Of this band of active and useful plotters, who were constantly engaged playing into the hands of the Confederates under the very shadow of the Capitol, some of the women of Washington were the busiest. The intriguing nature of these dames appears to have found especial delight in forwarding the schemes of the leaders in the movement to overthrow the Washington Government. It mattered not that most of them owed all they possessed of fortune and position to that Federal Government, and to the patronage which, directly or indirectly, they had received from it. This very fact lent a spice of daring to the deed, while an irresistible attraction was furnished in the fact that they were plotting the ruin of a Government which had fallen into the hands of that Northern majority whom, with all the lofty scorn of "patrician" blood, they despised and detested.
Mrs. Rose O. H. Greenhow was the most adroit of the Confederate emissaries. The sister of Mrs. Cutts, mother of Mrs. Douglas, and the widow of a clerk in the State Department, who had written a valuable work on Oregon, her social position gave her remarkable facilities for obtaining information. Just before the battle of Bull Run she contrived to convey to the enemy news obtained from a New England Senator with regard to the intended movements of the Federals. This communication, in her own opinion, decided the battle. In return she received this despatch from the Confederate Adjutant-General: "Our President and our General direct me to thank you. We rely upon you for further information. The Confederacy owes you a debt."
Mrs. Greenhow's house was finally used as a prison for female spies. The windows looking on the street were boarded up, and a special military guard occupied tents pitched in the garden. Mrs. Greenhow and her pretty daughter Rose were the presiding deities. Then there was Mrs. Phillips, daughter of J. C. Levy, of Charleston, S. C., where she married Philip Phillips, who afterward removed to Mobile and was elected thence to the Thirty-third Congress. Declining a re-election, he remained at Washington City, where he had a lucrative practice before the Supreme Court. Mrs. Phillips, although the mother of nine children, found time to obtain and transmit information to General Beauregard, and after having been closely guarded for awhile, she was permitted to go South on her parole and that of her father, that she would not give "aid or comfort to the enemy."
Mrs. Baxley, Mrs. Hasler, Miss Lilly A. Mackel, Mrs. Levy, and other lady prisoners had all been more or less prominent in Southern society at Washington, and had made trips over the underground railroad between Alexandria and Richmond. Also an English lady, Mrs. Ellena Low, who had been arrested at Boston, with her son, who had crossed the ocean bearing a commission in the Confederate army. Miss E. M. Poole, alias Stewart, had been very successful in carrying contraband information and funds between the two camps, and when arrested the last time there were found concealed on her person seven thousand five hundred dollars of unexpended funds.
Another devoted friend of the Confederates, who resided just outside of the Union lines in Virginia, managed to fascinate General Stoughton, a young West Point cavalry officer, and one evening while he was enjoying her society, during a serenade by a regimental band, he, with his band and orderlies, was surprised and captured, and they were sent as prisoners-of-war to Richmond. "I do not mind losing the brigadier," said Mr. Lincoln, in talking about the capture, "for they are easily made, but there were some twenty horses taken, and they cost one hundred and twenty-five dollars apiece."
[Facsimile]SimonCameronSIMON CAMERON was born at Waynesborough, Pennsylvania, March 3d,1799; learned the art of printing; was Secretary of War underPresident Lincoln, in 1861, resigning when appointed MinisterPlenipotentiary to Russia, in 1862; was United States Senator fromPennsylvania, 1845-1849, 1857-1861, and 1867-1877, when he resigned,and was succeeded by his son.
Washington "society" refused to be comforted. Those within its charmed circle would not visit the White House, or have any intercourse with the members of the Administration. This gave great annoyance to Mr. Seward, who used diplomatic and consular appointments, commissions, and contracts unsparingly for the purchase of a friendly feeling. At his urgent solicitation the President consented to an evening reception at the White House, by invitation. "I don't fancy this pass business," said the President, good- naturedly, but the metropolitan practicians could not refrain from applying for them. The evening of February 5th, 1862, found the court-yard of the White House filled with carriages and ambulances bringing "fair women and brave men."
The President and Mrs. Lincoln received their guests in the East Room, where he towered above all around him, and had a pleasant word for those he knew. Mrs. Lincoln was dressed in a white satin dress with a low neck and short sleeves. It was trimmed with black lace flounces, which were looped up with knots of ribbon, and she wore a floral head-dress, which was not very becoming. Near her was her eldest son, Mr. Robert Lincoln (known as the Prince of Rails), and Mr. John Hay, the President's intellectual private secretary. In addition to the East Room, the Red, Green, and Blue Parlors (so named from the color of their paper-hangings and the furniture) were open, and were ornamented with a profusion of rare exotics, while the Marine Band, stationed in the corridor, discoursed fine music.
Mr. Seward was in his element, escorting, as in duty bound, the ladies of the Diplomatic Corps. Mr. Chase, the dignified and statesman-like Secretary of the Treasury, seemed to have forgotten for the moment that his coffers were "short." Mr. Stanton, vigorous and thoughtful, was the object of much attention, and the patriarchal locks and beard of the not over-scintillant Secretary of the Navy were, of course, a feature. The other members of the Cabinet were present, as were Justices Clifford, Wayne, and Grier, of the Supreme Court.
Senator Sumner, as Chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations, was the centre of a diplomatic circle, where all of the "great powers," and some of the smaller ones, were represented. Ladies from the rural districts were disappointed in not seeing the gorgeous court costumes, having forgotten that our court-dress is the undertaker-like suit of black broadcloth so generally worn. But they gazed with admiration upon the broad ribbons and jeweled badges worn on the breasts of the Chevaliers of the Legion of Honor, Knights of the Bath, etc., "with distinguished consideration." Vice-President Hamlin might have called the Senate to order and had more than a quorum of members present, who, like himself, had their wives here to cheer their labors. Mr. Speaker Grow could not see around him so large a proportion of the "Lower House," but there was—so a Kentucky lady said—"a right smart chance of Representatives."
General McClellan, in full uniform, looked finely. Among his staff officers were the French Princes, each wearing a captain's uniform. The Comte de Paris was tall and very handsome, while the Duc du Chartres was taller, thinner, less handsome than his brother. Both were remarkably cordial and affable, and, as they spoke English perfectly, they enjoyed the gay scene. General Fremont, in a plain undress suit, seemed rather downcast, although his devoted wife, "Jessie," more than made up for his moodiness by her animated and vivacious conversation. There were, besides Generals McDowell, Stone, Heintzelman, Blenker, Hancock, Hooker, Keyes, Doubleday, Casey, Shields, and Marcy, with Captain Dahlgren and the Prince Salm-Salm. Of those present many fought, and some fell, on the various fields of the next three dreadful years. There were others who were destined to do their duty and yet be mistaken and defrauded of their just inheritance of glory. Such was the fortune of war.
An incident of the evening was the presentation of General Fremont to General McClellan by President Lincoln. General Fremont was in the hall, evidently about to leave, as Mrs. Fremont had her shawl on, and Senator Sumner was escorting her toward the door, when the President went after them, and soon turned toward the East Room, with the Pathfinder at his side, Senator Sumner and Mrs. Fremont following. The presentation was made, and a few remarks were exchanged by the Generals, two men who were destined to exert a marked influence on the future destiny of the nation.
A magnificent supper had been provided in the state dining-room by Maillard, of New York, but when the hour of eleven came, and the door should have been opened, the flustered steward had lost the key, so that there was a hungry crowd waiting anxiously outside the unyielding portal. Then the irrepressible humor of the American people broke forth—that grim humor which carried them through the subsequent misery. "I am in favor of a forward movement!" one would exclaim. "An advance to the front is only retarded by the imbecility of commanders," said another, quoting a speech just made in Congress. To all this General McClellan, himself modestly struggling with the crowd, laughed as heartily as anybody. Finally the key was found, the door opened, and the crowd fed.
