words could be flashed back over the wire,
there came: "_Glory to God in the highest. Ohio has saved the Nation. A.
Lincoln_."

The day after the election in Ohio (October 14, 1863) Lincoln said to
Secretary Welles that he had felt more anxiety in regard to the results
than he had in 1860 when he was chosen President. He could not have
believed four years ago, he said, that one genuine American would or
could be induced to vote for such a man as Vallandigham. Yet he had been
made the candidate of a large party, and received a vote that is a
discredit to the country. Mr. Welles adds: "The President showed a good
deal of emotion as he dwelt on this subject."

After the battle of Gettysburg, a portion of the ground on which the
engagement was fought was purchased by the State of Pennsylvania for a
burial-place for the Union soldiers who were slain in that bloody
encounter. The tract included seventeen and a half acres adjoining the
town cemetery. It was planned to consecrate the ground with imposing
ceremonies, in which the President, accompanied by his Cabinet and a
large body of the military, was invited to assist. The day appointed was
the 19th of November; and the chief orator selected was Massachusetts'
eloquent son, Hon. Edward Everett. Following him it was expected that
the President would add some testimonials in honor of the dead.

Lincoln and Everett were representatives of two contrasting phases of
American civilization: the one, an outgrowth of the rough pioneer life
of the West; the other, the product of the highest culture of the East.
They had met for the first time on this memorable day. Everett's oration
was a finished literary production. Smooth, euphonious, and elegant, it
was delivered with the silvery tones and the graceful gestures of a
trained and consummate speaker. When he had finished, and the applause
that greeted him had died away, the multitude called vociferously for an
address from Lincoln. With an unconscious air, the President came
forward at the call, put his spectacles on his nose, and read, in a
quiet voice which gradually warmed with feeling, while his careworn face
became radiant with the light of genuine emotion, the following brief
address:

     Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this
     continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the
     proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a
     great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so
     conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great
     battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of
     that field as a final resting-place of those who here gave their
     lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and
     proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot
     dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The
     brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated
     it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will
     little note nor long remember what we _say_ here, but it can never
     forget what they _did_ here. It is for us, the living, rather, to
     be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here
     have thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here
     dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these
     honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which
     they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly
     resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this
     nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that
     government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not
     perish from the earth.

The simple and sublime words of this short address shook the hearts of
the listeners, and before the first sentence was ended they were under
the spell of a mighty magician. They stood hushed, awed, and melted, as
the speaker enforced the solemn lesson of the hour, and brought home to
them, in plain unvarnished terms, the duty which remained for them to
do--to finish the work which the dead around them had given their lives
to carry on. It was one of the briefest of the many speeches with which
Lincoln had swayed the impulses and opinions of crowds of his
fellow-men, but it is the one which will be remembered above all others
as hallowed by the truest and loftiest inspiration. As the final
sentence ended, amid the tears and sobs and cheers of the excited
throng, the President turned to Mr. Everett, and, grasping his hand,
exclaimed with sincerity, "I congratulate you on your success." Mr.
Everett responded in the fervor of his emotion, "Ah, Mr. President, how
gladly would I exchange all my hundred pages to have been the author of
your twenty lines!"

Of all Lincoln's public utterances, this is unquestionably the most
remarkable. The oration, brief and unpretending as it is, will remain a
classic of the English language. "The Westminster Review," one of the
foremost of the great English quarterlies, said of it: "It has but one
equal, in that pronounced upon those who fell in the first year of the
Peloponnesian War; and in one respect it is superior to that great
speech. It is not only more natural, fuller of feeling, more touching
and pathetic, but we know with absolute certainty that _it was really
delivered_. Nature here takes precedence of art--even though it be the
art of Thucydides."

"An illustration of the difference between oratory and inspiration" is
Mr. John Bigelow's happy characterization of the Gettysburg address. "It
was," he adds, "one of the most momentous incidents in the history of
the Civil War. It may be doubted whether anything had then, or has
since, been said of that national strife conceived upon a higher and
wiser spiritual plane.... It is perhaps, on the whole, the most enduring
bit of eloquence that has ever been uttered on this continent; and yet
one finds in it none of the tricks of the forum or the stage, nor any
trace of the learning of the scholar, nor the need of it."

Major Harry T. Lee, who was himself a participant in the battle of
Gettysburg and occupied a seat on the platform at the dedication, says
that the people listened with marked attention through the two hours of
Everett's noble and scholarly oration; but that when Lincoln came
forward, and in a voice burdened with emotion uttered his simple and
touching eulogy on "the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here,"
there was scarcely a dry eye in the whole vast audience.

Mr. John Russell Young, afterwards U.S. Minister to China, was present
at the Gettysburg dedication, and says: "I sat behind Mr. Lincoln while
Mr. Everett delivered his oration. I remember the great orator had a way
of raising and dropping his handkerchief as he spoke. He spoke for two
hours, and was very impressive, with his white hair and venerable
figure. He was a great orator, but it was like a bit of Greek
sculpture--beautiful, but cold as ice. It was perfect art, but without
feeling. The art and beauty of it captured your imagination and
judgment. Mr. Everett went over the campaign with resonant, clear,
splendid rhetoric. There was not a word or a sentence or a thought that
could be corrected. You felt that every gesture had been carefully
studied out beforehand. It was like a great actor playing a great
part.... Mr. Lincoln rose, walked to the edge of the platform, took out
his glasses, and put them on. He was awkward. He bowed to the assemblage
in his homely manner, and took out of his coat pocket a page of
foolscap. In front of Mr. Lincoln was a photographer with his camera,
endeavoring to take a picture of the scene. We all supposed that Mr.
Lincoln would make rather a long speech--a half-hour at least. He took
the single sheet of foolscap, held it almost to his nose, and in his
high tenor voice, without the least attempt at effect, delivered that
most extraordinary address which belongs to the classics of literature.
The photographer was bustling about, preparing to take the President's
picture while he was speaking, but Mr. Lincoln finished before the
photographer was ready."

It is stated that when President Lincoln reached the town of Gettysburg,
on his way to attend the exercises at the cemetery, he inquired for "Old
John Burns," the hero of the battle of Gettysburg, who left his farm and
fought with the Union soldiers upon that bloody field. The veteran was
sent for; and on his arrival the President showed him marked attention,
taking him by the arm and walking with him in the procession through the
streets to the cemetery.

Edward Everett, who was associated with Lincoln during these two or
three days, says of the impression the President made on him: "I
recognized in the President a full measure of the qualities which
entitle him to the personal respect of the people. On the only social
occasion on which I ever had the honor to be in his company, viz., the
Commemoration at Gettysburg, he sat at the table of my friend David
Willis, by the side of several distinguished persons, foreigners and
Americans; and in gentlemanly appearance, manners, and conversation, he
was the peer of any man at the table."




CHAPTER XXVI


     Lincoln and Grant--Their Personal Relations--Grant's Successes at
     Chattanooga--Appointed Lieutenant-general--Grant's First Visit to
     Washington--His Meeting with Lincoln--Lincoln's First Impressions
     of Grant--The First "General" Lincoln Had Found--"That Presidential
     Grub"--True Version of the Whiskey Anecdote--Lincoln Tells Grant
     the Story of Sykes's Dog--"We'd Better Let Mr. Grant Have his Own
     Way"--Grant's Estimate of Lincoln.

From the hour of Grant's triumph at Vicksburg to the close of the war,
Lincoln never withdrew his confidence from the quiet, persistent,
unpretending man who led our armies slowly but surely along the path of
victory. As soon as the campaign at Vicksburg was over, Grant's sphere
of operations was enlarged by his appointment to the command of the
military division of the Mississippi. In November following he fought
the famous battles of Chattanooga, including Lookout Mountain and
Missionary Ridge; and, aided by his efficient corps commanders, Sherman,
Thomas, and Hooker, gained a succession of brilliant victories for the
Union cause. The wisdom of Grant's policy of concentration and "fighting
it out" had now become apparent.

President Lincoln had watched closely the progress of these events, and
had come to recognize in Grant the master spirit of the war, on the
Northern side. Accordingly he determined to give him general command of
all the Union armies. In December, 1863, a bill was introduced in the
Senate by Hon. E.B. Washburne, of Illinois, and passed both houses of
Congress, creating the rank of Lieutenant-General in the army.
President Lincoln approved the act, and immediately nominated Grant for
the position. The nomination was confirmed; and on the 17th of March,
1864, Grant issued his first order as Lieutenant-General, assuming
command of the armies of the United States, and announcing that his
headquarters would be in the field and until further orders with the
Army of the Potomac. Of this army he shrewdly remarked that it seemed to
him it "had never fought its battles _through_." He proposed, first of
all, to teach that army "not to be afraid of Lee." "I had known him
personally," said Grant, "and _knew that he was mortal_." With
characteristic energy he formed a simple but comprehensive plan of
operations both East and West; sending Sherman on his great march to
Atlanta and the sea, while he, with the Army of the Potomac, pushed
straight for Richmond. These operations were vigorously urged, and when
they were ended the war was ended. It was but little more than a year
from the date of Grant's commission as Lieutenant-General till he
received Lee's surrender at Appomattox.

Immediately upon Grant's appointment as Lieutenant-General, he was
summoned to Washington. It was his first visit to the capital since the
war began, and he was a stranger to nearly everyone from the President
down. He arrived in the city on the 8th of March (1864), taking quarters
at Willard's Hotel, where, when he went in to dinner, none knew "the
quiet, rather stumpy-looking man, who came in leading a little boy--the
boy who had ridden by his father's side through all the campaign of
Vicksburg." But soon it was whispered about who was in the room, and
there was a loud call for three cheers for Ulysses S. Grant, which were
given with a will. In the evening General Grant attended a reception at
the White House, passing in with the throng alone and unannounced. The
quick eye of the President discovered the identity of the modest
soldier, and he was most heartily welcomed. "As soon as it was known
that he was present, the pressure of the crowd to see the hero of
Vicksburg was so great that he was forced to shelter himself behind a
sofa. So irrepressible was the desire to see him that Secretary Seward
finally induced him to mount a sofa, that this curiosity might be
gratified. When parting from the President, he said, 'This has been
rather the warmest campaign I have witnessed during the war.'" A graphic
account of this interesting event is given by Secretary Welles, who
records in his Diary (March 9, 1864): "Went last evening to the
Presidential reception. Quite a gathering; very many that are not
usually seen at receptions were attracted thither, I presume, from the
fact that General Grant was expected to be there. He came about
half-past nine. I was near the centre of the reception-room, when a stir
and buzz attracted attention, and it was whispered that General Grant
had arrived. The room was not full, the crowd having passed through to
the East Room. I saw some men in uniform standing at the entrance, and
one of them, a short, brown, dark-haired man, was talking with the
President. There was hesitation, a degree of awkwardness, in the
General. Soon word was passed around--'Mr. Seward, General Grant is
here,' and Seward, who was just behind me, hurried and took the General
by the hand and led him to Mrs. Lincoln, near whom I was standing. The
crowd gathered around the circle rapidly, and it being intimated that it
would be necessary the throng should pass on, Seward took the General's
arm and went with him to the East Room. There was clapping of hands in
the next room as he passed through, and all in the East Room joined in
it as he entered."

The next day at noon the General waited on the President to receive his
commission. The interview took place in the Cabinet room. There were
present, besides the members of the Cabinet, General Halleck, a member
of Congress, two of General Grant's staff-officers, his eldest son,
Frederick D. Grant, and the President's private secretary. The ceremony
was simple, the President saying, as he proffered the papers: "The
nation's appreciation of what you have done, and its reliance upon you
for what remains to be done 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 responded briefly, promising to "accept the
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
expectations. 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."

Before assuming personal command of the Army of the Potomac, as he had
determined to do, General Grant found it necessary to return once more
to the West. In his parting interview with Lincoln, he was urged to
remain to dinner the next day and meet a brilliant party whom the lady
of the White House had invited to do him special honor. The General
answered, apologetically: "Mrs. Lincoln must excuse me. I must be in
Tennessee at a given time." "But we can't excuse you," said the
President. "Mrs. Lincoln's dinner without you would be Hamlet with
Hamlet left out." "I appreciate the honor Mrs. Lincoln would do me,"
said the General, "but time is very important now. I ought to be at the
front, and a dinner to me means a million dollars a day lost to the
country." Lincoln was pleased with this answer, and said cheerfully,
"Well, we'll have the dinner without you."

After Lincoln's first meeting with General Grant he was asked regarding
his personal impressions of the new commander. He replied, "Well, I
hardly know what to think of him. He's the quietest little fellow you
ever saw. He makes the least fuss of any man I ever knew. I believe on
several occasions he has been in this room a minute or so before I knew
he was here. It's about so all around. The only evidence you have that
he's in any particular place is that he makes things move." To a
subsequent inquiry as to his estimate of Grant's military capacities,
Lincoln responded, with emphasis: "Grant is the first General I've had.
_He's a General_." "How do you mean, Mr. Lincoln?" his visitor asked.
"Well, I'll tell you what I mean," replied Lincoln. "You know how it's
been with all the rest. As soon as I put a man in command of the army,
he'd come to me with the plan of a campaign, and about as much as to
say: 'Now I don't believe I can do it, but if you say so I'll try it
on,' and so put the responsibility of success or failure on me. They all
wanted _me_ to be the General. Now, it isn't so with Grant. He hasn't
told me what his plans are. I don't know and I don't want to know. I am
glad to find a man who can go ahead without me. When any of the rest set
out on a campaign they'd look over matters and pick out some one thing
they were short of and they knew I couldn't give them, and tell me they
couldn't hope to win unless they had it--and it was most generally
cavalry. Now when Grant took hold I was waiting to see what his pet
impossibility would be, and I reckoned it would be cavalry, of course,
for we hadn't horses enough to mount what men we had. There were fifteen
thousand men, or thereabouts, up near Harper's Ferry, and no horses to
put them on. Well, the other day Grant sent to me about these very men,
just as I expected; but what he wanted to know was whether he could make
infantry of 'em or disband 'em. He doesn't ask impossibilities of me,
and he's the first General I've had that didn't." On another occasion
Lincoln said of Grant: "The great thing about him is his cool
persistency of purpose. He is not easily excited, and he has the grip of
a bulldog. _When he once gets his teeth in, nothing can shake him off_."

The President's satisfaction with the new commander was speedily
communicated to him in a characteristically frank manner, in a letter
dated April 30, 1864.

     LIEUTENANT-GENERAL GRANT:--

     Not expecting to see you 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
     restraints or constraints upon you. While I am very anxious that
     any great disaster or capture of our men in great numbers shall be
     avoided, I know that these points are less likely to escape your
     attention than they would be mine. If there be anything wanting
     which is in 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.

     Yours very truly, A. LINCOLN.

General Grant himself wrote, on this point: "In my first interview with
Mr. Lincoln alone, he stated to me that he had never professed to be a
military man, or to know how campaigns should be conducted, and never
wanted to interfere in them; but that procrastination on the part of
commanders, and the pressure of the people at the North and Congress,
_which was always with him_, forced him into issuing his series of
'Military Orders'--one, two, three, etc. He did not know but they were
all wrong, and did know that some of them were. All he wanted or had
ever wanted was someone who would take the responsibility and act, and
call on him for all the assistance needed, pledging himself to use all
the power of the government in rendering such assistance.... The
President told me he did not want to know what I proposed to do. But he
submitted a plan of campaign of his own which he wanted me to hear and
then do as I pleased about. He brought out a map of Virginia on which he
had evidently marked every position occupied by the Federal and
Confederate armies up to that time. He pointed out on the map two
streams which empty into the Potomac, and suggested that the army might
be moved on boats and landed between the mouths of these streams. We
would then have the Potomac to bring our supplies, and the tributaries
would protect our flanks while we moved out. I listened respectfully,
but did not suggest that the same streams would protect Lee's flanks
while he was shutting us up."

General Horace Porter, for some time Grant's chief of staff, says: "The
nearest Mr. Lincoln ever came to giving General Grant an order for the
movement of troops was during Early's raid upon Washington. On July 10,
1864, he telegraphed a long despatch from Washington, which contained
the following language: 'What I think is that you should provide to
retain your hold where you are, certainly, and bring the rest with you
personally, and make a vigorous effort to defeat the enemy's force in
this vicinity. I think there is really a fair chance to do this, if the
movement is prompt. This is what I think--given upon your
suggestion,--and is not an order.' Grant replied that on reflection he
thought it would have a bad effect for him to leave City Point, then his
headquarters, in front of Richmond and Petersburg; and the President was
satisfied with the dispositions which Grant made for the repulse of
Early without taking command against him in person."

A curious incident revealing the intense interest with which Lincoln
watched the career of Grant is related by Mr. J. Russell Jones, an old
and trusted friend of the President, who joined the army at Vicksburg in
time to witness its final triumph. Soon after Mr. Jones's return to
Chicago, the President summoned him to Washington. With eager haste,
after the first salutations were over, Lincoln declared the object for
which he had secured the interview: "'I have sent for you, Mr. Jones, to
know if that man Grant wants to be President.' Mr. Jones, although
somewhat astonished at the question and the circumstances under which it
was asked, replied at once, 'No, Mr. President.' 'Are you sure?' queried
the latter. 'Yes,' said Mr. Jones, 'perfectly sure. I have just come
from Vicksburg. I have seen General Grant frequently, and talked fully
and freely with him about that and every other question; and I know he
has no political aspirations whatever, and certainly none for the
Presidency. His only desire is to see you re-elected and to do what he
can under your orders to put down the rebellion and restore peace to the
country.' 'Ah, Mr. Jones,' said Lincoln, 'you have lifted a great weight
off my mind, and done me an immense amount of good; for I tell you, my
friend, no man knows how deeply that Presidential grub gnaws till he has
had it himself.'" We cannot believe that Lincoln cherished any feeling
of jealousy of the rising commander, or desired to interfere with
whatever political ambition he might nourish. It was rather his desire
to be assured of the single-hearted purpose of a military leader whom he
had trusted and to whom he wished to confide still more important
services in the conduct of the war.

It may be remembered that early in the war an anecdote went the rounds
of the press to the effect that, in reply to a complaint that Grant had
been guilty of drunkenness in the campaigns in the West, Lincoln
remarked that he would "like to find out what kind of liquor Grant
drank," so that he might "send some of it to the other Generals." The
true version of that characteristic anecdote is this, as given by the
late Judge T. Lyle Dickey, who was a Judge of the Illinois Supreme Court
at the time of his death, and at the time of Grant's famous Vicksburg
campaign was on the General's staff as chief of cavalry. Judge (then
Colonel) Dickey had been sent to Washington with private despatches for
the President and the Secretary of War. Lincoln and Dickey had been
intimate friends for years, and during the latter's visit to the former
on that occasion, Dickey remarked, "I hear that some one has been trying
to poison you against Grant by reporting that he gets drunk. I wish to
assure you, Mr. President, that there is not a scintilla of truth in the
report." "Oh, Colonel," replied the President, "we get all sorts of
reports here, but I'll say this to you: that if those accusing General
Grant of getting drunk will tell me _where he gets his whiskey_, I will
get a lot of it and send it around to some of the other Generals, who
are badly in need of something of the kind."

After Lincoln and General Grant had become personally intimate, they had
many enjoyable conversations and exchanges of anecdotes. Lincoln
especially enjoyed telling the General of the various persons who had
come to him with complaints and criticisms about the Vicksburg campaign.
"After the place had actually surrendered," said the President, "I
thought it was about time to shut down on this sort of thing. So one
day, when a delegation came to see me, and had spent half an hour trying
to show me the fatal mistake you had made in paroling Pemberton's army,
and insisting that the rebels would violate their paroles and in less
than a month confront you again in the ranks and have to be whipped all
over again, I thought I could get rid of them best by telling them a
story about Sykes's dog. 'Have you ever heard about Sykes's yellow dog?'
said I to the spokesman of the delegation. He said he hadn't. 'Well, I
must tell you about him,' said I. 'Sykes had a yellow dog he set great
store by, but there were a lot of small boys around the village, and
that's always a bad thing for dogs, you know. These boys didn't share
Sykes's views, and they were not disposed to let the dog have a fair
show. Even Sykes had to admit that the dog was getting unpopular; in
fact, it was soon seen that a prejudice was growing up against that dog
that threatened to wreck all his future prospects in life. The boys,
after meditating how they could get the best of him, finally fixed up a
cartridge with a long fuse, put the cartridge in a piece of meat,
dropped the meat in the road in front of Sykes's door, and then perched
themselves on a fence a good distance off with the end of the fuse in
their hands. Then they whistled for the dog. When he came out he scented
the bait, and bolted the meat, cartridge and all. The boys touched off
the fuse with a cigar, and in about a second a report came from that dog
that sounded like a small clap of thunder. Sykes came bouncing out of
the house, and yelled: "What's up! Anything busted?" There was no
reply, except a snicker from the small boys roosting on the fence; but
as Sykes looked up he saw the whole air filled with pieces of yellow
dog. He picked up the biggest piece he could find--a portion of the
back, with a part of the tail still hanging to it, and, after turning it
around and looking it all over, he said, "Well, I guess he'll never be
much account again--_as a dog_." And I guess Pemberton's forces will
never be much account again--_as an army._' The delegation began looking
around for their hats before I had quite got to the end of the story,
and I was never bothered any more about superseding the commander of the
Army of the Tennessee."

When General Grant was ready to begin active operations with the Army of
the Potomac, he sent forward all available men from Washington.
Secretary Stanton, anxious about the safety of the city, said to Grant
one day: "General, I suppose you have left us enough men to strongly
garrison the forts?" "No, I can't do that," was Grant's quiet answer.
"Why not? Why not?" repeated the Secretary nervously. "Because I have
already sent the men to the front." Said the Secretary, still more
nervously: "That won't do. It's contrary to my plans. I cannot allow it.
I will order the men back." To this Grant returned with quiet
determination: "I shall need the men there, and you cannot order them
back." "Why not? Why not?" cried the Secretary. "I believe that I rank
the Secretary in this matter," remarked Grant. "Very well, we will see
the President about that," responded the Secretary sharply. "I will have
to take you to the President." "That is right. The President ranks us
both." So they went to the President; and the Secretary, turning to
General Grant, said, "Now, General, state your case." But the General
calmly replied, "I have no case to state. I am satisfied as it is."
This threw the burden of statement on Secretary Stanton, and was
excellent strategy. Meanwhile, General Grant had the men. When the
Secretary had concluded, Lincoln crossed his legs, rested his elbow on
his knee, and said in his quaint way and with a twinkle in his eye:
"Now, Mr. Secretary, you know we have been trying to manage this army
for nearly three years, and you know we haven't done much with it. We
sent over the mountains and brought Mr. Grant, as Mrs. Grant calls him,
to manage it for us; and now I guess we'd better let Mr. Grant _have his
own way_." And Mr. Grant had it.

The favorable opinion which Lincoln held of Grant was strongly
reciprocated. A short time before the former's death, Grant said: "I
regard Lincoln as one of the greatest of men. He is unquestionably the
greatest man I have ever encountered. The more I see of him and exchange
views with him, the more he impresses me. I admire his courage, and
respect the firmness he always displays. Many think from the gentleness
of his character that he has a yielding nature; but while he has the
courage to change his mind when convinced that he is wrong, he has all
the tenacity of purpose which could be desired in a great statesman. His
quickness of perception often astonishes me. Long before the statement
of a complicated question is finished, his mind will grasp the main
points, and he will seem to comprehend the whole subject better than the
person who is stating it. He will take rank in history alongside of
Washington."




CHAPTER XXVII


     Lincoln's Second Presidential Term--His Attitude toward it--Rival
     Candidates for the Nomination--Chase's Achillean Wrath--Harmony
     Restored--The Baltimore Convention--Decision "not to Swap Horses
     while Crossing a Stream"--The Summer of 1864--Washington again
     Threatened--Lincoln under Fire--Unpopular Measures--The President's
     Perplexities and Trials--The Famous Letter "To Whom It May
     Concern"--Little Expectation of Re-election--Dangers of
     Assassination--"A Thrilling Experience"--Lincoln's Forced
     Serenity--"The Saddest Man in the World"--A Break in the
     Clouds--Lincoln Vindicated by Re-election--Cheered and
     Reassured--More Trouble with Chase--Lincoln's Final Disposal of
     him--The President's Fourth Annual Message--His Position toward the
     Rebellion and Slavery Reaffirmed-- Folks' Reception at the
     White House--Passage of the Amendment Prohibiting Slavery--Lincoln
     and the Southern Peace Commissioners--The Meeting in Hampton
     Roads--Lincoln's Impression of A H. Stephens--The Second
     Inauguration--Second Inaugural Address--"With Malice toward None,
     with Charity for All"--An Auspicious Omen.

The year 1864 witnessed another Presidential election, and one which
was attended by the most novel and extraordinary circumstances. It was
held while a considerable portion of the people were engaged in armed
rebellion against the authority of the National Government; and it was
not participated in by the voters of several entire States. Aside from
these unique features, it marked a most critical epoch in the history
of the country, and in that of Abraham Lincoln as well. The policy and
acts of the administration, even the question of the further
prosecution of the war, were to be submitted to the sovereign tribunal
of the people; and with their verdict would be recorded also the
popular measure of approval or disapproval of President Lincoln. Those
who knew him best during his first official term pronounce him
singularly free from plans and calculations regarding his own
political future. He was too absorbed in public cares and duties, too
nearly crushed by the great burdens resting upon him, to give thought
or attention to questions of personal ambition. It had never been his
aim, during his Presidential life, to look far ahead. He was content
to deal wisely and soberly with important questions as they arose from
day to day and hour to hour; to adapt himself and his actions to the
exigencies of the present, and in that way to earn security for the
future. He himself said, using a forcible and apt illustration
borrowed from his early life: "The pilots on our Western rivers steer
from _point to point_, as they call it--setting the course of the boat
no farther than they can see; and that is all I propose to do in the
great problems that are set before me."

Such a policy as that outlined by Lincoln, embraced in his homely and
characteristic phrase of "pegging away," caused him to be greatly
misunderstood and even distrusted in some quarters. As the time for the
new election drew near, there was very pronounced dissatisfaction with
him, particularly in New England. It was said of him, among other
things, that he "lacked the essential qualities of a leader." Mr. Henry
Greenleaf Pearson, the biographer of Governor Andrew of Massachusetts,
illuminates this point in a few instructive sentences. "To comprehend
this objection, which to us seems so astonishingly wide of the mark,"
says Mr. Pearson, "we must realize that whenever a New Englander of that
generation uttered the word 'leader' his mind's eye was filled with the
image of Daniel Webster. Even those who called the fallen statesman
'Ichabod' could not forget his commanding presence, his lofty tone about
affairs of state, his sonorous professions of an ideal, his whole _ex
cathedra_ attitude. All these characteristics supplied the aristocratic
connotation of the word 'leader.' Of the broad democratic meaning of the
term, the world had as yet received no demonstration. That Lincoln was
in very truth the 'new birth of a new soil,' Lowell, with the advantage
of literary detachment, was one of the first to discover and proclaim,
both in his political essays and in the splendid stanzas of the
'Commemoration Ode.'"

While Lincoln seemingly gave little heed to the question of a second
Presidential term, it must not be inferred that he was indifferent
regarding it. His nature was one of those strong ones which, though
desiring approbation, are yet able to live without it. His whole life
had been a schooling in self-reliance and independence, and the last
three years especially had rendered him an adept in that stern
philosophy. But he was thoroughly human, and deep down in his nature was
a craving for human sympathy and support. Knowing that he had done his
best and was entitled to the full approval of his countrymen, he no
doubt felt that it would be a pleasant thing to receive that approval by
being called to serve them for another term. To one friend he remarked,
using his old figure of "the people's attorney," "If the people think I
have managed their case for them well enough to trust me to _carry it up
to the next term_, I am sure I shall be glad to take it." He evidently
dreaded the rebuke that would be implied in a failure to be renominated;
yet it seemed unbecoming to him, in the critical condition of the
country, to make any personal effort to that end. To these
considerations were added his extreme weariness and longing for release
from his oppressive burdens. He was also, as Mr. Welles records in his
Diary, "greatly importuned and pressed by cunning intrigues."

