Lincoln carried all the free states, excepting that in New Jersey the electoral vote was divided, he receiving four out of seven. In the fifteen slave states he received no electoral vote. In ten states not one person had voted for him.
Of the 303 electoral votes he had received 180, while the aggregate of all against him numbered 123, giving him an absolute majority of 57. The electoral vote was duly counted in the joint session of the two houses of congress February 13, 1861, and it was officially announced that Abraham Lincoln, having received a majority of the votes of the presidential electors, was duly elected President of the United States for four years, beginning March 4, 1861.
One circumstance is added which may be of interest to the reader. This was published, after his death, by his personal friend, Noah Brooks. It is given in Lincoln's own words: "It was just after my election, in 1860, when the news had been coming in thick and fast all day, and there had been a great 'Hurrah boys!' so that I was well tired out and went home to rest, throwing myself upon a lounge in my chamber. Opposite to where I lay was a bureau with a swinging glass upon it; and looking in that glass, I saw myself reflected nearly at full length; but my face, I noticed, had two separate and distinct images, the tip of the nose of the one being about three inches from the tip of the other. I was a little bothered, perhaps startled, and got up and looked in the glass, but the illusion vanished. On lying down again, I saw it a second time, plainer, if possible, than before; and then I noticed that one of the faces was a little paler—say five shades—than the other. I got up, and the thing melted away, and I went off, and, in the excitement of the hour, forgot all about it,—nearly, but not quite, for the thing would once in a while come up, and give me a little pang as though something uncomfortable had happened. When I went home, I told my wife about it, and a few days after I tried the experiment again, when, sure enough, the thing came back again; but I never succeeded in bringing the ghost back after that, though I once tried very industriously to show it to my wife, who was worried about it somewhat. She thought it was 'a sign' that I was to be elected to a second term of office, and that the paleness of one of the faces was an omen that I should not see life through the last term."
The incident is of no interest excepting in so far as everything about Lincoln is of interest. The phenomenon is an optical illusion not uncommon. One image—the "paler," or more indistinct, one—is reflected from the surface of the glass, while the other is reflected from the silvered back of the glass. Though Lincoln understood that it was an optical illusion, yet the thought of it evidently weighed on him. Otherwise he would not have repeated the experiment several times, nor would he have told of it to different persons.
Four months would not ordinarily be considered a long period of time. But when one is compelled to see the working of a vast amount of mischief, powerless to prevent it, and knowing one's self to be the chief victim of it all, the time is long. Such was the fate of Lincoln. The election was not the end of a life of toil and struggle, it was the beginning of a new career of sorrow. The period of four months between the election and inauguration could not be devoted to rest or to the pleasant plans for a prosperous term of service. There developed a plan for the disruption of the government. The excuse was Lincoln's election. But he was for four months only a private citizen. He had no power. He could only watch the growing mischief and realize that he was the ultimate victim. Buchanan, who was then President, had a genius for doing the most unwise thing. He was a northern man with southern principles, and this may have unfitted him to see things in their true relations. He certainly was putty in the hands of those who wished to destroy the Union, and his vacillation precisely accomplished what they wished. Had he possessed the firmness and spirit of John A. Dix, who ordered,—"If any man attempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the spot;" had he had a modicum of the patriotism of Andrew Jackson; had he had a tithe of the wisdom and manliness of Lincoln; secession would have been nipped in the bud and vast treasures of money and irreparable waste of human blood would have been spared. Whatever the reason may have been,—incapacity, obliquity of moral and political vision, or absolute championship of the cause of disruption,—certain it is that the southern fire-eaters could not have found a tool more perfectly suited to their purpose than James Buchanan. He was the center of one of the most astonishing political cabals of all history.
Lincoln did not pass indiscriminate condemnation upon all men of southern sympathies. At the time of which we are now writing, and consistently up to the end of his life, he made a marked distinction between the rank and file of the Confederates on the one hand, and those leaders who, on the other hand, had, while in the service of the United States government, sought to accomplish its destruction. The first were revolutionists; they were so regarded generally in Europe, and he believed they were sincere; he regarded them as having the spirit of revolutionists. For the second, who held office under, drew pay from, and were under solemn oath to support, the government, while they were using the vantage of their official position to violate the Constitution and disrupt that government, there is but one word, and that a strong one,—traitors. This was Lincoln's judgment of the men.
Let us now briefly describe the situation. Jefferson Davis, though not a member of Buchanan's cabinet, was probably the most influential of the Southerners in Washington. He had been Secretary of War under Pierce, and it was he who inaugurated the policy of stripping the North for the purpose of strengthening the military defenses of the South. This policy was vigorously pursued under his successor.
The only person to call a halt to the treasonable proceedings was General Winfield Scott. He was residing in New York City, and on October 29th addressed a letter to President Buchanan containing his views upon the situation. A day or two later he added supplementary considerations addressed to the Secretary of War. He set forth, with much clearness and force, the necessity of garrisoning the southern forts before they should be lost; His letter had its faults, but it accomplished one thing: it showed that there was one high official who was in earnest in the discharge of his duties, and with whom it was not safe to trifle.
President Buchanan sent in his annual message to Congress December 3, 1860. In his discussion of the subject of slavery, he recommended that it be extended to the territories,—the very thing that the people had just voted should not be done. Concerning secession, he said for substance that the government had the power to suppress revolt, but that it could not use that power in reference to South Carolina, the state then under consideration. The secessionists had apparently tied the hands of the executive effectually.
Now observe what was going on in the cabinet. Lewis Cass had been Secretary of State, but resigned in indignation over the inaction of the President when he failed to succor the forts in Charleston Harbor. He was succeeded by Jeremiah S. Black, who, as attorney-general, had given to Buchanan an opinion that the Federal government had no power to coerce a seceding state.
Howell Cobb, Secretary of the Treasury, having wasted the funds and destroyed the credit of the government, resigned and left an empty treasury.