The table was decorated with large pieces of ornamental confectionery, the centre object representing the steamer "Union," armed and bearing the "Stars and Stripes." On a side table was a model of Fort Sumter, also in sugar, and provisioned with game. After supper promenading was resumed, and it was three o'clock ere the guests departed. The entertainment was pronounced a decided success, but it was compared to the ball given by the Duchess of Richmond, at Brussels, the night before Waterloo. People parted there never to meet again. Many a poor fellow took his leave that night of festivity forever, the band playing, as he left, "The Girl I Left Behind Me."
The Abolitionists throughout the country were merciless in their criticisms of the President and Mrs. Lincoln for giving this reception when the soldiers of the Union were in cheerless bivouacs or comfortless hospitals, and a Philadelphia poet wrote a scandalous ode on the occasion, entitled "The Queen Must Dance."
There was no dancing, nor was it generally known that after the invitations had been issued Mrs. Lincoln's children sickened, and she had been up the two nights previous to the reception watching with them. Both the President and Mrs. Lincoln left the gay throng several times to go up and see their darling Willie, who passed away a fortnight afterward. He was a fine-looking lad, eleven years of age, whose intelligence and vivacity made him a general favorite. Some of his exercises in literary composition had been so creditable that his father had permitted their publication. This bereavement made Mr. Lincoln and his wife very indulgent toward their youngest son, who thenceforth imperiously ruled at the White House.
Washington City profited by its encircling garrison of one hundred and fifty thousand men, and its population of civilians increased wonderfully. Previously the crowds of people who had flooded Washington at inauguration ceremonies, or during the sessions of Congress, had been of the quick-come, quick-go character almost exclusively. They had added nothing to the general business of the city, stopping altogether at hotels, and making no investments in the way of purchases. Even Congressmen had latterly very seldom brought their families to the Federal capital. But the representatives of the military power formed another class of citizens entirely. Unlike the representatives of the legislative power, who had treated their quarters in Washington as mere "tents of a night," the army had taken all the vacant houses in Washington. The fears of a bombardment by the rebels on the Potomac had the effect of keeping up prices of provisions and everything else. The residents of Washington experienced the evils of living in a non-manufacturing and non-producing country. The single-track railway to Baltimore was over-loaded by the army, and the freight depot in the city was crammed and piled with stuff of every description that it presented the appearance of about five hundred Noah's arks suddenly tumbled into a conglomerated heap.
With the army and its camp-followers, there came a number ofliteratito accept clerical positions in the Departments. At the Treasury one could see the veteran Dr. Pierpont, George Wood, O'Connor, Piatt, Chilton, and Dr. Elder, all hopefully engaged in signing, cutting, or recording Government notes and bonds. Entering the library of the State Department, one saw J. C. Derby, so long in the front rank of New York publishers, then Mr. Seward's librarian. On Pennsylvania Avenue was Fred Cozzens' store, to which Mr. Sparrowgrass had transported his Catawbas and Cabanas. At the White House one would perhaps meet N. P. Willis in the reception- room, and in Mr. Nicolay's up-stairs sanctum was John Hay, whoseAtlanticpapers were written with such purity of style and feeling at his desk as under-secretary to the President. Then, among women writers, there were Mesdames Don Piatt, Squier, Olmstead, and Kirkland. The Vermont sculptor, Larkin Meade, had his "Green Mountain Boy" on exhibition at a popular bookstore on the Avenue.
With this importation of Northern brains came a desire to hear lectures from prominent men, and Professor Henry was reluctantly induced to grant the use of the lecture hall of the Smithsonian Institution, with a promise that it should be announced that the Institution was not to be held responsible for what might be said. When the first lecture was given, the Rev. John Pierpont, after introducing the lecturer, added: "I am requested by Professor Henry, to announce that the Smithsonian Institution is not responsible for this course of lectures. I do so with pleasure, and desire to add that the Washington Lecture Association is not responsible for the Smithsonian Institution." The satire was appreciated and received with applause. Throughout the course Mr. Pierpont repeated his announcement before each weekly lecture, and no sooner would he say, "I am requested," then the large audience would applaud.
Isaac Newton, of Philadelphia, was placed at the head of the Agricultural Bureau of the Patent Office, by President Lincoln, and in due time he became the head of the newly created Department of Agriculture. He was an ignorant, credulous old gentleman, quite rotund around the waistband, with snow-white hair and a mild blue eye. Educated a Quaker, he had accumulated some property by keeping an ice-cream saloon in Philadelphia, and he then established a farm, from which he obtained his supplies of cream. At Washington he was known as "Sir Isaac," and many anecdotes were told at his expense. One year, when the expenditures of his department had been very great, and the Chairman of the Committee on Agriculture called on him to ascertain how he had used up so much money, Sir Isaac spluttered and talked learnedly, and at last concluded by saying: "Yes, sir; the expenses have been very great, exorbitant; indeed, sir, they have exceeded my most sanguine expectations." The Chairman was not satisfied. Looking over Sir Isaac's estimate for the year, it was found he had made requisition for five thousand dollars to purchase two hydraulic rams. "Them, gentlemen," said Sir Isaac, "are said to be the best sheep in Europe. I have seen a gentleman who knows all about them, and we should by all means secure the breed." Some wag had been selling Sir Isaac, and, much to his disgust, the Committee struck out the five-thousand-dollar item.
[Facsimile] S.P.Chase SALMON PORTLAND CHASE was born at Cornish, New Hampshire, January 13th, 1808; graduated at Dartmouth College in 1826; studied law at Washington with William Wirt, supporting himself by teaching school; commenced practice at Cincinnati in 1830; was United States Senator from Ohio, 1849-1853; was Governor of Ohio, 1855-1859; was again United States Senator, March 4th, 1861, and resigned the next day to become Secretary of the Treasury under President Lincoln, which position he held until he resigned in September, 1864; was appointed Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, December 6th, 1864; presided at the impeachment trial of President Johnson in 1866, and died at New York, May 7th, 1873.
With the war came the army correspondents. Dickens had previously introduced Martin Chuzzlewit to "our war correspondent, sir, Mr. Jefferson Brick," several years previously, but the warlike experiences of the redoubtable Mr. Brick were of a purely sedentary character, and his epistles were written at the home office. But Washington was now invaded by a corps of quick-witted, plucky young fellows, able to endure fatigue, brave enough to be under fire, and sufficiently well educated to enable them to dash off a grammatical and picturesque description of a skirmish.
Occasionally, one of them, by eulogizing a general in command, was enabled to go to the front as a gentleman, but generally they were proscribed and hunted out from camps like spies. Secretary Stanton bullied them, established a censorship at Washington, and occasionally imprisoned one, or stopped the publication of the paper with which he corresponded. Halleck denounced them as "unauthorized hangers- on," who should be compelled to work on the entrenchments if they did not leave his lines. General Meade was unnecessarily severe in his treatment of correspondents whose letters were not agreeable to him, although they contained "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." The result was that the correspondents were forced to hover around the rear of the armies, gathering up such information as they could, and then ride in haste to the nearest available telegraph station to send off their news. There were honorable and talented exceptions, but the majority of those who called themselves "war correspondents" were mere news- scavengers.