From these various complications, Lincoln's embarrassment and
perplexity as the time for holding the Republican Convention drew near
were extreme. A journalistic friend (Mr. J.M. Winchell), who had a
lengthy conversation with him on the subject, gives what is no doubt a
correct idea of his state of mind at that period. "Mr. Lincoln received
me," says Mr. Winchell, "kindly and courteously; but his manner was
quite changed. It was not now the country about which his anxiety
prevailed, but himself. There was an embarrassment about him which he
could not quite conceal. I thought it proper to state in the outset that
I wished simply to know whatever he was free to tell me in regard to his
own willingness or unwillingness to accept a renomination. The reply was
a monologue of an hour's duration, and one that wholly absorbed me, as
it seemed to absorb himself. He remained seated nearly all the time. He
was restless, often changing position, and occasionally, in some intense
moment, wheeling his body around in his chair and throwing a leg over
the arm. This was the only grotesque thing I recollect about him; his
voice and manner were very earnest, and he uttered no jokes and told no
anecdotes. He began by saying that as yet he was not a candidate for
renomination. He distinctly denied that he was a party to any effort to
that end, notwithstanding I knew that there were movements in his favor
in all parts of the Northern States. These movements were, of course,
without his prompting, as he positively assured me that with one or two
exceptions he had scarcely conversed on the subject with his most
intimate friends. He was not quite sure whether he desired a
renomination. Such had been the responsibility of the office--so
oppressive had he found its cares, so terrible its perplexities--that he
felt as though the moment when he could relinquish the burden and
retire to private life would be the sweetest he could possibly
experience. But, he said, he would not deny that a re-election would
also have its gratification to his feelings. He did not seek it, nor
would he do so; he did not desire it for any ambitious or selfish
purpose; but after the crisis the country was passing through under his
Presidency, and the efforts he had made conscientiously to discharge the
duties imposed upon him, it would be a very sweet satisfaction to him to
know that he had secured the approval of his fellow citizens and earned
the highest testimonial of confidence they could bestow. This was the
gist of the hour's monologue; and I believe he spoke sincerely. His
voice, his manner, gave his modest and sensible words a power of
conviction. He seldom looked me in the face while he was talking; he
seemed almost to be gazing into the future. I am sure it was not a
pleasant thing for him to seem to be speaking in his own behalf. For
himself, he affirmed that he should make no promises of office to anyone
as an inducement for support. If nominated and elected, he should be
grateful to his friends; but the interests of the country must always be
first considered."

The principal candidates talked of as successors to Lincoln were
Secretary Chase, General Fremont, and General Grant. Of the latter,
Lincoln said, with characteristic frankness and generosity: "If he could
be more useful as President in putting down the rebellion, I would be
content. He is pledged to our policy of emancipation and the employment
of <DW64> soldiers; and if this policy is carried out, it will not make
much difference who is President." But General Grant's good sense
prevailed over his injudicious advisers, and he promptly refused to
allow his name to be presented to the convention.

The most formidable candidate for the Republican nomination was
Secretary Chase. The relations between him and the President had not
latterly been very harmonious; and the breach was greatly widened by a
bitter personal assault on Mr. Chase by General F.P. Blair, a newly
elected Congressman from Missouri, made on the floor of the House, about
the middle of April, under circumstances which led Mr. Chase to believe
that the President inspired, or at least approved, the attack. Mr. Chase
was very angry, and an open rupture between his friends and those of the
President was narrowly averted. Mr. Riddle, Congressman from Mr. Chase's
State (Ohio), relates that on the evening after General Blair's
offensive speech he was to accompany Mr. Chase on a visit to Baltimore.
"I was shown," says Mr. Riddle, "to the Secretary's private car, where I
found him alone and in a frenzy of rage. A copy of Blair's speech had
been shown him at the station, and I was the sole witness of his
Achillean wrath. He threatened to leave the train at once and send the
President his resignation; but was persuaded to go on to Baltimore. He
wished to forward his resignation from there, but concluded to withhold
it till his return to Washington the next day. At Baltimore," continues
Mr. Riddle, "I excused myself, and took the return train for Washington.
I did not overestimate the danger to the Union cause. It would be a
fatal error to defeat Mr. Lincoln at the Baltimore Convention; yet how
could he succeed, with the angry resignation of Mr. Chase, and the
defection of his friends--the powerful and aggressive radicals? Reaching
Washington, I went to the White House direct. I knew the President could
not have been a party to Blair's assault, and I wanted his personal
assurances to communicate to Mr. Chase at the earliest moment. I was
accompanied by Judge Spaulding, an eminent member of the House, fully
sharing Mr. Chase's confidence, and somewhat cool toward the President.
We found Mr. Lincoln drawn up behind his table, with papers before him,
quite grim, evidently prepared for the battle which he supposed awaited
him. Without taking a seat, hat in hand, I stated frankly, not without
emotion, the condition of affairs,--the public danger, my entire
confidence in him, my sole purpose there, the reason of Judge
Spaulding's presence, and that we were there in no way as
representatives of Mr. Chase. Mr. Lincoln was visibly affected. The
tones of confidence, sympathy, personal regard, were strangers to him at
that time. Softening, almost melting, he came round to us, shook our
hands again and again, returned to his place, and standing there, took
up and opened out, from their remote origin, the whole web of matters
connected with the present complication. He spoke an hour--calm, clear,
direct, simple. He reprehended Blair severely, and stated that he had no
knowledge of his speech until after Blair left Washington. We were
permitted to communicate this to Mr. Chase. He was satisfied with the
President's explanation, and at the Baltimore Convention my large
acquaintance enabled me to open the way for Governor Dennison of Ohio to
become its presiding officer. All recognized the good effect of the
organization of that body by the friends of Mr. Chase."

The National Republican Convention which met at Baltimore on the 8th of
June adopted resolutions heartily approving the course of the
administration and especially the policy of emancipation, and completed
its good work by nominating Abraham Lincoln as its candidate for
President for another term. Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, was nominated
for Vice-President. That Lincoln was gratified at this proof of
confidence and esteem there can be no doubt. In his acceptance of the
nomination, he said, with the most delicate modesty: "I view this call
to a second term as in no wise more flattering to myself than as an
expression of the public judgment that I may better finish a difficult
work than could one less severely schooled to the task." And with
characteristic humor, he thanked a visiting delegation for their good
opinion of him, saying, "I have not permitted myself to conclude that I
am the best man in the country; but I am reminded of the old Dutch
farmer who remarked to a companion that _it was not best to swap horses
while crossing a stream_."

In July, 1864, great excitement and alarm were occasioned in
Washington by a body of Confederate cavalry under General Early, who
actually attacked the fortifications of the city, cut off its railroad
communication with the North, and ravaged the country about with fire
and sword. For several days skirmishing was going on between the
raiders and the troops in our fortifications. The fact that the
President himself was under fire from the enemy on this occasion gave
the episode a decided thrill of realism. He, with other government
officials--largely, no doubt, from motives of curiosity--visited the
scene of the disturbance and witnessed the miniature but sometimes
spirited engagements. Among these visitors was Secretary Welles, who
thus records his experiences (Diary, July 12, 1864): "Rode out today
to Fort Stevens. Looking out over the valley below, where the
continual popping of pickets was going on, I saw a line of our men
lying close near the bottom of the valley. Senator Wade came up beside
me. We went into the Fort, where we found the President, who was
sitting in the shade, his back against the parapet toward the
enemy.... As the firing from the Fort ceased, our men ran to the
charge and the Rebels fled. We could see them running across the
fields, seeking the woods on the brow of the opposite hills. Below,
we could see here and there some of our own men bearing away their
wounded comrades. Occasionally a bullet from some long-range rifle
passed over our heads. It was an interesting and exciting spectacle."
Another account says: "President Lincoln visited the lines in person,
and refused to retire, although urged to do so. He exposed himself
freely at Fort Stevens, and a surgeon standing alongside of him was
wounded by a ball which struck a gun and glanced." A gentleman named
Neill, who lived in the country, about twelve miles from the city,
gives a vivid conception of the imminence of the danger. "After
breakfast, on Tuesday, July 12," says Mr. Neill, "I went as usual in a
railway car to the city, and before noon my house was surrounded by
General Bradley Johnson's insurgent cavalry, who had made an attempt
to capture the New York express train, and had robbed the country
store near by of its contents. The presence of the cavalry stopped all
travel by railroad; and Senator Ramsey of Minnesota, who happened to
be in Washington, could find no way to the North except by descending
the Potomac to its mouth and then ascending Chesapeake Bay to
Baltimore. While the cavalry was in the fields around my home, the
enemy's infantry was marching toward the capital by what was called
the Seventh Street road, and they set fire to the residence of Hon.
Montgomery Blair, who had been Postmaster-General. As I sat in my room
at the President's, the smoke of the burning mansion was visible; but
business was transacted with as much quietness as if the foe were
hundreds of miles distant. Mr. Fox, the assistant Secretary of the
Navy, had in a private note informed the President that if there
should be a necessity for him to leave the city he would find a
steamer in readiness at the wharf at the foot of Sixth Street. About
one o'clock in the afternoon of each day of the skirmishing, the
President would enter his carriage, and drive to the forts, in the
suburbs, and watch the soldiers repulse the invaders." For several
days Washington was in great danger of capture. Nearly all the forces
had been sent forward to reinforce Grant, and the city was
comparatively defenseless. But its slender garrison, mostly raw
recruits, held out gallantly under the encouragement of the President,
until Grant sent a column to attack Early, who promptly withdrew, and
the crisis was over. This was the last time the enemy threatened the
national capital. From that time he had enough to do to defend
Richmond.

Lincoln labored under deep depression during the summer of 1864. The
Army of the Potomac achieved apparently very little in return for its
enormous expenditure of blood and treasure. Until the victories of
Farragut in Mobile Bay, late in August, and Sherman at Atlanta a few
days later, the gloom was unrelieved. The people were restless and
impatient, and vented their displeasure upon the administration, holding
it responsible for all reverses and disappointments, and giving grudging
praise for success at any point. The popular displeasure was increased
by the President's call for 500,000 additional troops, made July 18,--a
measure which some of his strongest friends deprecated, as likely to
jeopardize his re-election in November. "It is not a personal question
at all," said Lincoln. "It matters not what becomes of _me. We must have
the men_. If I go down, I intend to go like the Cumberland, with my
colors flying." To the question, When is the war to end? he said,
"Surely I feel as deep an interest in this question as any other can;
but I do not wish to name a day, a month, or a year, when it is to end.
We accepted this war _for an object_--a worthy object; and the war will
end _when that object is attained_. Under God, I hope it _never will
end until that time_."

The President's mind seemed constantly weighted with anxiety as to the
movements and fortunes of our armies in the field. He could not sleep at
night under this crushing load. Secretary Welles's Diary gives frequent
instances of this. Once, after an engagement between the Western armies,
the President, says Mr. Welles, "came to me with the latest news. He was
feeling badly. Tells me a despatch was sent to him at the Soldiers' Home
last night shortly after he got asleep, and so disturbed him that he had
no more rest, but arose and came to the city and passed the remainder of
the night awake and watchful." At another time, after a desperate battle
between Grant and Lee, Mr. Welles says: "The President came into my room
about one P.M. and told me he _had slept none last night._ He lay down
for a short time on the sofa in my room, and detailed all the news he
had gathered."

Ex-Governor Bross of Illinois furnishes an account of an interview with
Lincoln during this dark period: "The last time I saw Mr. Lincoln, till,
as a pallbearer, I accompanied his remains to their last resting-place,
was in the early part of August, 1864. It was directly after the
frightful disaster at Petersburg, and I was on my way to the front, to
recover, if possible, the body of my brother, Colonel John A. Bross, who
fell there at the head of his regiment. I found the President with a
large pile of documents before him. He laid down his pen and gave me a
cordial but rather melancholy welcome, asking anxiously for news from
the West. Neither of us could shut our eyes to the gloom which hung over
the entire country. The terrible losses of the Wilderness, and the awful
disaster at Petersburg, weighed heavily upon our spirits. To a question,
I answered that the people expected a still more vigorous prosecution
of the war; more troops and needful appliances would, if called for, be
forthcoming. 'I will tell you what the people want,' said the President,
'they want, and must have, _success_. But whether that come or not, I
shall stay _right here_ and do my duty. Here I shall be; and they may
come and hang me on that tree' (pointing out of the window to one),
'but, God helping me, I shall never desert my post.' This was said in a
way that assured me that these were the sentiments of his inmost soul."

The President, about this time, was greatly worried by Horace Greeley
and others, who importuned him to receive negotiations for peace from
the Confederate authorities. He at length said to Mr. Greeley, "I not
only intend a sincere effort for peace, but you shall be a personal
witness that it is made." On the same day that the call for additional
troops was made, the President issued, through Mr. Greeley, the famous
letter, "To Whom It May Concern," promising safe conduct to any person
or persons authorized to present "any proposition which embraces the
restoration of peace, the _integrity of the whole Union_, and the
_abandonment of slavery_." Nothing came of the proposed negotiations,
except to stop for a time the mischievous fault-finding; which was, of
course, the result aimed at by Lincoln. The act was severely condemned
by many Republicans; but Lincoln only said, "It is hardly fair for them
to say the letter amounts to _nothing_. It will shut up Greeley, and
satisfy the people who are clamoring for peace. That's _something_,
anyhow!"

So much blame was heaped upon the Government, and so great was the
dissatisfaction at the North, that Lincoln looked upon the election of
his competitor, General McClellan, and his own retirement, as not
improbable. An incident in evidence of his discouragement is related by
Secretary Welles. Entering the Executive office one day, Mr. Welles was
asked to write his name across the back of a sealed paper which the
President handed him. The names of several other members of the Cabinet
were already on the paper, with the dates of signature. After the
election, Lincoln opened the document in the presence of his Cabinet and
read to them its contents, as follows:

     EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON,
     August 23, 1864.

     This morning, as for some days past, it seems exceedingly probable
     that this administration will not be re-elected. Then it will be my
     duty to co-operate with the President-elect so as to save the Union
     between the election and the inauguration.

     A. LINCOLN.

By this careful prevision had Lincoln pledged himself to give to his
successor that unselfish and patriotic assistance of which he himself
had stood so sorely in need.

As the desperation of the South and the opposition to Lincoln at the
North increased, fears were entertained by his friends that an attempt
might be made upon his life. Lincoln himself paid but little heed to
these forebodings of evil. He said, philosophically: "I long ago made up
my mind that if anybody wants to kill me, he will do it. If I wore a
shirt of mail and kept myself surrounded by a bodyguard, it would be all
the same. There are a thousand ways of getting at a man if it is desired
that he should be killed. Besides, in this case, it seems to me, the man
who would succeed me would be just as objectionable to my enemies--if I
have any." One dark night, as he was going out with a friend, he took
along a heavy cane, remarking good-humoredly that "mother" (Mrs.
Lincoln) had "got a notion into her head that I shall be assassinated,
and to please her I take a cane when I go over to the War Department at
nights--when I don't forget it."

It is probable that the attempts upon the life of President Lincoln were
more numerous than is generally known. An incident of a very thrilling
character, which might easily have involved a shocking tragedy, is
related by Mr. John W. Nichols, who from the summer of 1862 until 1865
was one of the President's body-guard. "One night, about the middle of
August, 1864," says Mr. Nichols, "I was doing sentinel duty at the large
gate through which entrance was had to the grounds of the Soldiers'
Home, near Washington, where Mr. Lincoln spent much time in summer.
About eleven o'clock I heard a rifle-shot in the direction of the city,
and shortly afterwards I heard approaching hoof-beats. In two or three
minutes a horse came dashing up, and I recognized the belated President.
The horse he rode was a very spirited one, and was Mr. Lincoln's
favorite saddle-horse. As horse and rider approached the gate, I noticed
that the President was bareheaded. As soon as I had assisted him in
checking his steed, the President said to me: 'He came pretty near
getting away with me, didn't he? He got the bit in his teeth before I
could draw the rein.' I then asked him where his hat was; and he replied
that somebody had fired a gun off down at the foot of the hill, and that
his horse had become scared and had jerked his hat off. I led the animal
to the Executive Cottage, and the President dismounted and entered.
Thinking the affair rather strange, a corporal and myself started off to
investigate. When we reached the place whence the sound of the shot had
come--a point where the driveway intersects, with the main road--we
found the President's hat. It was a plain silk hat, and upon examination
we discovered a _bullet-hole_ through the crown. We searched the
locality thoroughly, but without avail. Next day I gave Mr. Lincoln his
hat, and called his attention to the bullet-hole. He made some humorous
remark, to the effect that it was made by some foolish marksman and was
not intended for him; but added that he wished nothing said about the
matter. We all felt confident it was an attempt to kill the President,
and after that he never rode alone."

Amidst his terrible trials, Lincoln often exhibited a forced and
sorrowful serenity, which many mistook for apathy. Even his oldest and
best friends were sometimes deceived in this way. Hon. Leonard Swett
relates a touching instance: "In the summer of 1864, when Grant was
pounding his way toward Richmond in those terrible battles of the
Wilderness, myself and wife were in Washington trying to do what little
two persons could do toward alleviating the sufferings of the maimed and
dying in the vast hospitals of that city. We tried to be thorough and
systematic. We took the first man we came to, brought him delicacies,
wrote letters to his friends, or did for him whatever else he most
needed; then the next man, and so on. Day after day cars and ambulances
were coming in, laden with untold sorrows for thousands of homes. After
weeks of this kind of experience my feelings became so wrought up that I
said to myself: The country cannot long endure this sacrifice. In mercy,
both to North and South, every man capable of bearing arms must be
hurried forward to Grant to end this, fearful slaughter at the earliest
possible moment. I went to President Lincoln at the White House, and
poured myself out to him. He was sitting by an open window; and as I
paused, a bird lit upon a branch just outside and was twittering and
singing most joyously. Mr. Lincoln, imitating the bird, said: '_Tweet,
tweet, tweet_; isn't he singing sweetly?' I felt as if my legs had been
cut from under me. I rose, took my hat, and said, 'I see the country is
safer than I thought.' As I moved toward the door, Mr. Lincoln called
out, in his hearty, familiar way, 'Here, Swett, come back and sit down.'
Then he went on: 'It is impossible for a man in my position not to have
thought of all those things. Weeks ago every man capable of bearing arms
was ordered to the front, and everything you have suggested has been
done.'"

The burdens borne by Lincoln seemed never to tell so seriously on his
strength and vitality as in this terrible battle-summer of 1864. For him
there had been no respite, no holiday. Others left the heat and dust of
Washington for rest and recuperation; but he remained at his post. The
demands upon him were incessant; one anxiety and excitement followed
another, and under the relentless strain even his sturdy strength began
to give way. "I sometimes fancy," said he, with pathetic good-humor,
"that every one of the numerous grist ground through here daily, from a
Senator seeking a war with France down to a poor woman after a place in
the Treasury Department, darted at me with thumb and finger, picked out
_their especial piece of my vitality_, and carried it off. When I get
through with such a day's work there is only one word which can express
my condition, and that is _flabbiness_." Once Mr. Brooks "found him
sitting in his chair so collapsed and weary that he did not look up or
speak when I addressed him. He put out his hand, mechanically, as if to
shake hands, when I told him I had come at his bidding. Presently he
roused a little, and remarked that he had had '_a mighty hard day_.'"
Mr. Riddle, who saw him at this period, after some months' absence, says
he was shocked, on gaining admission to the President, "by his
appearance--that of a _baited, cornered man_, always on the defense
against attacks that he could not openly meet and defy or punish." Mr.
Carpenter, an inmate of the White House, says: "Absorbed in his papers,
he would become unconscious of my presence, while I intently studied
every line and shade of expression in that furrowed face. There were
days when I could scarcely look into it without crying. During the first
week of the battles of the Wilderness he scarcely slept at all. Passing
through the main hall of the domestic apartment on one of these days, I
met him, clad in a long morning wrapper, pacing back and forth a narrow
passage leading to one of the windows, his hands behind him, great black
rings under his eyes, his head bent forward upon his breast,--altogether
such a picture of the effects of sorrow, care, and anxiety as would have
melted the hearts of the worst of his adversaries, who so mistakenly
applied to him the epithets of tyrant and usurper."

Mr. Edward Dicey, the English historian, says: "Never in my knowledge
have I seen a sadder face than that of the late President during the
time his features were familiar to me. It is so easy to be wise after
the event; but it seems to me now that one ought somehow to have
foreseen that the stamp of a sad end was impressed by nature on that
rugged, haggard face. The exceeding sadness of the eyes and their
strange sweetness were the one redeeming feature in a face of unusual
plainness, and there was about them that odd, weird look, which some
eyes possess, of seeming to see more than the outer objects of the world
around."

Lincoln's family and friends strove to beguile him of his melancholy.
They took him to places of amusement; they walked and drove with him in
the pleasantest scenes about the capital; and above all, they talked
with him of times past, seeking to divert his mind from its present
distress by reviving memories of more joyous days. His old friends were,
as Mr. Arnold states, "shocked with the change in his appearance. They
had known him at his home, and at the courts in Illinois, with a frame
of iron and nerves of steel; as a man who hardly knew what illness was,
ever genial and sparkling with frolic and fun, nearly always cheery and
bright. Now they saw the wrinkles on his face and forehead deepen into
furrows; the laugh of old days was less frequent, and it did not seem to
come from the heart. Anxiety, responsibility, care, thought, disasters,
defeats, the injustice of friends, wore upon his giant frame, and his
nerves of steel became at times irritable. He said one day, with a
pathos which language cannot describe, 'I feel as though I shall _never
be glad again_.'"

Hon. Schuyler Colfax repeats a similarly pathetic expression which fell
from the lips of the afflicted President. "One morning," says Mr.
Colfax, "calling upon him on business, I found him looking more than
usually pale and careworn, and inquired the reason. He replied with the
bad news he had received at a late hour the previous night, which had
not yet been communicated to the press, adding that he had not closed
his eyes or breakfasted; and, with an expression I shall never forget,
he exclaimed, 'How willingly would I exchange places today with the
soldier who sleeps on the ground in the Army of the Potomac!'"

A lady who saw Lincoln in the summer of 1864 for the first time, and who
had expected to see "a very homely man," says: "I was totally unprepared
for the impression instantly made upon me. So bowed and sorrow-laden was
his whole person, expressing such weariness of mind and body, as he
dropped himself heavily from step to step down to the ground. But his
face!--oh, the pathos of it!--haggard, drawn into fixed lines of
unutterable sadness, with a look of loneliness, as of a soul whose depth
of sorrow and bitterness no human sympathy could ever reach. I was so
penetrated with the anguish and settled grief in every feature, that I
gazed at him through tears, and felt I had stepped upon the threshold of
a sanctuary too sacred for human feet. The impression I carried away was
that I had seen, not so much the President of the United States, as _the
saddest man in the world_."

The changes in Lincoln's appearance were noted in the subdued, refined,
purified expression of his face, as of one struggling almost against
hope, but still patiently enduring. Mr. Brooks says, "I have known
impressionable women, touched by his sad face and his gentle bearing, to
go away in tears." Another observer, Rev. C.B. Crane, wrote at the time:
"The President looks thin and careworn. His form is bowed as by a
crushing load; his flesh is wasted as by incessant solicitude; and his
face is thin and furrowed and pale, as though it had become
spiritualized by the vicarious pain which he endured in bearing on
himself all the calamities of his country." Truly it might be said of
him, in the words of Matthew Arnold:

    With aching hands and bleeding feet
      We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
    We bear the burden and the heat
      Of the long day, and wish 't were done.
    Not till the hours of light return
      All we have built do we discern.

In the tragic experiences of Lincoln in these dark days, the outlook was
less gloomy than it had seemed to his tortured soul. He was even then,
as Mr. John Bigelow puts it, "making for himself a larger place in
history than he had any idea of." He "builded better than he knew"; and
the "hours of light" were soon to come when he would know what he had
built and see the signs that promised better things. The Presidential
election of 1864 demonstrated the abiding confidence of the people in
him and his administration. Every loyal State but three--New Jersey,
Delaware, and Kentucky--gave him its electoral vote; and his popular
majority over McClellan, the Democratic candidate, was upwards of
400,000. Lincoln was cheered but not exultant at the news. Late in the
evening of election day (November 8, 1864) he said, in response to
public congratulations: "I am thankful to God for this approval of the
people. But while deeply grateful for this mark of their confidence in
me, if I know my own heart my gratitude is free from any taint of
personal triumph. It is not in my nature to triumph over anyone; but I
give thanks to Almighty God for this evidence of the people's resolution
to stand by free government and the rights of humanity."

While the election returns were coming in, early in the evening, Lincoln
was at the War Department with a little group assembled to hear them
read. How different the scene from that in the quiet country town where
he had waited for the returns on a similar occasion four years before!
Then all was peace--the lull before the storm. Now the storm had broken,
and its greatest fury was raging about that patient and devoted man who
waited to hear the decision of the nation's supreme tribunal--the voice
of the people whose decree would settle the fate of himself and of the
country. Mr. Charles A. Dana, Assistant Secretary of War, who was in the
group, gives this description of the scene: "General Eckert was coming
in continually with telegrams containing election returns. Mr. Stanton
would read them, and the President would look at them and comment upon
them. Presently there came a lull in the returns, and Mr. Lincoln called
me up to a place by his side. 'Dana,' said he, 'have you ever read any
of the writings of Petroleum V. Nasby?' 'No, sir,' I said, 'I have only
looked at some of them, and they seemed to me funny.' 'Well,' said he,
'let me read you a specimen,' and pulling out a thin yellow-covered
pamphlet from his breast pocket he began to read aloud. Mr. Stanton
viewed this proceeding with great impatience, as I could see; but Mr.
Lincoln paid no attention to that. He would read a page or a story,
pause to con a new election telegram, and then open the book again and
go ahead with a new passage. Finally Mr. Chase came in; and presently
Mr. Whitelaw Reid, and then the reading was interrupted. Mr. Stanton
went to the door and beckoned me into the next room. I shall never
forget his indignation at what seemed to him disgusting nonsense."

The morning following the election one of his private secretaries, Mr.
Neill, coming to the Executive office earlier than usual, found Lincoln
at his table engaged in his regular routine of official work. "Entering
the room," says Mr. Neill, "I took a seat by his side, extended my hand,
and congratulated him upon the vote, for the country's sake and for his
own sake. Turning away from the papers which had been occupying his
attention, he spoke kindly of his competitor, the calm, prudent General,
and great organizer."

The importance of Lincoln's re-election, to the country and to himself,
is forcibly stated by General Grant and Secretary Seward. The former
telegraphed from City Point, the day following: "The victory is worth
more to the country than a battle won." And the same evening, at a
public gathering held to celebrate the event, Mr. Seward said: "The
election has placed our President beyond the pale of human envy or human
harm, as he is above the pale of human ambition. Henceforth all men will
come to see him as we have seen him--a true, loyal, patient, patriotic,
and benevolent man. Having no longer any motive to malign or injure him,
detraction will cease, and Abraham Lincoln will take his place with
Washington and Franklin and Jefferson and Adams and Jackson--among the
benefactors of the country and of the human race."

Lincoln evidently felt greatly reassured by the result of what had
seemed to him a very doubtful contest; but with the return of
cheerfulness came also the dread of continuing his official labors. He
began to long and plan for that happy period at the end of the second
term when he should be free from public burdens. "Mrs. Lincoln desired
to go to Europe for a long tour of pleasure," says Mr. Brooks. "The
President was disposed to gratify her wish; but he fixed his eyes on
California as a place of permanent residence. He had heard so much of
the delightful climate and the abundant natural productions of
California that he had become possessed of a strong desire to visit the
State and remain there if he were satisfied with the results of his
observations. 'When we leave this place,' he said, one day, 'we shall
have enough, I think, to take care of us old people. The boys must look
out for themselves. I guess mother will be satisfied with six months or
so in Europe. After that I should really like to go to California and
take a look at the Pacific coast.'"

After the Baltimore Convention, Mr. Chase proposed to resign his
position as Secretary of the Treasury, but he was persuaded by
influential friends of himself and Lincoln to reconsider his
determination. Chief among these friends was Hon. John Brough, the
sturdy "War Governor" of Ohio. Later in the summer of 1864 the relations
between the President and Secretary Chase again became inharmonious; the
latter determined a second time to resign, and communicated that fact
in a confidential letter to Governor Brough. Hon. Wm. Henry Smith, at
that time Ohio's Secretary of State, and intimately acquainted with the
circumstances as they occurred, says: "Mr. Brough went directly to
Washington to bring about another reconciliation. After talking the
matter over with Mr. Chase and Mr. Stanton, he called on the President
and urged a settlement that would retain the services of Mr. Chase in
the Treasury Department. Mr. Lincoln was very kind, and admitted the
force of all that was urged; but finally said, with a quiet but
impressive firmness, 'Brough, I think you had better _give up the job_
this time.' And thereupon he gave reasons why it was unwise for Mr.
Chase to continue longer in the Cabinet."

