Into the Long Dark Night

by Michael Phillips

  His hesitation gave Lee the time he needed: time to defeat McClellan and prolong the war for several more years. President Lincoln had put up with his failure to lead a decisive way long enough. Finally, in October of 1862, in frustration and anger, he relieved McClellan of his command for good.

  The general was embittered, always felt he had been judged harshly and unjustly, and never forgave his Commander in Chief. When 1864 arrived, he ran for president, won the Democratic nomination, and thus was pitted head to head against his old rival, whom he still hated—Republican President Abraham Lincoln.

  It was an ugly, bitter campaign throughout the late summer and fall months. Republicans accused the Democrats of treason because many of them were calling for peace even above the preservation of the Union. Even McClellan did not go quite that far, although he did agree with the stinging democratic editorialists who charged that the true objective of the “Negro-loving, Negro-hugging worshipers of old Abe” was miscegenation, a new word coined for the mixing and blending of white and black. Whatever the North as a whole may have thought about slavery itself, and however willing its people were to fight the South to outlaw slavery, it was clear that prejudice against the Negro race was as deeply ingrained in the cities of the Union as in those of the Confederacy. The election of 1864 proved it.

  The South was elated at McClellan’s nomination. Confederate Vice-President Alexander Stephens called it “the first real ray of light since the war began.” If McClellan could defeat Lincoln, they were confident, the war could be brought to a swift end, and terms of peace could be arrived at which would insure the continuation of the Confederacy as a separate nation. The people of the North were ready for the war to end. Only Abraham Lincoln stubbornly insisted on prolonging it, the southerners thought. If Lincoln could be defeated, slavery and the Confederacy could both be preserved.

  Such was Robert E. Lee’s hope. Such was the hope of all loyal southerners, every one of whom hated Abraham Lincoln passionately. Every white man and woman, that is. To the slaves, he was the liberator.

  At its core, the election was a struggle not between ideologies but between two men—one a President, the other a scorned general, still resentful over his dismissal from command. McClellan publicly called Lincoln “the original gorilla.”

  It did not look good for Mr. Lincoln. There had never before been an election for a nation in the midst of a civil war. No President since Andrew Jackson had served a second term, and the public mood in the North did not bode well for reversing the trend.

  In August, President Lincoln said, “I am going to be beaten.” Then he added, “And unless some great change takes place, badly beaten.”

  His only hopes seemed to lie with his two generals, Grant and Sherman, now engaged in the final fight to bring the Confederacy to its knees, hopefully before November.

  Chapter 43

  Another Letter

  While Lee and Grant slugged it out in Virginia, without noticeable success for either side, General Sherman was making more progress in the South. He and his 100,000 men made it to the vicinity of Atlanta in early August.

  The siege lasted a month. But finally he hurled everything he had at the starving, beleaguered city, forcing the Confederate army out once and for all.

  Sherman moved in to occupy it for the Union, then sent telegrams north to both his President and his friend and commander, Ulysses Grant: Atlanta is ours and fairly won.

  But Atlanta was only half of Grant’s final objective. The fall of the great “Gate City of the South” and second most important manufacturing center of the Confederacy could not alone seal the victory for the Union. There was still Richmond to be won. Sherman’s victory, however, did boost morale in the northern states, so that President Lincoln’s election prospects began to brighten.

  And Lincoln, Grant, and Sherman had all learned the lesson of Gettysburg—that the enemy army must be destroyed so that it could not rise to fight again. Mead and McClellan were not commanding this time, but rather two determined fighters—Grant and Sherman. And they would insure that the victory at Atlanta completely destroyed the Confederacy’s will to continue the struggle. Once Atlanta was secure, Sherman proposed to march his troops to the sea to take Savannah, then to drive northward, vanquishing the South entirely, until he met up with Grant in Virginia. It was a bold plan that would surely bring an end to the war. The South refused to lay down its arms, so it would have to be forced to do so.

  It the meantime, a break came from the field hospital where I had been working, and I suddenly found myself traveling back to the Capital.

  The message that had come to me was as unexpected as was the stir it caused in our camp. Only moments after the courier had arrived with newspapers and letters and a few supplies, Mother Bickerdyke came hurrying toward me.

  “Corrie . . . Corrie,” she said, “here’s something for you—it looks important!”

  As I took the small envelope from her hand, I couldn’t imagine who could be writing to me here—or what could be so important. I was hardly aware of the other nurses and assistants following right behind her with looks of wonder and anticipation on their faces. It didn’t dawn on me that they were all following her on account of me, and to see what the letter could possibly contain.

  “The courier said there were two important messages from the President,” Mrs. Bickerdyke went on as I took the envelope from her. “‘One of ’em’s in here,’ he said as he threw down the hospital pouch onto the ground. ‘The other’s marked Urgent, and it’s for General Grant!’ Then he galloped off on his horse toward the front lines.”

  “Hurry, Corrie,” said one of the nurses. “Open it. We’re dying to see!”