The Washington press was despotically governed during the war. The established censorship was under the direction of men wholly unqualified, and on several occasions the printed editions of influential journals—Republican or Democratic—were seized by Secretary Stanton for having published intelligence which he thought should have been suppressed. Bulletins were issued by the War Department, but they were often incorrect. It was known that the Washington papers, full of military information, were forwarded through the lines daily, yet the censors would not permit paragraphs clipped from those papers to be telegraphed to Boston or Chicago, where they could not appear sooner than they did in the Richmond papers. The declaration, "I am a newspaper correspondent," which had in former years carried with it the imposing force of the famous, "I am a Roman citizen," no longer entitled one to the same proud prerogatives, and journalists were regarded as spies and sneaks.
Colonel John W. Forney, Secretary of the United States Senate and editor of the PhiladelphiaPress, established theSunday Chronicleat Washington, and in time made it theDaily Chronicle. When in Washington, he was constantly dictating letters for thePressand editorials for theChronicle. When in Philadelphia, he dictated editorials for thePressand letters for theChronicle. Each paper copied his letters from the other. When in New York, he dictated editorial letters to his papers alternately, and they were signed "J. W. F." His Washington letters to thePressand his Philadelphia letters to theChroniclewere signed, "Occasional," though the most remarkable thing about them was their regularity.
The WashingtonChroniclereceived editorial and other contributions from some of the ablest writers in the country. Editorials on foreign topics were supplied by Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie, of the PhiladelphiaPress. Robert J. Walker wrote a series of powerful articles on the desirableness of Secretary Seward's pet project, the acquisition of Alaska, and Caleb Cushing was a frequent editorial contributor. It had a large circulation, the Army of the Potomac taking ten thousand copies a day, and the lucrative advertising of the Department was given to it.
Independence Day, 1862, was not joyously celebrated at Washington. The martial pageant with which the day had been glorified in years past had been replaced by the stern realities of war, and the hospitals were crowded with the sick, the wounded, and the dying. The week previous General McClellan, after a campaign of great severity in the Peninsula, and having been in sight of Richmond, had been so crippled by the failure of Secretary Stanton to send him more troops that he had been forced to retreat from Chickahominy, and seek the shelter of the gunboats on the River James. The President, at the request of the Governors of the loyal States, promptly called into the service an additional force of three hundred thousand men. Those who had advocated the arming of the negroes availed themselves of the occasion to urge their enlistment; but the Secretary of War, in conversation with conservatives, opposed it. Mr. Mallory, of Kentucky, stated on the floor of the House (and his statement was never contradicted) that, having business at the War Department, Mr. Stanton called him back, and, folding over the date and signature of a letter, showed him that an officer had asked authority to raise a regiment of blacks. The Secretary inquired what answer ought to be given, to which he (Mallory) replied, "If you allow me to dictate an answer, I would say, emphatically, No!" The Secretary rejoined that he had not only done that, but had ordered the officer's arrest.
The people responded gloriously to the demand for more troops, and by the middle of August, 1862, they were pouring into Washington at the rate of a brigade a day. The regiments, on their arrival, were marched past the White House, singing, "We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more." And "Father Abraham" often kindled their highest enthusiasm by coming to the front entrance and in person reviewing the passing hosts. The troops then crossed the Potomac, where the hills were whitened with the tents of camps of instruction, where an army of reserves was soon produced. Mr. Greeley, however, was not satisfied with the military preparations, and he published an insolent letter to President Lincoln, in which he charged him with being "disastrously remiss in enforcing the laws." Mr. Lincoln replied, calmly but positively: "I would save the Union. I would save it in the shortest way, under the Constitution. If I could save the Union without freeing any slaves 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 also do that. What I do about slavery and the colored 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 shall believe that what I am doing hurts the cause, and I 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."
President Lincoln finally found that he could not sustain General McClellan any longer, and offered General Burnside the command of the Army of the Potomac, which was promptly and peremptorily declined. General McClellan was soon virtually deposed, and General Halleck placed in command, while a large portion of the Army of the Potomac was organized as the Army of Virginia, and placed under the command of Major-General John Pope, who boasted that he was fresh from a campaign in the West, where he had "seen only the backs of rebels." The result was that the new commander was not cordially supported, and the Army of Virginia was wrecked beyond compare, and driven back upon Washington, which was threatened by the victorious Confederates.
General Burnside was, for the second time, invited to take command, but he refused, urging President Lincoln to restore General McClellan. This was undoubtedly the wish of a large majority of the surviving officers and soldiers, and of many leading members of Congress and journalists. The recall of General McClellan to command, and his victory at Antietam, were like a romance. Sitting one day in his tent near Alexandria, with only his body-guard of a hundred men under his command, he was called to save the capital from the vast hosts of enemies that were pouring on it in resistless columns. To save his native State from the invasion that threatened it, and Maryland from the grasp of a soldiery that would wrest it from the Union, he was offered an army shattered by disaster, and legions of new recruits who had never handled a musket or heard the sound of a hostile cannon. The responsibility was greater than had ever been reposed on the shoulders of one man since the days of Washington. With a rapidity never equaled in history, he gathered together the army, arranged its forces, made up his corps, chose his generals, and sent them in vigorous pursuit, through Washington and on northward.
The enemy had crossed into Maryland, and were having a triumphant march through that State toward the Pennsylvania line. They issued a sounding proclamation to the people, offering them what they called liberty from oppression, and they acted out the theory of their mad invasion, which was that they were victors and had come to reap, on loyal grounds, the fruit of their victories.
On Sunday the gallant men of the Union Army were on them. They were swept over the South Mountains with the besom of destruction. On Monday, astonished to meet McClellan, when they had expected to meet those whom they less feared, they called their hosts over the Potomac and prepared for battle. McClellan had previously arranged his strategic plans, and these undoubtedly would have resulted differently but for the inexplicable surrender of Harper's Ferry, leaving our army with little hope of cutting off the retreat of the enemy.
On Tuesday and Wednesday McClellan engaged them in a long and furious contest, the night of Wednesday closing in on them defeated, dispirited, and broken; and when Thursday morning showed the disposition of our army, and the inevitable defeat that awaited them, they left the field, abandoned their wounded, and fled into Virginia, pursued and routed by the army of the Union. Having gloriously performed this great work, General McClellan's stubborn inaction returned, and President Lincoln determined to place General Burnside in command of the Army of the Potomac.
General Burnside reluctantly accepted the command when it was for the third time tendered him, and lost no time in putting its divisions in motion for a rapid advance upon Fredericksburg. Had he found the pontoon train there, as he had expected, he could have thrown a heavy force across the Rappahannock before the enemy could have concentrated to resist his crossing, and he then could have commenced an active, vigorous campaign against Richmond. But before the pontoons had arrived the Confederates had strengthened their forces, and the result was two unsuccessful attacks, with a large loss of men. The country howled with wrath against the Washington officials, who had delayed sending the pontoons, but General Burnside stood up squarely and said, in his open, honest manner, "For the failure in the attack I am responsible."
Learning that Generals Hooker, Newton, Franklin, Cochrane, and others had been intriguing against him and urging his dismissal, General Burnside promptly issued an order dismissing them from the service of the Union. President Lincoln would not consent to this and permit the dismissal of these demoralized officers, whose partisan prejudices had overshadowed their loyalty to their commander. General Burnside then resigned, General Hooker was appointed his successor, and the Army of the Potomac went into winter quarters on the north bank of the Rappahannock.