In the autumn, the Chief-Justiceship became vacant by the death of Judge
R.B. Taney (October 11, 1864), and the friends of Mr. Chase, who was
then in retirement, desired his elevation to that honorable seat.
Congressman Riddle, who was designated to present the matter to the
President, says: "After hearing what I had to say, Mr. Lincoln asked,
'Will this content Mr. Chase?' 'It is said that those bitten of the
Presidency die of it,' I replied. His smile showed he would not take
that answer. I added: 'Mr. Chase is conscious of ability to serve the
country as President. We should expect the greatest from him.' 'He would
not disappoint you, were it in his reach. But I should be sorry to see a
Chief-Justice anxious to _swap_ for it.' I said then what I had already
said to Mr. Chase: that I would rather be the Chief Justice than the
President. I urged that the purity and elevation of Mr. Chase's
character guaranteed the dignity of the station from all compromise;
that momentous questions must arise, involving recent exercises of
power, without precedents to guide the court; that the honor of the
Government would be safe in the hands of Mr. Chase. 'Would you _pack_
the Supreme Court?' he asked, a little sharply. 'Would you have a Judge
with no preconceived notions of law?' was my response. 'True, true,' was
his laughing reply; 'how could I find anyone, fit for the place, who has
not some definite notions on all questions likely to arise?'"

The proposed appointment of Mr. Chase as Chief-Justice was severely
criticized by certain friends of Lincoln, who believed Mr. Chase was
personally hostile to the President, and could not understand the
latter's magnanimity in thus ignoring personal considerations. When told
of these criticisms, Lincoln said: "My friends all over the country are
trying to put up the bars between me and Governor Chase. I have a vast
number of messages and letters from men who think they are my friends,
imploring and warning me not to appoint him. Now I know more about
Governor Chase's hostility to me than any of these men can tell me; but
_I am going to nominate him_." Which he did, and Chase became
Chief-Justice in December, 1864.

The withdrawal of Secretary Chase from the Cabinet was soon followed by
that of Postmaster-General Blair, who was succeeded by ex-Governor
Dennison of Ohio. Blair received, says Mr. Welles in his Diary, a letter
from the President, which, though friendly in tone, informed him that
the time had arrived when it seemed best that he should retire, and
requesting his resignation, which was promptly given. Mr. Welles says
that the President subsequently informed him that "Mr. Chase had many
friends who felt wounded that he should have left the Cabinet, and left
alone. The friends of Blair had been his assailants, and the President
thought that if he also left the Cabinet Chase and his friends would be
satisfied and the administration would be relieved of irritating
bickerings. The relations of Blair with Stanton also were such that it
was difficult for the two to remain." A little later came the
resignation of Attorney-General Bates, which, says Mr. Welles, "has
initiated more intrigues. A host of candidates are thrust
forward--Evarts, Holt, Gushing, Whiting, and the Lord knows who, are all
candidates." This gives but a faint idea of the embarrassments and
dissensions among Lincoln's friends and official advisers, and of the
ceaseless efforts and infinite tact that were needed to maintain a
decent degree of harmony among them.

Early in December the President submitted to Congress his fourth annual
message--a brief and businesslike statement of the prospects and
purposes of the Government. Its first sentence is: "The most remarkable
feature in the military operations of the year is General Sherman's
attempted march of three hundred miles directly through the insurgent
region." Then follows a reference to the important movements that had
occurred during the year, "to the effect of moulding society for
durability in the Union." The document closes with the following
explicit statement: "In presenting the abandonment of armed resistance
to the national authority, on the part of the insurgents, as the only
indispensable condition to ending the war on the part of the Government,
I _retract nothing_ heretofore said as to slavery. If the people should,
by whatever mode or means, make it an executive duty to re-enslave such
persons, _another, and not I_, must be their instrument to perform it.
In stating a single condition of peace, I mean simply to say that the
war will cease on the part of the Government whenever it shall have
ceased on the part of those who began it."

New Year's day, 1865, was marked by a memorable incident. Among the
crowds gathered in the White House grounds stood groups of <DW52>
people, watching with eager eyes the tide of people flowing in at the
open door to exchange salutations with the President. It was a privilege
heretofore reserved for the white race; but now, as the line of visitors
thinned, showing that the reception was nearly over, the boldest of the
<DW52> men drew near the door with faltering step. Some were in
conventional attire, others in fantastic dress, and others again in
laborers' garb. The novel procession moved into the vestibule and on
into the room where the President was holding the republican court.
Timid and doubting, though determined, they ventured where their
oppressed and down-trodden race had never appeared before, and with the
keen, anxious, inquiring look on their dark faces, seemed like a herd of
wild creatures from the woods, in a strange and dangerous place. The
reception had been unusually well attended, and the President was nearly
overcome with weariness; but when he saw the dusky faces of his unwonted
visitors, he rallied from his fatigue and gave them a hearty welcome.
They were wild with joy. Thronging about him, they pressed and kissed
his hand, laughing and weeping at once, and exclaiming, "God bless Massa
Linkum!" It was a scene not easy to forget: the thanks and adoration of
a race paid to their deliverer.

Ever since issuing the Emancipation Proclamation Lincoln had earnestly
desired that that measure should be perfected by a Constitutional
amendment forever prohibiting slavery in the territory of the United
States. He had discussed the matter fully with his friends in Congress,
and repeatedly urged them to press it to an issue. Just before the
Baltimore Convention, he urged Senator Morgan of New York, chairman of
the National Republican Committee, to have the proposed amendment made
the "key-note of the speeches and the key-note of the platform."
Congressman Rollins of Missouri relates that the President said to him,
"The passage of the amendment will _clinch the whole matter_." The
subject was already definitely before Congress. In December, 1863, joint
resolutions for this great end had been introduced in the House by Hon.
James M. Ashley of Ohio, and in the Senate by Hon. Charles Sumner of
Massachusetts and Hon. J.B. Henderson of Missouri. Senator Trumbull of
the Judiciary Committee, to whom the Senate resolutions were referred,
reported a substitute for the amendment, which, in April, 1864, passed
the Senate by a vote of thirty-eight to six; but reaching the House,
June 15, it failed to get the necessary two-thirds vote and was
defeated. At the next session of Congress the resolutions were again
presented to the House, and after a protracted debate were passed
(January 13, 1865) by a vote of one hundred and nineteen to fifty-six.
Illinois was the first State to ratify the amendment; and others
promptly followed. Lincoln was grateful and delighted. He remarked,
"This ends the job"; adding, "I feel proud that Illinois is a little
ahead."

Overtures having been made, through General Grant, for a meeting between
the President and certain "peace commissioners" representing the
belligerents, Lincoln, anxious that nothing should be left undone that
might evidence his desire to bring the war to a close, consented to the
interview. On the morning of February 2, 1865, he left Washington, quite
privately, in order to accomplish his mission without awakening the
gossip and criticism which publicity would excite. At Fortress Monroe he
was joined by Secretary Seward, who seems to have been the only member
of the Cabinet who knew of the President's intention to meet the
Southern Commissioners. Lincoln took the full responsibility, as he
often did when dealing with risky or unpopular measures. "None of the
Cabinet were advised of this move, and without exception I think it
struck them unfavorably that the Chief Magistrate should have gone on
such a mission," is the comment of Secretary Welles,--although he adds,
"The discussion will be likely to tend to peace."

The next morning (February 3) the President and Mr. Seward received the
Southern Commissioners--Stephens, Hunter, and Campbell--on board the U.S.
steam transport "River Queen" in Hampton Roads. The conference, says
Mr. Seward, "was altogether informal. There was no attendance of
secretaries, clerks, or other witnesses. Nothing was written or read.
The conversation, although earnest and free, was calm and courteous and
kind on both sides. The Richmond party approached the subject rather
indirectly, and at no time did they either make categorical demands or
tender formal stipulations or absolute refusals. Nevertheless, during
the conference, which lasted four hours, the several points at issue
between the Government and the insurgents were distinctly raised and
discussed, fully, intelligently, and in an amicable spirit."

The meeting was fruitless. The commissioners asked, as a preliminary
step, the recognition of Jefferson Davis as President of the Southern
Confederacy. Lincoln declined, stating that "the only ground on which he
could rest the justice of the war--either with his own people or with
foreign powers--was that it was not a war of conquest, for the States
had never been separated from the Union. Consequently he could not
recognize another government inside of the one of which he alone was
President, nor admit the separate independence of States that were yet a
part of the Union. 'That,' said he, 'would be doing what you have so
long asked Europe to do in vain, and be resigning the only thing the
armies of the Union have been fighting for.' Mr. Hunter, one of the
commissioners, made a long reply to this, insisting that the recognition
of Davis's power to make a treaty was the first and indispensable step
to peace, and referred to the correspondence between King Charles I. and
his Parliament as a trustworthy precedent of a constitutional ruler
treating with rebels. Lincoln's face then wore that indescribable
expression which generally preceded his hardest hits, as he remarked:
'Upon questions of history I must refer you to Mr. Seward, for he is
posted in such things, and I don't pretend to be. My only distinct
recollection of the matter is that _Charles lost his head_.'"

Alexander H. Stephens, one of the commissioners at the meeting on
board the "River Queen," and the Vice-President of the waning
Confederacy, was a very small man physically, with a complexion so
yellow as to suggest an ear of ripe corn. Lincoln gave the following
humorous account of the meeting with him: "Mr. Stephens had on an
overcoat about three sizes too big for him, with an old-fashioned high
collar. The cabin soon began to get pretty warm, and after a while he
stood up and pulled off his big coat. He slipped it off just about as
you would husk an ear of corn. I couldn't help thinking, as I looked
first at the overcoat and then at the man, 'Well, that's the _biggest
shuck_ and the _smallest nubbin_ I ever laid eyes on.'"

So strongly were Lincoln's hopes fixed on finding some possible basis
for a peaceful restoration of the Union that a few days after his return
from his meeting with the Southern Peace Commissioners he presented to
the Cabinet (February 5, 1865) a scheme for paying to the Southern
States a partial compensation for the loss of their slaves, provided
they would at once discontinue armed resistance to the Federal
Government. It was, says Mr. Welles, who was present at the meeting
referred to, as "a proposition for paying the expenses of the war for
two hundred days, or four hundred millions of dollars, to the rebellious
States, to be for the extinguishment of slavery. The scheme did not meet
with favor, and was dropped." But it showed, adds Mr. Welles, "the
earnest desire of the President to conciliate and effect peace."

The evening of March 3, 1865, the President had remained with his
Cabinet at the Capitol until a late hour, finishing the business
pertaining to the last acts of the old Congress. His face had the
ineffaceable care-worn look, yet his manner was cheerful, and he
appeared to be occupied with the work of the moment, to the exclusion of
all thoughts of the future or of the great event of the morrow.

Rain prevailed during the morning of inauguration day, but before noon
it had ceased falling. The new Senate, convened for a special session,
was organized, and Andrew Johnson was sworn in its presence into the
office of Vice-President. Shortly after twelve o'clock, Lincoln entered
the chamber and joined the august procession, which then moved to the
eastern portico. As Lincoln stepped forward to take the oath of office,
a flood of sunlight suddenly burst from the clouds, illuminating his
face and form as he bowed to the acclamations of the people. Speaking of
this incident next day, he said, "Did you notice that sunburst? It made
my heart jump." Cheers and shouts rent the air as the President prepared
to speak his inaugural. He raised his arm, and the crowd hushed to catch
his opening words. He paused, as though thronging memories impeded
utterance; then, in a voice clear and strong, but touched with pathos,
he read that eloquent and imperishable composition, the Second Inaugural
Address.

     _Fellow-Countrymen:_ At this second appearing to take the oath of
     the Presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended
     address than there was at the first. Then a statement, somewhat in
     detail, of a course to be pursued, seemed fitting and proper. Now,
     at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations
     have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the
     great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the
     energies of the Nation, little that is new could be presented. The
     progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as
     well known to the public as to myself; and it is, I trust,
     reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With high hope for
     the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured.

     On the occasion corresponding to this, four years ago, all thoughts
     were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it,
     all sought to avoid it. While the inaugural address was being
     delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union
     without war, insurgent agents were in the city, seeking to destroy
     it with war,--seeking to dissolve the Union, and divide the effects
     by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war, but one of them would
     make war rather than let the Nation survive, and the other would
     accept war rather than let it perish; and the war came. One-eighth
     of the whole population were  slaves, not distributed
     generally over the Union, but localized in the southern part of it.
     These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew
     that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen,
     perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the
     insurgents would rend the Union by war, while the Government
     claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial
     enlargement of it.

     Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration
     which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause
     of the conflict might cease when, or even before the conflict
     itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a
     result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible,
     and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the
     other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just
     God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other
     men's faces; but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The
     prayer of both could not be answered. That of neither has been
     answered fully. The Almighty has his own purposes. "Woe unto the
     world because of offenses, for it must needs be that offenses come,
     but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." If we shall
     suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses, which, in
     the Providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued
     through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He
     gives to North and South this terrible war, as the woe due to those
     by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure
     from those Divine attributes which the believers in a living God
     always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray,
     that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet if God
     wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondman's
     two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and
     until every drop of blood drawn by the lash shall be paid by
     another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago,
     so still it must be said: "The judgments of the Lord are true and
     righteous altogether."

     With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the
     right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish
     the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him
     who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and for his
     orphan; to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting
     peace among ourselves and with all nations.

This address was probably, next to the Gettysburg oration, Lincoln's
most eloquent and touching public appeal. Gladstone of England said of
it: "I am taken captive by so striking an utterance as this. I see in
it the effect of sharp trial, when rightly borne, to raise men to a
higher level of thought and action. It is by cruel suffering that
nations are sometimes born to a better life. So it is with individual
men. Lincoln's words show that upon him anxiety and sorrow have wrought
their true effect."

As the procession moved from the Capitol to the White House, at the
close of the inaugural ceremonies, a bright star was visible in the
heavens. The crowds gazing upon the unwonted phenomenon noted it as an
auspicious omen, like the baptism of sunshine which had seemed to
consecrate the President anew to his exalted office.




CHAPTER XXVIII


     Close of the Civil War--Last Acts in the Great Tragedy--Lincoln at
     the Front--A Memorable Meeting--Lincoln, Grant, Sherman, and
     Porter--Life on Shipboard--Visit to Petersburg--Lincoln and the
     Prisoners--Lincoln in Richmond--The <DW64>s Welcoming their "Great
     Messiah"--A Warm Reception--Lee's Surrender--Lincoln Receives the
     News--Universal Rejoicing--Lincoln's Last Speech to the Public--His
     Peelings and Intentions toward the South--His Desire for
     Reconciliation.

Great events crowded upon each other in the last few weeks of the Civil
War; and we must pass rapidly over them, giving special prominence only
to those with which President Lincoln was personally connected. The Army
of the Potomac under Grant, which for nearly a year had been incessantly
engaged with the army of General Lee, had forced the latter, fighting
desperately at every step, back through the Wilderness, into the
defenses about Richmond; and Lee's early surrender or retreat southward
seemed the only remaining alternatives. But the latter course,
disastrous as it would have been for the Confederacy, was rendered
impracticable by the comprehensive plan of operations that had been
adopted a year before. Interposed between Richmond and the South was now
the powerful army of General Sherman. This daring and self-reliant
officer, after his brilliant triumph at Atlanta the previous fall, had
pushed on to Savannah and captured that city also; then turning his
veteran columns northward, he had swept like a dread meteor through
South Carolina, destroying the proud city of Charleston, and then
Columbia, the State capital. General Johnston, with a strong force,
vainly tried to stay his progress through North Carolina; but after a
desperate though unsuccessful battle at Bentonville (March 20, 1865),
the opposition gave way, and the Union troops occupied Goldsboro, an
important point a hundred miles south of Richmond, commanding the
Southern railway communications of the Confederate capital. The
situation was singularly dramatic and impressive. In this narrow theatre
of war were now being rendered, with all the leading actors on the
stage, the closing scenes of that great and bloody tragedy. Grant on the
north and Sherman on the south were grinding Lee and Johnston between
them like upper and nether millstones.

The last days of March brought unmistakable signs of the speedy
breaking-up of the rebellion. Lincoln, filled with anticipation not
unmixed with anxiety, wished to be at the front. "When we came to the
end of the War and the breaking-up of things," says General Grant, "one
of Lincoln's friends said to me, 'I think Lincoln would like to come
down and spend a few days at City Point, but he is afraid if he does
come it might look like interfering with the movements of the army, and
after all that has been said about other Generals he hesitates.' I was
told that if Lincoln had a hint from me that he would be welcome he
would come by the first boat. Of course I sent word that the President
could do me no greater honor than to come down and be my guest. He came
down, and we spent several days riding around the lines. He was a fine
horseman. He talked, and talked, and talked; he seemed to enjoy it, and
said, 'How grateful I feel to be with the boys and see what is being
done at Richmond!' He never asked a question about the movements. He
would say, 'Tell me what has been done; not what is to be done.' He
would sit for hours tilted back in his chair, with his hand shading his
eyes, watching the movements of the men with the greatest interest."
Another account says: "Lincoln made many visits with Grant to the lines
around Richmond and Petersburg. On such occasions he usually rode one of
the General's fine bay horses, called 'Cincinnati.' He was a good
horseman, and made his way through swamps and over corduroy roads as
well as the best trooper in the command. The soldiers invariably
recognized him, and greeted him, wherever he appeared amongst them, with
cheers that were no lip service, but came from the depth of their
hearts. He always had a pleasant salute or a friendly word for the men
in the ranks."

Aside from the President's desire to be at the front at this critical
time, he had an almost feverish anxiety to escape from the petty
concerns and details of official life in Washington. In Welles's Diary
is this entry (March 23, 1865): "The President has gone to the front,
partly to get rid of the throng [office-seekers, politicians, etc.] that
is pressing on him. The more he yields, the greater the pressure. It has
now become such that he is compelled to flee. There is no doubt he is
much worn down. Besides, he wishes the war terminated, and, to this end,
that severe terms shall not be exacted of the Rebels."

Much of the time during the President's visit to the army he had his
quarters on the steamer "River Queen," lying in the James river at City
Point. It was the same vessel on which he had received the Southern
peace commissioners a month before, and the one on which he had made the
journey from Washington. On the 27th of March a memorable interview
occurred in the cabin of this vessel, between President Lincoln,
Generals Grant and Sherman, and Admiral Porter. General Sherman thus
describes the interview: "I left Goldsboro on the 25th of March and
reached City Point on the afternoon of the 27th. I found General Grant
and staff occupying a neat set of log huts, on a bluff overlooking the
James river. The General's family was with him. We had quite a long and
friendly talk, when Grant remarked that the President was near by in a
steamer lying at the dock, and he proposed that we should call at once.
We did so, and found Mr. Lincoln on board the 'River Queen.' We had met
in the early part of the war; he recognized me, and received me with a
warmth of manner and expression that was most grateful. We sat some time
in the after-cabin, and Mr. Lincoln made many inquiries about the events
which attended the march from Savannah to Goldsboro, and seemed to enjoy
the humorous stories about 'our <DW15>s,' of which he had heard much.
When in lively conversation his face brightened wonderfully, but if the
conversation flagged it assumed a sad and sorrowful expression. General
Grant and I explained to him that my next move from Goldsboro would
bring my army, increased to 80,000 men by Schofield's and Terry's
reinforcements, in close communication with Grant's army then investing
Lee and Richmond; and that unless Lee could effect his escape and make
junction with Johnston in North Carolina, he would soon be shut up in
Richmond with no possibility of supplies, and would have to surrender.
Mr. Lincoln was extremely interested in this view of the case, and we
explained that Lee's only chance was to escape, join Johnston, and,
being then between me in North Carolina and Grant in Virginia, he could
choose which to fight. Mr. Lincoln seemed impressed with this; but
General Grant explained that at the very moment of our conversation
General Sheridan was pressing his cavalry across James River from the
north to the south, that with this cavalry he would so extend his left
below Petersburg as to meet the South Shore Road, and that if Lee should
'let go' his fortified lines he (Grant) would follow him so close that
he could not possibly fall on me alone in North Carolina. I in like
manner expressed the fullest confidence that my army in North Carolina
was willing to cope with Lee and Johnston combined, till Grant could
come up. But we both agreed that one more bloody battle was likely to
occur before the close of the war. Mr. Lincoln repeatedly inquired as to
General Schofield's ability to maintain his position in my absence, and
seemed anxious that I should return to North Carolina. More than once he
exclaimed, 'Must more blood be shed? Cannot this last bloody battle be
avoided?' We explained that we had to presume that General Lee was a
real general; that he must see that Johnston alone was no barrier to my
progress, and that if my army of 80,000 veterans should reach Burksville
he was lost in Richmond; and that we were forced to believe he would not
await that inevitable conclusion, but would make one more desperate
effort."

General Sherman adds this personal tribute to Lincoln to the account of
the interview on board the "River Queen": "When I left Mr. Lincoln I was
more than ever impressed by his kindly nature, his deep and earnest
sympathy with the afflictions of the whole people, resulting from the
war, and by the march of hostile armies through the South. I felt that
his earnest desire was to end the war speedily, without more bloodshed
or devastation, and to restore all the men of both sections to their
homes. In the language of his second inaugural address, he seemed to
have 'charity for all, malice toward none,' and above all an absolute
faith in the courage, manliness, and integrity of the armies in the
field. When at rest or listening, his legs and arms seemed to hang
almost lifeless, and his face was careworn and haggard; but the moment
he began to talk his face lightened up, his tall form, as it were,
unfolded, and he was the very impersonation of good humor and
fellowship. The last words I recall as addressed to me were that he
would feel better when I was back at Goldsboro. We parted at the gangway
of the 'River Queen,' about noon of March 28, and I never saw him again.
Of all the men I ever met, he seemed to possess more of the elements of
greatness, combined with goodness, than any other."

A few days after the interview described by General Sherman, the
President changed his quarters to the cabin of the "Malvern," Admiral
Porter's flagship. The Admiral says: "The 'Malvern' was a small vessel
with poor accommodations, and not at all fitted to receive high
personages. She was a captured blockade-runner, and had been given to me
as a flag-ship. I offered the President my bed, but he positively
declined it, and elected to sleep in a small state-room outside of the
cabin occupied by my secretary. It was the smallest kind of a room, six
feet long by four and a half feet wide--a small kind of a room for the
President of the United States to be domiciled in; but Mr. Lincoln
seemed pleased with it. When he came to breakfast the next morning, I
inquired how he had slept: 'I slept well,' he answered, 'but you can't
put a long sword into a short scabbard. I was _too long_ for that
berth.' Then I remembered he was over six feet four inches, while the
berth was only six feet. That day, while we were out of the ship, all
the carpenters were put to work; the state-room was taken down and
increased in size to eight feet by six and a half feet. The mattress was
widened to suit a berth of four feet width, and the entire state-room
remodelled. Nothing was said to the President about the change in his
quarters when he went to bed; but next morning he came out smiling, and
said: 'A miracle happened last night; I shrank six inches in length and
about a foot sideways. I got somebody else's big pillow, and slept in a
better bed than I did on the "River Queen."' He enjoyed it greatly; but
I do think if I had given him two fence-rails to sleep on he would not
have found fault. That was Abraham Lincoln in all things relating to his
own comfort. He would never permit people to put themselves out for him
under any circumstances."

On the 2d of April the stronghold of Petersburg fell into the hands of
the Union troops. Lincoln, accompanied by Admiral Porter, visited the
city. They joined General Grant, and sat with him for nearly two hours
upon the porch of a comfortable little house with a small yard in front.
Crowds of citizens soon gathered at the fence to gaze upon these
remarkable men of whom they had heard so much. The President's heart was
filled with joy, for he felt that this was "the beginning of the end."
Admiral Porter says: "Several regiments passed us _en route_, and they
all seemed to recognize the President at once. 'Three cheers for Uncle
Abe!' passed along among them, and the cheers were given with a vim
which showed the estimation in which he was held by the soldiers. That
evening," continues Admiral Porter, "the sailors and marines were sent
out to guard and escort in some prisoners, who were placed on board a
large transport lying in the stream. There were about a thousand
prisoners, more or less. The President expressed a desire to go on
shore. I ordered the barge and went with him. We had to pass the
transport with the prisoners. They all rushed to the side with eager
curiosity. All wanted to see the Northern President. They were perfectly
content. Every man had a chunk of meat and a piece of bread in his hand,
and was doing his best to dispose of it. 'That's Old Abe,' said one, in
a low voice. 'Give the old fellow three cheers,' said another; while a
third called out, Hello, Abe, your bread and meat's better than
pop-corn!' It was all good-natured, and not meant in unkindness. I could
see no difference between them and our own men, except that they were
ragged and attenuated for want of wholesome food. They were as happy a
set of men as ever I saw. They could see their homes looming up before
them in the distance, and knew that the war was over. 'They will never
shoulder a musket again in anger,' said the President, 'and if Grant is
wise he will leave them their guns to shoot crows with. It would do no
harm.'"

The next day (April 3) the Union advance, under General Weitzel, reached
and occupied Richmond. Lee was in retreat, with Grant in close pursuit.
When the news of the downfall of the Confederate capital reached Lincoln
on board the "Malvern," he exclaimed fervently: "Thank God that I have
lived to see this! It seems to me I have been dreaming a horrid dream
for four years, and now the nightmare is gone. _I want to see
Richmond._"

The vessel started up the river, but found it extremely difficult to
proceed, as the channel was filled with torpedoes and obstructions, and
they were obliged to wait until a passage could be cleared. Admiral
Porter thus describes what followed: "When the channel was reported
clear of torpedoes (a large number of which were taken up), I proceeded
up to Richmond in the 'Malvern,' with President Lincoln. Every vessel
that got through the obstructions wished to be the first one up, and
pushed ahead with all steam; but they grounded, one after another, the
'Malvern' passing them all, until she also took the ground. Not to be
delayed, I took the President in my barge, and with a tug ahead with a
file of marines on board we continued on up to the city. There was a
large bridge across the James about a mile below the landing, and under
this a party in a small steamer were caught and held by the current,
with no prospect of release without assistance. I ordered the tug to
cast off and help them, leaving us in the barge to go on alone. Here we
were in a solitary boat, after having set out with a number of vessels
flying flags at every masthead, hoping to enter the conquered capital in
a manner befitting the rank of the President of the United States, with
a further intention of firing a national salute in honor of the happy
result. Mr. Lincoln was cheerful, and had his 'little story' ready for
the occasion. 'Admiral, this brings to my mind a fellow who once came to
me to ask for an appointment as minister abroad. Finding he could not
get that, he came down to some more modest position. Finally he asked to
be made a tide-waiter. When he saw he could not get that, he asked me
for _an old pair of trousers._ It is sometimes well to be _humble_.'