John B. Floyd, Secretary of War, was not the least active. He carried out fully the plan which Jefferson Davis had begun to operate several years before. The northern arsenals were stripped of the arms and ammunition which were sent South for storage or use. The number of regular troops was small, but the few soldiers there were, he scattered in distant places, so that they should be out of reach. They were not to be available for the use of the government until the conspirators should have time to complete their work. It was Floyd whom an emotional Virginian later eulogized. With quite as much truth as poetry he declared that the Secretary of War "thwarted, objected, resisted, and forbade" the efforts of General Scott. This same admirer of Floyd further declared that, if Scott's plans had been adopted and his measures executed, the conspiracy would have been defeated and it would have been impossible to form the Southern Confederacy.
Not worse, perhaps, but more flagrant, was the action of the Secretary of the Interior, Thompson of Mississippi. With the advice and consent of Buchanan, he left his post at Washington to visit North Carolina and help on the work of secession, and then returned and resumed his official prerogatives under the government he had sworn to sustain. This is so grave a matter that a passage from the diary of Mr. Clingman is here inserted, quoted by Nicolay and Hay: "About the middle of December (1860) I had occasion to see the Secretary of the Interior on some official business. On my entering the room, Mr. Thompson said to me, 'Clingman, I am glad you have called, for I intended presently to go up to the senate to see you. I have been appointed a commissioner by the state of Mississippi to go down to North Carolina to get your state to secede.' … I said to him, 'I did not know you had resigned.' He answered, 'Oh, no! I have not resigned.' 'Then,' I replied, 'I suppose you resign in the morning.' 'No,' he answered, 'I do not intend to resign, for Mr. Buchanan wished us all to hold on, and go out with him on the 4th of March.' 'But,' said I, 'does Mr. Buchanan know for what purpose you are going to North Carolina?' 'Certainly,' he said, 'he knows my object.'" In the meanwhile, Isaac Toucey, the Secretary of the Navy, had been prevailed on to put the navy out of reach. The armed vessels were sent to the ends of the earth. At the critical period, only two were available to the government. What was going on in congress? That body was very busy doing nothing. Both senate and house raised committees for the purpose of devising means of compromise. But every measure of concession was promptly voted down by the body that had appointed the committees. In the senate the slave power was in full control. In the house the slave power was not in majority, but they enjoyed this advantage that they were able to work together, while the constituency of the free states were usually divided among themselves. And in joint session the extreme pro-slavery men were always able to prevent anything from being accomplished. This was all they wished. They had sufficient pledges from the President that nothing would be done before the 4th of March, and it was their belief that by that time the new power would have so good a start that it could treat with the United States on equal terms. On January 7, 1861, Senator Yulee, of Florida, wrote: "By remaining in our places until the 4th of March, it is thought we can keep the hands of Mr. Buchanan tied, and disable the republicans from effecting any legislation which will strengthen the hands of the incoming administration."
On December 14, thirty of the southern senators and representatives had issued a circular to their constituents. They said that the argument was exhausted, that all hope of relief was extinguished, that the republicans would grant nothing satisfactory, and that the honor, safety, and independence of the Southern people required the organization of a Southern Confederacy.
South Carolina was the first to act. Six days later that state passed the ordinance of secession.
Upon this, one of the extreme traitors was forced out of the cabinet. Floyd, the mischievous Secretary of War, was displaced by Holt, a loyal man. Floyd, however, had done nearly, if not quite, all the mischief he could have done. Stanton had already replaced Black as Attorney-General.
The conspirators then held a caucus. It is supposed that this caucus was held in one of the rooms of the Capitol. At all events it was held in the city of Washington. It was composed of the extreme southern congressmen. It decided to recommend immediate secession, the formation of the Southern Confederacy, and, not least, that the congressmen should remain in their seats to keep the President's hands tied. The committee to carry out these plans consisted of Jefferson Davis, Slidell, and Mallory. By the first day of February, seven states had passed ordinances of secession.
This is about what was going on during the four months Lincoln was waiting for the appointed time when he should enter upon his duties. It was not unlike looking upon a house he was shortly to occupy, and seeing vandals applying the torch and ax of destruction, while he was not permitted to go to the rescue, all the while knowing that he would be held accountable for the preservation of the structure. So Lincoln saw this work of destruction going on at Washington. It was plain that the mischief ought to be, and could be, stopped. But Buchanan would not stop it, and Lincoln was, until March 4th, a private citizen and could do nothing. The bitterest part of it was that all the burden would fall on him. As soon as he should become President it would be his duty to save the government which these men were now openly destroying.
Miss Tarbell has recorded a conversation between Lincoln and his friend Judge Gillespie, which took place in Springfield early in January, in which the former expressed his feelings upon the situation. "Gillespie," said he, "I would willingly take out of my life a period in years equal to the two months which intervene between now and the inauguration, to take the oath of office now."
"Why?"
"Because every hour adds to the difficulties I am called upon to meet and the present administration does nothing to check the tendency towards dissolution. I, who have been called to meet this awful responsibility, am compelled to remain here, doing nothing to avert it or lessen its force when it comes to me…. Every day adds to the situation and makes the outlook more gloomy. Secession is being fostered rather than repressed…. I have read, upon my knees, the story of Gethsemane, where the Son of God prayed in vain that the cup of bitterness might pass from him. I am in the garden of Gethsemane now, and my cup of bitterness is full to overflowing" (Tarbell, "Life of Lincoln," II., 406).
It was indeed hard to keep his patience and self-control. He was importuned for expressions of his views, for messages conciliatory to the South, for some kind of a proclamation which might quiet the public feeling. But he saw clearly that anything he might say at that time, no matter how wise or conciliatory, would surely be misused as fuel to add to the flames. While therefore he talked and wrote freely to his friends, he made no public announcement. He merely referred to his record. His opinions had been fully expressed in the debates with Douglas and in other speeches. There were four important points as to his future policy. The Union should be preserved, the Constitution should be upheld, and the fugitive slave law (being a law) should be enforced, but slavery should not be extended. These fully covered all the necessary points of the subject, and beyond these he would not go. He who would control others must first control himself. It is hard to imagine a more severe test than this imposed on Lincoln during this period of waiting. He made his preparations in silence, and not an injudicious word escaped him. He left his home for Washington the 11th day of February, but though he made several speeches on the way, he did not outline his policy until he read his inaugural address on the 4th of March.
The long period of waiting approached its end. Most of the states and cities lying between Springfield and Washington invited him officially to visit them on his way to the capital. It was decided that he should accept as many as possible of these invitations. This would involve a zigzag route and require considerable time. The invitation of Massachusetts he declined on account of the pressure of time. Maryland was conspicuous by its omission of courtesy. Two private citizens of Baltimore invited him to dinner. That was all.