[Facsimile] A.E.Burnside AMBROSE EVERETT BURNSIDE was born at Liberty, Indiana, May 23d, 1824; graduated at West Point in 1847; served in the Mexican and Indian Wars, and in the War for the Suppression of the Rebellion; was Governor of Rhode Island, 1866-1868; was United States Senator from March 4th, 1875, until his death at his residence in Bristol, Rhode Island, September 13th, 1881.
When Congress met in December, 1862, many Republicans were despondent. The Administration ticket had been defeated in the elections of the preceding month in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Illinois, while in other loyal States the majorities had fallen off—the total returns showing the election of fifty-nine Republican Representatives against forty Democratic Representatives. This encouraged the Abolitionists to urge the emancipation of the slaves, while the conservatives protested against it, but Mr. Lincoln contented himself by saying: "You must not expect me to give up the Government without playing my last card."
The Proclamation of Emancipation, issued by President Lincoln on the 1st of January, 1863, marked an era in the history, not only of the war, but of the Republic and the civilized world. Four millions of human beings, who had been kept in slavery under the protection of the Federal Government, were promised their freedom by the Commander-in-Chief of the army, as a "military necessity," and the pledge was gloriously redeemed. In commemoration of this event the colossal group entitled "Emancipation," located in Lincoln Park, was erected by contributions solely from emancipated persons, and was dedicated April 14th, 1876, Frederick Douglass being the orator of the occasion. The entire work is twenty-two feet high, and the bronze work alone cost seventeen thousand dollars.
New Year's Day was fair and the walking dry, which made it an agreeable task to keep up the Knickerbocker practice of calling on officials and lady friends. The President, members of the Cabinet, and other Government functionaries received a large number of visitors during the day. At eleven o'clock all officers of the army in the city assembled at the War Department, and, headed by Adjutant-General Thomas and General Halleck, proceeded to the White House, where they were severally introduced to the President. The officers of the navy assembled at the Navy Department at the same time, and, headed by Secretary Welles and Admiral Foote, also proceeded to the President's. The display of general officers in brilliant uniforms was an imposing sight, and attracted large crowds. The foreign Ministers, in accordance with the usual custom, also called on the President, and at twelve o'clock the doors were opened to the public, who marched through the hall and shook hands with Mr. Lincoln, to the music of the Marine Band, for two or three hours. Mrs. Lincoln also received ladies in the same parlor with the President.
With the Emancipation Proclamation Washington was treated to a volume of the published diary of Count Gurowski, who had been employed as a translator in the Department of State and as a purveyor of news for Mr. Greeley. His book was one prolonged growl from beginning to end. Even those whom its author seemed inclined to worship at the commencement found their share of abuse before they finished. Introducing the Blairs, of Missouri, with frequent complimentary allusions in his opening chapters, about the middle of his work Gurowski packed them off to Hades with the rest, and left the reader in despair at the prospects of a nation governed by such a set of imbeciles and rogues as our public men were represented to be by the amiable Pole. As he assailed everybody, those who read the book were sure to find the particular object of their individual dislike soundly rated with the rest.
The author of this production was a singular-looking old man, small in stature, stout of figure, ugly in feature, and disfigured by a pair of green goggles. Gurowski was unsparing in his criticisms. He set down Seward as writing too much; Sumner as a pompous, verbose talker; Burnside as a swaggering West Pointer, and Hooker as a casual hero. He became so offensive to Mr. Sumner that one morning, after listening to a torrent of his abuse, the Senator arose from his desk, went to the door of his library, opened it, and said to the astonished Pole, "Go!" In vain were apologies proffered. Mr. Sumner, thoroughly incensed, simply repeated the word "Go!" and at last the astute Gurowski went.
The Army of the Potomac, in comfortable quarters on the north bank of the Rappahannock, received generous contributions of holiday cheer. The marching hosts of Israel were jubilant over a supply of quails, but the Army of the Potomac had showered upon it (by express, paid) a deluge of turkeys, geese, ducks, mince-pies, pickles, and preserves. Of course, the inexorable provost marshal seized all spirituous liquors, but there were ways and means by which this Maine law was evaded. In many a tent there were cylindrical glass vessels, the contents of which would have been pronounced whisky were not that fluid "contraband," with many a quaintly shaped flask of Rhenish wines.
Nor was it forgotten that there was encircling the metropolis a score of hospitals, in which thousands and thousands who had fought the good fight were being nursed into health, or lay tossing on beds of pain, sooner or later to fall into that sleep that knows no waking. These brave patients were not forgotten. The same spirit which prompted the wise men of the East to carry at Christmas- tide present of "gold, frankincense, and myrrh" to the infant Jesus, "God's best gift to humanity," inspired the Union men and women at Washington with a desire to gladden the hearts of the maimed and scarred and emaciated men who had periled their lives that the Republic might live. Not only did "maidens fair and matrons grave" toil that the hospital patients might enjoy holiday cheer, but Senator Sumner and other leading Republicans used to go from hospital to hospital, from ward to ward, from bedside to bedside, encouraging by kind words those who were the martyrs of the war. In the Campbell Hospital, under the charge of Surgeon J. H. Baxter, of Vermont, there was a theatre, in which performances were given every night to cheer those who were convalescent.
Henry Wikoff, having admitted before a Committee of the House of Representatives that he had filed at the telegraph office, for transmission to the New YorkHerald, portions of the President's message, he was asked how he obtained it. This he declined to state, saying that he was "under an obligation of strict secrecy." The House accordingly directed the Sergeant-at-Arms to hold Wikoff in close custody, and he was locked up in a room hastily furnished for his accommodation. It was generally believed that Mrs. Lincoln had permitted Wikoff to copy those portions of the message that he had published, and this opinion was confirmed when General Sickles appeared as his counsel. The General vibrated between Wikoff's place of imprisonment, the White House, and the residence of Mrs. Lincoln's gardener, named Watt. The Committee finally summoned the General before them, and put some home questions to him. He replied sharply, and for a few minutes a war of words raged. He narrowly escaped Wikoff's fate, but finally, after consulting numerous books of evidence, the Committee concluded not to go to extremities. While the examination was pending, the Sergeant-at- Arms appeared with Watt. He testified that he saw the message in the library, and, being of a literary turn of mind, perused it; that, however, he did not make a copy, but, having a tenacious memory, carried portions of it in his mind, and the next day repeated them word for word to Wikoff. Meanwhile, Mr. Lincoln had visited the Capitol and urged the Republicans on the Committee to spare him disgrace, so Watt's improbable story was received and Wikoff was liberated.
President Lincoln, when a Congressman came to bore him for an appointment or with a grievance, had a pleasant way of telling a succession of stories, which left his visitor no chance to state his case. One day, a Representative, who had been thus silenced, stated from experience as follows: "I've been trying for the last four days to get an audience with the President. I have gone to the White House every morning and waited till dark, but could not get a chance to speak to him until to-day, when I was admitted to his presence. I told him what I wanted, and supposed I was going to get a direct answer, when, what do you think? Why, he started off with, 'Do you know, I heard a good thing yesterday about the difference between an Amsterdam Dutchman and any other "dam" Dutchman.' And then he commenced telling his stories. I was mad enough to knock the old fellow down. But the worst of the whole thing was that just as he got through with the last story in came Secretary Seward, who said he must have a private conference with him immediately. Mr. Lincoln cooly turned to me and said, 'Mr. ——, can you call again?' Bother his impudence, I say, to keep me listening to his jokes for two hours, and then ask me to call again!"