"I had never been to Richmond before by that route," continues Admiral
Porter, "and did not know where the landing was; neither did the
cockswain nor any of the barge's crew. We pulled on, hoping to see
someone of whom we could inquire, but no one was in sight. The street
along the river-front was as deserted as if this had been a city of the
dead. The troops had been in possession some hours, but not a soldier
was to be seen. The current was now rushing past us over and among
rocks, on one of which we finally stuck; but I backed out and pointed
for the nearest landing. There was a small house on this landing, and
behind it were some twelve <DW64>s digging with spades. The leader of
them was an old man sixty years of age. He raised himself to an upright
position as we landed, and put his hands up to his eyes. Then he
dropped his spade and sprang forward. 'Bress de Lord,' he said, 'dere is
_de great Messiah_! I knowed him as soon as I seed him. He's bin in my
heart fo' long yeahs, an' he's cum at las' to free his chillun from deir
bondage! Glory, Hallelujah!' And he fell upon his knees before the
President and kissed his feet. The others followed his example, and in a
minute Mr. Lincoln was surrounded by these people, who had treasured up
the recollection of him caught from a photograph, and had looked up to
him for four years as the one who was to lead them out of captivity. It
was a touching sight--that aged <DW64> kneeling at the feet of the tall,
gaunt-looking man who seemed in himself to be bearing all the grief of
the nation, and whose sad face seemed to say, 'I suffer for you all, but
will do all I can to help you.' Mr. Lincoln looked down on the poor
creatures at his feet. He was much embarrassed at his position. 'Don't
kneel to me,' he said, 'that is not right. You must kneel to God only,
and thank Him for the liberty you will hereafter enjoy. I am but God's
humble instrument; but you may rest assured that as long as I live no
one shall put a shackle on your limbs, and you shall have all the rights
which God has given to every other free citizen of this Republic.' It was
a minute or two before I could get the <DW64>s to rise and leave the
President. The scene was so touching that I hated to disturb it, yet we
could not stay there all day; we had to move on; so I requested the
patriarch to withdraw from about the President with his companions, and
let us pass on. 'Yes, Mars,' said the old man, 'but after bein' so many
yeahs in de desert widout water, it's mighty pleasant to be lookin' at
las' on our spring of life. 'Scuse us, sir; we means no disrepec' to
Mars Lincoln; we means all love and gratitude.' And then, joining hands
together in a ring, the <DW64>s sang a hymn, with the melodious and
touching voices possessed only by the <DW64>s of the South. The
President and all of us listened respectfully while the hymn was being
sung. Four minutes at most had passed away since we first landed at a
point where, as far as the eye could reach, the streets were entirely
deserted; but now what a different scene appeared as that hymn went
forth from the <DW64>s' lips! The streets seemed to be suddenly alive
with the <DW52> race. They seemed to spring from the earth. They came
tumbling and shouting, from over the hills and from the water-side,
where no one was seen as we had passed. The crowd immediately became
very oppressive. We needed our marines to keep them off. I ordered
twelve of the boat's crew to fix bayonets to their rifles and surround
the President, all of which was quickly done; but the crowd poured in so
fearfully that I thought we all stood a chance of being crushed to
death. At length the President spoke. He could not move for the mass of
people--he had to do something. 'My poor friends,' he said, 'you are
free--free as air. You can cast off the name of slave and trample upon
it; it will come to you no more. Liberty is your birthright. God gave it
to you as He gave it to others, and it is a sin that you have been
deprived of it for so many years. But you must try to deserve this
priceless boon. Let the world see that you merit it, and are able to
maintain it by your good works. Don't let your joy carry you into
excesses. Learn the laws and obey them; obey God's commandments and
thank Him for giving you liberty, for to Him you owe all things. There,
now, let me pass on; I have but little time to spare. I want to see the
capital, and must return at once to Washington to secure to you that
liberty which you seem to prize so highly.' The crowd shouted and
screeched as if they would split the firmament, though while the
President was speaking you might have heard a pin drop."

Presently the little party was able to move on. "It never struck me,"
says Admiral Porter, "there was anyone in that multitude who would
injure Mr. Lincoln; it seemed to me that he had an army of supporters
there who could and would defend him against all the world. Our progress
was very slow; we did not move a mile an hour, and the crowd was still
increasing. It was a warm day, and the streets were dusty, owing to the
immense gathering which covered every part of them, kicking up the dirt.
The atmosphere was suffocating; but Mr. Lincoln could be seen plainly by
every man, woman, and child, towering head and shoulders above that
crowd; he overtopped every man there. He carried his hat in his hand,
fanning his face, from which the perspiration was pouring. He looked as
if he would have given his Presidency for a glass of water--I would have
given my commission for half that.

"Now came another phase in the procession. As we entered the city every
window flew up, from ground to roof, and every one was filled with
eager, peering faces, which turned one to another, and seemed to ask,
'Is this large man, with soft eyes, and kind, benevolent face, the one
who has been held up to us as the incarnation of wickedness, the
destroyer of the South?' There was nothing like taunt or defiance in the
faces of those who were gazing from the windows or craning their necks
from the sidewalks to catch a view of the President. The look of every
one was that of eager curiosity--nothing more. In a short time we
reached the mansion of Mr. Davis, President of the Confederacy, occupied
after the evacuation as the headquarters of General Weitzel and Shepley.
There was great cheering going on. Hundreds of civilians--I don't know
who they were--assembled at the front of the house to welcome Mr.
Lincoln. General Shepley made a speech and gave us a lunch, after which
we entered a carriage and visited the State House--the late seat of the
Confederate Congress. It was in dreadful disorder, betokening a sudden
and unexpected flight; members' tables were upset, bales of Confederate
scrip were lying about the floor, and many official documents of some
value were scattered about.

"After this inspection I urged the President to go on board the
'Malvern.' I began to feel more heavily the responsibility resting upon
me through the care of his person. The evening was approaching, and we
were in a carriage open on all sides. He was glad to go; he was tired
out, and wanted the quiet of the flag-ship. I was oppressed with
uneasiness until we got on board and stood on the deck with the
President safe; then there was not a happier man anywhere than myself."

On Sunday, April 9, the President returned to Washington; and there he
heard the thrilling news that Lee, with his whole army, had that day
surrendered to Grant at Appomattox. Lincoln's first visit, after
reaching the capital, was to the house of Secretary Seward, who had met
with a severe accident during his absence, and was a prisoner in a sick
room. Lincoln's heart was full of joy, and he entered immediately upon
an account of his visit to Richmond and the glorious successes of the
Union army; "throwing himself," as Mr. Carpenter says, "in his almost
boyish exultation, at full length across the bed, supporting his head
upon one hand, and in this manner reciting the story of the collapse of
the Rebellion. Concluding, he lifted himself up and said, 'And now for a
day of Thanksgiving!'"

In Washington, as in every city and town in the loyal States, there was
the wildest enthusiasm over the good news from the army. Flags were
flying everywhere, cannon were sounding, business was suspended, and the
people gave themselves up to the impulses of joy and thanksgiving.
Monday afternoon the workmen of the navy-yard marched to the White
House, joining the thousands already there, and with bands playing and a
tumult of rejoicing, called persistently for the President. After some
delay Lincoln appeared at the window above the main entrance, and was
greeted with loud and prolonged cheers and demonstrations of love and
respect. He declined to make a formal speech, saying to the excited
throng beneath:

     I am very greatly rejoiced that an occasion has occurred so
     pleasurable that the people can't restrain themselves. I suppose
     that arrangements are being made for some sort of formal
     demonstration, perhaps this evening or to-morrow night. If there
     should be such a demonstration, I, of course, shall have to respond
     to it, and I shall have nothing to say if I dribble it out before.
     I see you have a band. I propose now closing up by requesting you
     to play a certain air or tune. I have always thought "Dixie" one of
     the best tunes I ever heard. I have heard that our adversaries over
     the way have attempted to appropriate it as a national air. I
     insisted yesterday that we had fairly captured it. I presented the
     question to the Attorney-General, and he gave his opinion that it
     is our lawful prize. I ask the band to give us a good turn upon it.

The band did give "a good turn" not only to "Dixie," but to the
whimsical tune of "Yankee Doodle," after which Lincoln proposed three
cheers for General Grant and all under his command; and then "three more
cheers for our gallant navy," at the close of which he bowed and retired
amid the inspiring strains of "Hail Columbia" discoursed with vigor by
the patriotic musicians.

As additional despatches were received from the army, the joyful
excitement in Washington increased. Tuesday evening, April 11, the
President's mansion, the Executive Departments, and many of the business
places and private residences, were illuminated, bonfires were kindled,
and fireworks sent off, in celebration of the great event which stirred
the hearts of the people. A vast mass of citizens crowded about the
White House, as Lincoln appeared at the historic East window and made
his last speech to the American public. It was a somewhat lengthy
address, and had been prepared and written out for the occasion. "We
meet this evening, not in sorrow but in gladness of heart," began the
President. "No part of the honor or praise is mine. To General Grant,
his skilful officers and brave men, all belongs." Mr. Brooks, who was in
the White House during the delivery of this address, gives the following
glimpses behind the scenes: "As Lincoln spoke, the multitude was as
silent as if the court-yard had been deserted. Then, as his speech was
written on loose sheets, and the candles placed for him were too low, he
took a light in his hand and went on with his reading. Soon coming to
the end of a page, he found some difficulty in handling the manuscript
and holding the candlestick. A friend who stood behind the drapery of
the window reached out and took the candle, and held it until the end of
the speech, and the President let the loose pages fall on the floor, one
by one, as fast as he was through with them. Presently Tad, having
refreshed himself at the dinner-table, came back in search of amusement.
He gathered up the scattered sheets of the President's speech, and then
amused himself by chasing the leaves as they fluttered from the
speaker's hand. Growing impatient at his father's delay to drop another
page, Tad whispered, 'Come, give me another!' The President made a queer
motion with his foot toward the boy, but otherwise showed no sign that
he had other thoughts than those which he was dropping to the listeners
beneath. Without was a vast sea of upturned faces, each eye fixed on the
form of the President. Around the tall white pillars of the portico
flowed an undulating surface of human beings, stirred by emotion and
lighted with the fantastic colors of fireworks. At the window, his face
irradiated with patriotic joy, was the much-beloved Lincoln, reading the
speech that was to be his last to the people. Behind him crept back and
forth, on his hands and knees, the boy of the White House, gathering up
his father's carefully written pages, and occasionally lifting up his
eager face waiting for more. It was before and behind the scenes.
Sometimes I wonder, when I recall that night, how much of a father's
love and thought of his boy might have been mingled in Lincoln's last
speech to the eager multitude."

The President's speech on this occasion was largely devoted to the
impending problem of Reconstruction in the South. The problem was
complex and difficult, with no recognized principles or precedent for
guidance. Said Lincoln: "Unlike the case of a war between independent
nations, there is no authorized organization for us to treat with. No
one man has authority to give up the rebellion for any other man. We
simply must begin with and mould from disorganized and discordant
elements. Nor is it a small additional embarrassment, that we, the loyal
people, differ amongst ourselves as to the mode, manner, and measure of
reconstruction. Let us all join in doing the acts necessary to restoring
the proper practical relations between these States and the Union." The
problem thus touched upon was one that had long occupied the thoughts
of Lincoln, especially since the downfall of the Confederacy had been
imminent. His practical and far-seeing mind was already addressing
itself to the new issues, duties, and responsibilities, which he saw
opening before him, and which he well knew would demand all of his
wisdom, firmness, and political sagacity. As was to be expected, a great
diversity of views prevailed. A powerful faction in Congress,
sympathized with by some members of the Cabinet, was for "making treason
odious" and dealing with the insurgent States as conquered provinces
that had forfeited all rights once held under the Constitution and were
entitled only to such treatment as the Government chose to give them.
Lincoln's ideas were very different. His mind was occupied with
formulating a policy having for its object the welfare of the Southern
people and the restoration of the rebellious States to the Union. His
broad and statesmanlike views were outlined, the day after the public
address just referred to, in discussing Secretary Welles's plans for
convening the legislature of Virginia. Says Mr. Welles in his Diary:
"His idea was that the members of the legislature, comprising the
prominent and influential men of their respective counties, had better
come together and undo their own work. Civil government must be
reestablished, he said, as soon as possible; there must be courts, and
law and order, or society would be broken up, the disbanded armies would
turn into robber bands and guerillas, which we must strive to prevent.
These were the reasons why he wished prominent Virginians who had the
confidence of the people to come together and turn themselves and their
neighbors into good Union men." Lincoln had no thought of leaving any of
these questions to the military authorities. In March he had directed a
despatch from Stanton to Grant, saying: "The President wishes you to
have no conference with General Lee, unless it be for the capitulation
of his army, or on some other minor and purely military matter. He
instructs me to say that you are not to decide, discuss, or confer upon
any political question. Such questions the President _holds in his own
hands_, and will submit them to no military conferences or conventions."
During his meeting with Grant at Petersburg the President revealed to
the General many of his plans for the rehabilitation of the South, and
it could easily be seen that a spirit of magnanimity was uppermost in
his heart. And at the conference with Grant, Sherman, and Porter, on
board the "River Queen," the same subject was broached. "Though I cannot
attempt to recall the words spoken by any one of the persons present on
that occasion," says General Sherman, "I know we talked generally about
what was to be done when Lee's and Johnston's armies were beaten and
dispersed. On this point Mr. Lincoln was very full. He said that he had
long thought of it, that he hoped this end could be reached without more
bloodshed, but in any event he wanted us to get the men of the Southern
armies disarmed and back to their homes; that he contemplated no
revenge, no harsh measures, but quite the contrary, and that their
suffering and hardships during the war would make them the more
submissive to law." Says Hon. George Bancroft: "It was the nature of Mr.
Lincoln to forgive. When hostilities ceased he who had always sent forth
the flag with every one of its stars in the field was eager to receive
back his returning countrymen."

One of the last stories of personal interviews with President Lincoln
relates to his feeling of clemency for the men lately in rebellion. It
is told by Senator Henderson of Missouri. "About the middle of March,
1865," says Senator Henderson, "I went to the White House to ask the
President to pardon a number of men who had been languishing in Missouri
prisons for various offenses, all political. Some of them had been my
schoolmates, and their mothers and sisters and sweethearts had persisted
in appeals that I should use my influence for their release. Since it
was evident to me that the Confederacy was in its last throes, I felt
that the pardon of most of these prisoners would do more good than harm.
I had separated them, according to the gravity of their offenses, into
three classes; and handing the first list to him, I said, 'Mr.
President, the session of the Senate is closed, and I am about to start
for home. The war is virtually over. Grant is pretty certain to get Lee
and his army, and Sherman is plainly able to take care of Johnston. In
my opinion the best way to prevent guerilla warfare at the end of
organized resistance will be to show clemency to these Southern
sympathizers.' Lincoln shook his head and said, 'Henderson, I am deeply
indebted to you, and I want to show it; but don't ask me at this time to
pardon rebels. I can't do it. People are continually blaming me for
being too lenient. Don't encourage such fellows by inducing me to turn
loose a lot of men who perhaps ought to be hanged.' I answered, 'Mr.
President, these prisoners and their friends tell me that for them the
war is over; and it will surely have a good influence now to let them
go.' He replied, 'Henderson, my conscience tells me that I must not do
it.' But I persisted. 'Mr. President, you _should_ do it. It is
necessary for good feeling in Missouri that these people be released.'
'If I sign this list as a whole, will you be responsible for the future
good behavior of these men?' he asked. 'Yes,' I replied, 'I will.' 'Then
I'll take the risk.' He wrote the word _Pardoned_, signed the order of
release, and returned the paper to me. 'Thank you, Mr. President,' I
said, 'but that is not all. I have another list.' 'You're not going to
make me let loose another lot!' he exclaimed. 'Yes,' I answered, 'and my
argument is the same as before. The guilt of these men is doubtful.
Mercy must be the policy of peace.' With the only words approaching
profanity that I ever heard him utter, he exclaimed, '_I'll be durned if
I don't sign it!_ Now, Henderson,' he said, as he handed me the list,
'remember that you are responsible to me for these men, and if they
don't behave '_I'll put you in prison for their sins._'"

Lincoln's whole feeling toward the vanquished Southern people was one of
peace and magnanimity. While many were clamoring for the execution of
the Southern leaders, and especially Jefferson Davis, Lincoln said, only
a day or two before his death: "This talk about Mr. Davis wearies me. I
hope he will mount a fleet horse, reach the shores of the Gulf of
Mexico, and ride _so far into its waters_ that we shall never see him
again." And then he told a pat story--perhaps his last--of a boy in
Springfield, "who saved up his money and bought a '<DW53>,' which, after
the novelty wore off, became a great nuisance. He was one day leading
him through the streets, and had his hands full to keep clear of the
little vixen, who had torn his clothes half off him. At length he sat
down on the curb-stone, completely fagged out. A man passing was stopped
by the lad's disconsolate appearance, and asked the matter. 'Oh,' was
the only reply, 'this <DW53> is such a _trouble_ to me!' 'Why don't you
get rid of him, then?' said the gentleman. '_Hush_!' said the boy,
'don't you see he is gnawing his rope off? I am going to let him do it,
and then I will go home and tell the folks _that he got away from me_.'"

At the last Cabinet meeting ever attended by Lincoln, held in the
morning of the day on which he was shot, the subject of Reconstruction
was again uppermost, and various plans were presented and discussed.
Secretary Stanton brought forward a plan or ordinance which he said he
had prepared with much care and after a great deal of reflection. It was
arranged that a copy of this should be furnished to each member of the
Cabinet, for criticism and suggestion. "In the meantime," says Secretary
Welles, "we were requested by the President to deliberate and carefully
consider the proposition. He remarked that this was _the great question_
now before us, and _we must soon begin to act_." What that action would
have been had Lincoln lived--what wrong and misery would have been
spared to the South and shame and dishonor to the North--no one can
doubt who comprehends the fibre of that kindly, just, and indomitable
soul.




CHAPTER XXIX


     The Last of Earth--Events of the Last Day of Lincoln's Life--The
     Last Cabinet Meeting--The Last Drive with Mrs. Lincoln--Incidents
     of the Afternoon--Riddance to Jacob Thompson--A Final Act of
     Pardon--The Fatal Evening--The Visit to the Theatre--The Assassin's
     Shot--A Scene of Horror--Particulars of the Crime--The Dying
     President--A Nation's Grief--Funeral Obsequies--The Return to
     Illinois--At Rest in Oak Ridge Cemetery.

It is something to be ever gratefully remembered, that the last day of
Lincoln's life was filled with sunshine. His cares and burdens slipped
from him like a garment, and his spirit was filled with a blessed and
benignant peace.

On the morning of that fatal Friday, the 14th day of April, the
President had a long conversation at breakfast with his son Robert, then
a member of Grant's staff, who had just arrived from the front with
additional particulars of Lee's surrender, of which event he had been a
witness. The President listened with close attention to the interesting
recital; then, taking up a portrait of General Lee, which his son had
brought him, he placed it on the table before him, where he scanned it
long and thoughtfully. Presently he said: "It is a good face. It is the
face of a noble, brave man. I am glad that the war is over at last."
Looking upon Robert, he continued: "Well, my son, you have returned
safely from the front. The war is now closed, and we will soon live in
peace with the brave men who have been fighting against us. I trust that
the era of good feeling has returned, and that henceforth we shall live
in harmony together."

After breakfast the President received Speaker Colfax, spending an hour
or more in discussing his plans regarding the adjustment of matters in
the South. This was followed by an interview with Hon. John P. Hale, the
newly appointed Minister to Spain, and by calls of congratulation from
members of Congress and old friends from Illinois. Afterwards he took a
short drive with General Grant, who had just come to the city to consult
regarding the disbandment of the army and the parole of prisoners. The
people were wild with enthusiasm, and wherever the President and General
Grant appeared they were greeted with cheers, the clapping of hands,
waving of handkerchiefs, and every possible demonstration of delight.

At the Cabinet meeting held at noon the President was accompanied by
General Grant. The meeting is thus described by one who was present,
Secretary Welles: "Congratulations were interchanged, and earnest
inquiry was made whether any information had been received from General
Sherman. General Grant, who was invited to remain, said he was expecting
hourly to hear from Sherman, and had a good deal of anxiety on the
subject. The President remarked that the news would come soon and come
favorably, he had no doubt, for he had last night his usual dream which
had preceded nearly every important event of the war. I inquired the
particulars of this remarkable dream. He said it was in my
department--it related to the water; that he seemed to be in a singular
and indescribable vessel, but always the same, and that he was moving
with great rapidity toward a dark and indefinite shore; that he had had
this singular dream preceding the firing on Sumter, the battles of Bull
Run, Antietam, Gettysburg, Stone River, Vicksburg, Wilmington, etc.
General Grant remarked, with some emphasis and asperity, that Stone
River was no victory--that a few such victories would have ruined the
country, and he knew of no important results from it. The President said
that perhaps he should not altogether agree with him, but whatever might
be the facts his singular dream preceded that fight. Victory did not
always follow his dream, but the event and results were important. He
had no doubt that a battle had taken place or was about being fought,
'and Johnston will be beaten, for I had this strange dream again last
night. It must relate to Sherman; my thoughts are in that direction, and
_I know of no other very important event which is likely just now to
occur_.'" "Great events," adds Mr. Welles in his Diary, "did indeed
follow; for within a few hours the good and gentle as well as truly
great man who narrated his dream closed forever his earthly career."

After the Cabinet meeting the President took a drive with Mrs. Lincoln,
expressing a wish that no one should accompany them. His heart was
filled with a solemn joy, which awoke memories of the past to mingle
with hopes for the future; and in this subdued moment he desired to be
alone with the one who stood nearest to him in human relationship. In
the course of their talk together, he said: "Mary, we have had a hard
time of it since we came to Washington; but the war is over, and with
God's blessing we may hope for four years of peace and happiness, and
then we will go back to Illinois and pass the rest of our lives in
quiet." He spoke, says Mr. Arnold, "of his old Springfield home; and
recollections of his early days, his little brown cottage, the law
office, the court room, the green bag for his briefs and law papers, his
adventures when riding the circuit, came thronging back to him. The
tension under which he had for so long been kept was removed, and he was
like a boy out of school. 'We have laid by,' said he to his wife, 'some
money, and during this term we will try and save up more, but shall not
have enough to support us. We will go back to Illinois, and I will open
a law office at Springfield or Chicago, and practise law, and at least
do enough to help give us a livelihood.' Such were the dreams, the
day-dreams of Lincoln, on the last day of his earthly life."

Mr. Neill, the President's private secretary, states that between three
and four o'clock of this day he had occasion to seek the President to
procure his signature to a paper. "I found," says Mr. Neill, "that he
had retired to the private parlor of the house for lunch. While I was
looking over the papers on his table, to see if I could find the desired
commission, he came back, eating an apple. I told him what I was looking
for, and as I talked he placed his hand upon the bell-pull. I said: 'For
whom are you going to ring?' Placing his hand upon my coat, he spoke but
two words: 'Andrew Johnson.' 'Then,' I said, 'I will come in again.' As
I was leaving the room, the Vice-President had been ushered in, and the
President advanced and took him by the hand."

Charles A. Dana, the Assistant Secretary of War, says that his last
recollections of President Lincoln are indelibly associated with the
seditious Jacob Thompson. "Late in the afternoon," says Mr. Dana, "a
despatch was received at the War Department from the provost marshal of
Portland, Maine, saying that he had received information that Jacob
Thompson would arrive in Portland during that night, in order to take
there the Canadian steamer which was to sail for Liverpool. On reading
this despatch to Mr. Stanton, the latter said, 'Order him to be
arrested--but no; you had better take it over to the President.' I found
Mr. Lincoln in the inner room of his business office at the White House,
with his coat off, washing his hands preparatory to a drive. 'Hello,'
said he, 'what is it?' Listening to the despatch, he asked, 'What does
Stanton say?' 'He thinks he ought to be arrested,' I replied. 'Well,' he
continued, drawling his words, 'I rather guess not. When you have an
elephant on your hands, and he wants to run away, better let him run.'"

During the afternoon the President signed a pardon for a soldier
sentenced to be shot for desertion; remarking, as he did so, "Well, I
think the boy can do us more good above ground than under ground." He
also approved an application for the discharge, on taking the oath of
allegiance, of a Southern prisoner, on whose petition he wrote, "_Let it
be done_." This act of mercy was his last official order.

It had been decided early in the day that the President and Mrs. Lincoln
would attend Ford's Theatre in the evening, to witness the play of "The
American Cousin." Lincoln had invited General Grant to accompany his
party to the theatre, saying that the people would expect to see him and
should not be disappointed. But the General had declined, as Mrs. Grant
was anxious to start that afternoon to visit their children, who were at
school in Burlington, New Jersey.

As the hour approached for leaving for the theatre, the President was
engaged in a conversation with two friends--Speaker Colfax and Hon.
George Ashmun of Massachusetts. The business on which they had met not
being concluded, the President gave Mr. Ashmun a card on which he had
written these words: "Allow Mr. Ashmun and friend to come in at 9 A.M.
to-morrow--A. Lincoln." He then turned to Mr. Colfax, saying, "You are
going with Mrs. Lincoln and me to the theatre, I hope." Mr. Colfax
pleaded other engagements, when Lincoln remarked: "Mr. Sumner has the
gavel of the Confederate Congress, which he got at Richmond to hand to
the Secretary of War. But I insisted then that he must give it to you;
and you tell him for me to hand it over." He then rose, but seemed
reluctant to go, expressing a half-determination to delay a while
longer. It was undoubtedly to avoid disappointing the audience, to whom
his presence had been promised, that he went to the play-house that
night. At the door he stopped and said to Speaker Colfax, who was about
to leave for the Pacific coast, "Colfax, do not forget to tell the
people in the mining regions, as you pass through, what I told you this
morning about the development when peace comes. I will telegraph you at
San Francisco."

It was nine o'clock when the Presidential party reached the theatre. The
place was crowded; "many ladies in rich and gay costumes, officers in
their uniforms, many well-known citizens, young folks, the usual
clusters of gaslights, the usual magnetism of so many people, cheerful,
with perfumes, music of violins and flutes--and over all, and saturating
all, that vast, vague wonder, Victory, the Nation's victory, the triumph
of the Union, filling the air, the thought, the sense, with exhilaration
more than all perfumes." As the President entered he was greeted with
tremendous cheers, to which he responded with genial courtesy. The box
reserved for him, at the right of the stage, a little above the floor,
was draped and festooned with flags. As the party were seated, the
daughter of Senator Harris of New York occupied the corner nearest the
stage; next her was Mrs. Lincoln; and behind them sat the President and
Major Rathbone, the former being nearest the door.

    In his quiet chair he sate,
      Pure of malice or guile,
    Stainless of fear or hate;
      And there played a pleasant smile
    On the rough and careworn face,--
      For his heart was all the while
    On means of mercy and grace.

    The brave old flag drooped o'er him,--
      A fold in the hard hand lay;
      He looked perchance on the play,--
    But the scene was a shadow before him,
      For his thoughts were far away.

It was half-past ten o'clock, and the audience was absorbed in the
progress of the play, when suddenly a pistol shot, loud and sharp, rang
through the theatre. All eyes were instantly directed toward the
President's box, whence the report proceeded. A moment later, the figure
of a man, holding a smoking pistol in one hand and a dagger in the
other, appeared at the front of the President's box, and sprang to the
stage, some eight or ten feet below, shouting as he did so, "_Sic semper
tyrannis!_" He fell as he struck the stage; but quickly recovering
himself, sprang through the side-wings and escaped from the theatre by a
rear door.

At the moment of the assassination a single actor, Mr. Hawk, was on the
stage. In his account of the tragical event he says: "When I heard the
shot fired, I turned, looked up at the President's box, heard the man
exclaim, '_Sic semper tyrannis_!' saw him jump from the box, seize the
flag on the staff, and drop to the stage. He slipped when he struck the
stage, but got upon his feet in a moment, brandished a large knife,
crying, 'The South shall be free,' turned his face in the direction
where I stood, and I recognized him as John Wilkes Booth. He ran towards
me, and I, seeing the knife, thought I was the one he was after, and ran
off the stage and up a flight of stairs. He made his escape out of a
door directly in the rear of the theatre, mounted a horse, and rode off.
The above all occurred in the space of a quarter of a minute, and at the
time I did not know the President was shot."

Scarcely had the horror-stricken audience witnessed the leap and flight
of the asassin when a woman's shriek pierced through the theatre,
recalling all eyes to the President's box. The scene that ensued is
described with singular vividness by the poet Walt Whitman, who was
present: "A moment's hush--a scream--the cry of murder--Mrs. Lincoln
leaning out of the box, with ashy cheeks and lips, with involuntary cry,
pointing to the retreating figure, '_He has killed the President!_' And
still a moment's strange, incredulous suspense--and then the
deluge!--then that mixture of horror, noises, uncertainty--(the sound,
somewhere back, of a horse's hoofs clattering with speed)--the people
burst through chairs and railing, and break them up--that noise adds to
the queerness of the scene--there is inextricable confusion and
terror--women faint--feeble persons fall and are trampled on--many cries
of agony are heard--the broad stage suddenly fills to suffocation with a
dense and motley crowd, like some horrible carnival--the audience rush
generally upon it--at least the strong men do--the actors and actresses
are there in their play costumes and painted faces, with mortal fright
showing through the rouge--some trembling, some in tears--the screams
and calls, confused talk--redoubled, trebled--two or three manage to
pass up water from the stage to the President's box--others try to
clamber up. Amidst all this, a party of soldiers, two hundred or more,
hearing what is done, suddenly appear; they storm the house, inflamed
with fury, literally charging the audience with fixed bayonets, muskets,
and pistols, shouting, 'Clear out! clear out!'.... And in the midst of
that pandemonium of senseless haste--the infuriated soldiers, the
audience, the stage, its actors and actresses, its paints and spangles
and gaslights,--the life blood from those veins, the best and sweetest
of the land, drips slowly down, and death's ooze already begins its
little bubbles on the lips."