  I fumbled with the edges of it and finally succeeded in pulling out the paper inside. I couldn’t help glancing immediately to the familiar signature at the bottom, and it took me two or three readings to absorb the words that preceded it.

  MISS HOLLISTER,

  The reports reaching us here tell me you and Mrs. Bickerdyke and Miss Barton and all the other faithful servants of the Union are doing a brave and courageous job of healing in the midst of terrible suffering and anguish. I commend you, and all your colleagues of the Sanitary Commission and other agencies involved in the relief and medical efforts, and would ask you to personally convey my appreciation to all those with you there on the battlefields of Virginia. I only hope the brave soldiers under General Grant can sustain their valor under the terrible conditions of this mighty battle for freedom.

  As I read the words aloud, I paused and glanced around. A few shouts and cheers and whoops and clapping broke out at the President’s words, which they all knew had been addressed to them as well as me. How could we not be encouraged and uplifted to know that Mr. Lincoln had heard of and appreciated our efforts!

  Sadly, I too am facing a mighty battle—this one political in nature. It appears more than likely that I will be defeated for reelection in November, and I fear such a result bodes extremely ill for the future of the nation, and could mean defeat for everything we have been fighting for.

  Loathe as I am to remove you from such important work as you are doing, there are many capable hands who can carry it on. There is, however, only yourself who has the experience, both in politics and in reporting, to assist my campaign in the unique manner of which you are capable. You have campaigned on my behalf before, with good result, and I would like to call upon your assistance once again. Your experience on the battlefield will only add to the estimation in which you are already held by the growing readership in this nation, which recognizes your name as one they can trust.

  I look forward to a speedy reply from you, and trust it will be an affirmative one. Please make an appointment to see me immediately upon your return to the Capital, and we will discuss our mutual ideas to insure a victory in November.

  As always, I am indebted to you for your help, Miss Hollister.

  I remain,

  Sincerely yours,

  A.
LINCOLN

  All the friends who were gathered around listening as I read began talking and congratulating me the moment I was through. So many things were flitting through my mind. Then I heard Clara’s voice beside me.

  “It would seem your writing is what you are to be doing,” she said, “just as you told me. President Lincoln seems to think it is even more important for you to do than helping here with the wounded. It looks as if you’re going to have the chance again to do what you like to do as well as helping the country.”

  “Just like you,” I said, looking at her with a smile.

  “I’ll help with bandages, you with words from your pen.”

  Chapter 44

  Back in Washington

  I left the rear line of the camp the next day for Washington. General Grant’s army had been stuck for more than two months outside Petersburg, south of Richmond, and it did not appear likely the Confederate capital was about to fall anytime soon. I went north, but the siege for the two vital cities went on.

  After the front lines of fighting and the terrible condition of our camp hospitals, even the drab room at Marge Surratt’s place would have seemed spacious and clean. But when I walked into my former room at Mrs. Richards’ and set down my bag and looked around, I truly thought myself in a palace! Everything looked the same, and yet it seemed almost tinged with a heavenly cleanliness and purity.

  Clean sheets! I can hardly describe what it felt like that first night to slide down between them and pull the quilt up and snuggle it in between my shoulders and neck, stretching my legs back and forth and knowing everything was clean!

  And the quiet during the night! No moaning, no distant cannon fire, no sudden screams from a waking amputee who was feeling about for his hand or foot or leg in the night and suddenly realizing it wasn’t there. No foul smells of smoke or gunpowder or wet hay, no smell of men coming in after months without a bath. No mud . . . no rain . . . no dirt and blood . . . no death.

  Even with the quietness, I slept fitfully my first few nights back in the city. I could not rest comfortably and peacefully. Part of me somehow felt that I still ought to be back there in the hospital tents with the others whom I now considered my friends, helping with the work that was always more than we could possibly do. And in truth, part of me still was there with them, even if only in my heart and my prayers. I would never forget . . . could never forget the experience. I felt that I would never be completely whole, completely at rest or at peace again after the things I had seen and heard and been part of.

  But there was work for me to do here too—important work, after talking with the President.

  His campaign was in trouble, he said. Sherman’s victory in Atlanta had helped, but McClellan was still traveling about the North claiming to be the only man who could succeed in putting the war-ravaged country back together. He wanted me to write—to write as fast as I could and as much as I could—to tell where I’d been and what I’d seen, and to write as openly as I cared to, expressing my support for the President and my conviction that his reelection was vital to the country.

  “You mustn’t underestimate the mighty power of your pen, Corrie,” he said. “Women can’t vote for me, but they are the morale booster throughout the whole country. Without their hands we would have no stockings, no shirts, no trousers, no uniforms for our soldiers. You know as well as I do that without the women of the Union, there would be no Sanitary Commission, fewer nurses, fewer hospitals, fewer lives saved. Your words have a wide audience among women and men, and I’m counting on you to speak—with your pen and your mouth—to help those others who are engaged in like effort to rally the spirits of our people to persevere in this fight to the end, which is nearly at hand. McClellan must not be elected. It would mean doom to the Union, and, I fear, permanency to the Confederacy.”