President Lincoln was quite ill that winter, and was not inclined to listen to all the bores who called at the White House. One day, just as one of these pests had seated himself for a long interview, the President's physician happened to enter the room, and Mr. 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 Mr. Lincoln. "Very contagious, indeed," replied the Esculapian attendant. "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 a fearful contagion. "Do, sir," said the President. "Some people said they could not take very well to my proclamation, but now, I am happy to say, I have something that everybody can take." By this time the visitor was making a desperate break for Pennsylvania Avenue, which he reached on the double-quick and quite out of breath.
On the 2d and 3d of May, 1863, General Hooker was most disastrously defeated at Chancellorsville. Several weeks later, when General Lee had moved northward into Pennsylvania, exacting contributions from towns, and destroying manufacturing establishments, and when the Army of the Potomac had hurried across Maryland to attack him, General Hooker resigned almost on the eve of the battle of Gettysburg. General Meade was placed in command, and his gallant conduct on that occasion gave great satisfaction to President Lincoln, although he was sadly disappointed that the invaders had not been followed and annihilated.
Meanwhile General Grant was besieging Vicksburg, which had been well called "the Gibraltar of the Mississippi," and the people, who had become heart-sick of military engineering, began to lose courage. At one time President Lincoln actually determined to supersede General Grant by General Banks, but the latter, on arriving at the scene of hostilities, saw that everything had been done that could be done, and that the end was near at hand. On the 4th of July, General Pemberton asked for a proposition of terms, and General Grant replied: "Unconditional surrender."
On the 26th of November, 1863, President Lincoln, accompanied by his Cabinet, Vice-President Hamlin, the Governors of several States, and a brilliant staff of officers, attended the dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg. The address was delivered by Edward Everett, whose head was whitened with the snows of seventy winters, but whose form was as erect, his complexion as clear, and his voice as musical as it was when he had been a Representative in Congress years before. He had then said that he would buckle on his knapsack in defense of slavery; now he eulogized those who had laid down their lives in the work of its destruction. But his well memorized and finely rounded sentences were eclipsed by President Lincoln's few words, read in an unmusical treble voice, and concluding with the sublime assertion, "that the nation shall, under God, have a new birth of freedom, and that governments of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the earth."
[Facsimile] Geo. G. Meade GEORGE GORDON MEADE, born December 30th, 1815, at Cadiz, Spain, where his father was located in the United States service; graduated at West Point in 1835; entered the artillery service and was engaged in the Seminole and Mexican Wars, and in August 1861, was made Brigadier-General of Volunteers; Major-General, 1862; Commander-in- Chief of the Army of the Potomac, June 28th, 1863; won the Battle of Gettysburg, July 1-3, 1863; continued to command the Army of the Potomac until the close of the war. Died at Philadelphia, November 6th, 1872.
Schuyler Colfax was elected Speaker of the House of Representatives. When Congress met on the 7th of December, 1863, among the new members sworn in were Generals Garfield and Schenck, of Ohio, and Deming, of Connecticut, who had seen service; Mr. James G. Blaine, who had been the editor of the PortlandAdvertiser, and Mr. James G. Brooks, who had for many years edited the New YorkExpress, with Brutus J. Clay, of Kentucky; George S. Boutwell and Oakes Ames, of Massachusetts, and other prominent men. One of the first acts of Congress was to vote a medal of thanks to General Grant for the victories which he had won at Missionary Ridge and at Chattanooga. On one side of this medal was his profile, surrounded by a wreath of laurel, with his name, the date and authority of the presentation, and, on the encircling work, a star for each State. On the reverse was a figure of Fame, seated in the heavens with emblems of prosperity and power; while upon various parts of the work the names of Grant's chief victories were inscribed.
At the New Year's reception Mr. Lincoln was in excellent spirits, giving each passer-by a cordial greeting and a warm shake of the hand, while for some there was a quiet joke. Mrs. Lincoln stood at his right hand, wearing a purple silk dress trimmed with black velvet and lace, with a lace necktie fastened with a pearl pin; her head-dress was ornamented with a white plume. Secretary Seward was there, sphinx-like and impassible. Governor Chase seemed somewhat perplexed, balancing, perhaps, between the succession to the Presidency or the Chief Justiceship; Secretary Wells' patriarchal form towered above the crowd, and there were a few Senators and Representatives, a majority of either House being,on dit, enjoying the hospitalities of New York. But the army officers, as they came in from the War Department, headed by General Halleck, presented an imposing display, some with epaulettes and feathers, but a majority in battle attire. The naval officers, headed by Admiral Davis, also presented a fine appearance.
At twelve o'clock, the portals were thrown open, and in poured the people in a continuous stream. For two hours did they pass steadily along, a living tide, which swept in, eddied around the President and his wife, and then surged into the East Room, which was a maelstrom of humanity, uniforms, black coats, gay female attire, and citizens generally.
Vice-President Hamlin kept open house at his residence on F Street, and the Secretaries were all at their homes. At Governor Seward's, Mrs. Fred Seward did the honors, assisted by Miss Seward and a friend from Auburn, while at Governor Chase's his recently married daughter, Mrs. Senator Sprague, and Miss Chase welcomed many friends. Mayor Wallach entertained his visitors with old Virginia hospitality, and at many private residences there were the traditionary bowls of egg-nog and of apple-toddy.
The friends of General Grant in Congress urged the passage of a bill to revive the grade of Lieutenant-General of the army. It met with some opposition, especially from General Garfield, who opposed the bill mainly on the ground that it would be improper at that stage of the war to determine and award the greatest prize of the conflict in the way of military preferment to any one of the distinguished Generals of the army. It would, he thought, be far more fitting for Congress to wait until war was over, and see whose head towered above the rest in the army, and then give this crown to the one whose head had risen highest.
Notwithstanding this opposition, the bill was passed by both Houses, approved by the President on the 1st day of March, 1864, and the next day he sent to the Senate the nomination of Ulysses S. Grant, which was confirmed immediately, and General Grant was summoned to Washington in person. He wore a plain, undress uniform and a felt hat of the regulation pattern, the sides of the top crushed together. He generally stood or walked with his left hand in his trousers pocket, and had in his mouth an unlighted cigar, the end of which he chewed restlessly. His square-cut features, when at rest, appeared as if carved from mahogany, and his firmly set under-jaw indicated the unyielding tenacity of a bulldog, while the kind glances of his gray eyes showed that he possessed the softer traits. He always appeared intensely preoccupied, and would gaze at any one who approached him with an inquiring air, followed by a glance of recollection and a grave nod of recognition. It was not long after his arrival before Secretary Stanton realized that he was no longer supreme, and the Army of the Potomac, which had virtually dictated to its successive commanders, found that the time had come when obedience was imperative, no matter what the loss of life might be.
When General Grant called on the President, he met with a hearty reception, and Mr. Lincoln, taking him into a private room, repeated to him a story from a comic article by Orpheus C. Kerr, satirically criticising the conduct of the war. It was a story about Captain Bob Shorty and the Mackerel Brigade and the Anaconda Policy— something about generals in the field being hampered by a flood of orders. When he had finished his story, he told General Grant that he did not care to know what he wanted to do, only to know what was wanted. He wished him to beat Lee. How he did it was his own lookout. He said he did not wish to know his plans or exercise any scrutiny over his operations. So long as he beat the rebel army he was satisfied. The formal presentation of the new commission as Lieutenant-General was made in the presence of Cabinet officers and other distinguished guests, and was in all respects a notable historic scene.