The presidential party consisted of about a dozen, all told. They were to leave Springfield February 11, and to consume about two weeks on the way. It was a dreary morning, partly drizzling, and partly snowing. A large crowd of neighbors had assembled at the dingy railway station to bid him good-by. The process of handshaking was interrupted by the arrival of the train. After the party had entered the car, the President reappeared on the rear platform. He raised his hand to speak, but did not utter a word until the solemn silence became painful. Then, with great tenderness and seriousness, he spoke as follows:
"My friends, no one, not in my situation, can appreciate my feeling of sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my children have been born, and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when or whether ever I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended him, I cannot succeed. With that assistance, I cannot fail. Trusting in Him who can go with me, and remain with you, and be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet be well. To His care commending you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affectionate farewell."
The speech was telegraphed, with substantial accuracy all over the country, and was read with loving sympathy by millions of loyal citizens. The words above given are the report as revised by Lincoln himself, and first published in theCenturyfor December, 1887.
The party was in charge of Colonel Ward Hill Lamon, afterwards Marshal of the District of Columbia. He was a trained athlete, a Hercules in strength, a man who knew not what fear was, and, with an enthusiasm akin to religious zeal, he was devoted to his chief soul and body. In the words of a later Marshal, he "worshiped every bone in his body."
A few friends had accompanied the presidential party to Indianapolis, where the first stop was made. After the address of welcome by Governor Morton and the response, after the speech to the legislature, after the reception and the handshaking, they were left in quiet in the Bates House. These friends then took Lamon into a room, locked the door, and in the most solemn and impressive manner laid upon him the responsibilities of guarding Lincoln's person until they should reach Washington. The scene was concluded by Dubois with a mixture of solemnity and playfulness, who said: "Now, Lamon, we intrust the sacred life of Mr. Lincoln to your keeping; and if you don't protect it, never return to Illinois, for we will murder you on sight."
Neither the exhortation nor the threat were in the least needed by Lamon, who was thoroughly alert. But it is of interest in this, that it indicates that there was a wide-spread feeling that this journey was fraught with unusual dangers.
Of course Lincoln made many brief speeches. These were closely scanned in the hope of finding some premonition of his inaugural. But not one such word escaped him. He complained that though he had in his day done much hard work, this was the hardest work he had ever done,—to keep speaking without saying anything. It was not quite true that he did not say anything, for the speeches were thoughtful and full of interest. But he did not anticipate his inaugural, and to that the popular curiosity was alive. He did not say the things that were uppermost in his mind.
At Indianapolis he asked pregnant questions: "What, then, is 'coercion'? What is 'invasion'?… If the United States should merely hold and retake its own forts and other property [in South Carolina that had seceded], and collect the duties on foreign importations, or even withhold the mails from places where they were habitually violated, would any, or all, of these things be 'invasion' or 'coercion'?… Upon what principle, what rightful principle, may a state, being no more than one-fiftieth part of the nation in soil and population, break up the nation, and then coerce a proportionally larger subdivision of itself in the most arbitrary way? What mysterious right to play tyrant is conferred on a district of country, with its people, by merely calling it a state? Fellow-citizens, I am not asserting anything. I am merely asking questions for you to consider."
At Trenton, New Jersey, historic in the annals of the revolutionary war, he spoke with simple candor of the influence upon his life of Weems' "Life of Washington," one of the first books he ever read. The audience broke into cheers, loud and long, when he appealed to them to stand by him in the discharge of his patriotic duty. "I shall endeavor," said he, "to take the ground I deem most just to the North, the East, the West, the South, and the whole country. I take it, I hope, in good temper; certainly with no malice towards any section. 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. And if I do my duty and do right, you will sustain me, will you not?"
At Philadelphia he spoke in Independence Hall on Washington's Birthday, and raised a flag. "Our friends," he said of it, "had provided a magnificent flag of our country. They had arranged it so that I was given the honor of raising it to the head of its staff. And when it went up, I was pleased that it went to its place by the strength of my own feeble arm. When, according to the arrangement, the cord was pulled, and it flaunted gloriously to the wind without an accident, in the bright glowing sunshine of the morning, I could not help hoping that there was in the entire success of that beautiful ceremony at least something of an omen of what is to come."
On this very day, President Buchanan, in Washington City, was apologizing for permitting the American flag to be carried at the head of a procession that was marching to celebrate the birthday of George Washington!
It was at Philadelphia that matters became more exciting. At that place they were informed of a plot to assassinate the President as he passed through Baltimore. This information came to them from a variety of sources entirely independent, and the various stories so nearly agreed in substance that they could not be disregarded. Most important of these informants was Allan Pinkerton of Chicago, one of the most famous detectives in the world. He had been personally with his assistants in Baltimore and knew the details of the plot. But Lincoln was neither suspicious nor timid, and was therefore disinclined to pay heed to the warnings of Pinkerton.
At about this time the son of William H. Seward met Lincoln with confidential communications from his father. This gave other evidences of this plot, gathered by some detectives from New York City. These two sets of detectives had worked on the case; each party entirely ignorant of the other. Both got specific evidence of the plot.
It was remembered, too, that since leaving Springfield ten days before, they had had at least two escapes. The track had been tampered with in a manifest attempt to wreck the train. A hand grenade had been found in one of the cars. It is not likely that this deadly machine was taken on the train merely for fun.
The members of the party were deeply concerned about the Baltimore revelations. But it was hard to get Lincoln to take them seriously. With difficulty was he persuaded to follow Pinkerton's plan and enter Washington secretly. He consented to do this really out of consideration for the judgment of others, not that he shared their apprehension. On one thing, however, Lincoln was firm. He had made certain appointments for speakingen routewhich he would not abandon. His promise had been given and would be kept. One was the flag-raising at Philadelphia, narrated above, and the other was to address the legislature at Harrisburg. "Both these appointments," said he, "I will keepif it costs me my life." These words suggest that he may have realized more of the danger than he was willing to show.
