Lincoln's Mentors

by Michael J. Gerhardt

  It is hard to imagine that Lincoln would have had any such thoughts, especially given the fact that the House was on the verge of approving the Thirteenth Amendment. Yet according to Hunter as well as Stephens, Lincoln said during the meeting “that he would be willing to be taxed to remunerate the Southern people for their slaves.”93 As Stephens and Hunter recalled further, Seward interrupted Lincoln and said that “in his opinion the United States had done enough in expending so much money on the war for the abolition of slavery.”94 Lincoln, they claimed, believed that both sides were responsible for perpetuating slavery but that he “could give no assurance; enter into no stipulation” on paying slaveholders to release their slaves and then added that there were people “whose names would astonish you, who are willing to do this, if the war shall now cease without further expense, and with the abolition of slavery as stated.”95

  To remove any doubt that Lincoln was considering compensation (something in fact he had been pondering for years as a devotee of Clay), he drew up a proposal upon returning to Washington that asked for Congress to appropriate $400 million to be distributed to the Southern states in proportion to their slave population. If resistance to the Union ceased, half would be paid by April 1, and the remaining half by July 1, if the states ratified the Thirteenth Amendment.

  Lincoln presented his proposal to his Cabinet on February 5. Everyone objected. Welles rejected it because he distrusted Southern leaders and because he thought the plan sent the wrong signal that the North was weak and desperate to end the war. Fessenden, as Treasury secretary, called the plan “unadvisable” because there would be no way to get the plan approved before Congress adjourned. Others felt only the use of force, not negotiation, could end the conflict. Whether it was the old Clay Whig in him or the absence of any support from within his administration for the idea, or both, Lincoln never made the proposal again.

  VI

  * * *

  Almost everything about Lincoln’s second inaugural differed from his first. When the inaugural parade began on the morning of March 4, 1865, he was not the outsider he’d been four years earlier. He was now the consummate insider and could be found early that day in the Capitol signing bills. As the time came for the ceremony to begin, it was raining, prompting the Committee on Arrangements to make the hasty decision to move the ceremonies inside the Senate chamber. At ten o’clock, the galleries were opened to the public, and at eleven forty-five the official procession began to file into the chamber. Lincoln was still signing bills.

  At his first inaugural, Lincoln had had Hannibal Hamlin, a former Democrat from Maine, nearby as his vice president. This time, Hamlin was a lame duck. The convention had bypassed him and chose instead the pugnacious Andrew Johnson of Tennessee, the only Democrat to serve in the Senate while Lincoln was president.

  At noon, Hamlin began his farewell speech. Dignitaries continued to file in as he spoke. After Hamlin finished, Johnson rose to deliver his speech. Lincoln arrived not long after Johnson had begun. He saw and heard more than enough of the rambling remarks, coupled with Johnson’s sweating and rocking back and forth, to know his new vice president was drunk. Lincoln directed Senator John Henderson of Missouri, seated nearby, “Do not let Johnson speak outside.”96

  By the time Johnson finished, the rain had stopped, and the procession happily moved back outside. When Lincoln finally rose and moved out from under the Capitol building into a narrow, open spot to deliver his address, the crowd erupted in applause. It was an immense gathering that watched the speech from every conceivable vantage point. Many people crowded directly in front of Lincoln and many others crammed close together watching from the portico over his left shoulder. Lincoln said the speech would be short, and it was—merely 701 words, the shortest Inaugural Address in American history. Speaking slowly, he was done in less than ten minutes.

  Compared with Lincoln’s other speeches, the Second Inaugural Address most closely resembles the Gettysburg Address. The two had in common his objective not to present any extended argument or complex plan for the future, but rather to set a mood. For the inaugural, as with the Gettysburg Address, Lincoln felt few would remember a longer oration—indeed, many would likely not listen to it at all. In Gettysburg, he hoped to cast a resolve to finish what the Southern states had started. Here he hoped to establish an atmosphere of reconciliation.

  The day before his second inauguration, Lincoln signed the first in a series of laws that comprised the Reconstruction policies of the federal government. This first bill created the Freedmen’s Bureau, designed to give help to millions of former slaves and poor whites in the South; it promised assistance in education, food, housing, and legal and medical services. It was an extension of Clay’s conception of internal improvements.

  A question that bothered some members of Congress throughout their deliberations on the Freedmen’s Bureau was what constitutional basis Congress had to create it and to enact a civil rights act guaranteeing to the newly freed African Americans certain basic rights, such as to marry, to own property, and to negotiate contracts. Other amendments might be needed. One, urged by many Republicans, guaranteed freed slaves the right to vote. The new amendments under consideration were designed to guarantee newly freed slaves and their descendants the same rights as every other citizen and to empower Congress to enact legislation ensuring enforcement of those rights.

