The long struggle over the cabinet, which annoyed and depressed Lincoln, culminated on the night of March 2, when in an agitated voice he told his numerous callers, including Sewardites ferociously resisting the appointment of Chase and Blair, “it is evident that some one must take the responsibility of these appointments, and I will do it. My Cabinet is completed. The positions are not all definitely assigned, and will not be until I announce them privately to the gentlemen whom I have selected as my Constitutional advisers.”74 To Marylanders protesting against Blair, Lincoln was equally emphatic: “I have weighed the matter—I have been pulled this way and that way—I have poised the scales, and it is my province to determine, and I am now going to be master.”75 When Hannibal Hamlin bluntly asked him “whether the Administration was going to be ‘a Seward or a Lincoln Administration,’ ” the president-elect emphatically answered that it would be the latter.76 For good reason a journalist concluded that “Lincoln is found to possess a will of his own. He is as firm as a rock when he once thinks he is right.”77
When some senators urged him to dump Seward, Lincoln expressed resentment against “the assumption which such a protest implies that he [Lincoln] will be unduly under the influence of any individual among his advisers.”78 Greeley, who was in Washington to lobby against the Seward-Weed faction, reported on February 28 that the president-elect “is honest as the sun, and means to be true and faithful; but he is in the web of very cunning spiders and cannot work out if he would,” thus giving the “compromisers full swing.”79 But Seward himself hardly felt that he had mastered the president-elect. To be sure, he acknowledged that Lincoln was “very cordial and kind toward me—simple, natural, and agreeable.” Among other things, the president-elect said: “One part of the business, Governor Seward, I think I shall leave almost entirely in your hands; that is, the dealing with those foreign nations and their governments.”80 Still, the New Yorker was not entirely happy with his attempts to move Lincoln toward compromise. When asked if “things were right at head quarters,” Seward promptly answered: “No, they were not wrong, but scarcely quite right.”81
In fact, Seward was so furious at Lincoln’s choices that he threatened to renege on his agreement to join the cabinet. He complained “that he had not been consulted as was usual in the formation of the Cabinet, that he understood Chase had been assigned to the Treasury, that there were differences between himself and Chase which rendered it impossible for them to act in harmony, that the Cabinet ought, as General Jackson said, to be a unit. Under these circumstances and with his conviction of duty and what was due to himself, he must insist on the excluding of Mr. Chase if he, Seward, remained.” The president-elect “expressed his surprise after all that had taken place and with the great trouble on his hands, that he should be met with such a demand on this late day.” He asked Seward to think the matter over.82 The next day, Seward formalized his refusal in a letter: “Circumstances which have occurred since I expressed to you in December last my willingness to accept the office of Secretary of State seem to me to render it my duty to ask leave to withdraw that consent. Tendering to you my best wishes for the success of your administration with my sincere and grateful acknowledgements of all your acts of kindness and confidence, towards me I remain, very respectfully.”83
Seward overplayed his hand. Perhaps he had gotten a swelled head from his success in persuading Lincoln to soften his hard-line stance. It had been an impressive achievement. Before leaving Springfield, the president-elect had expressed a willingness to accept the Seward-Adams-Corwin New Mexico Compromise. Since arriving in Washington, he had approved the Guthrie plan passed by the Peace Conference; he had perhaps even maneuvered behind the scenes to have that plan adopted; he may have helped defeat a force bill; he definitely helped squelch a bill authorizing the offshore collection of custom duties; he had asked Seward’s advice in drafting his inaugural address and had followed most of his suggestions; at Browning’s urging he had omitted from that address the threat to repossess federal property in the seceding states; and he had appointed Cameron, a leading advocate of compromise, to the cabinet.
Lincoln also made conciliatory public remarks, including a statement on February 27 to Mayor James G. Berret of Washington. Addressing slaveholders in general as well as the mayor, Lincoln said: “I think very much of the ill feeling that has existed and still exists between the people of the section from whence I came and the people here, is owing to a misunderstanding between each other which unhappily prevails. I therefore avail myself of this opportunity to assure you, Mr. Mayor, and all the gentlemen present, that I have not now, and never have had, any other than as kindly feelings towards you as to the people of my own section. I have not now, and never have had, any disposition to treat you in any respect otherwise than as my own neighbors. I have not now any purpose to withhold from you any of the benefits of the constitution, under any circumstances, that I would not feel myself constrained to withhold from my own neighbors; and I hope, in a word, when we shall become better acquainted—and I say it with great confidence—we shall like each other the more.”84 Just why Lincoln became more conciliatory in the week before his inauguration is not entirely clear, but Seward’s counsel surely played an important role in effecting that transformation. In addition, the president-elect became more aware of the depth of secessionist feeling in the Upper South and Border States, where Unionism was more conditional than he had understood when he was in Springfield.