There are also intimations of the same thing which will be noticed by the careful reader of the speeches at Philadelphia and Harrisburg. In declining to give a hint of the details of his proposed policy, he said: "It were useless for me to speak of details of plans now; I shall speak officially next Monday week,if ever. If I should not speak then, it were useless for me to do so now."
Again: "If this country cannot be saved without giving up that principle,—I was about to say that I would rather beassassinated on this spotthan surrender it."
And finally: "I may have said something indiscreet. But I have said nothing but what I am willing to live by, and, if it be the pleasure of Almighty God,die by."
These veiled references would pass unnoticed by the crowd, but they would be perfectly intelligible to those who knew of the warnings that had just been received. Lincoln was not in the habit of using such phrases, and the fact that he used them at this particular time can hardly be explained as a mere coincidence. He took in the situation, and—except for keeping the engagements already made—he submitted meekly to Pinkerton's plans.
An incident occurred at Harrisburg which made a great stir in the little party. This was nothing less than the loss of the manuscript of the inaugural address. This precious document the President himself had carried in a satchel. This satchel he had given to his son Robert to hold. When Robert was asked for it, it was missing. He "thoughthe had given it to a waiter—or somebody." This was one of the rare occasions on which Lincoln lost control of his temper, and for about one minute he addressed the careless young man with great plainness of speech.
For obvious reasons it was not judicious to say much about this loss. The President applied to Lamon for help. "Lamon," he whispered, "I have lost my certificate of moral character written by myself. Bob has lost my gripsack containing my inaugural address. I want you to help me find it."
Lamon, who knew Lincoln intimately, said that he never saw him so much annoyed, nor, for the time, so angry. If the address were to be published prematurely, it might be made the occasion of a vast amount of mischief. Then, too, it was the product of much painstaking thought and he had no duplicate copy.
Lincoln and Lamon instituted a search for the missing satchel and were directed to the baggage-room of the hotel. Here they spied a satchel that looked like the lost one. Lincoln tried the key. It fitted. With great joy he opened it, and he found within—one bottle of whisky, one soiled shirt, and several paper collars. So quickly from the sublime to the ridiculous.
A little later the right satchel was found, and was not again entrusted to Robert. The President kept it in his own hands. After the nervous strain was over, the humor of the situation grew on the President, and it reminded him of a little story.
A man had saved up his earnings until they reached the sum of fifteen hundred dollars. This was deposited for safekeeping in a bank. The bank failed and the man received as his share, ten per cent, or one hundred and fifty dollars. This he deposited in another bank. The second bank also failed and the poor fellow again received ten per cent, or fifteen dollars. When this remnant of his fortune was paid over to him, he held it in his hand, looking at it thoughtfully. Finally he said: "Now, I've got you reduced to a portable shape, so I'll put you in my pocket." Suiting the action to the word, Lincoln took his "certificate of moral character" from the satchel and carefully put it in the inside pocket of his vest. No further mishap came to that document.
The journey from Harrisburg to Washington was accomplished as planned, with the assistance of certain officials of the railway and telegraph companies. First all the wires leading out of Harrisburg were cut, so that, if Lincoln's departure were discovered, the news could not be communicated by telegraph. Then, after the reception, Lincoln, attended by Lamon, left the hotel by a side door and was driven to the railway station. Here they found waiting a special train consisting of one baggage car and one passenger car. The track was for the time kept entirely clear for this train. Arriving at Philadelphia they stopped outside the station, where Pinkerton met them with a closed carriage in readiness. They were driven rapidly across the city to the Washington train which had been detained a few minutes for "a sick passenger and one attendant." They entered the rear door of the sleeping car. The "sick passenger" went to his berth at once and the attendant gave the tickets to the conductor who did not even see the "sick passenger," and who did not dream of what a precious life he was carrying. They arrived at six o'clock in the morning at Washington City, where they were met by Seward and Washburn and taken to Willard's Hotel.
The rest of the party came on schedule time. At Baltimore there was a large crowd in waiting, but no disturbance. The news of the President's arrival had been telegraphed over the country, and the band of assassins were for the time helpless. Their intended victim had escaped. There was no reason why they should create a disturbance.
Lincoln always regretted this "secret passage." He later came to discount heavily the revelations of a professional spy. Long after, he said: "I did not then, nor do I now, believe I should have been assassinated had I gone through Baltimore as first contemplated, but I thought it wise to run no risk where no risk was necessary."
It is positively asserted by Lamon, who knew whereof he spake, that there was no time, from the moment of leaving Springfield to his death, when Lincoln was free from danger of murder. Yet he never could be prevailed on to accept precautions. What were the reasons for his apparent carelessness?
It is almost certain that he realized, more than he would have his friends know, that he was surrounded by dangers. He probably realized this more keenly than they did. They could locate specific dangers, but no man ever better understood the murderous spirit which underlay much of the hatred towards this man who had never harmed a human being. He felt that an escape from one danger might be simply running into another more deadly. It was like dodging bullets on the field of battle. He, better than they, realized that the unseen dangers were greater than those which they thought they had discovered. The only way, then, was to go straight ahead as if unmindful of all dangers.
Then, too, though Lincoln could understand dangers in the abstract, his mind did not seem to be able to individualize them. He knew full well that many persons wanted to kill him, but when it came to the point of the murder being done by X, or Y, or Z, he did not believe it possible that they would do such a thing.
These explanations are suggested. There may be others. But these two conflicting and paradoxical facts must be kept in mind. All through his public life he was oppressed with the belief that he would not live to see the end of the national crisis. On the other hand, not all the importunities of his most devoted friends could persuade him to guard himself. In the light of what we now know, it is wonderful that he escaped these plots for more than four years. Had he been more cautious, he might not have escaped so long. At the same time, as we shall presently see, had he heeded the last caution of his devoted friend, he would not have been shot in 1865.
Beautiful for situation and beautiful in construction is the Washington City of to-day. But it was not so in Lincoln's day. The proper decoration of the city did not begin until Grant's administration. In 1861 it was comparatively a small city. Its population numbered only about 65,000. The magnificent modern residences had not been built. The houses were few, low, not handsome, with hideous spaces of unimproved land lying between. The streets were not paved with asphalt. Some were paved with cobble stones, and some consisted of plain aboriginal mud. The dome of the Capitol was but half finished when Lincoln saw it for the first time, and the huge derrick which surmounted it was painfully suggestive of the gallows. The approach was not a well-kept lawn, but a meadow of grass, ragged and ill-cared for.