It appears that Booth, the assassin, had long been plotting the murder
of the President, and was awaiting a favorable moment for its execution.
He had visited the theatre at half-past eleven on the morning of the
14th, and learned that a box had been taken for the President that
evening. He engaged a fleet horse for a saddle-ride in the afternoon,
and left it at a convenient place. In the evening he rode to the
theatre, and, leaving the animal in charge of an accomplice, entered the
house. Making his way to the door of the President's box, and taking a
small Derringer pistol in one hand and a double-edged dagger in the
other, he thrust his arm into the entrance, where the President, sitting
in an arm-chair, presented to his view the back and side of his head. A
flash, a sharp report, a puff of smoke, and the fatal bullet had entered
the President's brain.

Major Rathbone, who occupied a seat in the President's box, testifies
that he was sitting with his back toward the door, when he heard the
discharge of a pistol behind him, and looking around saw through the
smoke a man between the door and the President. Major Rathbone instantly
sprang toward him and seized him; the man wrested himself from his
grasp, and made a violent thrust at the Major's breast with a large
knife. The Major parried the blow by striking it up, and received a
wound in his left arm. The man rushed to the front of the box, and the
Major endeavored to seize him again, but only caught his clothes as he
was leaping over the railing of the box. Major Rathbone then turned to
the President. His position was not changed; his head was slightly bent
forward, and his eyes were closed.

As soon as the surgeons who had been summoned completed their hasty
examination, the unconscious form of the President was borne from the
theatre to a house across the street, and laid upon his death-bed.
Around him were gathered Surgeon-General Barnes, Vice-President Johnson,
Senator Sumner, Secretaries Stanton and Welles, Generals Halleck and
Meigs, Attorney-General Speed, Postmaster-General Dennison, Mr.
McCulloch, Speaker Colfax, and other intimate friends who had been
hastily summoned. Mrs. Lincoln sat in an adjoining room, prostrate and
overwhelmed, with her son Robert. The examination of the surgeons had
left no room for hope. The watchers remained through the night by the
bedside of the stricken man, who showed no signs of consciousness; and a
little after seven o'clock in the morning--Saturday the 15th of
April--he breathed his last.

A vivid account of the death-bed scene, together with particulars of the
attacks upon Secretary Seward and his son Frederick a half-hour later
than the attack upon the President, is furnished in the contemporaneous
record of Secretary Welles, a singularly cool observer and clear
narrator. "I had retired to bed about half-past ten on the evening of
the 14th of April," writes Mr. Welles, "and was just getting asleep when
Mrs. Welles, my wife, said some one was at our door.... I arose at once
and raised a window, when my messenger, James Smith, called to me that
Mr. Lincoln, the President, had been shot; and said Secretary Seward and
his son, Assistant Secretary Frederick Seward, were assassinated.... I
immediately dressed myself, and, against the earnest remonstrance and
appeals of my wife, went directly to Mr. Seward's, whose residence was
on the east side of the square, mine being on the north.... Entering the
house, I found the lower hall and office full of persons, and among them
most of the foreign legations, all anxiously inquiring what truth there
was in the horrible rumors afloat.... At the head of the first stairs I
met the elder Mrs. Seward, who was scarcely able to speak, but desired
me to proceed up to Mr. Seward's room.... As I entered, I met Miss Fanny
Seward, with whom I exchanged a single word, and proceeded to the foot
of the bed. Dr. Verdi, and, I think, two others, were there. The bed was
saturated with blood. The Secretary was lying on his back, the upper
part of his head covered by a cloth, which extended down over his eyes.
His mouth was open, the lower jaw dropping down. I exchanged a few
whispered words with Dr. Verdi. Secretary Stanton, who came after but
almost simultaneously with me, made inquiries in a louder tone till
admonished by a word from one of the physicians. We almost immediately
withdrew and went into the adjoining front room, where lay Frederick
Seward. His eyes were open, but he did not move them, nor a limb, nor
did he speak. Doctor White, who was in attendance, told me he was
unconscious and more dangerously injured than his father.... As we
descended the stairs, I asked Stanton what he had heard in regard to the
President that was reliable. He said the President was shot at Ford's
Theatre, that he had seen a man who was present and witnessed the
occurrence. I said I would go immediately to the White House. Stanton
told me the President was not there but was at the theatre. 'Then,' said
I, 'let us go immediately there.' ... The President had been carried
across the street from the theatre, to the house of a Mr. Peterson. We
entered by ascending a flight of steps above the basement and passing
through a long hall to the rear, where the President lay extended on a
bed, breathing heavily. Several surgeons were present, at least six, I
should think more. Among them I was glad to observe Dr. Hall, who,
however, soon left. I inquired of Dr. H., as I entered, the true
condition of the President. He replied the President was dead to all
intents, although he might live three hours or perhaps longer.... The
giant sufferer lay extended diagonally across the bed, which was not
long enough for him. He had been stripped of his clothes. His large
arms, which were occasionally exposed, were of a size which one would
scarce have expected from his spare appearance. His slow, full
respiration lifted the clothes with each breath that he took. His
features were calm and striking. I had never seen them appear to better
advantage than for the first hour, perhaps, that I was there. After
that, his right eye began to swell and that part of his face became
discolored ... Senator Sumner was there, I think, when I entered. If
not, he came in soon after, as did Speaker Colfax, Mr. Secretary
McCulloch, and the other members of the Cabinet, with the exception of
Mr. Seward. A double guard was stationed at the door and on the
sidewalk, to repress the crowd, which was of course highly excited and
anxious. The room was small and overcrowded. The surgeons and members of
the Cabinet were as many as should have been in the room, but there were
many more, and the hall and other rooms in the front or main house were
full. One of these rooms was occupied by Mrs. Lincoln and her
attendants, with Miss Harris. Mrs. Dixon and Mrs. Kinney came to her
about twelve o'clock. About once an hour Mrs. Lincoln would repair to
the bedside of her dying husband and with lamentations and tears remain
until overcome by emotion.... A door which opened upon a porch or
gallery, and also the windows, were kept open for fresh air. The night
was dark, cloudy, and damp, and about six it began to rain. I remained
in the room until then without sitting or leaving it, when, there being
a vacant chair which some one left at the foot of the bed, I occupied it
for nearly two hours, listening to the heavy groans, and witnessing the
wasting life of the good and great man who was expiring before me.... A
little before seven in the morning I re-entered the room where the dying
President was rapidly drawing near the closing moments. His wife soon
after made her last visit to him. The death-struggle had begun. Robert,
his son, stood with several others at the head of the bed. The
respiration of the President became suspended at intervals, and at last
entirely ceased at twenty-two minutes past seven o'clock."

The news of the President's assassination flashed rapidly over the
country, everywhere causing the greatest consternation and grief. The
revulsion from the joy which had filled all loyal hearts at the
prospects of peace was sudden and profound. All business ceased, and
gave way to mourning and lamentation. The flags, so lately unfurled in
exultation, were now dropped at half-mast, and emblems of sorrow were
hung from every door and window. Men walked with a dejected air. They
gathered together in groups in the street, and spoke of the murder of
the President as of a personal calamity. The nation's heart was smitten
sorely, and signs of woe were in every face and movement.

A scene which transpired in Philadelphia, the morning after the murder,
reflects the picture presented in every city and town in the United
States. "We had taken our seats," says the delineator, "in the early car
to ride down town, men and boys going to work. The morning papers had
come up from town as usual, and the men unrolled them to read as the car
started. The eye fell on the black border and ominous column-lines.
Before we could speak, a good Quaker at the head of the car broke out in
horror: 'My God! What's this? _Lincoln is assassinated._' The driver
stopped the car, and came in to hear the awful tidings. There stood the
car, mid-street, as the heavy news was read in the gray dawn of that
ill-fated day. Men bowed their faces in their hands, and on the
straw-covered floor hot tears fell fast. Silently the driver took the
bells from his horses, and we started like a hearse cityward. What a
changed city since the day before! Then all was joy over the end of the
war; now we were plunged in a deeper gulf of woe. The sun rose on a city
smitten and weeping. All traffic stood still; the icy hand of death lay
flat on the heart of commerce, and it gave not a throb. Men stood by
their open stores saying, with hands on each other's shoulders, 'Our
President is dead.' Over and over, in a dazed way, they said the fateful
syllables, as if the bullet that tore through the weary brain at
Washington had palsied the nation. The mute news-boy on the corner said
never a word as he handed to the speechless buyers the damp sheets from
the press; only he brushed, with unwashed hand, the tears from his dirty
cheeks. Groups stood listening on the pavement with faces to the earth,
while one, in choking voice, read the telegrams; then with a look they
departed in unworded woe, each cursing bitterly in his breast the 'deep
damnation of his taking off.' Mill operatives, clerks, workers, school
children, all came home, the faltering voice of the teacher telling the
wondering children to 'go home, there will be no school to-day.' The
housewife looked up amazed to see husband and children coming home so
soon. The father's face frightened her and she cried, 'What is wrong,
husband?' He could not speak the news, but the wee girl with the
school-books said, 'Mamma, they've killed the President.' Ere noon every
house wore crape; it was as if there lay a dead son in every home. For
hours a sad group hung around the bulletins, hoping against hope; then,
when the last hope died, turned sullenly homeward, saying, 'When all was
won, and all was done, then to strike him down!' The flags in the harbor
fell to half-mast; the streets were rivers of inky streamers; from
door-knobs floated crape; and even the unbelled car-horses seemed to
draw the black-robed cars more quietly than before."

On Saturday the remains were borne to the White House, where they were
embalmed and placed on a grand catafalque in the East Room. Little "Tad"
was overcome with grief. All day Saturday he was inconsolable, but on
Sunday morning the sun rose bright and beautiful and into his childish
heart came the thought that all was well with his father. He said to a
gentleman who called upon Mrs. Lincoln, "Do you think, sir, that my
father has gone to heaven?" "I have not a doubt of it," was the reply.
"Then," said the little fellow in broken voice, "I am glad he has gone
there, for he was never happy after he came here. This was not a good
place for him!" Tuesday the White House was thrown open to admit friends
who desired to look upon the still form as it lay in death. Wednesday,
the 19th, the funeral services took place. Mrs. Lincoln was too ill to
be present; but her two sons sat near the coffin in the East Room. Next
in order were ranged Andrew Johnson (now President) and the members of
the Cabinet, and after them the foreign representatives, the chief men
of the nation, and a large body of mourning citizens. The services were
conducted jointly by the Rev. Dr. Hall, Bishop Simpson, Dr. Gray, and
the Rev. Dr. Gurley, the latter delivering the discourse. At two o'clock
the funeral cortege started for the Capitol, where the remains were to
lie in state until the following morning. The procession was long and
imposing. "There were no truer mourners," says Secretary Welles, "than
the poor <DW52> people who crowded the streets, joined the procession,
and exhibited their woe, bewailing the loss of him whom they regarded as
a benefactor and father. Women as well as men, with their little
children, thronged the streets, sorrow and trouble and distress depicted
on their countenances and in their bearing. The vacant holiday
expression had given way to real grief." The body was borne into the
rotunda, amidst funeral dirges and military salutes; and the religious
exercises of the occasion were concluded. A guard was stationed near the
coffin, and the public were again admitted to take their farewell of the
dead. While these obsequies were being performed at Washington, similar
ceremonies were observed in every part of the country. It had been
decided to convey the remains of Lincoln to the home which he left four
years before with such solemn and affectionate words of parting. The
funeral train left Washington on the 21st. Its passage through the
principal Eastern States and cities of the Union was a most mournful and
impressive spectacle. The heavily craped train, its sombre engine
swathed in black, moved through the land like an eclipse. At every point
vast crowds assembled to gain a tearful glimpse as it sped past.

    Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,
    Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the
      violets peep'd from the ground, spotting the
      gray debris,
    Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes,
       passing the endless grass,
    Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from
      its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,
    Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the
      orchards,
    Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
    Night and day journeys a coffin.

    Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
    Through day and night with the great cloud darkening
      the land,
    With the pomp of the inloop'd flags, with the cities
      draped in black,
    With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil'd
      women standing,
    With processions long and winding and the flambeaus
      of the night,
    With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of
      faces and the unbared heads,
    With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the
      sombre faces,
    With dirges through the night, with the thousand
      voices rising strong and solemn,
    With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour'd
      around the coffin,
    The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs--
    With the tolling, tolling bells' perpetual clang.

At the principal cities delays were made to enable the people to pay
their tribute of respect to the remains of their beloved President.
Through Baltimore, Harrisburg, Philadelphia, the train passed to New
York City, where a magnificent funeral was held; thence along the shore
of the Hudson river to Albany, thence westward through the principal
cities of New York, Ohio, and Northern Indiana, the cortege wended its
solemn way, reaching, on the 1st of May, the city of Chicago. Here very
extensive preparations for funeral obsequies had been made by the
thousands who had known him in his life, and other thousands who had
learned to love him and now mourned his death.

On the 3d of May the funeral train reached Springfield, where old
friends and neighbors tenderly received the dust of their beloved dead.
Funeral services were held, and for twenty-four hours the catafalque
remained in the hall of the House, where thousands of tear-dimmed eyes
gazed for the last time upon the familiar face. Then, on the morning of
the 4th of May, a sorrowing procession escorted the remains to the
beautiful grounds of Oak Ridge Cemetery, to rest at last from the care
and tumult of a troubled life. To this hallowed spot have come the
gray-haired soldiers of that stormy war, reverently to salute their
great commander's tomb. Here shall long be paid the loving homage of the
dusky race that he redeemed. And pilgrims from every land, who value
human worth and human liberty, bring here their tributes of respect. And
here, while the Government that he saved endures, shall throng his
patriot countrymen, not idly to lament his loss, but to resolve _that
from this honored dead they take increased devotion to that cause for
which he gave the last full measure of devotion; that the dead shall not
have died in vain; that the nation, under God, shall have a new birth of
freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the
people, shall not perish from the earth_.




NOTES

[A] The popular vote was as follows: Lincoln, 1,857,610; Douglas,
1,291,574; Breckenridge, 850,082; Bell, 646,124. Of the electoral
votes, Lincoln had 180; Breckenridge, 72; Bell, 39; and Douglas,
12.

[B] On the very day of Lincoln's arrival in Washington, he said to
some prominent men who had called upon him at his hotel, "As the
country has placed me at the helm of the ship, I'll try to steer
her through."

[C] This first call for troops was supplemented a month later (May
16) by a call for 42,034 volunteers for three years, for 22,114
officers and men for the regular army, and 18,000 seamen for the
navy.

[D] Orpheus C. Kerr (_Office Seeker_) was the pseudonymn of Robert
H. Newell, a popular humorist of the war period, who dealt
particularly with the comic aspects of Washington and army life.

[E] Lincoln never lost his interest in exhibitions of physical
strength, and involuntarily he always compared its possessor with
himself. On one occasion--it was in 1859--he was asked to make an
address at the State Fair of Wisconsin, which was held at
Milwaukee. Among the attractions was a "strong man" who went
through the usual performance of tossing iron balls and letting
them roll back down his arms, lifting heavy weights, etc.
Apparently Lincoln had never seen such a combination of strength
and agility before. He was greatly interested. Every now and then
he gave vent to the ejaculation, "By George! By George!" After the
speech was over, Governor Hoyt introduced him to the athlete; and
as Lincoln stood looking down at him from his great height,
evidently pondering that one so small could be so strong, he
suddenly gave utterance to one of his quaint speeches. "Why," he
said, "I could lick salt off the top of your hat!"

[F] Hon. George S. Boutwell of Massachusetts stated Lincoln said to
him personally: "When Lee came over the river, I made a resolution
that if McClellan drove him back I would send the proclamation
after him. The battle of Antietam was fought Wednesday, and until
Saturday I could not find out whether we had gained a victory or
lost a battle. It was then too late to issue the proclamation that
day; and the fact is, I fixed it up a little on Sunday, and Monday
I let them have it."

[G] The cause of General Hooker's seeming stupefaction at the
critical point of the Chancellorsville battle has been much
discussed but never satisfactorily explained. It has been thought
that he was disabled by the shock of a cannon-ball striking a post
or pillar of the house where he had his headquarters. An
interesting entry in Welles's Diary, made soon after the battle,
reflects somewhat the feeling at the time. "Sumner expresses an
absolute want of confidence in Hooker; says he knows him to be a
blasphemous wretch; that after crossing the Rappahannock and
reaching Centreville, Hooker exultingly exclaimed, 'The enemy are
in my power, and God Almighty cannot deprive me of them.' I have
heard before of this, but not so direct and positive. The sudden
paralysis that followed, when the army in the midst of a successful
career was suddenly checked and commenced its retreat, has never
been explained. Whiskey is said by Sumner to have done the work.
The President said that if Hooker had been killed by the shot which
knocked over the pillar that stunned him, we should have been
successful."

[H] General T.R. Tannatt, a graduate of West Point in 1858, is now
(1913) an active and honored citizen of Spokane, Washington.

[I] The criticism of Meade for not attacking Lee before he
recrossed the Potomac is based on the assumption that the attack
must be successful. On this point Meade's words to Halleck, written
in reply to the latter's conciliatory letter of July 28, can hardly
be ignored. "Had I attacked Lee the day I proposed to do so, and in
the ignorance that then existed of his position, I have every
reason to believe the attack would have been unsuccessful, and
would have resulted disastrously. This opinion is founded on the
judgment of a number of distinguished officers after inspecting
Lee's vacated works and position. Among these officers I could name
Generals Sedgwick, Wright, Slocum, Hays, Sykes, and others." In
other words the attack which Meade has been so severely blamed for
not making might have ended in reversing the results at Gettysburg,
losing all we had gained at such terrible cost, placed Washington
and other Northern cities in far more deadly peril, and changing
the whole subsequent issues of the war.

[J] A curious revelation of the estimate of General Halleck held by
at least one member of the Cabinet, and of the relations between
Halleck and the President, is found in Welles's Diary in the record
of a rather free conversation with the President during the anxious
period about the time of the battle of Gettysburg. Says Mr. Welles:
"I stated I had observed the inertness if not the incapacity of the
General-in-Chief, and had hoped that he [the President], who had
better and more correct views, would issue peremptory orders. The
President immediately softened his tone, and said, 'Halleck knows
better than I what to do. He is a military man, has had a military
education. I brought him here to give me military advice. His views
and mine are widely different. It is better that I, who am not a
military man, should defer to him, rather than he to me.' This,"
continues Mr. Welles, "is the President's error. His own
convictions and conclusions are infinitely superior to Halleck's;
even in military operations, more sensible and more correct
always.... Halleck has no activity; never exhibits sagacity or
foresight." And in another place in the same Diary we are given
this singular picture by a Cabinet minister of the man who was at
that moment the General-in-Chief of the Union armies and the
military adviser of the President: "Halleck sits and smokes, and
swears, and scratches his arm, but exhibits little military
capacity or intelligence; is obfuscated, muddy, uncertain, stupid
as to what is doing or to be done."




INDEX


_[The abbreviation "L.," as used in this index, refers in every case to
the subject of this biography_.]

Abolitionists,
  Bloomington convention, 165-169;
  crusade against slavery, 244-245;
  "Boston set" visits L., 482-484

Adams, Charles Francis, 343

Adams, John Quincy, 100, 549

Agassiz, Louis, visits L., 475-476

Alabama, secedes, 261

Allen, Robert, L's letter to, 59

Ames, Dr., 232

Ames, Oakes, 482

Anderson, Robert,
  meetings with L., 39-40;
  holds Fort Sumter, 262

Andrew, John A.,
  mentioned, 234, 342, 466;
  impression of L., 235

Anecdotes of L.,
  Aaron's commission from the Lord, 477;
  Abolitionist call for a convention, 165-166;
  About his wealth, 216;
  Actor who wanted consulship, 470;
  Anderson and L's good memory, 39-40;
  Anxiety during summer of 1864, 542-546;
  Artemus Ward, reading of, 332-333;
  Attorney for the people, 459;
  Authenticity of, 32;
  Baker rescued from opponents, 91;
  "Biggest shuck and smallest nubbin," 556;
  Birds restored to nest, 76;
  Black Hawk War, 37, 38, 40;
  Bob Lewis and the Mormon lands, 334-335;
  Booth's acting, 469;
  Bores, getting rid of, 460;
  Breach of promise suit, 81-82;
  Bread and butter dinner, 255;
  Bullet-hole through L's hat, 541-542;
  Burnside's brigadiers, promoted, 385;
  Butterfield's son, appointment, 107;
  "Cabinet a-sittin'," 330;
  Call for additional troops "not a personal question," 537;
  Cashiered officer, censured, 477-478;
  Challenge to work in field for votes, 48;
  "Charles I. lost his head," 556;
  Chase's appointment as chief-justice, 550-551;
  Client's fee divided with defendant, 128-129;
  Cogdal note returned by L., 136;
  Confederate soldiers greeting at Petersburg, 567-568;
  Congress, first speech in, 101;
  Credits of troops, Stanton overmatched, 376;
  Coward, "If any man calls me coward let him test it," 38;
  Darkey arithmetic, 357-358;
  Dennis Hanks' recollections, 6-9;
  Douglas reproved, 203;
  Dreams significant, 583-584;
  DuPont's slowness, 457-458;
  Earning the first dollar, 17-18;
  Editor who nominated L., 460-461;
  Election clerk, first official act, 32;
  Five Points Sunday School visit, 225-226;
  Forced serenity deceptive, 542;
  Free-soil party, prediction, 172-174;
  Gavel of Confederate congress, 586-587;
  Gettysburg battle, L's anxiety during, 499-500;
  "Give and take" rule for office-seekers, 295-296;
  Government on a tight rope, 484;
  Grant accused of drunkenness, 524;
  Grant invited to dinner, 520-521;
  Grant's ability to manage the army, 526-527;
  Grant's political aspirations, 523;
  Greeley's criticism, 429;
  Gunboat advice to New Yorkers, 338;
  Herndon's convictions on slavery, 166-167;
  Hooker's appointment, 487-488;
  Hooker's self-confidence, 491-492;
  Horsemanship tested by McClellan, 415-416;
  Horses captured by guerillas, 399;
  Horse-trading, 140;
  Ignorance of Latin admitted, 468-469;
  Impromptu speeches written, 471;
  Inaugural message, loss of, 283;
  Indian protected by L., 37;
  Jack-knife given him because of ugliness, 83;
  Jacob Thompson, proposed arrest, 585-586;
  Jefferson Davis and the troublesome <DW53> story, 580;
  Johnnie Kongapod, 81;
  Joseph Jefferson and his players, 79;
  Kerr's papers enjoyed, 334;
  Kindness to birds, 76;
  Kindness to old <DW52> woman, 128;
  Kindness to old John Burns, 515;
  Last drive with wife, 584-585;
  Law cases refused on moral grounds, 137-138;
  Lawsuits, gaining advantage in, 80-82;
  Lee, attitude of L. toward, 582;
  Lightning rod and Forquer, 56-57;
  Logan and his shirt, 139-140;
  "Long sword in a short scabbard," 566-567;
  Loyalty to old friends, Hubbard, 458-459;
  McClellan's body-guard, 417-418;
  McClellan's fatigued horses, 416;
  McClellan's pass to Richmond, 454;
  McCormick reaper case, 173-175;
  McCullough thanked by L., 469-470;
  Major-generals and hard tack, 400;
  Manners, first lesson, 13;
  Measuring backs with Sumner, 336;
  Measuring height with Ab McElrath, 274-275;
  Measuring height with a Southerner, 247;
  Measuring height with a young "Sucker," 254;
  Meeting with Smoot, 29-30;
  Mrs. White, southern sympathizer, 453;
  "Monarch of all you survey," 47;
  Name refused for commercial use, 452;
  <DW64>s at White House reception, 552-553;
  <DW64>s welcome their "Great Messiah," 569-571;
  Noisy and boastful fighter, 189;
  Office-seeker from Wisconsin repulsed, 353;
  Office-seeker, unfit, 307;
  Old sign, "Lincoln and Herndon," 264-265;
  Old woman and the bread and milk, 255;
  One-legged soldier, lack of credentials, 451-452;
  Oratorical success discussed with Gulliver, 222-223;
  Pardon for deserters, 397;
  Pardon for young soldier, 396-397;
  Pardoning prisoners of war, 578-580;
  Pass given Laura Jones, Southerner, 453;
  Paymaster, appointment, 377-378;
  Philadelphia receives news of L's death, 594-596;
  Pig rescued from a pit, 76-77;
  Pigeon holes versus letter files, 474;
  Powder sample, testing, 383-384;
  Quaker demand for emancipation, 425-427;
  Quakers sent home, 398;
  Rail making, 230-231;
  Reading Nasby during election returns, 548;
  Rebel mail examined, 354-355;
  Rebels number twelve hundred thousand, 454;
  Revolutionary War defended, 77-78;
  Sandwich  Islands, commissioner, applicants, 339;
  School of events, suggestion, 475;
  Scott's request concerning wife's body, 408-410;
  Scott "unable as a politician," 337;
  Sherman and the officer, 328-329;
  Sherman after Bull Run, 327-329;
  Sherman's visit from Louisiana, 299;
  Sitting for life-mask, 237-243;
  Skunks, shooting, 373-374;
  Slave girl sold, 147;
  Slavery speech criticised by Long, 181-182;
  Soldiers' humor, 399, 400;
  "Something everybody can take," 460;
  South Carolina lady's visit, 297-298;
  Stanton calls L. a d----d fool, 378;
  "Stoning Stephen," 204;
  Storekeeper in New Salem, 43;
  Strength, physical, 92-93;
  Stump speech, first appearance, 41;
  Sun doesn't set, 20;
  Swapping horses mid stream, 535;
  Sykes's yellow dog 525-526;
  Tad and the scattered pages of L's speech, 575-576;
  Tad's grief over death of father, 596;
  "Taking the wind out of his sails," 88;
  Talking against time, 80;
  Taylor's fine clothes, 57-58;
  Thrashing a bully, 28-29;
  "To whom it may concern," 539;
  Trousers requested by office-seeker,569;
  Trust in God, 351-352;
  Use of old-fashioned words, 139;
  Used on adversaries, 86;
  Verses written from memory, 356;
  Vicksburg, joy of L., 501;
  Wade's effort to remove Grant, 503;
  Weem's life of Washington, 15;
  Whigs all dead, 157;
  Wood-craft knowledge, 474-475;
  Wrestling match with Jack Armstrong, 28

Antietam, battle of, 414, 437;
  L's dream, 583

Appomattox, Lee's surrender at, 573

Armstrong, Hannah, 133-135

Armstrong, Hugh, 30

Armstrong, Jack, trial of strength, 28;
early friend, 133

Armstrong, John, quoted, 178

Armstrong, William D., defended by L.,
133-135

Arnold, Isaac N., quoted, 3, 14, 19, 31, 56,
59, 72, 150, 153, 185, 190, 205, 232, 244,
297-298, 299-301, 332-333, 422-423,
466-467, 468, 545, 584-585;
  interview with L., 422-423;
  mentioned, 237

Arnold, Matthew, quoted, 546

Ashley, Hon. James M., constitutional
amendment introduced by, 554

Ashmore, Congressman, of South Carolina,
quoted, 431

Ashmun, George, mentioned, 241-243, 586

Austin, G.L., quoted, 136


Baker, Edward D., mentioned, 74, 186;
  refuses to defend slaves, 77;
  Whig debater, 89;
  personal and political friend of L., 91;
  elected congressman, 97;
  killed at Balls' Bluff, 131;
  magnanimity of L. towards, 159;
  introduced L. at inauguration, 284

Balch, George B., quoted, 21-23

Baltimore, republican convention at, 1864, 534

Bancroft, George, contrasted with L., 217;
  quoted, 578

Banks, Nathaniel P., 501

Barnes, Surgeon-General, 591

Barrett, J.H., quoted, 23-24, 26

Bateman, Newton, quoted, 202-203, 245-247

Bates, Edward, candidate for president,231;
  made attorney general, 293, 294;
  characterized, 366;
  visits army with L., 490;
  resignation, 552

Beckwith, H.W., 81

Beecher, Henry Ward, abolition sermons read by L., 166;
  invites L. to speak in his church, 214;
  eloquent abolitionist, 245