  Lincoln mentioned none of that on March 4, 1865. He also left out many of the hallmarks of prior presidential inaugural addresses, the self-congratulation, the detailed plans for the future. He never mentioned himself. The term war appeared ten times and was referred to in nearly every line when not mentioned explicitly. The word peace appeared only once, in the last sentence. There were the contrasting images, alliteration, repetition of words, long sentences, and inversions of subject and verb that had become common to Lincoln, particularly in the Gettysburg Address. The Bible occupied a more prominent role in this speech than in any other that Lincoln gave. Here Lincoln declared slavery a sin, mentioned God fourteen times, quoted scripture four times, and invoked prayer four times.

  Whereas at Gettysburg Lincoln had focused on the war’s purpose, here he was focusing on its aftermath. Before any plan could be discussed, the country had to ready itself for reconciliation, but to do that the intensity of the conflict had to be replaced with a more collegial, more contemplative attitude, a solemn and reverential mood—indeed, the very one that had allowed the framers to put aside their differences to draft the Constitution that still governed the nation. Here, he hoped to recapture that mood when he pleaded with the American people, “Fondly do we hope—fervently do we pray—that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it will continue, until all the wealth piled up by the bond-man’s two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash, shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so it still must be said ‘the judgments of the Lord, are true and righteous altogether.’”97 He encapsulated the atmosphere he hoped would prevail throughout the country in the very next sentence, the final unforgettable, lyrical lines: “With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to take care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and for his orphan—to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.”98

  While Lincoln did not show anyone the address beforehand, he was eager for feedback afterward. He read reviews of his speeches and solicited reactions from people whose opinion he respected. A descendent of John Adams, Charles Francis Adams Jr., wrote his father, “That rail-splitter lawyer is one of the wonders of the day. Once at Gettysburg and now again on a great occasion he has shown a capacity for rising to the demands of the hour. [The] inaugural strikes me in its grand simplicity and directn
ess as being for all times the historical keynote of this war.”99 In contrast, the strident abolitionist Charles Sumner dismissed the address as “an augur [of] confusion & uncertainty in the future.”100

  Later in the day of his second inauguration, Lincoln spotted Frederick Douglass as he entered the reception in the East Room of the White House. “Here comes my friend Douglass,” Lincoln called out loudly enough for all to hear.101 Taking Douglass by the hand to the center of the room, Lincoln said, “I am glad to see you. I saw you in the crowd today, listening to my inaugural address; how did you like it?”102 Lincoln knew Douglass had regarded his First Inaugural Address as weak and uninspiring. Douglass answered, “Mr. Lincoln, I must not detain you with my poor opinion, when there are thousands waiting to shake hands with you.”103

  “No, no,” Lincoln responded, “you must stop a little, Douglass; there is no man in the country whose opinion I value more than yours. I want to know what did you think of it?”104

  “Mr. Lincoln, that was a sacred effort,” Douglass said.105

  Lincoln’s interest in hearing Douglass’s opinion was likely not merely his need for affirmation. After securing his freedom from bondage, Douglass had become one of the nation’s most revered and impassioned orators and most uncompromising advocates for complete abolition. He had long been one of Lincoln’s most vocal critics. It was not unlike Lincoln to create a different picture for the attendees and newspapers, one showing he had Douglass in his corner.

  Lincoln sought other opinions but did not hesitate to share his own. To Thurlow Weed, an ally who rarely hesitated to say what he thought, Lincoln said he expected his address “to wear as well as—perhaps better than—anything I have produced.”106 After a moment’s pause, Lincoln added, “Lots of wisdom in that document, I suspect.”107

  Yet, absent in the speech was any sense of joy or gratification. Lincoln was not above gloating in private, but in public he hid that side of himself. He had spent a lifetime training himself not to take any public pleasure in anyone else’s suffering or defeat. Of all the speeches that Lincoln admired from Clay and Webster, few evinced any joy. There could be satisfaction in saving the Union and in bringing the war to an end, but there was no pleasure in it. The hard work of reconciliation and reconstruction loomed ahead. But first, the war had to end, and for that to happen there had to be unconditional surrender.

  VII

  * * *

  Three weeks after his second inauguration, Lincoln accepted an invitation from Grant to visit his headquarters in City Point, Virginia, eight miles from where Union lines had focused their attacks during the siege of Petersburg. Lincoln stayed for two weeks, from March 23 to April 8.

  Ostensibly, Lincoln came for a long-needed break. More important, 1864 had ended with several significant Union victories. Grant’s Army of the Potomac had the enemy on the run, and so did Sherman’s, which had burned Atlanta and was marching to Savannah. The war appeared to be moving into its final stages. Lincoln wanted to be there when that happened. It was important to him personally, since his presidency had known nothing but war from the beginning and he was as eager as anyone for it to end. It was also important symbolically. No other office embodied American values more than the presidency. Washington was the “father of his country” based on his military and political leadership in helping to found the United States. He symbolized, too, the importance of courage and honesty in American life. Jackson symbolized the rise of the common man as the ultimate sovereign in America. He symbolized, too, directness, fearlessness, and determination in protecting American values and the sanctity of the Union. Building a presidency partly on Clay’s achievements and vision, Lincoln symbolized the common decency and humility of the American people, the American way of life for which the Union stood, firmness in defending that unity, and the principle of grounding the Constitution in the values set forth in the Declaration of Independence. While Lincoln lacked the military leadership and experience of Washington, Jackson, and Taylor, he never failed to show solidarity with his men. (No president had devoted more time in office to visiting battlefields than he did.) They appreciated it, as reflected in their overwhelming votes in his favor in the recent presidential election. Every day at City Point, the president visited troops in camp and in the hospital, and the men cheered one day when he once grabbed an ax to help them cut timber.