Washington society was then, as always, composed of people of education and social culture, but it was not such as would kindle the enthusiasm of the patriot. From the time whereof the memory of man runneth not to the contrary, it had been dominated by the slave power. The District of Columbia is situated in a slave state. The politics of South Carolina and Mississippi had always been aggressive, and the social leadership had been the same. J. G. Holland estimated that not more than one in five of the people in Washington in the winter of 1860-61 were glad to have Lincoln come. He was not far from right. Lamon called the city "a focus of political intrigue and corruption."
For many years, specifically since 1848, the slave power had been masterful in Washington, while its despotic temper had grown continually more assertive. The intellectual and moral atmosphere became increasingly repulsive to those who believed in freedom, and such people would not therefore choose that city as a place of residence.
The departments were of course filled with employees in sympathy with slavery. Pierce had been made President in 1853. The Missouri Compromise had been repealed in 1854. Buchanan came into office in 1857. The crowning act of his administration was supporting the Kansas infamy in 1859. From these indications it is easy to estimate the political status of Washington society when Lincoln entered the city February 23, 1861. Many thousands of his friends poured in from all quarters north of Mason and Dixon's line to attend the ceremonies of the inaugural. But these were transients, and foreign to the prevailing sentiment of the city.
Every official courtesy, however, was shown to the President-elect. The outgoing President and cabinet received him politely. He had many supporters and some personal friends in both houses of congress. These received him with enthusiasm, while his opponents were not uncivil. The members of the Supreme Court greeted him with a measure of cordiality. Both Douglas and Breckinridge, the defeated candidates at the late election, called on him. The so-called Peace Conference had brought together many men of local influence, who seized the opportunity of making his acquaintance. So the few days passed busily as the time for inauguration approached.
Of course anxiety and even excitement were not unknown. One instance is enough to relate here. Arrangements were about concluded for the cabinet appointments. The most important selection was for the Secretary of State. This position had been tendered to Seward months before and had by him been accepted. The subsequent selections had been made in view of the fact that Seward was to fill this position. On Saturday, March 2d, while only a few hours remained before the inaugural, Seward suddenly withdrew his promised acceptance. This utterly upset the balancings on which Lincoln had so carefully worked for the last four months, and was fitted to cause consternation. Lincoln's comment was: "I can't afford to have Seward take the first trick." So he sent him an urgent personal note on the morning of March 4th, requesting him to withdraw this refusal. Seward acceded to this and the matter was arranged satisfactorily.
The morning of the day of the inauguration was clear, mild, beautiful. The military display gave a bright and showy appearance to the scene. General Scott had used the utmost care to have the arrangements for the defense of the President perfect. There were guards about the carriage, guards about the Capitol, a flying battery upon a commanding hill. Besides this, sharpshooters were posted on the roofs of the houses along the route of travel, with injunctions to watch narrowly the windows opposite and fire upon the first manifestation of disorder. One cannot resist the temptation to speculate upon the excitement that would have developed had a mischievous boy set off a large fire-cracker at a critical moment!
Shortly after twelve o'clock, noon, Buchanan called to escort his successor to the Capitol. The retiring President and the President- elect rode side by side through the streets. Reaching the grounds of the Capitol they found an improvised board tunnel through which they walked arm in arm to the building. This tunnel had been constructed to guard against assassination, of which there had recently been many threats. They passed through the senate chamber and through the building to the large platform which had been erected at the east front. The procession was headed by the justices of the Supreme Court clothed in cap and gown.
The platform was densely packed, but in the number there were four men of especial interest. When Lincoln had first been nominated for the senate, at Springfield, June 16, 1858, he made the speech which came to be known as "the house-divided-against-itself speech." One remarkable paragraph is here quoted:
"We cannot absolutely know that all these exact adaptations are the result of preconcert. But when we see a lot of framed timbers, different portions of which we know have been gotten out at different times and places and by different workmen—Stephen, Franklin, Roger, and James, for instance—and when we see these timbers joined together, and see they exactly make the frame of a house or a mill, all the tenons and mortices exactly fitting, and all the lengths and proportions of the different pieces exactly adapted to their respective places, and not a piece too many or too few—not omitting even scaffolding—or, if a single piece be lacking, we see the place in the frame exactly fitted and prepared yet to bring the piece in—in such a case, we find it impossible not to believe that Stephen and Franklin and Roger and James all understood one another from the beginning, and all worked upon a common plan or draft drawn up before the first blow was struck."
The manifest reference here is to the co-workers for the extension of slavery: namely, Stephen A. Douglas, Franklin Pierce, Roger B. Taney, and James Buchanan. One of this number, Franklin, had fallen into welcome oblivion; James had escorted Lincoln to the platform; Stephen stood immediately behind him, alert to show him any courtesy; and Roger, as Chief Justice, was about to administer the oath of office. It was a rare case of poetic justice.
Lincoln was introduced to the vast audience by his former neighbor, E. D. Baker, at this time senator from Oregon. In one hand Lincoln had his silk hat, and as he looked about for a place to put it, his old antagonist, Douglas, took it. To a lady he whispered: "If I can't be President, I can at least hold the President's hat."
The inaugural address had been submitted confidentially to a few trusted friends for criticism. The only criticisms of importance were those of Seward. By these Lincoln was guided but not governed. A perusal of the documents will show that, while Seward's suggestions were unquestionably good, Lincoln's finished product was far better. This is specifically true of the closing paragraph, which has been widely admired for its great beauty. From the remarkable address we quote only two passages. In the first he meets the charge that he would involve the country in war. It is as follows:
"I shall take care, as the Constitution itself expressly enjoins upon me, that the laws of the Union shall be faithfully executed in all the states. Doing this, which I deem to be only a simple duty on my part, I shall perfectly perform it, so far as is practicable, unless my rightful masters, the American people, shall withhold the requisition, 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 is 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 collect the duties and imposts.But beyond what may be necessary for these objects there will be no invasion, no using of force against or among the people anywhere."
Concerning the clause above italicised there was a general questioning,—Does he mean what he says? In due time they learned that he meant what he said, and all of it.