On the 4th of March, General Grant ordered a forward movement, and General Meade crossed the Rappahannock with the Army of the Potomac one hundred and seventeen thousand strong. It was understood that soon after the forward movement was commenced, General Meade hesitated about crossing the stream, under a heavy fire, but General Grant peremptorily ordered him to move forward. This was alluded to in a letter sent to a Philadelphia newspaper by Mr. Edward Crapsey, a native of Cincinnati, who had been reputably connected with several leading journals. He said in his correspondence: "History will record, but newspapers cannot, that on one eventful night during the present campaign Grant's presence saved the army and the nation, too. Not that General Meade was on the point of committing a great blunder, unwittingly, but his devotion to his country made him loath to lose her last army of what he deemed a last chance. Grant assumed the responsibility, and we are still 'On to Richmond!'" When the newspaper containing this paragraph reached the Army of the Potomac, General Meade issued an order that Mr. Crapsey be arrested, paraded through the lines of the army, with a placard marked "Libeler of the Press," and then be put without the lines and not be permitted to return. This humiliating punishment was carried out in the most offensive manner possible, and Mr. Crapsey, after having been escorted through the camp on horseback, bearing the offensive label, was sent back to Washington. The terrific battle of the Wilderness followed, and General Grant telegraphed for recruits, saying, "We have ended this sixth day of very heavy fighting. The result at this time is very much in our favor. Our losses have been heavy, as well as those of the enemy. I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer."
General Lee, wishing to force General Grant back to the defense of Washington, ordered a corps under General Early to attack the Union capital, which was thought to be guarded only by a few regiments of heavy artillery and by a home brigade of quartermasters' clerks, improvised by Quartermaster-General Meigs. On the 12th of July, 1864, the advance-guard of the Confederates, commanded by General Breckinridge, came within the defenses of Washington, where they were, to their great surprise, confronted by the veteran Sixth Corps, under General Wright, and after a few volleys had been exchanged they precipitously retreated, and hurriedly recrossed the Potomac. This brief engagement was witnessed from the parapet of Fort Stevens by President Lincoln, who would not retire until an officer was shot down within a few feet of him, when he reluctantly stepped below. Sheltered from the sharp-shooters' fire, Cabinet officers and a group of society ladies watched the fortunes of the fight. It was no mock-battle that they witnessed on the outskirts of the national metropolis. Stretchers soon conveyed the dying and wounded to the hospital in the rear of the fort, and the graves remain there of those who fought and fell, with the President of the United States and his competitor at the preceding election on opposite sides, interested spectators of the scene.
Meanwhile Mr. Chase, provoked because the President overruled him, had resigned his position as Secretary of the Treasury, and Mr. Fessenden had been appointed in his place. Mr. Chase desired the Presidential nomination, and an organization was formed with Senator Pomeroy, of Kansas, at its head to secure the election of Chase delegates to the next National Republican Convention. Meanwhile Chief Justice Taney died in October, 1864, and Mr. Sumner immediately urged the President to appoint Mr. Chase as his successor. There was then much dissatisfaction with Mr. Lincoln's Administration, and the friends of Mr. Chase were openly and secretly urging his nomination.
When Mr. Sumner came to Washington he renewed his request that Mr. Chase be appointed, and he had several interviews with Mr. Lincoln on the subject. One day Mr. Lincoln proposed to send for Mr. Chase and frankly tell him that he wanted to nominate him as Chief Justice, that he would make the greatest and best Chief Justice the country had ever had, and that he would do so if he would only give up all idea of being elected President. Mr. Sumner replied that such a statement, however frank it might be, would never answer, as it would not only expose the President to criticism as attempting to purchase an opponent, but it would be offensive to Mr. Chase, as an attempt to extort from him a pledge that he would never be a candidate for the Presidency. Mr. Lincoln, who was quick-witted, saw the force of Mr. Sumner's argument, and pleasantly said: "Well, take this card and write on it the name of the man you desire to have appointed." Mr. Sumner wrote "Salmon P. Chase," and Salmon P. Chase was promptly nominated on the 6th of December, 1864. Mr. Sumner urged the immediate confirmation of the appointment, and having carried it, hastened from the Senate Chamber to congratulate the new Chief Justice. As he came out of the room in which he conveyed the news he met Mrs. Kate Sprague, who shook her index finger at him and said: "And you, too, Mr. Sumner? Are you in the business of shelving papa? But never mind, I will defeat you all!" Mr. Sumner used to relate this incident as showing how he had been rewarded for what he regarded as one of the most praiseworthy acts of his life. Besides, Mr. Lincoln was not the only candidate for the Presidential chair who would lose a rival by the appointment of Judge Chase. Mr. Sumner had strong aspirations in that direction, but I doubt if he regarded the bench of the Supreme Court as a stepping-stone to the White House. Had the Senate found Mr. Johnson guilty on the impeachment charges, and had Ben Wade thus become President, Mr. Sumner would have been his Secretary of State, and I am not sure that this did not influence Mr. Fessenden in his vote of "Not guilty." Had General Grant offered Mr. Sumner the same position it would have been accepted with the understanding that he was to direct the foreign policy of the country untrammeled.
[Facsimile] Joseph Hooker JOSEPH HOOKER, born at Hadley, Mass., November 13th, 1813; graduated at West Point, 1837; served in the Mexican War; resigned, but re- entered the service as Brigadier-General, May, 1861; Major-General, 1862; Corps Commander, September, 1862; Division Commander, December, 1862; Commander of the Army of the Potomac, January, 1863; transferred to the West and served from Lookout Mountain to Atlanta; commanded the Northern Department, September, 1864, to July, 1865; retired October 15th, 1868; died, 1879.
To gratify Mr. Seward, Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, had been placed on the Republican ticket and elected Vice-President. Mr. Lincoln's re-inauguration took place under circumstances widely different from those which attended his inauguration in 1861. Then seven States had seceded from the Union, and the President had taken the oath of office surrounded by enemies whose disposition to assassinate was stronger than their courage to execute. At the re-inauguration the Federal Government was a substance as well as a name, controlling great armies and navies, and having nearly conquered the Confederacy.
The 4th of March, 1865, was rainy and unpleasant, while the streets and sidewalks were encrusted with from two to ten inches of muddy paste, through which men and horses plodded wearily. The procession was a very creditable one, including the model of a monitor on wheels, and drawn by four white horses. It had a revolving turret containing a small cannon, which was frequently fired as the procession moved. There was a large delegation of Philadelphia firemen, the Washington City Fire Department, the colored Grand Lodge of Odd Fellows, and the Typographical Society, with a press on a car from which a programme was printed and distributed. Many other civic bodies joined the demonstration, and added to its immensity and impressiveness.
In the Senate Chamber there was the usual attendance of the Diplomatic Corps, the Supreme Court, those officers of the army and navy who had received the thanks of Congress, and a number of prominent citizens. Mr. Lincoln, on his arrival at the Capitol, was shown to the President's room, where, as is customary during the closing hour of a session, he signed several bills. Mr. Johnson was escorted to the Vice-President's room opposite, where he was welcomed by Mr. Hamlin, the retiring Vice-President. There was nothing unusual in his appearance, except that he did not seem in robust health. The usual courtesies being exchanged, the conversation proceeded on ordinary topics for a few moments, when Mr. Johnson asked Mr. Hamlin if he had any liquor in his room, stating that he was sick and nervous. He was told that there was none, but it could be sent for. Brandy being indicated, a bottle was brought from the Senate restaurant by one of the pages. It was opened, a tumbler provided, and Mr. Johnson poured it about two-thirds full. Mr. Hamlin said, in telling it, that if Mr. Johnson ordinarily took such drinks as that he must be able to stand a great deal. After a few minutes the bottle was placed in one of the book-cases out of sight. When, near twelve o'clock, the Sergeant-at-Arms, Mr. Brown, came to the door and suggested that the gentlemen get ready to enter the Senate Chamber, Mr. Hamlin arose, moved to the door, near which the Sergeant- at-Arms stood, and suggested to Mr. Johnson to come also. The latter got up and walked nearly to the door, when, turning to Mr. Hamlin, he said: "Excuse me a moment," and walked back hastily to where the bottle was deposited. Mr. Hamlin saw him take it out, pour as large a quantity as before into the glass, and drink it down like water. They then went into the Senate Chamber.