  There were other reasons for Lincoln’s visit. Mary Todd agreed he needed to take a break from his routine, and the trip would allow him to see their son Robert, whom Grant had appointed to his staff. Lincoln came also to ensure that Grant, Sherman, and others in command kept pressing the Confederate troops wherever they went—and to ensure that he was a part of any peace negotiations. Shortly before the inauguration, Lee had written to Grant to propose a meeting to reach some accord to end the war, but Stanton, at Lincoln’s urging, immediately telegraphed Grant, “You are not to decide, discuss, or confer upon any political question. Such questions the President holds in his own hands; and will submit them to no military conferences or conventions.”108 Whether in the field or the White House, Lincoln meant to enforce compliance within the chain of command throughout his presidency. Civilian control of the military meant the president, not the generals, made any policy decisions on war. Lincoln was determined to ensure that if the war ended, it did so in compliance with how he had defined the war’s objective, including emancipation.

  On March 28, Lincoln met with Grant, Sherman, and Admiral David Porter to discuss possible terms to end the war. He hoped, he told them, to be generous to the defeated rebels. “Let them once surrender and reach their homes,” he said, and “they won’t take up arms again. Let them all go, officers and all, I want submission, and no more bloodshed. [I] want no one punished, treat them liberally all around. We want those people to return to their allegiance to the Union and submit to the laws.”109 Lincoln still expected those laws to include the new Thirteenth Amendment.

  Lincoln was with Grant when the Union Army scored a series of victories at the end of March and early April, hastening the war’s end. Lincoln had arrived on his visit near the end of the last, futile efforts of Lee’s men to break the Union’s siege of Petersburg. He was there when Grant’s counterattack in the Third Battle of Petersburg forced Lee’s troops to retreat. He was there when Lee evacuated Petersburg and Richmond, and Lincoln again ordered Grant to pursue Lee’s troops wherever they went.

  At dusk on April 2, Jefferson Davis fled Richmond, defiantly vowing that the Confederacy would still prevail. With the Confederate capital abandoned, the flagship USS Malvern carried Lincoln and his son Tad to Richmond. En route, Lincoln told Admiral Porter, “Thank God I have lived to see this! It seems to me that I have been dreaming a horrid dream for four years, and now the nightmare is gone. I want to see Richmond.”110

  Into Richmond he went, against all advice that it was too dangerous. From an early age, Lincoln had read that physical courage was an integral attribute of presidential leadership—one of the many lessons of the biographies of Washington he had read as a child and of the many stories of Jackson and Taylor he knew. Unafraid to walk where the rebels once congregated and plotted the destruction of the Union (some of whom, Grant insisted, might still be lurking around), Lincoln was determined to set the right model of courage and leadership for his men, the nation, and his successors.

  Richmond was still smoldering when Lincoln and Tad disembarked, within forty hours of Davis’s departure. Almost immediately, Lincoln found himself surrounded by former slaves walking throughout the abandoned city. Admiral Porter said,

  No electric wire could have carried the news of the President’s arrival sooner than it was circulated in Richmond. As far as the eye could see the streets were alive with negroes and poor whites rushing in our direction, and the crowds increased so fast that I had to surround the President with sailors with fixed bayonets to keep them off. [They] all wanted to shake hands with Mr. Lincoln or his coat tail or even kneel down to kiss his boots!111


  They hailed “Father Abraham.” When one former slave knelt down before Lincoln, he quickly asked him to rise: “Don’t kneel before me. That is not right. You must kneel to God only and thank him for the liberty you will hereafter enjoy.”112 Lincoln came to see the Confederate White House, where Jefferson Davis had resided as recently as two days before. Tad watched as Lincoln sat in Davis’s chair and asked for a drink of water.

  Lincoln did not come to Richmond to talk about reconstruction, but he did. When he visited Davis’s abandoned home, he met with a group of Union soldiers, too, one of whom asked what he thought should be done with the Confederates now that the war was ending. Rather than issue specific orders, Lincoln said, “If I were in your place, I’d let them up easy.” Though he made a similar remark more than once in Washington circles, it lent little insight into what Lincoln planned for reconstruction. He might have been disposed to defer to Congress. He might not have thought of anything yet. He might have preferred to wait to allow developments to unfold before he made a commitment on anything specific.