The address concluded as follows:
"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 loath 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 cords of memory, stretching from every battle- field 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."
The address was listened to closely throughout. Immediately upon its conclusion the speaker was sworn into office by Chief Justice Taney whose name is connected with the famous Dred Scott decision. James Buchanan was now a private citizen and the pioneer rail-splitter was at the head of the United States.
In all the thousands of people there assembled, there was no one who listened more intently than Stephen A. Douglas. At the conclusion he warmly grasped the President hand's, congratulated him upon the inaugural, and pledged him that he would stand by him and support him in upholding the Constitution and enforcing the laws. The nobler part of the nature of the "little giant" came to the surface. The clearness, the gentleness, the magnanimity, the manliness expressed in this inaugural address of his old rival, won him over at last, and he pledged him here his fealty. For a few months, while the storm was brewing, Douglas was inactive, so that his influence counted on the side of the hostile party, the party to which he had always belonged. But when war actually broke out, he hastened to stand by the President, and right nobly did he redeem his promise which he had given. Had he lived, there are few men whose influence would have been more weighty in the cause of the Union. An untimely death cut him off at the beginning of this patriotic activity. His last public act was to address to the legislature of Illinois a masterly plea for the support of the war for the Union. He died in Chicago on the 3d of June, 1861.
Had the question been asked early in 1861, Who will be the real force of the republican administration? almost every unprejudiced observer would have answered promptly, Seward. He was a man of unusual intellectual powers, of the best education, and of the finest culture. In regard to the moral aspects of politics, he was on the right side. He had a career of brilliant success extending over thirty years of practical experience. He had been governor of the Empire State, and one of the leading members of the United States senate. He was the most accomplished diplomatist of the day.
In marked contrast was the President-elect. He had, in his encounters with Douglas, shown himself a master of debate. But his actual experience of administration was practicallynil. He had served a few years in a frontier legislature and one term in the lower house of congress. Only this and nothing more. His record as representative may be summarized as follows:
1 comic speech on General Cass.
1 set of humorous resolutions, known as the spot resolutions.
1 bill in reference to slavery in the District of Columbia, which bill failed to pass.
There was thus no comparison between the careers of the two men. Seward's friends, and Seward himself, assumed as a self-evident truth, that "where Seward sits is the head of the table." Lincoln did not assent to this proposition.
He considered himself President and head of the cabinet. How the matter came out will appear later in the chapter.
The selection of a cabinet was a difficult and delicate task. It must be remembered that Lincoln confronted a solid South, backed by a divided North. It has already been said that in fifteen states he received not a single electoral vote, and in ten of these not a single popular vote. That was the solid South.
The divided condition of the North may be inferred from the following letter, written by ex-President Franklin Pierce to Jefferson Davis under date of January 6, 1860:
"If, through the madness of Northern abolitionists, that dire calamity [the disruption of the Union] must come, the fighting will not be along Mason and Dixon's line merely. It will bewithin our own borders, in our own streets, between the two classes of citizens to whom I have referred. Those who defy law, and scout constitutional obligation, will, if we ever reach the arbitrament of arms, find occupation enough at home."
It is plain that unless Lincoln could, in a large measure, unite the various classes of the North, his utter failure would be a foregone conclusion. He saw this with perfect clearness. His first move was in the selection of his cabinet. These selections were taken not only from the various geographical divisions of the country, but also from the divers political divisions of the party. It was not his purpose to have the secretaries simply echoes of himself, but able and representative men of various types of political opinion. At the outset this did not meet the approval of his friends. Later, its wisdom was apparent. In the more than a hundred years of cabinets in the history of the United States there has never been an abler or a purer cabinet than this.
As guesses, more or less accurate, were made as to what the cabinet would be, many "leading citizens" felt called on to labor with the President and show him the error of his ways. As late as March 2d there was an outbreak against Chase. A self-appointed committee, large in numbers and respectable in position, called on Lincoln to protest vigorously. He heard them with undivided attention. When they were through he replied. In voice of sorrow and disappointment, he said, in substance: "I had written out my choice and selection of members for the cabinet after most careful and deliberate consideration; and now you are here to tell me I must break the slate and begin the thing all over again. I don't like your list as well as mine. I had hoped to have Mr. Seward as Secretary of State and Mr. Chase as Secretary of the Treasury. But of course I can't expect to have things just as I want them…. This being the case, gentlemen, how would it do for us to agree to a change like this? To appoint Mr. Chase Secretary of the Treasury, and offer the State department to Mr. Dayton of New Jersey?
"Mr. Dayton is an old whig, like Mr. Seward and myself. Besides, he is from New Jersey, which is next door to New York. Then Mr. Seward can go to England, where his genius will find wonderful scope in keeping Europe straight about our troubles."
The "committee" were astounded. They saw their mistake in meddling in matters they did not understand. They were glad enough to back out of the awkward situation. Mr. Lincoln "tookthattrick."
The names sent on March 5th were: for Secretary of State, William H.Seward, of New York; for Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon P. Chase, ofOhio; for Secretary of War, Simon Cameron, of Pennsylvania; forSecretary of the Navy, Gideon Welles, of Connecticut; for Secretary ofthe Interior, Caleb B. Smith of Indiana; for Attorney-General, EdwardBates, of Missouri; for Postmaster-General, Montgomery Blair, ofMaryland.
All these names were confirmed by the senate the next day, March 6th. Of the variety of the selection he said, "I need them all. They enjoy the confidence of their several states and sections, and they will strengthen the administration. The times are too grave and perilous for ambitious schemes and rivalries." To all who were associated with him in the government, he said, "Let us forget ourselves and join hands, like brothers, to save the republic. If we succeed, there will be glory enough for all." He playfully spoke of this cabinet as his happy family.
The only one who withdrew early from this number, was Cameron. He was accused of various forms of corruption, especially of giving fat government contracts to his friends. Whether these charges were true or not, we cannot say. But in the following January he resigned and was succeeded by Edwin M. Stanton, a lifelong democrat, one who had accepted office under Buchanan. Probably no person was more amazed at this choice than Stanton himself. But he patriotically accepted the call of duty. With unspeakable loyalty and devotion he served his chief and his country to the end.