To the surprise of everybody, the Vice-President, when called on to take the oath of office, made a maudlin, drunken speech. He addressed the Diplomatic Corps and the heads of departments in the most incoherent, and in some instances offensive, manner. The Republican Senators were horror-stricken, and Colonel Forney vainly endeavored to make him conclude his harangue; but he would not be stopped; the brandy had made him crazily drunk, and the mortifying scene was prolonged until he was told that it was necessary to go with the President to the eastern front of the Capitol.
Mr. Lincoln's inaugural was delivered before the assembled multitude in front of the Capitol in a full, clear tone of voice. He went on to say: "Both parties deprecated war, but one of them wouldmakewar rather than let the nation survive; and the other wouldacceptwar rather than let it perish. And the war came." Then there arose a deafening shout, for the people felt that the case had been well stated, and they were all disposed toacceptwar rather than let the nation perish.
As the President closed his address Chief Justice Chase arose and stood facing him. The oath of office was then administered, Mr. Lincoln exhibiting by his manner and gestures the full concurrence of mind and heart with the intent of the obligation. As he concluded the ceremony by taking from the Chief Justice the Bible upon which he had been sworn, and reverently pressing his lips to it, there was a marked sensation through the vast audience, followed by a responsive cheer. Then the cannon near by thundered forth the announcement that the President of the people's choice had been inaugurated, the bands struck up the national airs, and there were hearty rounds of cheers.
The ball on the evening of Mr. Lincoln's re-inauguration was held in a large hall of the Department of the Interior, which had just been completed. It was brilliantly lighted and dressed with flags. Mr. Lincoln and Speaker Colfax entered together, followed by Mrs. Lincoln upon the arm of Charles Sumner. Mr. Lincoln wore a full black suit, with white kid gloves, and Mrs. Lincoln was attired in white silk, with a splendid overdress of rich lace, point lace bertha and puffs of silk, white fan and gloves. Her hair was brushed back smoothly, falling in curls upon the neck, while a wreath of jasmines and violets encircled her head. Her ornaments were of pearl. Having promenaded the entire length of the room, they mounted the few steps leading to the seats placed for them upon the dais, while the crowd gathered densely in front of them.
The army and navy were well represented, adding greatly to the beauty of the scene in the bright uniforms that everywhere flashed before the eyes. Admiral Farragut, General Banks, and General Hooker shone conspicuously, as did also General Halleck, who stood, smiling and happy, to receive greetings from his friends. The members of the Cabinet assumed the seats upon the dais reserved for them, and up to twelve o'clock the crowd continued to pour into the room.
At twelve o'clock the door was opened for supper, and the crowd which had been gathered about it for half an hour rushed forward. Such a crush and scramble as there was! Little screams, broken exclamations, and hurried protestations against the rush were heard upon all sides, but no one heeded or cared for anything but to find a place at the table, at one end of which stood the President, Mrs. Lincoln, and their suite.
The supper scene was one never to be forgotten. Aside from its luxury and splendor, there was so much that was ridiculously laughable connected with it, one naturally looks back upon it in keen amusement. The tables having been instantly filled up, all the spaces between the large glass cases containing the office property were soon crowded to their utmost capacity. Many a fair creature dropped upon the benches with exclamations of delight, while their attendants sought to supply them from the table, to which they had to fight their way. Those who could not get seats stood around in groups, or sank down upon the floor in utter abandonment from fatigue.
It was curious to sit and watch the crowd, to hear the gay laugh, the busy hum of conversation, and the jingle of plates, spoons, and glasses; to see hands uplifted, bearing aloft huge dishes of salads and creams, loaves of cake and stores of candies, not infrequently losing plentiful portions on the way. Many an elegant dress received its donation of cream, many a tiny slipper bore away crushed sweets and meats, and lay among fragments of glass and plates upon the floor.
Meanwhile, it was "thundering all around the heavens," and every night General Grant, in his humble headquarters at City Point, knew exactly what had been done. In his midnight despatches to President Lincoln which were telegraphed all over the loyal States, he narrated the day's success, giving full credit, when necessary, to the original genius of Sherman, the daring pluck of Sheridan, the cool determination of Thomas, the military ability of Terry, and the sagacious gallantry of Schofield, but never alluding to himself as having directed these subordinates on their respective paths to victory.
General Lee and his brave army saw that the end was at hand. They could no longer be deceived by the verbose platitudes of politicians about foreign intervention or strategic purposes, and they saw the stars and stripes approaching on every hand. For four long years they had fought for their hearths and homes with a bravery that had elicited the admiration of their opponents, but steady, ceaseless fighting had thinned their ranks and there were no more men to take their places. They had been out-manoeuvred, out-marched, and out- generaled, while hard knocks and repeated blows were daily diminishing their commands. At length, Richmond was captured, and General Lee formally surrendered at Appomattox Court-House, ending the greatest civil war recorded in history.
As the Union armies advanced, thousands of unemployed and impecunious colored people sought refuge in the District of Columbia. Gathering up their scanty chattels, they made their way from the houses of their masters to Washington, the Mecca of their imaginations, with a firm belief that they would there find freedom and plenty. It was a leap in the dark, but they imagined it a leap from darkness into light, and when they reached the national metropolis, with its public buildings and its busy throng, they believed that at last they had entered the promised land. Free from care at the first, they loitered and lounged and slept and laughed in sunny places. But no feast was offered them; they were invited to no hospitable homes; the men were no longer offered a few new Treasury notes of small value if they would enlist, and be counted on the quota of some Northern town, which would pay the agents five hundred or six hundred dollars for each recruit thus obtained. They were strangers in a strange land, despised by their own people who were residents, and crowded into stable lofts and rude hovels, where many of them, before they had fairly tasted the blessings of freedom, sickened and suffered and died.
On the night of Thursday, the 13th of April, 1865, Mr. Lincoln made his last address to the people who loved him so well. Richmond had fallen, Davis had fled, Lee had surrendered, and on the previous day the formal laying down of arms had taken place. The White House was illuminated, as were the other public buildings, and deafening shouts arose from the crowds assembled outside, jubilant over the glorious victories. Mr. Lincoln had written out some remarks, knowing well that great importance would be attached to whatever he said. These he read to the rejoicing throng from loose sheets, holding a candle in his hand as he read. As he finished each page he would throw it to the ground, where it was picked up by Master Thad, who was at his father's side, and who occasionally shouted, "Give me another paper!"
When Mr. Lincoln had concluded his speech, he said: "Now I am about to call upon the band for a tune that our adversaries over the way have endeavored to appropriate. But we fairly captured it yesterday and the Attorney-General gave me his legal opinion that it is now our property. So I ask the band to play 'Dixie!'"
[Facsimile] your obtservt R ELee ROBERT EDWARD LEE, born at Stratford, Westmoreland County, Virginia, January 19th, 1807; graduated with first honors at West Point in 1829; served in the Mexican War; resigned in 1861, and was, early in 1862, appointed commander of the armies about Richmond; early in 1865 was made Commander-in-Chief of all the Confederate forces; surrendered at Appomattox, April 9th, 1865; became President of Washington College at Lexington, Virginia, where he died October 12th, 1870.