Bell, John, nominated for president, 251

Bennett, John, impressions of L., 67-68

Bible, L's knowledge of, 118;
  L. quotes from, 473;
  L's opinion of, 478

Bigelow, John, quoted, 303-304, 345, 359-361, 363-364, 513, 514, 546-547

Bird, Francis, W., 482

Birney, Zachariah, L's school-master, 11

Bissell, William H., mentioned, 74-209

Bixby, Mrs., 397-398

Black Hawk War, L's military experience in, 35-40

Blaine, James G., compares Lincoln and Douglas, 183-185

Blair, F.P., attacks Chase, 533;
  reprehended by L., 534

Blair, Montgomery, made postmaster general, 293-294;
  arming of <DW64>s deprecated by, 436;
  residence fired, 536;
  resignation, 551

Bloomington Convention, 165-169

Bonham, Jeriah, quoted, 180, 197, 203

Boone, Daniel, 2

Booneville, Ind., L. attends court, 9, 19

Booth, Edwin, L's enjoyment of his acting, 469

Booth, John Wilkes, assassination of L., 588-590

Boston delegation, conference with L., 482

Boutwell, George S., quoted, 437

Bowles, Samuel, quoted, 206

Brainard and Knott, quoted, 220

Breckenridge, John A., early influence on L., 9, 19

Breckenridge, John C, nominated for president, 250

Breese, Sidney, dignity, 84;
  quoted, 141

Brewster, Father, 204

Bright, John, 357

Brooklyn, L's lecture trip, 214-215

Brooks, Senator, knocks down Sumner, 245;
  quoted, 192

Brooks, Noah P., 470;
  quoted, 171-173, 462-463, 466-467, 471, 474, 490, 491-492, 493, 543, 546;
  describes L's last speech, 575-576

Brooks, Phillips, quoted, 478-479

Bross, John A., 538

Bross, William, first meeting with L., 170;
  interview with L., 265, 538-539

Brough, John, victorious governor of Ohio, 510;
  effort to reconcile L. and Chase, 549

Brown, John, 485

Browne, Francis Fisher, biographical sketch, v-vii

Browning, O.H., mentioned, 74-186;
  Whig debater, 89;
  inaugural party, member of, 266, 275

Browning Robert, L's fondness for his poetry, 387

Bryan, Thomas B., purchases MS. of emancipation proclamation, 445

Bryan, William J., on L. as an orator, 473

Bryant, William Cullen,
  presided over Cooper Institute meeting, 217;
  abolitionist, 245;
  favored L. for presidency, 247-248

Buchanan, James,
  mentioned, 294, 295;
  treachery during his administration, 261-262;
  escorts L. to Capitol, 284-286;
  characterized, 291;
  escorts L. to White House, 292

Bull Run, battle of,
  depression after, 326-437;
  L's dream, 583,
  second battle, 411

Bulwer-Lytton, mentioned, 469

Burns, John, 515

Burns, Robert, L's fondness for his poetry, 466

Burnside, Ambrose E.,
  Fredericksburg repulse, 368,487,488;
  victories in N.C., 385;
  unpopularity, 404;
  replaces McClellan, 417;
  L's opinion of, 487

Bushnell, C.S., agent for Ericsson, 345, 346

Butler, William, L. boards with, in Springfield, 70

Butterfield, Daniel, 493

Butterfield, Justin,
  mentioned, 74;
  appointed commissioner of land office, 106;
  son of, desires appointment, 107

Byron, Lord,
  L's fondness for his poetry, 132;
  quoted, 350


Cabinet,
  L's political rivals chosen, 256;
  L's non-partisan ideas, 256, 259;
  makeup discussed with Weed, 257-259;
  with Riddle, 275;
  Banks considered, 283;
  final appointments and how decided, 293;
  changes during administration, 294;
  meetings enlivened by stories, 336;
  L's relations with, 363;
  misconceptions of rights and duties, 364;
  unfriendly feeling between members, 365;
  earliest meetings informal, 365-366;
  attitude toward the war, 366-367;
  personal dissensions, 367-370;
  Seward's removal demanded, 368;
  Chase and Seward resignations, 368-370;
  Stanton the master-mind, 370-371;
  Cameron's relations with L., 371-373;
  Stanton succeeds Cameron, 372-373;
  Senators advise reconstruction of, 373-374;
  Stanton's relations with L., 374-379;
  opposes L's reinstatement of McClellan, 412-413;
  attitude toward emancipation, 432;
  preliminary proclamation discussed, L's own account, 436-438;
  second draft discussed, 437-439, 444;
  disposal of freedmen discussed, 439-440;
  Chase finally disposed of, 549-550;
  Blair succeeded by Dennison, 551;
  Bates resigns, 552;
  ignored by L., 555;
  last meeting attended by L., 580-581, 583-584

Calhoun, John C,
  mentioned, 186;
  appoints L. deputy surveyor, 47;
  democratic debater, 89;
  congressman, 100

California, L.'s desire to live in, 549

Cameron, Simon,
  mentioned, 506;
  congressman, 100;
  presidential candidate, 231;
  cabinet possibility, 275;
  secretary of war, 293, 294, 298;
  retirement from the cabinet, 371-373;
  advocates arming the blacks, 447

Campbell, Major, rescues fugitive slaves, 248

Campbell, John A., Southern peace commissioner, 555

Canada, rebel agents in, 352-353

Capital and labor. _See_ Labor and capital

Carpenter, Francis B.,
  mentioned, 469;
  quoted, 234, 436-437, 464-465, 544, 573

Cartwright, Peter, 99

Cass, Lewis, mentioned, 100;
  ridiculed by L., 102-104

Caton, John Dean,
  first meeting with L., 60-61;
  opinion of L. as lawyer, 141-142;
  fugitive slave decision, 248;
  advice on war policy, 255-256

Chancellorsville, battle of, 492-494, 496-497, 506

Chandler, Zack,
  aids L. in Schofield matter, 456;
  quoted, 498-499;
  lack of military judgment, 505

Channing, William Henry,
  abolitionist, 245;
  conversation with L. on slavery, 427-428

Chapman, Colonel, quoted, 263-264

Chapman, Mrs., 263;
  quoted, 113

Charleston, L's opinion of situation, 490-491

Chase, Salmon P.,
  mentioned, 185, 501, 548;
  opposes Nebraska bill, 153;
  presidential candidate, 231-233, 532;
  logic of, 245;
  cabinet possibility, 258-275, 371;
  secretary of the treasury, 293, 294, 297;
  rivalry with Seward, 366-370;
  upholds Stanton, 368;
  resignation and withdrawal, 369-370;
  consulted about Stanton, 373;
  opposes <DW64> enlistment, 373;
  visits Fortress Monroe with L., 386-392;
  opinion of emancipation proclamation, 436;
  contribution to emancipation proclamation, 444;
  rupture with Lincoln, 532-534;
  second resignation offered, 549;
  accepted, 550;
  appointed Chief Justice, 550-551;
  quoted, 367

Chattanooga, Grant's success, 516

Chicago,
  L. visits N.B. Judd, 117-118;
  national republican convention, 231-237;
  memorial on emancipation, 427;
  Northwestern fair, 445;
  funeral services for L., 598

Chicago Historical Society, owned emancipation proclamation MS., 445

Cincinnati,
  L's first visit, 173-176;
  L's second visit, 213;
  visits on inaugural journey, 270-273;

City Point, visited by L., 562-566

Civil War,
  L's peace pleas before war, extract, 158, 270;
  L. foresees coming struggle, 255-256;
  L. promises to promote peace, 268;
  workingmen offer support for freedom, 271-273;
  L's reluctance to express opinion, 272-273;
  L's peace plea in inaugural speech, 287-291;
  Washington swarms with rebels, 292;
  desperate condition of treasury, 292;
  secession a political issue, 292-293
  Stanton's loyalty to Union, 295;
  faithless officials in departments, 295;
  L's conquest of a South Carolinian, 297-298
  Louisiana's war preparations, 299;
  Sumter attack, 312;
  call for volunteers, 312-314;
  Massachusetts first in field, 314;
  Baltimore attack, 315;
  Douglas stands by government, 315-316;
  Washington thrills over Sumter, 316;
  blockade of Southern ports, proclamation, 318
  Key West, Tortugas, and Santa Rosa proclamation, 318;
  Virginia asks expression of federal policy, 318;
  L's reply, 319-320;
  L's hope for Union, 320;
  L's desire to retain Kentucky, 320-321;
  Kentucky saved to Union, 321-322;
  special session of Congress, 322;
  L's appeal for funds and men, 323-325;
  preparations, 325-326;
  review of N.Y. troops, 326;
  Bull Run, 326;
  L. visits army in Virginia, 327-329;
  L's anxiety after Bull Run, 329-331;
  Harper's Ferry, 333-334;
  fleet urged to draw rebels from Washington, 337;
  L. refuses gun-boat to New Yorkers, 338;
  Trent affair, Mason and Slidell, 340-345;
  English neutrality established, 343;
  English controversies, 344-345
  Ericsson's "Monitor,", 345-347;
  Ross's mission to Canada; 352-355;
  L's reply on number of losses, 357-358;
  friction concerning direction, 366-368;
  <DW64> enlistment, recommended, 373;
  Sabin's appointment, 377-378
  inertia of proceedings, 380-381;
  L. develops military sagacity, 381-385;
  brightening prospects, proclamation, 385-386;
  L. visits Fortress Monroe, 386-392;
  Merrimac and Monitor, 390-391;
  Norfolk captured, 390-391;
  L's letter to McClellan on over-cautiousness, 392-395
  L's sympathy for soldiers, 395-402;
  visits hospitals, 400-401;
  L's letter to McClellan concerning route to Richmond, 405-407;
  impatience over approach to Richmond, 406-408;
  strain of summer of 1862, 408;
  refusal of leave for Scott, 408-410;
  McClellan's army ordered withdrawn, 410;
  Pope's defeat at Manassas, 410-411;
  McClellan's reinstatement, 411-413;
  Washington peril, 413;
  Antietam victory, 414;
  L. visits Army of Potomac, 414-416;
  Fredericksburg attacked, 417;
  L's dissatisfaction with McClellan, 418;
  Missouri factional quarrels, 454-457;
  L's dissatisfaction with DuPont, 457-458;
  Fredericksburg, L's grief over, 461-462;
  L's visit to army before Chancellorsville, 465-466;
  L's method criticised, 480-484, 485;
  <DW64> enlistment, 484-486;
  retaliation opposed by L., 485;
  Fredericksburg defeat, 487, 488;
  Hooker succeeds Burnside, 487-490;
  naval operations, 490;
  Chancellorsville defeat, 492-494;
  defeat, dissatisfaction of North, 493-494;
  turning-point of war, 496;
  Pennsylvania invaded, 497;
  Northern fear of Lee, 497;
  Hooker succeeded by Meade, 497-498;
  Gettysburg, 498-499;
  Vicksburg campaign, 500-503;
  L's joy over victory, 501;
  Wade urges Grant's dismissal, 503;
  Gettysburg victory, 503-504;
  Washington criticisms, 505;
  Meade's leadership, 504-507;
  Chancellorsville defeat, 506;
  Fredericksburg defeat, 506;
  L. against compromise, 507;
  brightening prospects after elections, 510;
  L's confidence in Grant, 516, 520-521;
  Grant's victories after Vicksburg, 516;
  his plans, 516-517;
  Grant's commission received, 519;
  L's plan of campaign for Grant, 522;
  Early's raid, L's plan against, 522;
  Grant's reply, 523;
  Vicksburg, criticisms of campaign, anecdote, 525-526;
  Grant and Stanton clash, 526-527;
  Early's attack on Washington, 525-537;
  call for additional troops, July 18, 1864, 537;
  gloomy prospects, 537-539, 542-546;
  Wilderness and Petersburg losses, 538-539;
  peace negotiations, "To whom it may concern,", 539;
  effect of L's re-election, 548;
  Sherman's march to the sea, 552;
  L's conditions for peace, 552;
  peace negotiations with Southern commissioners, 554-557;
  Lee's last efforts, 561-562;
  closing events, 562;
  L. visits army, 562-573;
  fall of Petersburg, 567;
  fall of Richmond, 568;
  Lee's surrender, 573;
  end of war, 573-576;
  pardoning prisoners, 578-580.
  _See also_ Emancipation; Secession

Clary Grove boys,
  attack on L., 27-28;
  volunteers in Black Hawk War, 36;
  smash store in New Salem, 42-43

Clay, Cassius M., 309-322

Clay, Henry,
  influence of speeches on L., 8;
  L's admiration and disillusion, 98-99;
  gradual emancipation speech, 98;
  L's eulogy of, 147

Clephane, Lewis, 468-469

Cleveland, Grover, 360

Cleveland, Ohio, visit on inaugural journey, 274-275

Clinton, DeWitt, 61

Cobb, Howell, distinguished in civil war, 100

Cogdal's note, 136

Colfax, Schuyler,
  interview with L., 545, 583, 586-587;
  L.'s death-bed, 591, 593

Collamer, Jacob, 368

Collyer, Robert, quoted, 329

Columbus, Ohio, welcome on inaugural journey, 268-269

Confederate States,
  considered a fact by Wigfall, 286;
  knowledge of Union moves, 292;
  Trent affair, 340-345;
  favored capital, 348;
  Canadian machinations, 352-353

Congress,
  special session, July 4,1861, 322;
  emancipation measures, 421

Conkling, James C., 80;
  quoted, 86

Constitution, slavery amendment, 553-554

Constitutional Union Party, 251

Conway, Moncure D.,
  impression of L., 176;
  interview with L., 482-484;
  quoted, 427-429

Cook, Mr., of Illinois, 232, 233

Cooper Institute speech, 215-221, 223-224, 232

Costa Rica, asylum for freedom, 440

Covode, John, 445

Crane, C.B., quoted, 546

Crawford, Andrew, L's schoolmaster, 12

Crawford, Josiah, incident of the ruined book, 14-16

Crawford, Mrs. Josiah, quoted, 16

Crittenden, John J., 185

Curdy, Dr., 170

Curtin, Andrew G., 497

Curtis-Gamble controversy, 454-456

Cushing, Caleb, 354;
  candidate for attorney general, 552;
  quoted, 207


Dahlgren, John A., quoted, 383, 384, 385

Dana, Charles A., quoted, 295, 547-548, 585-586

Davis, David,
  mentioned, 74;
  quoted, 113, 144-145, 256;
  advised L. on cabinet; 257;
  member of inaugural party, 266

Davis, Jefferson,
  in Black Hawk War, 39;
  in senate, 100;
  recognition asked by Southern commissioners, 555-556;
  mansion occupied by Weitzel, 572
  L's clemency toward, 580

Davis, O.L., 81

Dayton, William L., vice-presidential nominee, 170

Defrees, public printer, objects to L's colloquialisms, 471-472

Deming, Henry Champion, quoted, 302-303

Democratic Party,
  dominates Illinois, 65;
  pro-slavery tendencies, 251;
  rebel sympathisers, 292;
  opposes congressional war measures, 481

Dennison, William,
  postmaster general, 294;
  presides over Baltimore convention, 534;
  replaces Blair, 551;
  at L's death-bed, 591

Dicey, Edward, quoted, 544

Dickey, T. Lyle, quoted, 524

Dickson, W.M., quoted, 174, 176, 213

District of Columbia, slavery abolished, 421

Dixon, Father, quoted, 40

Dominican question, Seward's embarrassment, 336

Dorsey, Azel, L's schoolmaster, 12

Douglas, Stephen A.,
  mentioned, 74, 285;
  groggery taunt about L., 26;
  L's first impression of, 62, 188;
  debates with L., 89-90, 153-154, 177, 182-207;
  courts Mary Todd, 94;
  Mexican War, blames L. for opposition, 102;
  opens campaign, 1852, 147;
  defends Missouri compromise, 154-155, 157, 159;
  claims Whigs are dead, 157;
  senatorial nomination, 177;
  oratory compared with L., 182-207;
  debater and orator, 183-184, 186, 190, 205;
  appearance and characteristics, 185-186, 188-189, 190-191;
  quoted, 187-188;
  senator in 1846, 188;
  magnetism, 197;
  re-elected senator in 1858, 208;
  speeches in Ohio in 1859, 211;
  L's attitude toward, 216;
  democratic nominee for president, 244;
  magnanimity, 291;
  sustains the government, 315-316;
  death, 316

Douglass, Frederick,
  conference with L., 484-486;
  impression of L., 486

Dresser, Rev. Nathan, residence of, in Springfield, purchased by L., 96

Drummond, Thomas, quoted, 142-144

Dummer, H.C., quoted, 46

Duncan, Major, teaches L. use of broadsword, 93

DuPont, Admiral, characterized by L., 457-458


Early, Dr., L's reply to, 58-59

Early, Jubal A., raid on Washington, 522, 535

Eaton, Page, quoted, 70, 114

Eckert, General, 547

Edwards, Matilda, admired by L., 95

Edwards, Ninian W.,
  mentioned, 74;
  candidate for legislature, 58

Edwards, Mrs. Ninian W., sister of Mary Todd, 94

Egan, Dr., of Chicago, 171

Eggleston, Edward, quoted, 225

Elkin, Elder, funeral services for Nancy Hanks, 10

Ellis, A.Y., quoted, 42

Ellsworth, E.E., member of inaugural party, 266

Emancipation,
  discussion of measures, 419-448;
  Fremont's proclamation, 420;
  gradual, advocated, 420-423;
  first discussed by L. with cabinet members, 423-424;
  military, authorized, 421;
  Quaker delegation demands, 425-427;
  Chicago clergymen demand, 427;
  Lincoln and Channing interview, 427;
  Lincoln and Greeley, 429-431;
  Greeley's "Prayer of twenty millions," and L's reply, 429-430;
  compensation suggested, 428, 433, 447;
  deportation suggested, 439-440;
  L's message to congress, 1862, 440-441;
  "Boston set" discussed with L., 482-484;
  defended by L., 507

Emancipation proclamation,
  issued, 419;
  official measures preceding, 419-422;
  preliminary text, 432-435;
  L's own account of, 436-438, 444-445;
  Seward's view of, 436-437;
  Welles's account, 438-439;
  text, 441-443;
  signed, 441;
  pen used, 445

Emerson, Ralph Waldo,
  quoted, 304-305;
  belief in L., 482

England,
  neutrality established, 343;
  controversies with, 344-345

Ericsson, John, inventor of "Monitor," 345-346

Evarts, Mr., of N.Y., grieved over Seward's defeat, 234

Everett, Edward,
  nominated for vice-president, 251;
  appreciation of L's Gettysburg address, 513;
  impression of L., 515

Ewing, Lee D., opposed to change in Illinois State capital, 66


Farragut, David G., 537;
  compared with DuPont, 458

Fell, Jesse W., 32

Fessenden, William P., 185, 368;
  secretary of the treasury, 294

Ficklin, O.B., 126

Fithian, Dr., 126

Flatboat, constructed by L., 17-18

Florida, secedes, 261

Ford's Theatre, scene of assassination, 586-591

Forquer, George, lightning rod anecdote, 57

Forrest, Edwin, 469

Forrest, Thomas L., 458

Fort Sumter,
  held by Anderson, 262;
  attack, 312, 316;
  L's dream, 583;

Fortress Monroe, L. visits, 386-392;

Foster, Major-General, 385, 400

Fox, G.V., assistant secretary of the navy, 536

Franklin, Benjamin, L. ranked with, 549

Fredericksburg,
  repulse at, 368;
  attacked, 417;
  L's grief over, 461-462;
  defeat, 487, 488, 506;

Free-Soil Party, 150, 172, 173

Free-state cause, L. sympathises with, 158

Freedmen. _See_ <DW64>s

Fremont, John C.,
  nominated for president, 170;
  defeated, 173
  pioneer emancipator, 420, 447;
  presidential possibility in, 1864, 532

Fry, J.B., quoted, 376

Fugitive Slave Law,
  detested by L., 248-249;
  text, 434-435

Fusion Party, L. candidate of, for senator, 162


Gamble, Governor, Curtis-Gamble faction, 454-456

Gentry, Allen, 19-20

Gentry, Mrs. Allen, quoted, 12

Georgia, seceded, 261

Germans in Cincinnati, welcome L., 271-272

Gettysburg,
  mentioned, 478, 496;
  victory, 498-499, 503-504;
  L's feeling during battle, 499-500;
  victory cheers L., 507;
  battle-field purchase and dedication, 511-515;
  L's dream, 583

Gettysburg Address,
  rewritten many times, 471;
  world's model, 473;
  text, 512-515

Gillespie, Joseph,
  quoted, 80, 83;
  conversation with L. on slavery, 148-149

Grant, Frederick D., 519

Grant, Ulysses S.,
  mentioned, 403, 464, 542;
  opinion of McClellan's difficulties, 367, 404;
  victories in Tenn., 385;
  Vicksburg campaign, 500-502;
  L's letter on Vicksburg, 502;
  L's dissatisfaction before Vicksburg, 503;
  commands military division of Miss., 516;
  rank of Lieut.-General created for, 516;
  assumes command of army, 517;
  summoned to Washington, 517;
  at White House reception, 517-518;
  receives commission from L., 519;
  refusal to dine at White House, 519-520;
  L's impressions of personality and military capacities, 510-521;
  L.'s letter of commendation, 521;
  interview with L. on military matters, Grant's own account, 521-522;
  L's suggestion about Early's repulse, 522;
  Grant's reply, 523;
  L. seeks to know his political aspirations, 523;
  true version of whiskey anecdote, 524;
  L. tells story of Sykes's dog, 525-526;
  dispute with Stanton, 526;
  upheld by president, 526-527;
  presidential possibility, 532;
  attacks Early, 537;
  telegram to L. on re-election, 548;
  peace overture made through, 554;
  forces Lee to Richmond, 561-562;
  visited by L. at City Point, 562-563;
  interview with L. at City Point, 563-566;
  L's visit at Petersburg, 567-568;
  Lee's surrender, 573;
  praised by L., 574, 575;
  instructions for conference with Lee, 577-578;
  denies Stone River victory, 583;
  drives with L. and attends last cabinet meeting, 583;
  declines invitation to theater, 586

Grant, Mrs. Ulysses S., 527

Gray, Dr., officiated at L's funeral, 597

Great Britain. _See_ England

Gladstone, William Ewart, opinion of second inaugural address, 559-560

Globe Tavern, Springfield, Ill., L's first home after marriage, 96

Godbey, Squire, quoted, 46

Goldsborough, Lewis M., 390

Goodrich, Judge, L. declines partnership, 109

Greeley, Horace,
  opposes L's policy in N.Y. "Tribune," 429-431;
  publishes "The prayer of twenty millions," 429;
  L's reply, 429-430;
  conference with L., 430-431;
  L.'s "pigeonhole" for, 474;
  seeks successor to L., 480;
  peace importunities and L's famous reply, 539;

Green, L.M., quoted, 27

Greene, Bowlin, friend of L., 52

Greene, W.G., 30

Gridley, G.A., 137

Grigsby, Aaron, 17

Grigsby, Nat, quoted, 13

Griswold, John A., builder of "Monitor," 345-347

Grimes, James W., 368

Grover, A.J., quoted, 248-249

Gulliver, John P., estimate of L's speeches, 221-223

Gurley, Rev. Dr., officiated at L's funeral, 597


Haines, Elijah M., quoted, 162-164; 209, 228-229

Hale, John P.,
  mentioned, 185, 297;
  calls on L., 583

Hall, Doctor, attends L., 593

Hall, John, 263

Hall, Newman,
  quoted, 397;
  officiated at L's funeral, 596

Halleck, Henry W.,
  mentioned, 393, 413, 487, 490, 519;
  telegrams to Meade, 504-505;
  military ability, 505-506;
  at L's death-bed, 591

Halpine, Colonel, 310

Hamlin, Hannibal, nominated for vice-president, 234

Hampton Roads, meeting of peace commissioners, 555-557

Hanks, Dennis,
  recollections of L's boyhood, 6-9;
  story-telling ability, 31;
  L. visits, 263

Hanks, John,
  L's fellow-laborer, 24;
  bears campaign banner, 230

Hanks, Nancy. _See_ Lincoln; Nancy Hanks

Hannegan, Edward A., 126

Hapgood, Norman, quoted, 359

Hardin, Colonel, 4

Hardin, John J.,
  mentioned, 186;
  congressional candidate, 99;
  killed in Mexican War, 131

Harding, George, attorney in McCormick Reaper case, 173-174

Harper's Ferry, Union forces driven out, 333-334

Harris, G.W., quoted, 87-88, 128

Harris, Ira, 368;
  daughter, 587, 593

Harris, Thomas L., 160

Harrisburg, L's visit on inaugural journey, 278

Hatch, O.M.,
  mentioned, 227;
  quoted, 417-418

Hawk, Mr., actor, describes assassination, 588

Hay, John M.,
  private secretary, 266;
  quoted, 305-307

Hayes, General, 504

Hazel, Caleb, L's schoolmaster, 11

Henderson, J.B.,
  constitutional amendment introduced by, 554;
  interviews L. about pardons, 578-580

Henry, Dr., 493

Herndon, William H.,
  law partnership with L., 71, 97-98;
  letter of advice from L., 104-105;
  quoted, 24-26, 48, 92, 95, 113, 114, 115, 116, 121, 132,
      140, 154, 165, 166, 167-168, 178;
  sympathy for L., 116;
  abolitionist efforts, 165-169;
  "Lincoln and Herndon" law sign, 264

Hitt, Robert R., 198

Holland, Josiah G., quoted, 11, 14-15, 76-77, 98, 111, 236,
    268-269, 277-278, 283-284, 351, 371

Holmes, Oliver Wendell, L's fondness for his poetry, 466

Holt, Joseph,
  appeals for Union, 321, 322;
  possibility as secretary of war, 372;
  candidate for attorney general, 552

Homestead law, opinion of L. on, 273

Hood, Thomas, L's fondness for his poetry, 466

Hooker, Joseph, 463;
  visited by L. before Chancellorsville, 465;
  interview with L. and promotion, 487-488;
  "Fighting Joe Hooker," 488;
  L's letter to, 489-490;
  Hooker's comment, 492;
  accused of drunkenness, 492;
  Sumner's opinion of, 492;
  self-confidence, 491-492;
  unequal to responsibility, 497;
  asked to be relieved, 498;
  aids Grant in victories, 516

Hossack, John, 248

"House-Divided-Against-Itself" speech, quoted, 180, 426, 473

Howard, Senator, 368

Hoyne, Thomas, 237

Hoyt, Governor, 389

Hubbard, Gurdon S.,
  quoted, 49;
  works for Illinois and Michigan Canal, 49;
  interview with L., 458-459

Hunter, David, attempts military emancipation, 447

Hunter, Robert M.T., Southern peace commissioner, 555-556


Iles, Elijah, service in Black Hawk War, 39

Illinois,
  Lincoln family settles in, 21;
  slavery sentiment, 65-66;
  first to ratify 13th amendment, 554

Illinois and Michigan Canal, favored by Lincoln, 49

Indiana, early home of Lincoln, 6

Indianapolis, speech, on inaugural journey, 268

Indians,
  hostile in Kentucky, 2;
  execution refused by L., 453

Invention,
  L's interest in history of, 118-119;
  navigation device, 24-26


Jackson, Andrew, L. compared with, 413, 549

Jackson, Thomas Jonathan (Stonewall), 414;
  death, 492

Jayne, William, quoted, 161

Jefferson, Joseph, quoted, 79

Jefferson, Thomas, 360;
  L. ranked with, 549

Johnson, Andrew,
  mentioned, 100, 585;
  nominated for vice-president, 534;
  sworn in, 557;
  at L's death-bed, 591;
  at funeral, 596

Johnson, Bradley, Confederate general,
    raid of country around Washington, 536

Johnson, Oliver, visit to L., 468-469

Johnson, Reverdy, attorney in McCormick case, 173, 174, 176

Johnston, Albert Sidney, at Vicksburg, 501

Johnston, Joseph E.,
  mentioned, 578;
  Sherman defeats, 561-562;
  plan to force surrender, 564-565;
  L's dream, 584

Johnston, John,
  step-brother of L., 24;
  indolent and shiftless nature, 121;
  L's letters to, 120-123

Jones, J. Russell, L. consults about Grant, 523

Jones, Laura, L's leniency to, 453

Joy, James F., 237

Judd, Norman B.,
  L. visits, 117-118;
  member of inaugural party, 266, 275;
  mentioned, 161, 162, 189, 227, 232

Judd, Mrs. Norman B., quoted, 117-118

Julian, George W., quoted, 253-254, 375, 378


Kansas, L's visit to, 213-214

Kansas-Nebraska Bill, controversy, 147, 152-155, 159-161

Kelly, William D., quoted, 356-358, 465

Kelton, Colonel, 413

Kentucky,
  Lincoln family in, 2;
  plea for neutrality, 270;
  importance of neutrality, 320-322;
  concessions made to, 431