As has already been indicated, Seward cheerfully assumed that he was the government, while Lincoln's duties were to consist largely in signing such papers as he instructed him to sign. As difficulties grew fast and thick, he wrote home, "These cares fall chiefly on me." Mr. Welles wrote that confidence and mutual frankness existed among all the members of the cabinet, "with the exception of Mr. Seward, who had, or affected, a mysterious knowledge which he was not prepared to impart." He went so far as to meddle with the affairs of his associates. He did not entirely approve of the cabinet meetings and served notice that he would attend only upon special summons of the President.
This condition reached its climax on the first day of April, an appropriate date. Seward addressed on that day a document entitled, "Some Thoughts for the President's Consideration, April 1, 1861."
Henry Watterson said that Seward could not have spoken more explicitly and hardly more offensively if he had simply said: "Mr. Lincoln, you are a failure as President, but turn over the direction of affairs exclusively to me, and all shall be well and all be forgiven." This statement gives a fair and truthful idea of Seward's letter. It is not likely that its amazing assurance has ever been equaled in any nation by "thoughts" addressed by an inferior officer to his chief. The paper itself is here omitted from lack of space, but its tenor can be guessed from the character of the reply, which is given in full:
EXECUTIVE MANSION, April 1, 1881.
"MY DEAR SIR: Since parting with you I have been considering your paper dated this day, and entitled 'Some Thoughts for the President's Consideration.' The first proposition in it is, 'First, We are at the end of a month's administration, and yet without a policy either domestic or foreign.'"
"At the beginning of that month, in the inaugural, I said, '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.' This had your distinct approval at the time; and, taken in connection with the order I immediately gave General Scott, directing him to employ every means in his power to strengthen and hold the forts, comprises the exact domestic policy you now urge, with the single exception that it does not propose to abandon Fort Sumter."
"Again, I do not perceive how the reinforcement of Fort Sumter would be done on a slavery or party issue, while that of Fort Pickens would be on a more national and patriotic one."
"The news received yesterday in regard to St. Domingo certainly brings a new item within the range of our foreign policy; but up to that time we have been preparing circulars and instructions to ministers and the like, all in perfect harmony, without even a suggestion that we had no foreign policy."
"Upon your closing propositions that 'whatever policy we adopt, there must be an energetic prosecution of it,"
"'For this purpose it must be somebody's business to pursue and direct it incessantly,"
"'Either the President must do it himself, and be all the while active in it, or"
"'Devolve it on some member of his cabinet. Once adopted, debates on it must end, and all agree and abide.'"
"I remark that if this must be done, I must do it. When a general line of policy is adopted, I apprehend there is no danger of its being changed without good reason or continuing to be a subject of unnecessary debate; still, upon points arising in its progress I wish, and suppose, I am entitled to have the advice of all the cabinet."
"Your ob't serv't,A. LINCOLN."
The courtesy, the convincing logic, the spirit of forbearance shown in this letter, were characteristic of the man at the helm. It need hardly be said that Seward never again tried the experiment of patronizing his chief. He saw a great light. He suddenly realized that these cares did not fall chiefly on him.
So far as is known, neither gentleman ever made any reference to this correspondence. The result was worth while. It bound Seward to his President with hoops of steel. For four long, weary, trying years he served his chief with a loyal devotion which did credit to both men. Thus the hallucination that he was premier was forever dispelled. The "Public Man" wrote: "There can be no doubt of it any longer. This man from Illinois is not in the hands of Mr. Seward."
There was surely no doubt of it. Lincoln was President. In the councils, the place where Lincoln sat was the head of the table. Seward was his secretary. And a good secretary he was, as well as a true man.
The events connected with the fall of Fort Sumter were so dramatic that that name is in memory linked with, and stands for, the opening of the war. The fort was not a large military structure. The number of men defending it was not great. But the events connected with it were great. It stood as the representative of great principles and facts. The firing on it marked an epoch in the same sense as Caesar's crossing the Rubicon. It is vitally connected with events that precede and follow.
Wendell Phillips says that when Charles Sumner entered the senate, free speech could hardly be said to exist there. To him, as much as to any man, was due the breaking of the chain that fettered free speech. On all important subjects he spoke his mind eloquently and in words that were not ambiguous. In August, 1852, he made a speech—the more accurate phrase would be, he delivered an oration—under the title, "Freedom National, Slavery Sectional." It may easily be guessed that this highly incensed the slave power and the fire-eaters never outgrew their hatred of the Massachusetts senator.
In May, 1856, he delivered an excoriating address upon "the Crime against Kansas." This greatly angered the southern congressmen. After the senate had adjourned, Sumner was seated at his desk writing. Preston S. Brooks, of South Carolina, approached from the rear and with a heavy cane began to beat Sumner on the head. He was not only defenseless, but, though a powerful man in body, was to a certain extent held down by his desk, and it was only as he wrenched the desk from the floor that he was able to rise. The beating had been terrible and Sumner suffered from it, often with the most excruciating pains, until the day of his death. This ruffian attack was by a large portion of the North looked on as an exhibition of southern chivalry, so called, and not entirely without reason as the sequel showed. Congress censured Brooksby a divided vote. He resigned but was reelected by his constituents with great enthusiasm. Thus his act was by them adopted as representative of their spirit and temper. This was his "vindication."
South Carolina was the first state to secede, and since Fort Sumter commanded Charleston Harbor, it instantly became the focus of national interest. The Secretary of War, Floyd, had so dispersed the little army of the United States that it was impossible to command the few hundred men necessary adequately to garrison the United States forts. As matters in and about Charleston grew threatening, Major Anderson, who was in command of the twin forts, Moultrie and Sumter, decided to abandon the former and do his utmost to defend the latter. The removal was successfully accomplished in the night, and when the fact was discovered it was greeted by the South Carolinians with a howl of baffled wrath. Buchanan had endeavored to send provisions. The steamer,Star of the West, had gone there for that purpose, but had been fired on by the South Carolinians and forced to abandon the attempt.
When Lincoln took the government at Washington, it may well be believed that he found matters in a condition decidedly chaotic. His task was many sided, a greater task than that of Washington as he had justly said. First, of the fifteen slave states seven had seceded. It was his purpose to hold the remaining eight, or as many of them as possible. Of this number, Delaware and Maryland could have been held by force. Kentucky and Missouri, though slave states, remained in the Union. The Union party in Tennessee, under the lead of Andrew Johnson, made a strong fight against secession, but failed to prevent the ordinance.