Washington City was delirious with gladness when General Grant "came marching home," and the telegraph wires from every part of the country recently in rebellion vibrated with the tidings of victory and submission. Orders from the War Department went out over the loyal North proclaiming the absolute overthrow of the Rebellion, the return of peace, the stopping of recruiting, the raising of the blockade, the reduction of national expenditures, and the removal of all military restrictions upon trade and commerce, so far as might be consistent with public safety. Drafting had been one of the most grievous burdens of the war, but it had been rigorously pressed in all States which had not otherwise furnished their quotas of troops. When the surrender occurred, the dread wheel was in operation in many places, and drawn men were in custody of the proper officials preparing to go to the front. But all this was stopped, and none were happier than those who involuntarily had been held thus for military duty, but who now became free.
The 13th of April was a day of general rejoicing at the metropolis. The stars and stripes waved over the public and many of the private buildings, business was suspended, and men went about in groups indulging in libations to the return of peace. As night came on the departments and many private houses were illuminated, bonfires blazed in the streets, and fireworks lit up the sky. In the forts and camps around the city blazed huge bonfires, while the heavy siege guns thundered their joyful approval of peace.
It was announced in the newspapers of that day that President Lincoln, accompanied by General Grant, would attend Ford's Theatre the next night. The President did extend an invitation to his victorious commander to accompany him, but General Grant, always adverse to public demonstrations, declined, that he might go at once to Burlington, New Jersey, with Mrs. Grant, to "see the children." The Presidential party consequently was only four in number—President Lincoln, his wife, Miss Harris, and Major Rathbone. Only one of the two stage-boxes which had been decorated for the party was occupied. When the President appeared, about a quarter before nine o'clock, the play was stopped, the orchestra played "Hail to the Chief," and the crowded audience gave a succession of vociferous cheers.
The play proceeded. Mr. Lincoln and his party were in fine spirits, intently watching the performance, when a pistol-shot was heard, and the first impression of every one was that it was fired on the stage. So thought Major Rathbone, until, looking around, he saw smoke and a man with a drawn dagger in his hand. The truth indistinctly flashed into his mind; he arose and seized the unknown man with both hands. A momentary scuffle ensued, in which the assassin made a thrust at the Major, grazing his breast and piercing his left arm near the shoulder. Something seemed to give way about the man's coat collar, and he disappeared. The smoke prevented the Major or Miss Harris from getting a fair view of the fellow, and Mrs. Lincoln did not see him until he leaped out of the box. Her first impression was that it was her husband who leaped out.
Meantime the assassin appeared on the edge of the box, crying "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" and flourishing a dagger, he leaped to the stage. He crossed the stage rapidly, exclaiming, "Revenge!" and, again flourishing his dagger, disappeared, saying "I have done it!" Though quickly pursued, it was too late. Leaving the theatre by a back door, he mounted his horse in waiting there and was gone.
The President was seen to turn in his seat, and persons leaped upon the stage and clambered up to the box. His clothes were stripped from his shoulders but no wound was at first found. He was entirely insensible. Further search revealed the fact that he had been shot in the head, and he was carried to the nearest house, immediately opposite. Mrs. Lincoln, in a frantic condition, was assisted in crossing the street with the President, at the same time uttering heart-rending shrieks. Surgeons were soon in attendance, but it was evident that the wound was mortal.
It was a night of terror. The long roll was beaten in the distant camps, and the soldiers throughout the encircling fortifications stood to their arms; mounted men patrolled the streets in every direction; the tolling of the church-bells fell heavily on the ear and entered deep into all hearts, and it was not only President Lincoln, but it was reported that Mr. Seward and other members of the Cabinet had been assassinated. Mr. Seward was indeed murderously assaulted upon his sick-bed, but he escaped with his life. Amid these terrors the sleepless citizens fell from their heights of joy to the depths of gloom.
With the morning came the President's death at an early hour. As the bells tolled his departure, the bloom of the national colors was shrouded in black, and the weather was cheerless, cold, and damp. If ever nature sympathized with man since the time when the sun was darkened and the dead walked the streets of Jerusalem, it certainly seemed to do so on the memorable 15th of April, which ushered in the saddest news that ever fell upon the ears of the American people.
It was known, beyond a doubt, before Mr. Lincoln breathed his last, that his assassin was John Wilkes Booth, a son of the great tragedian, then twenty-seven years of age. He had played stock parts at Washington and other Southern and Western cities, where he had given unmistakable evidence of genuine dramatic talent. He had, added to his native genius, the advantage of a voice musically full and rich; a face almost classic in outline; features highly intellectual; a piercing, black eye, capable of expressing the fiercest and the tenderest passion and emotion, and a commanding figure and impressive stage address. In his transition from the quiet and reflective passages of a part to fierce and violent outbreaks of passion, his sudden and impetuous manner had in it something of that electrical force and power which made the elder Booth so celebrated, and called up afresh to the memory of men of the preceding generation the presence, voice, and manner of his father. Convivial in his habits, sprightly and genial in conversation, John Wilkes Booth made many friends among the young men of his own age, and he was a favorite among the ladies at the National Hotel, where he boarded.
The funeral honors paid to President Lincoln at Washington, on the 19th of April, were a fitting tribute to the illustrious dead. The dawn that was ushered in by the heavy booms of salutes of minute- guns from the fortifications surrounding the city never broke purer or brighter or clearer than on this morning. The day that followed was the loveliest of the season. The heavens were undimmed by even one passing cloud.
At a very early hour people began to assemble in the vicinity of the Executive Mansion, which was almost entirely draped in crape, as were also the buildings, public and private, in the neighborhood. All over the city public houses and private residences were closed. At twelve o'clock the ceremonies commenced in the East Room, whose ceilings were draped, and whose resplendent mirrors were hung on the borders with emblems of mourning and white drapery, which gave the room a dim light that was adapted to the solemnity of the mournful scene. All that remained of Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth President of the United States, lay on the grand and gloomy catafalque, which was relieved, however, by choice flowers.
The spectators of the sorrowful scene were not merely the representatives of our people in Congress and of state, but the executive officers and Cabinet Ministers, the Chief Justice of the United States and his associates on the bench of that venerated tribunal, chieftains who protected our homes by service in the field and on the ocean, the clergy, and multitudes in various positions in the affairs of state and from private life, and an imposing array of Ambassadors, with their less elevated attachés, with gorgeous decorations. Perhaps the most touching grief, and the one which moved all present, was that of little Thaddeus Lincoln, a favorite son. He and his elder brother, Robert, were the only mourners of the family present.
During the service President Johnson stood beside the remains of his predecessor, and during the oration, General Grant sat at the head of the corpse. The Rev. Dr. L. Hall, rector of the Church of the Epiphany, rose and read portions of the service for the burial of the dead. Bishop Simpson offered a prayer, in which he fervently alluded to the emancipation and other deeds performed by President Lincoln. The Rev. Dr. Gurley then read a funeral oration. At two P. M. the funeral procession started, all of the bells in the city tolling, and minute-guns firing from all the forts. Pennsylvania Avenue, from the Treasury to the Capitol, was entirely clear from curb to curb. Preceding the hearse was the military escort, over one mile long, the arms of each officer and man being draped with black. At short intervals bands discoursed dirges and drums beat muffled sounds. After the artillery came the civic procession, headed by Marshal Lamon, the Surgeon-General, and physicians who attended the President. At this point the hearse appeared, and the thousands, as it passed, uncovered their heads.