"Kerr, Orpheus C," (Robert Henry Newell), 334, footnote;
  L's great fondness for his writings, 334, 467

Keyes, General, quoted, 381

King, Preston, 303

Kirkpatrick, William, 36

Know-Nothing-Party, 153

Knox, Joe, 171


Labor and capital discussed by Lincoln, 348-350

Laboring-men, L's speech to Cincinnati Germans, 272-273

Lamborn, Josiah, 74, 89, 186

Lamon, Ward H.,
  mentioned, 81;
  member of inaugural party, 266, 275, 278;
  quoted, 12, 16, 29-30, 58, 84, 112, 114, 115, 154,
      161, 229, 254-255, 256, 263, 266, 267

Lane, General, 309

Lectures. _See_ Speeches and Lectures

Lee, Harry T., impression of Gettysburg address, 514

Lee, Robert E.,
  mentioned, 300, 437, 499, 517;
  Pennsylvania invasion, 333, 497;
  Manassas successes, 411, 414;
  Antietam defeat, 414;
  Chancellorsville victory, 492;
  Gettysburg defeat, 498, 501;
  Appomattox surrender, 517, 573;
  Richmond, retreat to, 568;
  Union plans for capture, 564-565;
  Richmond, retreat from, 568;
  Grant ordered not to confer with, 577-578;
  L's comment on portrait, 582

Letters and telegrams,
  acceptance of presidential nomination, 244;
  correspondence burdensome, 474;
  written by hand, 474;
  to Bryant concerning party pledges, 248;
  to Mrs. Bixby on loss of sons, 397-398;
  to Curtis on factional quarrels, 455;
  to Douglas, invitation to debate, 182;
  telegram to Grant during Early's raid, 522-523;
  to Grant after Vicksburg, 502;
  to Grant, expressing satisfaction, 521;
  to Greeley on emancipation, 429-430;
  to Herndon, giving advice, 104-105;
  to Hooker, on latter's appointment, 489-490;
  to Judd about campaign contribution, 209;
  to Judd regarding the presidency, 228;
  to Kentucky unionist on slavery, 446-448;
  to McClellan on over-cautiousness, 392-395;
  to McClellan concerning route to Richmond, 405-407;
  to McNeill relating to fees for speeches, 223-224;
  to Schofield, advice on factional quarrels, 455-456;
  to Speed on slavery, 151-153;
  to Speed's sister on slavery, 148;
  to Springfield friends after Gettysburg and Vicksburg, 507-508;
  to step-brother on death of father, 120-123;
  to Washburne, about forts, 261;
  to Washburne, against compromises, 260-261;
  to Weed on secession, 262;
  "To whom it may concern," safe conduct for peace envoys, 539

Lewis, Robert, 334

Lincoln, Abraham, grandfather of L.,
  settles in Kentucky, 2;
  death, 3

LINCOLN, ABRAHAM
  CHARACTERISTICS,
    inherited, 5, 11;
    in boyhood and youth, 9, 16, 20, 35, 49, 53, 75-77;
    handwriting, 19;
    elements of greatness, 53;
    claims to be a fatalist, 108;
    absent-mindedness, 112, 114;
    debt abhorred, 130;
    as a lawyer, 142-146, 235;
    as a public speaker, 171-172, 183-188, 194-197, 204-206;
    master of himself, 235;
    compared with Jackson, 260;
    attitude toward public visitors, 301-302;
    lack of sovereignty, 304;
    simplicity of manner, 305-306;
    qualities of a leader, 307-308;
    morbid dislike of guard, 310-311;
    forbearance, 315, 320;
    precision and minuteness of information, 358;
    living power of integrity and elasticity, 359;
    greatness in moral strength, 359-361;
    summed up by Nicolay, 361-362;
    peace-maker, 364, 456;
    wisdom and moderation, 374;
    guileless and single-hearted, 387;
    power to make quick and important decisions, 412;
    will compared to Andrew Jackson, 413;
    easily accessible to visitors, 450;
    no case too trivial, 451;
    ability to say no, 451,452;
    diplomacy in Schofield-Rosecrans episode, 456-457;
    loyalty to friends, 458;
    fortitude, 462;
    imagination versus reason, 466;
    tireless worker, 473;
    magnanimity toward opponents, 476-477;
    stern when necessary, 477-478;
    candor and friendliness in criticism, 489-490;
    willingness to admit errors, 502;
    quickness of perception, 527;
    tenacity, 527;
    Sherman's tribute, 565-566;
    unselfishness, 566-567;
    magnanimity toward southern leaders, 580;
    clemency in granting pardons,  586

    _Ambitions_,
      presentiment of future greatness, 18-19, 27, 53;
      desire to be the "DeWitt Clinton of Illinois," 61;
      encouraged by friends, 116;
      generous quality of, 159;
      senatorial, 161-164;
      presidential, 331;
      not concerned over political future, 529-532
    _Appearance_,
      at fifteen, 12;
      at nineteen, 20;
      in 1832, 42;
      in 1847, 105-106;
      in 1849, 109-110, 111;
      "man of sorrows," 113-114;
      singular walk, 114-115;
      on the circuit, 125-127;
      face transformed in speaking, 181;
      in repose and on the stump, 194-195;
      in 1858, 201, 205;
      in 1860, 215;
      height, 247;
      as President-elect, 253-254, 274-275, 279;
      arrival at Washington, 282;
      inauguration, 285-286;
      in his reception room, 302-303;
      changed by anxiety, 355;
      Nicolay's description, 361;
      face a surprise to Winchell, 382;
      unconventional dress, 356-357, 377, 450;
      changed by grief, 462-463;
      Frederick Douglass' impressions, 484, 485, 486;
      saddest man in the world, 543-546
    _Courage_,
      fighting qualities, 27-29;
      encounter with a bully, 29;
      in Black Hawk War, 38-40;
      rescues Baker from a fight, 91-92;
      duel with Shields, 93;
      under discouragements, 292, 331;
      did not fear attempt upon his life, 540-542
    _Honesty_,
      at nineteen, 20;
      as a salesman, 31;
      "Honest Abe," 31, 53, 68, 171;
      trust funds never used, 46;
      in voting, 101-102;
      as a lawyer, 130, 138, 143;
      refused to defend the guilty, 136-137;
      intellectual and moral, 144
    _Horsemanship_, 415-416, 491, 562, 563
    _Justice_,
      anecdote of Black Hawk War, 38;
      refusal to countenance injustice, 130-131, 453;
      sense of, 476-478;
      injustice to Gen. Meade, 503-506;
    _Literary methods_ and _style_,
      early example, 63-65;
      example from Douglas debates, 89-90;
      methods, 470-471;
      style, 471-473
    _Kindness_ and _sympathy_, 16;
      to animals, 13, 76;
      everybody's friend, 35
      in his home, 113
      regard for old friends and relatives, 119, 121-123;
      to old <DW52> woman, 128;
      to young attorneys, 130;
      for Col. Scott, 410
      for soldiers, 395-397, 400-401, 499-500;
      embarrassing results of friendliness, 470
   _Melancholy_ and _sadness_,
      caused by love of Anne Rutledge, 49;
      temporary attack, 95-96;
      causes, 112-113;
      struggles with, 115-117;
      depression in 1854, 161;
      evidence of, 170, 175, 198, 246, 361;
      over defeat for senate, 204;
      on inaugural journey, 266-267;
      after Bull Run, 330-331;
      over war victims, 401-402, 500;
      engraved on features, 462-463;
      summer of 1864, 537-538, 542-546;
      Matthew Arnold's poem, 546
    _Memory_,
      for faces and names, 9, 39, 40;
      for events, 36;
      retentive, 467, 468
    _Military sagacity_, 380-386, 390-395, 405-407, 411-414,
        416-417, 502, 506
    _Modesty_,
      unassuming manner in politics, 163;
      about printing speeches, 216;
      in regard to presidential nomination, 227-228;
      as president, 304, 306, 307, 459;
      natural, 360;
      about second nomination, 535;
      on news of second election, 547
    _Popularity_,
      as a young man, 28-29, 75;
      in New Salem, 35, 53;
      in Black Hawk War, 39, 41;
      universal favorite, 130;
      in Kansas, 213, 214;
      at Republican convention in 1860, 229-230;
      among old friends and relatives, 263-264;
      Confederate soldiers' greeting at Petersburg, 567-568
    _Physical strength_,
      in boyhood, 9;
      incidents showing, 91-93, 389, 401
    _Religious nature_,
      knowledge of the Bible, 118-119;
      shown in letter to step-brother, 120;
      reliance on Divine help, 265, 267, 268;
      influence of son's death, 351-352;
      spirituality highly organized, 360, 361, 362;
      religious spirit, 385-386;
      shown in fortitude, 462;
      quotes the Bible, 473;
      his views on, 478-479;
      not a church member, 478;
      shown in second inaugural address, 557-559
    _Tact_, 357;
      in official relations, 368-370, 378;
      anecdotes illustrating, 451-457
    _Temperance_,
      reply to Douglas's taunt, 83, 85, 130, 203;
    _Voice_,
      magnetism of, 59;
      not pleasing, 142, 221;
      clear and vigorous, 205;
      high but clear, 302, 515
    _Wit_ and _humor_,
      power of satire, 17;
      examples of, 56-57;
      love of practical joke, 57;
      no end to his fund of, 84;
      used against adversaries, 87, 139-140, 202-204;
      chief attraction at dinners, 110;
      cultivated, 113;
      stories not always dignified, 139;
      repartee, 157;
      advantage of L. over Douglas, 86, 195;
      indelicacy charge refuted, 258;
      safety-valve of L., 332-333;
      enjoyment of "Orpheus C. Kerr," 334;
      at cabinet meetings, 336;
      soldiers' humor appreciated by L., 399-400;
      humorists liked by L., 467-468
  PRIVATE LIFE:
    ancestry, 1-5;
    L's own account, 32-33;
    birth, 1,4;
    illegitimate parentage legend, 4;
    Lincoln family in Kentucky, 4;
    removal to Indiana, 5-6;
    in Indiana, 6-19;
    reminiscences by Dennis Hanks, 7-9;
    death of his mother, 10;
    love for his mother, 5, 10, 21;
    tribute to her influence, 11;
    his father remarries, 11;
    affection for step-mother, 11, 119, 123, 124, 263;
    moves to Macon Co., Ill., 21, 33;
    his father's possessions, 21;
    death of father, 22;
    L. helps build log cabin, 23;
    splitting rails, 23;
    flatboat voyages down the Mississippi, 23-24;
    settles in New Salem, 24-26, 33;
    patent for navigation device, 24-26;
    athletic skill, 27-29;
    first meeting with Smoot, 29;
    meets Governor Yates, 30;
    love of story-telling, 30-31;
    home life, 31, 113, 115;
    autobiography, 32-34;
    struggle with poverty, 45, 47, 69-71, 209, 225;
    love for Anne Rutledge, 49-52;
    close of his boyhood and youth, 52-54;
    New Salem a desolate waste, 54;
    moves to Springfield, 33, 69-70;
    struggles of a young lawyer, 69-84;
    meeting with Speed, 69;
    shares his home, 70, 88;
    in state politics, 85-96;
    Mary Todd's satirical article, 93;
    love affairs with Matilda Edwards and Mary Todd, 94-95;
    derangement, 95;
    goes to Kentucky with Speed, 96;
    marriage to Mary Todd, 95, 96;
    lives at Globe Tavern, 96;
    purchases Dressar home, 96;
    enters national politics, 97-108;
    back in Springfield, 109;
    simplicity of home life in Springfield, 110;
    income from law practice, 110;
    property owned, 111;
    his children, 111-112;
    L. as husband and father, 113;
    marriage unhappy, 112-117;
    did his own marketing, 114;
    visits Chicago, 117;
    regard for relatives, 119;
    purchases home for father, 119
    letters to step-brother, 120-123;
    idol of his step-mother, 123-124;
    wealth, not desired by L., 125;
    L. as a lawyer, 125-146;
    careless about money, 130;
    keeping partnership accounts, 133;
    anecdote about his wealth, 216;
    summer home during presidency, 401;
    home life in White House, 464-465;
    desire to live in California, 549;
    plans for retirement, 584-585.
    _Education_,
      early education, 7-9, 11-19;
      early schools attended, 11-13;
      his copy book inscription, 13;
      first efforts in composition, 13;
      mental training from reading, 14;
      scrap-book kept in youth, 14;
      handwriting at seventeen, 19;
      book of arithmetic examples, 19
      knowledge of astronomy and geology, 20-21;
      study of grammar, 26-27;
      L.'s own account, 33;
      knowledge of drama, 79;
      L. as a student, 130-131;
      musical taste, 466-467;
      unashamed of early deficiencies, 468-469
    _Books_ and _reading_,
      influence of first books, 8, 14-16;
      his own testimony, 15;
      the ruined volume, 14, 16;
      method of reading, 131;
      wrote verses, 132;
      books in White House office, 300;
      love for Shakespeare, Browning, and Byron, 387;
      memory for poetry, 356;
      poets best loved, 466-467;
      humorists liked, 467;
      best-loved books, 468;
      novel reading, 469
    _Employments_,
      first work, 16;
      first dollar earned, 17-18;
      flatboat constructed for commercial enterprise, 17-18;
      his first employer, 19-20;
      first flatboat journey to New Orleans, 195;
      second flatboat journey to New Orleans, 23-34;
      clerk at New Salem, 26-34;
      Offutt's store closed, 35;
      brief career as country merchant, 42-44;
      blacksmith trade considered, 42;
      surveys and plans Petersburg, 47, 67;
      notion to become a carpenter, 71
    _Law career_,
      early interest in law, 9, 19;
      study and practice, 33-43;
      begins study of, 46-47;
      begins practice, 47;
      period covered, 55;
      reverence for law, 64;
      in Springfield, 69;
      without plans or money, 60-70;
      asking credit, 70;
      partnership with Stuart and Logan, 71;
      with Herndon, 71;
      riding the circuit, 71-84;
      borrows, then owns a horse, 71;
      welcome by other lawyers, 72;
      humility, 72;
      court scene, 72-73;
      freedom in social intercourse, 73;
      leading lawyers of the day, 73-74;
      adventures and hardships, 74;
      popularity and appearance, 75-76;
      not afraid of unpopular cases, 77;
      wins case of widow of revolutionary pensioner, 77-79;
      wins case for Jefferson, 79;
      ridiculing the eloquence of opponent, 80-81;
      breach of promise suit, 81-82;
      ready wit, 83-84;
      dissolved partnership with Logan, 97;
      partnership with Herndon, 97-98;
      declined partnership with Goodrich, 109;
      resumes practice in 1849, 109, 125-146;
      legal fee ridiculously small, 125;
      appearance in court, 125-128;
      defending a <DW52> woman, 128;
      dividing fee with defendant, 128-129;
      refused to take unjust cases, 130-131;
      keeping accounts, 1133;
      fees moderate, 133;
      defends son of Jack Armstrong, 133-136;
      would not press for pay, 135-136;
      refused to defend guilty, 136-137;
      would never advise unwise suits, 137-138;
      returns fee, 138;
      anecdotes of L. at the bar, 138-140;
      his rank as a lawyer, 140-146;
      special characteristics, 145
    _Recreations_,
      games, 129;
      dancing, 210;
      theatre, 469-470;
      fondness for walking, 46
  PUBLIC LIFE,
    _Nicknames_,
      "Railsplitter," 9, 23, 230-231;
      "Uncle Abe," 75;
      "Old Abe," 105;
      "Honest Abe," 31, 53, 68, 171
    _Oratory_,
      first efforts, 27;
      reputation, 62;
      spoke without manuscript, 89;
      manner of speaking described, 100, 127, 172;
      used old-fashioned words, 139, 146;
      jury speeches, 146;
      eloquence of Bloomington speech, 167-168;
      compared with Douglas, 89, 177, 182-207;
      Cooper Institute speech, 217-221;
      New England tour, 221-223;
      W.J. Bryan's opinion, 473;
      Gettysburg address, 512-515;
      eloquence of second inaugural, 557-559
    _Public questions_, L's views on:
      Mexican war, 101-102, 131;
      Missouri compromise, 150-160;
      Kansas-Nebraska bill, 152-155;
      secession views, 262, 287-291, 320-321;
      labor and capital, 348-350;
      emancipation, 447, 482-484;
      reconstruction policy, 576-581
    _Slavery_,
      L. opposes pro-slavery enactment in Illinois, 65-66;
      attitude shown in Douglas debates, 89-90, 191-194; 205;
      sale of slave girl, 147-148;
      early views, 148-149;
      opposed slavery in Congress and in speeches, 149-151;
      views in letters to Speed, 151-153;
      argues eternal right at Bloomington Convention, 167-168;
      resolution adopted, 169;
      "House divided against itself," 177-182;
      Cincinnati speech, 211-212;
      L.'s policy, 419-446;
      Channing interview, 427;
      Chicago clergymen's delegation, 427;
      Greeley and L., 429-431;
      L's own account, 446-448;
      4th annual message, 552
    _Early political career_,
      change in views, 8;
      made election clerk, 32;
      appointed postmaster at Salem, 44;
      made deputy surveyor, 47;
      natural taste for politics, 55;
      candidate for presidential elector, 87;
      Whig leader, 87;
      canvassed Illinois in Clay-Polk campaign, 99;
      leader of Whigs in Congress, 100;
      Whig delegate to National Convention, 104;
      seeks appointment as land commissioner, 106-107;
      little interested in politics until 1854, 147;
      building up the Free Soil party, 150;
      admits being a Whig, 153, 157;
      generosity toward rivals, 160;
      considered for vice president, 170, 228-229;
      activity in Fremont campaign, 170-173;
      no political enemies, 232;
      bored with talk on politics, 240
    _Illinois legislature_,
      defeat and election, 33;
      first candidacy unsuccessful, 41-42, 47;
      campaign of 1834, and election, 48;
      aids canal bill, 49;
      reputation in, 49;
      renominated, 1836, 55;
      campaign methods, 56-60;
      lightning rod anecdote, 56-57;
      not an aristocrat, 57-58;
      reply to Early, 58-59;
      letter to Allen, 59-60;
      election, 60;
      journey to capital, 60;
      meets Judge Caton, 61;
      first meeting with Douglas, 61-62;
      removal of Illinois Capitol, 62;
      an early speech, 62-65;
      opposes pro-slavery enactment, 65-66;
      contest with Ewing, 66-67;
      campaign of 1838 and election, 85;
      end of legislative service, 86;
      election and resignation, 1864, 160-161;
      senatorial contest, 161-161
    _Black Hawk War_,
      candidate for captain, 36;
      memories of L., 36-37;
      first experience drilling troops, 37;
      rescues an Indian, 37-38;
      meeting with Stuart, 38-39;
      L. re-enlists, 39;
      recollects Major Anderson after 29 years, 39;
      courage as a soldier, 40;
      his own account of his service, 40-41;
      popularity with comrades, 41
    _Congress_,
      aspirations, 97;
      elected to lower house, 1846, 34, 99-100, 159;
      Whig leader, 100;
      reputation in, 100;
      first speech, 101;
      Mexican War attitude, 101-102;
      notable speech and ridicule of Gen. Cass, 102-104;
      bill for abolition of slavery, 104;
      campaign methods, 131-132;
      senatorial contest, 1855, 161-163;
      defeated, 164;
      senatorial contest with Douglas, 1858, 177-207;
      defeated, 208;
      depression of L. over, 208-209
    _Presidency_,
      presentiment of L. concerning, 18-19;
      modest over proposed nomination, 144;
      almost in his grasp, 213;
      Cooper Institute speech aids toward, 220, 232;
      suggested as a candidate, 227-228;
      nomination, 231-237;
      sittings for life mask, 237-243;
      cast of hands, 242;
      notified of nomination, 243-244;
      opposition of Springfield clergymen, 247;
      election, 1860, 250-251;
      non-partisan appointments, 256-257;
      unembarrassed by promises, 259, 260;
      preparation for inauguration, 263;
      journey to Washington, 265-280;
      stories of disguises, 280;
      week preceding inauguration, 281-283;
      ceremonies described, 283-292;
      oath administered, 284, 291;
      first night at the White House, 292;
      cabinet appointments, 293;
      cabinet changes, 294;
      difficulties selecting loyal and capable men, 295;
      impression on people, 298-310;
      modest as president, 306-307;
      fears for attempted assassination, 308-310;
      L's dislike for guard, 311;
      Civil War begun, 312;
      first call for troops, 312-314;
      creates excitement, 314;
      Boston riots, 315;
      loyalty of Douglas, 315-316;
      proclamation of blockade of Southern ports, 316-318;
      blockade extended, 318;
      Virginia convention waits on L., 318;
      L's war policy outlined, 319-320;
      L's conciliatory course, 320-321;
      tries to save Kentucky, 321-322;
      special session of Congress, 322;
      L's first message, 322-325;
      difficulties of a new administration, 325-326;
      Bull Run disaster, 326;
      visits the army in Virginia, 327;
      depression following Bull Run, 329-331;
      unfaltering courage, 331;
      relief in story-telling, 332-333;
      depression relieved by humor, 333-336;
      measuring up with Sumner, 336;
      diplomacy in Mason and Slidell affair, 340-344;
      in French invasion of Mexico, 345;
      building the "Monitor," 346-347;
      first annual message, 347-350;
      reception at White House, 350;
      illness and death at the White House, 351-352;
      secret service incidents, 352-353;
      annoyed by office-seekers, 353;
      Mr. Ross at the White House, 353-356;
      William Kelley at the White House, 356;
      Goldwin Smith's impressions, 356-359;
      tributes from Hapgood, Bigelow, and Nicolay, 359-362;
      cabinet relations, 363-379;
      with Stanton, 364-379;
      with Seward, 366-371;
      Cameron and Stanton, 371-373;
      L. considers McClellan over-cautious, 392-395;
      L. visits hospitals, 400-401;
      differences of opinion with McClellan, 404;
      letter to him about campaign, 405-406;
      urges action, 406-407;
      L's defence of him, 407;
      L. recalls him, 410;
      reinstates him, 411-412;
      McClellan's own account, 413;
      correspondence, 416-417;
      L's summing up of McClellan, 417-418;
      signs emancipation proclamation, 441;
      his life as president, 449;
      society at the White House, 449-450;
      public receptions, 450;
      tact with favor seekers and bores, 451-453;
      sense of justice, 453;
      answering improper questions, 454;
      settles the Curtis-Gamble dispute, 454-457;
      appoints Schofield, 455-457;
      views of his own position, 459;
      dealing with cranks, 459-461;
      Fredericksburg disaster, 461-461;
      responsibility of his position, 462-463;
      home life in the White House, 464-465;
      visits Army of the Potomac, 465-466;
      tireless worker, 473;
      health, 473-474;
      his letter file, 474;
      Agassiz and L., 475-476;
      his official acts not influenced by personal consideration, 476-477;
      criticism of the administration, 480-481;
      war policy opposed by Greeley, 480;
      by high official, 481;
      Democrats of the North, 481;
      Boston abolitionists, 482-484;
      effect of abuse, 481;
      Western delegation, 484;
      personal responsibility for policy, 484;
      interview with Douglas on enlisting  soldiers, 484-486;
      McClellan's removal, 487;
      relations with Burnside, 487;
      with Hooker, 487-490;
      candor and friendliness with officers, 489-490;
      visits army of the Potomac, 490-492;
      his view of Charleston attack, 490;
      effect of Chancellorsville on L. 492-493;
      reads Stedman's poem to cabinet, 494-495;
      the tide turns, 495;
      Lee invades Pennsylvania, 497;
      Hooker proves unfit, 497-498;
      Meade appointed, 498;
      L's feelings during Gettysburg battle, 498-500;
      joy over Vicksburg, 501-503;
      praise of Grant, 502;
      criticism of Meade for Lee's escape, 503-504;
      Meade asks to be relieved, 504;
      criticism answered, 504;
      resignation not insisted upon, 505;
      L's opinion modified, 506-507;
      improved conditions, 507;
      defence of emancipation proclamation, 507-508;
      Thanksgiving proclamation, 508-510;
      fall election, 1863, 510;
      L. upheld, 511;
      his own comment, 511;
      Gettysburg dedication, 512-515;
      relations with Grant, 516-527;
      appoints Grant Lieut-General, 516;
      summons him to Washington, 517;
      Grant receives commission, 517-519;
      first meeting with Grant, 520;
      L's letter of satisfaction, 521;
      military orders issued by L., 522;
      interested in Grant's career, 523;
      interest in Grant's political aspirations, 523;
      Grant-Stanton episode, 526-527;
      Grant's opinion of Lincoln, 527;
      campaign of 1864, 528-535;
      L's attitude toward a second term, 528-532;
      New England's attitude toward the administration, 529;
      relations with Chase, 532-534, 549-550;
      candidates of 1864, 532-533;
      L's nomination, 1864, 534;
      acceptance speech, 535;
      Early's raid, 532-537;
      call for more troops, 537;
      war policy criticized, 537;
      depression of L., 538-539;
      campaign of 1864, 539-540;
      McClellan a candidate, 539;
      L's secret pledge to support successor, 540;
      attempt on life, 540-541;
      effect of burdens and anxiety during war, 542-546;
      election of 1864, victory, 546-549;
      Grant's telegram, 548;
      Seward's tribute, 548-549;
      Chase's resignation, 549-550;
      other cabinet changes, 550-552;
      fourth annual message, 552;
      <DW52> people at White House reception, 552-553;
      negotiates with Southern peace commissioners, 554-556;
      assumes responsibility for unpopular measures, 554-555;
      scheme for compensation emancipation, 556-557;
      second inauguration, 557-560;
      close of the war, 561-563;
      escapes office-seekers, 563;
      with Grant, Sherman, and Porter at City Point, 562-566;
      on the River Queen, 563-566;
      concern about Schofield, 565;
      on the Malvern 566-567;
      at Petersburg, 567-568;
      at Richmond, 568-573;
      news of Richmond's fall, 568;
      visit to Richmond, 569;
      welcomed by the <DW64>s, 571;
      Southerners' reception, 572;
      joy over Lee's surrender, 573;
      scene at Capitol, 574-575;
      L.'s speech to the multitude, 576;
      reconstruction views, 576-581;
      instructions to Grant on final conference with Lee, 577-578;
      feeling toward the South, 577-580;
      pardoning confederates, 579-580;
      the last day: talk with Robert, 582;
      receives visitors, 583;
      last cabinet meeting, 583-584;
      significant dreams, 583-584;
      drive with Mrs. Lincoln, 584-585;
      last official acts, 585-587;
      reaches theatre, 587;
      the shot fired, 588;
      Booth's escape, 588-589;
      Walt Whitman's description, 589;
      Booth's plan, 590;
      Rathbone's account, 590;
      death-bed, 591;
      Welles's account, 591-594;
      a nation's grief, 594-599;
      funeral ceremonies at the White House, 596;
      lying in state at Capitol, 597;
      funeral train to Springfield, 597-598;
      interment, 599

Lincoln, Edward Baker, L's son, birth, 111

Lincoln, John, L's great-grandfather, 2

Lincoln, John, L's half-brother, 11

Lincoln, Josiah, L's uncle, 3

Lincoln, Mary Todd, L's wife,
  published satirical articles about James Shields, 93;
  ambitions, 94;
  characteristics, 94;
  engagement to L. broken, 95;
  marriage, 94, 96;
  hospitality, 110;
  pro-slavery views, 167;
  meeting with Volk, 241;
  on inaugural journey, 266;
  opinion of Riddle on, 275-276;
  censured for frivolity, 450;
  defines L's religion, 478;
  visits Army of Potomac, 490;
  receives Grant, 518-520;
  fears of L's assassination, 540;
  desired to visit Europe, 549;
  last drive with L., 584-585;
  plans to visit theatre, 586;
  at theatre, 587;
  shock at assassination, 589;
  prostrated by L's death, 591;
  at L's death-bed, 593;
  unable to attend obsequies, 596

Lincoln, Matilda, L's half-sister, 11

Lincoln, Mordecai, son of Samuel Lincoln, 2

Lincoln, Mordecai, L's uncle,
  adventure with Indians, 3;
  character, 3-4;
  L's characterization of, 5;
  opinion of L. about, 264