The next task of Lincoln was to unite the North as far as possible. The difficulty of doing this has already been set forth. On the other hand there was in the North a sentiment that had been overlooked. It was devotion to the flag. Benjamin F. Butler, though an ardent democrat, had cautioned his southern brethren that while they might count on a large pro-slavery vote in the North, war was a different matter. The moment you fire on the flag, he said, you unite the North; and if war comes, slavery goes.
Not the least task of the President was in dealing with foreign nations. The sympathies of these, especially England and France, were ardently with the South. They would eagerly grasp at the slightest excuse for acknowledging the Southern Confederacy as an independent nation. It was a delicate and difficult matter so to guide affairs that the desired excuse for this could not be found.
The tactics of the southerners were exceedingly exasperating. They kept "envoys" in Washington to treat with the government. Of course these were not officially received. Lincoln sent them a copy of his inaugural address as containing a sufficient answer to their questions. But they stayed on, trying to spy out the secrets of the government, trying to get some sort of a pledge of conciliation from the administration, or, what would equally serve the purpose, to exasperate the administration into some unguarded word or act. Their attempts were a flat failure.
Lincoln held steadily to the two promises of his inaugural. First, that he would hold the United States forts, and second, that he would not be the aggressor. "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 have the most solemn one to 'preserve, protect, and defend' it."
To this plan he adhered. It there was to be war it must be begun by the enemies of the country, and the government would patiently bear outrages rather than do a thing which could be tortured into an appearance of 'invading the South' or being an aggressor of any sort.
Meanwhile, Major Anderson was beleaguered in Fort Sumter. He had a handful of men, 76 combatants and 128 all told. He had insufficient ammunition and was nearly out of provisions. Lincoln at last concluded to "send bread to Sumter,"—surely not a hostile act. Owing to complications which he inherited from Buchanan's administration he had given to Governor Pickens, of South Carolina, a promise that he would not attempt to relieve Sumter without first giving him notice. He now sent him notice that there would be an attempt to provision Sumter peaceably if possible, or otherwise by force.
All this while the southerners were busy perfecting their fortifications, which were now overwhelmingly better, both in number and in completeness of appointment, than the one fort held by the United States that rightfully controlled the entire harbor. General Beauregard was in command of the military forces. He sent to Major Anderson a summons to surrender. The latter replied that if he received from Washington no further direction, and if he was not succored by the 15th of the month, April, he would surrender on honorable terms. It is characteristic of the southern general that he intercepted Major Anderson's mail before notifying him of hostilities. It is characteristic of Lincoln that he sent notice to Governor Pickens of the intended provision of the fort.
On Friday, April 12th, 1861, at 3:30 P. M., General Beauregard gave notice to Major Anderson that he would open fire on Fort Sumter in one hour. Promptly at the minute the first gun was fired and the war had begun. Batteries from various points poured shot and shell into Sumter until nightfall caused a respite.
The little garrison sat up half the night after the attack, as they had done the preceding night, and with their six needles, all they had, made cartridges out of old blankets, old clothing, and whatever else they could lay hands on. These one hundred and twenty-eight men made all the defense that could be made under the circumstances.
The next day the officer's quarters were set on fire either by an exploding shell or by hot shot. The men fought the flames gallantly, but the wind was unfavorable. Then the water tanks were destroyed. As the flames approached the magazine, the powder had to be removed. As the flames approached the places where the powder was newly stored, it had to be thrown into the sea to prevent explosion. In the mean time the stars and stripes were floating gloriously. The flag pole had been struck seven times on Friday. It was struck three times the next day. The tenth shot did the work, the pole broke and the flag fell to the ground at one o'clock Saturday afternoon. An officer and some men seized the flag, rigged up a jury-mast on the parapet, and soon it was flying again.
But ammunition was gone, the fire was not extinguished, and there was no hope of relief. Negotiations were opened and terms of surrender were arranged by eight o'clock that evening. The next day, Sunday, April 14th, the garrison saluted the flag as it was lowered, and then marched out, prisoners of war. Sumter had fallen.
Beauregard was a military man, Lincoln was a statesman. The general got the fort, the President got nearly everything else. The war was on and it had been begun by the South. The administration had not invaded or threatened invasion, but the South had fired on the flag. Dearly they paid for this crime.
The effect of the fall of Sumter was amazing. In the South it was hailed with ecstatic delight, especially in Charleston. There was a popular demonstration at Montgomery, Ala., the provisional seat of the Confederate government. L. P. Walker, Confederate Secretary of War, made a speech and, among other things, said that "while no man could tell where the war would end, he would prophesy that the flag which now flaunts the breeze here, would float over the dome of the old Capitol at Washington before the end of May," and that "it might eventually float over Fanueil Hall itself." The Confederate government raised a loan of eight millions of dollars and Jefferson Davis issued letters of marque to all persons who might desire to aid the South and at the same time enrich themselves by depredations upon the commerce of the United States.
The effect upon the North was different. There was a perfect storm of indignation against the people who had presumed to fire on the flag. Butler's prediction proved to be nearly correct. This did unite the North in defense of the flag. Butler was a conspicuous example of this effect. Though a Breckinridge democrat, he promptly offered his services for the defense of the country, and throughout the war he had the distinction of being hated by the South with a more cordial hatred than any other Union general.
It was recollected throughout the North that Lincoln had been conciliatory to a fault towards the South. Conciliation had failed because that was not what the South wanted. They wanted war and by them was war made. This put an end forever to all talk of concession and compromise. Douglas was one of the many whose voice called in trumpet tones to the defense of the flag.
At the date of the fall of Sumter, Lincoln had been in office less than six weeks. In addition to routine work, to attending to extraordinary calls in great numbers, he had accomplished certain very important things: He had the loyal devotion of a cabinet noted for its ability and diversity. He had the enthusiastic confidence of the doubtful minds of the North. He had made it impossible for the European monarchies to recognize the South as a nation. So far as our country was concerned, he might ask for anything, and he would get what he asked. These were no mean achievements. The far-seeing statesman had played for this and had won.
Beauregard got the fort, but Lincoln got the game. In his own words, "he tookthattrick."