  “Will the papers publish my articles if they’re obviously and blatantly political?” I asked.

  “We’ll make sure they do!” interjected Mr. Hay.

  “We have a very shrewd man on our staff who manages affairs with the press,” added Mr. Lincoln. “You write what you can, Corrie. The Democratic papers, of course, won’t touch it. But there are enough who are on our side that your words will be read in all the major cities.”

  “And California?” I asked.

  “Yes, there too, and Oregon as well. Your own paper—what’s your editor’s name?”

  “Mr. Kemble,” I said.

  “Yes, Kemble—well they’ll print your articles, surely, and I’ll make a note to him personally, asking him to circulate them around the state.”

  “To the competition?” I asked.

  “I’ll make a personal request. And . . . well, if he’s not in agreement, you can tell him we’ll file your articles with another of the major California papers.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be happy to do as you ask,” I said, smiling.

  “What do you say, Corrie? Are you with me in this? Will you write . . . for the Union cause . . . and for me—to help us with this reelection?”

  “Of course, Mr. President.”

  “Do I still detect some hesitancy?”

  “Oh no, not about you, or my belief in the country or your presidency. It’s only that I don’t suppose I’m as confident as you seem to be that anything I say or do will make that much difference.”

  “You leave that to us,” said Mr. Hay. “We have many skillful people hard at work on the election. We have enlisted the support of a number of other known reporters—men, of course. There will be many people speaking on behalf of the President. And all of it together, including what you will be able to do, will carry the day. You mustn’t worry about results. Do what you do best, and we will do what we do best.”

  Chapter 45

  My Third Presidential Campaign

  I began immediately to do what Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Hay had asked. I didn’t know what result it might have, but I could and would write about what I’d seen, about what I thought, and about the importance to the country of Mr. Lincoln getting reelected.

  Everything now was so different than the two previous times I had been involved in campaigns—for Mr. Fremont in 1856 and for Mr. Lincoln in 1860. I’d never really stopped to think about whether I ought to be a Republican or a Democrat. But I had supported the Republican candidate for three elections in a row because of the men themselves and because of the slavery question.

  That very afternoon I sat down to try to begin a new article about the war and the election and Mr. Lincoln.

  In 1860 I supported a man I’d never met for President of this great country we call the United States of America. I didn’t know Abraham Lincoln, but I believed slavery to be wrong, and I felt strongly that we needed a President who would seek to rid our nation of it and would stand up for the truth that our country was founded on—freedom.

  So when they asked me to help, to speak out on behalf of his election, I agreed, even though I was young and timid. Mr. Lincoln was elected. My home state of California voted for Mr. Lincoln, as did most of the rest of the states of the Union.

  Now, four years later, a lot has changed for all of us. We’ve been fighting a terrible civil war almost since the last election. Hundreds of thousands of our sons and friends and brothers have been killed. Mr. Lincoln has freed the slaves and declared slavery illegal.

  But the most important thing that has changed is that we are now two countries instead of one. As important as the question of slavery is, we are fighting now to preserve the United States of America as one nation. And after all this fighting and all this killing, we are still a country at war, and the South is still unwilling to come back and be part of the Union it should never have left.

  If we quit now, these last four years will have been for nothing. At Gettysburg ten months ago, Mr. Lincoln delivered a dedication speech for the young men who had died there. He said that we had to resolve that they did not die in vain. He said that we had to dedicate ourselves to the great task before us of finish
ing the work that they began.

  That work is the preservation of freedom. That is what they fought for, and died for. And for us to give up now will mean that all who have given their lives these last four years will have given them for no result. For nothing will have been gained.

  If we give up now, the things we have been fighting for will not come to pass. We will remain two nations—the Union and the Confederacy. Slavery will remain in the South, and the dream of freedom for all men and women will vanish.

  Four years ago I supported a man I did not know because I believed in what he believed in. Today I support a man whom I do know because he is the only man who can lead this nation forward—this entire nation—into the full measure of the freedom we are fighting for, and into the full stature of nationhood that is the destiny of this land. To turn our back now on Mr. Lincoln and all he has stood for on our behalf will be to invalidate the lives of all those who have sacrificed for the cause of freedom and unity.

  I urge you all, men who can vote and even women who cannot, to continue supporting our President, Mr. Abraham Lincoln, until this battle, now drawing to an end, is fully won and freedom is restored throughout our whole land.

  “That’s it exactly!” exclaimed Mr. Hay when he had read the two sheets I’d handed him. “Yes, Miss Hollister . . . yes, this is wonderful—the President will be most pleased!”

  I couldn’t help being a little embarrassed. He continued to look over what I’d written with an expression of surprise, but also with a smile.

  “The President might want to use some of your phrases himself—the full stature of nationhood . . . the destiny . . . you’ve really touched upon some remarkable concepts, Miss Hollister—invalidate the lives of those who have sacrificed . . . yes, I’m certain some of this will find its way into the President’s own remarks. Very well done!”