Lincoln, Nancy Hanks, L's mother,
  marriage, 4;
  slurs upon her name, 4-5;
  character and appearance, 5;
  Dennis Hanks's opinion of, 7;
  death and funeral, 10;
  epitaph, 10;
  love of L. for, 10, 21;
  influence on L., 10-11;
  tribute of L. to, 11, 352

Lincoln, Robert Todd, L's son,
  birth, 111;
  student at Harvard, 221;
  gripsack anecdote, 283;
  student and soldier, 464;
  interview with L. about war, 582;
  with his mother after assassination, 591;
  at L's death-bed, 594

Lincoln, Samuel, L's English forbear, 1

Lincoln, Sarah, L's half-sister, 11;
  death, 17

Lincoln, Sarah, L's sister, birth, 4

Lincoln, Sarah Johnston, L's step-mother,
  marries Thomas Lincoln, 11;
  mutual fondness of L. and, 11, 119, 123-124, 263;
  quoted, 14;
  death, 124;
  visit of L. before inauguration, 263

Lincoln, Thomas, L's father,
  birth, 3;
  rescue from Indians, 3;
  marriage to Nancy Hanks, 4;
  moves to Rock Spring farm, 4;
  moves to Indiana, 5-6;
  second marriage, 11;
  moves to Illinois, 21;
  nicknames, 21;
  character-sketch, 21-23;
  death, 22, 120;
  epitaph, 22;
  story-telling ability, 31;
  death 120;
  solicitude for, 120-121;
  L. visits grave, 263

Lincoln, Thomas, L's son,
  birth, 111;
  "Little Tad," 464;
  companion of father, 464-466, 490, 491;
  death, 465;
  loved by soldiers, 465-466;
  anecdote of L's last speech, 575-576;
  grief over death of father, 596

Lincoln, William Wallace, L's son,
  birth, 111;
  death, 351, 464;
  influence of death on L., 478

Lincoln-Douglas Debates,
  comparative powers of speakers, 89, 177, 182-207.
  Extracts, Springfield, 89-90;
  Peoria, 155-157;
  Quincy and Alton, 191-194; 205

Linder, General,
  quoted, 62, 66, 91;
  talks against time, 80

Livermore, George, given proclamation pen, 445

Logan, John A., quoted, 286, 292

Logan, Mrs. John A., quoted, 197

Logan, Stephen T.,
  mentioned, 74, 186;
  law partner of L., 71;
  Whig debater, 89;
  partnership dissolved, 97;
  anecdote of shirt, 139;
  favors L. for legislature, 161;
  elected to legislature, 162;
  L's champion in legislature, 163

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, abolitionist, 345

Long, Dr., quoted, 181

"Long Nine," delegates to senate convention, 1836, 60, 62

Lookout Mountain, Grant's success, 516

Loring, George B., quoted, 282-283

Lossing, Benson J., quoted, 342-343

Louisiana, seceded, 261

Louisville "Journal," L's liking for, 27

Lovejoy, Elijah, 244

Lovejoy, Owen,
  abolitionist, 244;
  mentioned, 378, 422, 423, 436

Lowell, James Russell,
  abolitionist, 245;
  quoted, 340

Lucas, Major, quoted, 93

Lyons, Lord, 343


McClellan, George B.,
  mentioned, 356, 375, 488;
  Stanton's hostility, 367, 407, 411;
  difficulties with Army of Potomac, 367;
  letter from L. on over-cautiousness, 392-395;
  as a soldier, 403-404;
  Meade and Grant quoted, 404;
  L's personal regard for, 404;
  appointed general of Union armies, 405;
  L.'s letter about plan of campaign, 405-406;
  urging action, 406-407;
  L. defends, 407;
  recalled from Peninsula; succeeded by Pope, 410;
  reinstated, 411-412;
  own account, 413;
  Antietam victory, 414;
  inaction after Antietam criticized, 414;
  quoted on L's visit to army, 414-415;
  correspondence with L., 416;
  replaced by Burnside, 417;
  L's opinion, 417-418, 457-458;
  bad news from the Peninsula, 425;
  fails to reach Richmond, 454;
  removal from Army of the Potomac, 487;
  L's presidential competitor, 539;
  defeated for presidency, 547

McCormick, R.C., quoted, 215, 252

McCormick reaper case, in 1857, 173-176

McCulloch, Hugh,
  quoted, 332;
  secretary of the treasury, 294;
  at L's death-bed, 591-593

McCullough, John Edward, summoned to meet L., 469-470

McDonald, Senator, 138

McHenry, Henry, quoted, 46

McNeill, James, (McNamar), Anne Rutledge's suitor, 49-50

Macon County, Ill., Lincoln family settle in, 21

Manassas defeat, 410-411

Markland, Mr., quoted, 321-322

Mason, Senator, 100

Mason and Slidell affair, 340-344

Massachusetts, first to put regiment in the field in Civil War, 314

Meade, George G.,
  mentioned, 499, 501;
  opinion of McClellan, 404;
  succeeds Hooker, 498;
  criticized for Lee's escape, 503-504;
  asks to be relieved, 504;
  answers criticism, 504;
  does not press resignation, 505;
  L.'s opinion modified, 506-507

Meigs, Montgomery C., 334;
  at L's death-bed, 591

"Merrimac,"
  frightens New Yorkers, 338;
  Hampton Roads defeat, 345;
  engagement with "Monitor," 390-391

Messages and proclamations,
  inaugural message, loss feared, 283;
  colloquialisms in, 471-473

Messages and proclamations, quotations,
  inaugural address, 287-291;
  volunteers called for, 313-314;
  blockade of southern ports, 317-318;
  Key West, Tortugas, and Santa Rosa, concerning authority, 318;
  Virginia convention, response to, 319-320;
  to congress, July 4, 1861, 322-325;
  first annual message, 348-350;
  President's general order, No. 1, Feb. 22, 1862, 383;
  thanksgiving proclamation, April 10, 1862, 385-386;
  emancipation, appeal to border states, 421-422;
  final proclamation, 433-435, 438, 441-444;
  second annual message, 440-441;
  Thanksgiving, 1863, 508-510;
  fourth annual message, 552;
  inaugural address, second, 557-559;
  Gladstone's tribute, 559-560.
  _See also_ Speeches and Lectures

Metzgar murder case, 134

Mexican War, attitude of L. toward, 101-102, 131

Mexico, French invasion, 345

"Miami," Federal steamboat, 386, 391

Milroy, R.H., 333, 334

Milwaukee, speech of L. at State Fair, 389

Minnesota, asks execution of Indians, 453

Minter, Graham, L's schoolmaster, quoted, 32

"Mirror," The Manchester (N.H.), quoted, 221

Missionary Ridge, Grant's success, 516

Mississippi, seceded, 261

Missouri Compromise, views of L. and Douglas, 150-160

Missouri, factional quarrels, 454-457

Mitchell, General, telegram from, 388, 389

"Monitor,"
  engagement with "Merrimac," 390-391;
  origin of, 345-347

Moore, Ex-governor, 266

Moore, Mrs., step-sister, 263, 264

Morgan, Edwin D., 533

Morse, John T., quoted, 364


"Nasby, Petroleum V." (David Ross Locke), read by L., 467-468, 548

Nebraska Bill. _See_ Kansas-Nebraska Bill

<DW64>s,
  enlistment in army, 373, 484-486;
  justified by L., 507;
  New Year's reception, 552-553;
  grief over death of L., 597.
  _See also_ Emancipation; Slavery

Neill, Secretary to L., quoted, 536-537, 585

New Brunswick affair, 356

New England,
  dissatisfaction with L., 529,
  speeches and visit of L., 221-223

New Salem, Ill.,
  L. settles at, 24;
  L. appointed postmaster, 44;
  speech of L. before literary society, 44;
  now a desolate waste, 54

New Year's presidential reception,
  in 1862, 350;
  in 1863, 441;
  in 1865, 552-553

New York City,
  visit of L. in 1860, 215-221, 225-226;
  on inaugural journey, 276;
  funeral ceremonies, 598

New York "Tribune." _See_ Greeley, Horace

New York troops, reviewed July 4, 1861, 326

Newpapers,
  L's favorite newspaper, 27;
  surveillance, 301

Nichols, John W., quoted, 541-542

Nicolay, John G.,
  L's private secretary, 266;
  quoted, 302, 361-362, 478

Norfolk captured, 391-392

Norris, James H., 134

Nott and Brainard, quoted, 220

Noyes, George C., quoted, 194


Oberkleine, Frederick,
  address to L. at Cincinnati, 271-272;
  L's reply, 272-273

Office-seekers,
  patience of L. toward, 252;
  demands of, 296;
  annoy L., 353-354;
  actor who wanted consulship, 470

Offutt, Denton, 26;
  relations with L., 23-24; 26,
  quoted, 27;
  store closed in 1832, 35

Oglesby, Richard J., quoted, 229, 230

Oregon, federal office offered L., 107


Pain, John, 169

Parke, John G., 385

Parker, Theodore, abolitionist, 166

Parks, C.S., quoted, 144, 162

Pearson, John, quoted, 81

Pearson, Henry Greenleaf, quoted, 529-530

Peck, Ebenezer,
  mentioned, 171, 227;
  quoted, 87

Pemberton, J.C., 501, 525, 526

Pennsylvania, invaded by Lee, 497

Pennypacker, Isaac R., quoted, 505

Petersburg, Ill., surveyed and planned by L., 67

Petersburg, Va., victory, and visit by L., 567

Philadelphia,
  visited on inaugural journey, 277-278;
  receives news of L's death, 594-596

Phillips, Wendell,
  abolitionist, 166, 245;
  interview with L., 482-484

Piatt, Don, quoted, 252-253

Pierce, Franklin, 354

Pierpont, John, visits L., 468-469

Pinkerton, Allan, 179

Polk, James K., campaign, 98-99

Pomeroy, Senator, 368

Poore, Benjamin Perley, quoted, 301-302, 445

Pope, John,
  defeat at Manassas, 410-411;
  succeeded by McClellan, 411, 414;
  Bull Run disaster, 437

Porter, D.D.,
  aids Grant, 501;
  interview with L. at City Point, 563-566, 578;
  L's visit to the Malvern, 566-567;
  visits Petersburg with L., 567-568;
  described visit to Richmond with L., 568-573;
  interview with L. at City Point, 578;
  quoted, 522-523

Prime, Irenaeus, quoted, 276

Pringle, Cyrus, the case of, 398-399

Proclamations. _See_ Messages and Proclamations


Quakers,
  L's ancestry, 2;
  war scruples, 398-399;
  demand emancipation, 425-427


Rail-splitting episode, 23

Ramsey, Senator, 536

Rathbone, Major,
  at Ford's Theatre, 587;
  struggles with Booth, 590-591

Raymond, Henry J., quoted, 205, 314-315

Rebellion, War of. _See_ Civil War

Reconstruction,
  L.'s speech on, quoted, 575-576;
  policy of L., 576-581

Reid, Whitelaw, 548

Reno, Jesse L., 385

Republican party,
  birth of, 159;
  organized in Illinois, 169;
  national convention in 1856, 170;
  asked L. to speak in Ohio, 211;
  advice of L. to, 219;
  Illinois convention of 1860, 229;
  national convention, 1860, 231-237;
  growth and tendencies, 251;
  fears for L's loyalty, 271;
  partisan and unreasonable, 293;
  office-seekers, 296;
  elections of 1863, 510-511;
  national convention of 1864, 534

Reynolds, John, call for volunteers, 36, 39

Rhett, Robert B., 100

Richardson, William A., resolution supported by L., 101

Richmond,
  plans to capture, 405-407;
  fall of, 568;
  visited by L., 568-573

Riddle, A.G.
  part in Lincoln-Chase affair, 533-534;
  urges Chase's appointment as chief justice, 550-551;
  quoted, 274, 276, 281, 291, 381, 395-396, 450, 451, 543-544

Rock Valley, 35

Rollins, James S., quoted, 554

Rosecrans, W.S., sent to Missouri, 456-457

Ross, A.M., quoted, 352-356

Rothschild, Alonzo, quoted, 294-295

Rousseau, Kentucky legislator, 321

Russell, Lord John, protest of, in Trent affair, 343

Rutledge, Anne, L's love-affair with, 49-52


Schenck, Robert C., 333

Schofield, J.M.,
  mentioned, 564, 565;
  replaces Curtis, L's letter of appointment, 455-457;
  joins Sherman, 457;
  L's concern about ability, 565

Scott, Colonel, refused leave on death of wife, 408-410

Scott, Winfield,
  L's order to hold or retake forts, 261;
  warns L. of danger, 278;
  pays respects to L., 281-282;
  lacking as politician, 337;
  dislike of Hooker, 487

Schurz, Carl,
  seconded L's nomination, 234;
  quoted, 307

Secession,
  states that withdrew, 261;
  attitude of L. toward, 262, 287-291, 320-321;
  not considered rebellion, 292

Sedgwick, John, view of Meade's failure to attack Lee, 504

Selby, Paul, quoted, 158-160

Seward, Fanny, 592

Seward, Frederick W.,
  warns L. of danger, 278, 280;
  attacked and wounded, 591-592

Seward, Mrs. Frederick W., 423

Seward, William H.,
  mentioned, 17, 185, 296, 297, 305, 343, 441, 485, 593;
  opposes Nebraska bill, 153;
  doubt of his nomination, 215;
  statesmanship, 231;
  candidate for president, 231-234;
  eloquence of, 245;
  cabinet possibility, 258, 275;
  sends warning to L., 278;
  appointment as secretary of state, 293, 294, 295;
  press refused information, 301;
  diplomacy, credited to, 341;
  "Premier," self-styled, 364;
  arrogance, 366-368;
  rivalry with Chase, 366-370;
  resignation, 368;
  senate, opposition of, 368;
  L's objection to his resignation, 369;
  opposes <DW64> enlistment, 373;
  emancipation views, 423;
  preliminary proclamation views, 436-437, 438;
  with Grant at White House reception, 518;
  tribute to L. on his re-election, 548-549;
  with L. meets peace commission, 554-557;
  L's visit, after Richmond, 573;
  attacked and wounded, 591-592

Seward, Mrs. William H., 592

Shakespeare, L's fondness for his works, 387, 466

Shepley, General, receives L. at Richmond, 572-573

Sherman, John, introduces brother to L., 298-299

Sherman, William T.,
  mentioned, 367, 457, 516, 579;
  quoted, 298-299;
  march to the sea, 517;
  L's opinion, 552;
  at Atlanta, 537;
  victories after Atlanta, 561-562;
  interview with L. at City Point, 563-566, 578;
  tribute to L., 565-566;
  anxiety of L. and Grant, 583, 584

Shields, James,
  ridiculed by Mary Todd, 93;
  duel with L., 93;
  L. wishes to succeed in congress, 161, 163

Shuman, Andrew,
  reports Lincoln-Douglas debates, 198;
  quoted, 199

Sibley, Judge, quoted, 84

Simpson, Bishop, officiates at L's funeral, 596

Slavery,
  protest against pro-slavery act in Illinois, 65;
  L's defense of fugitive slaves, 77;
  Independence Hall flag-raising, 278;
  L. introduces bill against, 104;
  L's growing opposition to, 147-153;
  L's attitude in letter to Speed, 151-153;
  Peoria speech, extract, 155-157;
  L's growing opposition to, 166-169, 178-182;
  knowledge of L. regarding, 186;
  Cincinnati speech, 211-212;
  Cooper Institute speech, 218-220;
  L's hatred for, growing, 245;
  fugitive slave law, 248-249, 434-435;
  political issue, 251;
  attitude of L. toward, 254;
  L. opposes compromises, 261;
  legislation against, 1862, 421;
  L's own account of his views, 446-448;
  L's attitude in fourth annual message, 552;
  constitutional amendment, 553-554.
  _See also_ Emancipation

Slocum, Henry W., 504

Smith, Caleb B.,
  secretary of the interior, 293, 294;
  non-committal on Ericsson's invention, 347

Smith, Goldwin,
  visits L., 357-358;
  quoted, 358-359

Smith, James, 591

Smith, William Henry, quoted, 269-273, 550

Smoot, Coleman, friendship with L., 29-30

"Soldiers' Rest," Lincoln's summer home during presidency, 401

South Carolina, seceded, 261

Southern Confederacy. _See_ Confederate states

Sparrow, Thomas and Betsy, 6

Spaulding, Judge, 533, 534

Speeches and lectures,
  in congress in 1848, 40;
  candidate for member of legislature, 41;
  to New Salem literary society, 44;
  stump-speaking, 55;
  on "Spot Resolutions," 101;
  on the presidency and general politics, 102;
  age of different inventions, 119;
  to Scott club of Springfield, 147;
  eulogy on death of Clay, 147;
  Bloomington convention, 167-168;
  "House-divided-against-itself," 178-182, 473;
  lectures in winter of 1859, 210;
  political speeches in Ohio, 211;
  political speeches in Kansas, 213;
  invitation to lecture in Beecher's church, 214;
  Cooper Institute speech, 215-221, 223-224;
  in New England, 221-223;
  accusation of fees received for speeches, 223-224;
  Five Points Sunday School, N.Y., talk, 225-226;
  inaugural journey, 268-276;
  Wisconsin state fair, 389

Speeches and lectures, quotations,
  influence of Weem's life of Washington, 15;
  Perpetuation of our political institutions, 63-65;
  Peace plea, 158;
  Bloomington ratification meeting, 169-170;
  "House-divided-against-itself," 180, 426, 473;
  Appeal for a hearing in southern Illinois, 199-200;
  Cincinnati, 1859, 211;
  Cooper Institute speech, 218-219;
  Presidential nomination, response, 243;
  Springfield farewell, 267;
  Cincinnati in 1861, 270;
  Cincinnati, reply to Oberkleine, 272-273;
  Philadelphia, on inaugural journey, 278;
  after Bull Run, 328;
  Slavery, 426;
  Emancipation proclamation, speech following, 444-445;
  Gettysburg address,
    text, 512,
    comments, 512-515;
  Grant's commission, presentation of, 519;
  Richmond, to <DW64>s, 571;
  Close of war, 574;
  Reconstruction, last speech, 575-576.
  _See also_
    Lincoln-Douglas debates;
    Messages and proclamations

Speed, Joshua F.,
  mentioned, 294, 322;
  first interview with L., 69-70;
  L's home with, 88;
  intimate friend of L., 95-96;
  opinion of L's ability as a lawyer, 145-146;
  L's letter to sister of Speed, quoted, 148;
  L's letter to, on slavery, 151;
  compares L. and Douglas, 182-183;
  appointed attorney general, 294;
  at L's death-bed, 591

"Spot Resolutions," speech, 101

Springfield, Ill.,
  L. moves to, 60;
  agitation over removal of capital, 62, 66;
  removal accomplished, 69;
  L. returns to, 109;
  L's departure, Feb. 11, 1861, 265-266;
  recollections of L. about, 584;
  funeral ceremonies for L., 599

Stanton, Edwin M.,
  mentioned, 356, 357, 399, 461, 497;
  professional meeting with L., 173-176;
  contempt for L., 175;
  appointed secretary of war, 294;
  member of Buchanan's cabinet, 294, 295;
  applicant for office, 296;
  press refused information, 301;
  Mason and Slidell capture approved, 341;
  impulsiveness and violence, 364;
  antagonism to Welles, 364, 368;
  relations with L., 364-379;
  resignation threatened, 368;
  resignation withdrawn, 370;
  master-mind of cabinet, 370-371;
  replaces Cameron in cabinet, 371;
  Cameron's own account, 372-373;
  Fortress Monroe, visit to, 386-392;
  hostility to McClellan, 407, 411-412;
  refuses Col. Scott leave of absence, 408-410;
  death of his child, 423;
  opposes the "Boston set," 482;
  discouraged at Hooker's resignation, 498;
  dispute with Grant, 526-527;
  irritated by L's humor, 548;
  relations with Blair, 552;
  dispatch to Grant, 577;
  reconstruction plan proposed, 581;
  at L's death-bed, 591, 593;
  at Seward's bedside, 592

Steamboat Invention, L's, 24-26

Stearns, George L., 482

Stedman, E.C., quoted, 494-495

Stephens, Alexander H.,
  mentioned, 100;
  opinion of L. as a speaker, 100-101;
  Southern peace commissioner, 555;
  L's description of, 556

Stephenson, J.H., 482

Stewart, Harry W., quoted, 213

Stewart, James G., recollection of L's visit to Kansas, 213

Stone, Charles P., quoted, 280, 308-310

Stone River,
  costly success, 496;
  L's dream, 583;
  Grant denies victory, 583

Stories told by L.,
  Bob Lewis and the Mormon lands, 334-335;
  Big fellow beaten by little wife, 429;
  Boy and the troublesome <DW53>, 580;
  Darkey arithmetic, 357-358;
  Horse sold at cross-roads, 388;
  Johnnie Kongapod, 81;
  Jones and his bridge to the infernal regions, 338-339;
  Letting the dog go, 461-462;
  Plaster of psalm-tunes, 337;
  Sausages and cats, 260;
  Shooting skunks, 373-374;
  Sick man of Illinois and his grudge, 344;
  Swapping horses in mid-stream, 535;
  Sykes's yellow dog, 525-526;
  Taking to the woods, 336

Story-telling,
  used on troublesome visitors, 30-31;
  fondness of L. for, 68, 84, 101, 198;
  L. entertains Van Buren, 87;
  indelicacy charge refuted, 258;
  application of stories, 259;
  safety-valve of L., 332-333, 387;
  chagrins friends, 357;
  relieves bad news by, 461

Stowe, Harriet Beecher,
  "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 245;
  quoted, 307-308, 462, 472-473

Stuart, J.E.B., 150, 165, 497

Stuart, John T.,
  mentioned, 74;
  L's first acquaintance with, 38;
  law partner of L., 71;
  on L's method of accounting, 133

Sumner, Charles,
  mentioned, 304, 305, 352, 368, 445, 586;
  opposes Nebraska Bill, 153;
  eloquence of, 245;
  assault upon, 245;
  member of inaugural party, 275;
  declined to measure backs with L., 336;
  lacks confidence in Hooker, 492;
  introduces constitutional amendment, 554;
  at L's death-bed, 591

Sumter. _See_ Fort Sumter

Swett, Leonard,
  associate of L. in law case, 136;
  quoted, 181, 257, 542-543

Sykes, George, 504


Taney, R.B.,
  administered oath of office to L., 284, 286;
  death, 550

Tannatt, T.R., 499, 500

Taylor Club, "the young Indians," 100

Taylor, Richard (Dick), L's discomfiture of, 57-58

Taylor, Zachary,
  Black Hawk War, 39;
  presidency supported by L. and Stephens, 100

Terry, Alfred H., 564

Texas, seceded, 261

Thirteenth Amendment passed, 553-554

Thomas, Jesse, 89

Thomas, George H., 459, 516

Thompson George, 468-469

Thompson, Jacob, 585-586

Thompson, Richard, 81

Todd, Captain, guards L. at White House, 308-309

Todd, Mary. _See_ Lincoln, Mary Todd

Todd, Robert S., 94

Toombs, Robert, 100

Treat, Judge, 137, 141

Trent Affair,
  friendly attitude of France and Spain, 305;
  L's diplomacy in, 340-344

Trumbull, Lyman,
  mentioned, 74; 185, 368;
  elected senator, 161, 162, 164;
  substitute amendment introduced by 554


Usher, John D.,
  appointed secretary of the interior, 294


Vallandigham, Clement L.,
  opposes war policy, 481;
  candidate for governor of Ohio, 510;
  L's opinion of, 511

Van Buren, Martin,
  mentioned, 360;
  entertained by L's stories, 87

Vandalia, Ill., proposed change of state capital, 62, 66

Van Santvoord, C., quoted, 451-452

Verdi, Dr., 592

Vicksburg,
  mentioned, 516, 517, 518, 524;
  turning-point in war, 496;
  campaign, 500-503;
  L's joy over victory, 501, 507;
  L. meets criticism with anecdote, 525;
  L's dream, 583

Viele, General, describes visit to Fortress Monroe, 386-391

Virginia Convention, asks expression of Federal policy, 318

Volk, Leonard W.,
  impressions of L., 201-202;
  makes cast of L., 237-243

Voorhees, Daniel W., 81


Wade, Benjamin,
  mentioned, 535;
  urges Grant's dismissal, 503;
  lack of military judgment, 505

Wadsworth, James S., 296

Walker, Isaac, recollections of L., 88

Washburne, E.B.,
  mentioned 225;
  L's letters to, against compromise, 260-261;
  giving orders for Scott, 261;
  quoted, 105, 173, 279;
  bill creating rank of lieutenant-general, 516

Washington, D.C.,
  L. reluctant to leave in 1849, 109;
  L's arrival, Feb. 23, 1861, 279-280;
  inaugural week, 281-290;
  rebels and rebel sympathizers in, 292;
  defenses visited by L., 400;
  regarded as lost, 413;
  relieved, 414;
  society in 1862-1863, 449-450;
  Early's attack, 533, 537;
  enthusiasm over Lee's surrender, 574-575

Washington, George,
  mentioned, 360;
  influence of Weem's life of W. on L., 8, 15;
  life read by L. as case preparation, 78;
  L. ranked with, 527, 549

Watson, assistant secretary of state, 375

Watterson, Henry, quoted 4

Webster, Daniel,
  mentioned, 100, 185;
  considered a leader, 529-530

Weed, Thurlow,
  mentioned, 474;
  quoted, 257-260;
  discusses cabinet appointments, 257-259;
  L's letter to, Dec. 17, 1860, extract, 262;
  objects to Welles, 365

Weitzel, Godfrey,
  occupies Richmond, 568;
  headquarters in Richmond, 572

Weldon, Lawrence, quoted, 139, 334

Welles, Gideon,
  mentioned, 347, 460, 511;
  cabinet possibility, 259;
  appointed secretary of the navy, 293;
  approves Mason and Slidell capture, 341;
  calmness of, 364;
  antagonism to Stanton, 364, 368;
  at L's death-bed, 591-594;
  quoted, 292-293, 320, 325, 333, 345, 365-366, 367,
      368-369, 411-412, 412-413, 417, 423-424, 432, 438,
      439, 440, 457-458, 473-474, 492, 493, 497, 501, 506,
      511, 531, 535, 538, 540, 551-552, 555, 556-557, 563,
      577, 581, 583-584, 591-594, 597

Welles, Mrs. Gideon, mentioned, 591

"Westminster Review," on Gettysburg address, 513

Wheeler, William A., quoted, 376-378

Whig Party,
  L. a delegate to presidential convention, 104;
  L. believes he is a Whig, 153, 157;
  symptoms of disintegration, 159;
  L. a leader, 162-163;
  dissolution, 165

White, Dr., 592

White, Mrs., 453

White House,
  L.'s first night at, 292,
  L's family life, 464-465;
  office of L. described, 299-300;
  official precedence, 300-301;
  New Year's receptions, 350, 441;
  society in 1862-63, 449-450;
  L's informal receptions, 450-451;
  freedom of access, 459-461;
  Grant's ovation at reception, 517-518;
  reception, 1865, <DW64>s attend, 552-553

Whiting,
  solicitor of war department, 375;
  candidate for attorney general, 522

Whitman, Walt, quoted, 263, 589-590, 597-598

Whittier, John Greenleaf, abolitionist, 245

"Wide-awake" clubs, 250

Wigfall, Senator, 286

Wilcox, Major, quoted, 106

Willard's Hotel, Washington, headquarters of L., 281, 282

Willis, David, 515

Wilmington, L's dream, 583

Wilmot Proviso, L. votes for, 153

Wilkes, Charles, 341, 342

Wilson, Robert L., quoted, 62, 85

Wilson, Henry, 357, 482

Winchell, J.M.,
  quoted, 382;
  interview with L., 531

Winslow, John F., builder of "Monitor," 345-347

Winthrop, Robert C., quoted, 100

Wisconsin State Fair, addressed by L. in 1859, 389

Wood, Fernando, 474

Wool, John E., 392

Workingmen, L's speech to, 272-273

Wright, Elizur, 492

Wright, Horatio, 504

Writings.
  _See_ Letters and telegrams;
  Messages and proclamations;
  Speeches and lectures


Yates, Richard,
  mentioned, 266;
  beginning of friendship with L., 30;
  opposes Missouri Compromise, 159;
  election to Congress, 150

"Young Indians," Taylor club, 100

Young, John Russell, quoted, 514

Young Men's Lyceum, address of L. quoted, 62










End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Every-day Life of Abraham Lincoln
by Francis Fisher Browne

*** 