Realizing that Seward meant to dominate him the way he had dominated President Zachary Taylor, Lincoln decided to call the senator’s bluff by letting it be known that he might appoint someone else to head the State Department and name the New Yorker minister to Great Britain. Rumors spread quickly, including speculation that Chase was to be dropped. When Norman B. Judd heard that Henry Winter Davis rather than Montgomery Blair would become postmaster general, he asked Lincoln about this alteration in the reported cabinet slate. “Judd,” came the reply, which clearly referred to Seward, “I told a man at eleven o’clock last night that if this slate broke again it would break at the head [i.e., Seward would have to go].”85 The man he took into his confidence was George G. Fogg, to whom Lincoln said: “We must give up both Seward and Chase, I reckon; and I have drawn up here a list of the cabinet, leaving them both out.” The new slate included William L. Dayton as secretary of state, John C. Frémont as secretary of war, and a New York opponent of Seward as secretary of the treasury. “I am sending this to Mr. Weed,” Lincoln remarked.86 To Seward he sent a different message, written as he was leaving the hotel to deliver his inaugural address: “Your note of the 2nd. inst. asking to withdraw your acceptance of my invitation to take charge of the State Department, was duly received. It is the subject of most painful solicitude with me; and I feel constrained to beg that you will countermand the withdrawal. The public interest, I think, demands that you should; and my personal feelings are deeply inlisted in the same direction. Please consider, and answer by 9 o’clock, A.M. to-morrow.”87
Seward, aware that he had lost his gamble, capitulated. After conferring with the president on the night of March 4, he withdrew his resignation. Lincoln gave him “to understand that whatever others might say or do, they two would not disagree but were friends.”88 To his wife, Seward explained that Lincoln was “determined that he will have a compound Cabinet; and that it shall be peaceful, and even permanent. I was at one time on the point of refusing—nay, I did refuse, for a time to hazard myself in the experiment. But a distracted country appeared before me; and I withdrew from that position. I believe I can endure as much as any one; and may be that I can endure enough to make the experiment successful. At all events I did not dare to go home, or to England, and leave the country to chance.”89 Though defeated on this opening trick, Seward had not yet learned that Lincoln meant to control his own administration. In time, that lesson would sink in, but only after he issued another dramatic challenge to the president’s authority.
Lincoln
had to call Chase’s bluff as well as Seward’s. Assuming that the Ohioan would accept the treasury portfolio, he had not consulted him about the matter since arriving in Washington. On March 6, when the names of all cabinet members were submitted to the senate, the hypersensitive Chase explained to Lincoln his reluctance to accept the post. As Chase later recalled, the president “referred to the embarrassment my declination would occasion him,” leading Chase to promise that he would reconsider. After Lincoln had Frank Blair sound out Congressman John Sherman about becoming treasury secretary, and rumors had spread that Chase would be named minister to England, Ohioans opposed to Chase reversed course and urged Lincoln to name him. Finally, Chase yielded.
Lincoln’s “compound cabinet” did not please all Republicans. Charles Francis Adams called it a “motley mixture, containing one statesman, one politician, two jobbers, one intriguer, and two respectable old gentlemen.”90 The sardonic Thaddeus Stevens said it consisted “of an assortment of rivals whom the President appointed from courtesy, one stump-speaker from Indiana, and two representatives of the Blair family.”91 Actually, Lincoln chose his four competitors for the presidential nomination not as an act of courtesy but to strengthen his administration by having the most prominent leaders of the party’s factions as well as the most important regions represented. He was especially concerned about the Border States, where the cabinet seemed acceptably “moderate and conciliatory in complexion.”92
Lincoln was careful to balance the cabinet with former Whigs and former Democrats. When Weed protested that there were four of the latter and only three of the former, Lincoln replied that he had been a Whig and would be attending cabinet meetings. (He might also have pointed out that Cameron had hardly been a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat. The New York Herald satirically—and aptly—labeled him a “Democratic Know Nothing Republican Conservative.”)93
Former Congressman David K. Cartter of Ohio asked Lincoln: “Do you not think the elements of the Cabinet are too strong and in some respects too conflicting?”
He replied: “It may be so, but I think they will neutralize each other.”94
Inauguration Day
On the cloudy morning of March 4, Lincoln rose at 5 A.M. and, after eating breakfast and conferring with Seward, put the finishing touches on the address, which his son Robert read aloud to him. Until 11 A.M., he consulted with various other callers, including Bates, Welles, Cameron, Trumbull, David Davis, and Illinois state senator Thomas Marshall.
At dawn, crowds began gathering at the Capitol, where the senate was about to take a three-hour break after its all-night session. Two thousand volunteer soldiers, organized by Colonel Charles P. Stone acting on General Scott’s orders, deployed to their posts; 653 regular troops, summoned from distant forts, together with the marines based at the navy yard, supplemented their ranks. Sharpshooters clambered to the roofs of the taller buildings fronting Pennsylvania Avenue, along which police took up positions. Cavalry patrolled the side streets. Plainclothes detectives circulated among the crowd with instructions to arrest for “disorderly conduct” anyone speaking disrespectfully of the new president. The sound of fife and drum filled the air. Flags and banners fluttered in the chill wind. Rumors of bloody doings were bruited about, though the heavy military presence made it unlikely that anyone would disturb the day’s ceremony. Colorfully attired marshals assembled, ready to lead the procession. Gradually, the streets became choked with humanity, eagerly awaiting the appearance of the president-elect. Good humor, decorum, order, and enthusiasm prevailed among the people who turned out to witness the event. The Washington National Intelligencer called it “in some respects the most brilliant and imposing pageant ever witnessed in this Capital.”95 Ominously, however, the parade lacked the customary civic groups and political clubs, a sure sign that many Washingtonians did not sympathize with the new president or his party.
A handsome open barouche bore President Buchanan, looking rather feeble, to Willard’s Hotel, where Lincoln climbed aboard, taking a seat beside the Old Public Functionary. The president-elect’s bearing was “calm, easy, bland, self-possessed, yet grave and sedate.”96 Accompanying them were Lincoln’s good friend, Oregon Senator Edward D. Baker, and Maryland Senator James A. Pearce. As the carriage, surrounded by a double row of cavalry and led by sappers and miners from West Point, rolled over the dusty cobblestones of Pennsylvania Avenue, cheers rang out from the dense crowd lining the sidewalks. The troops escorting the presidential carriage made it difficult for the 40,000 spectators to catch a glimpse of its occupants. To some observers, the troops seemed like guards conveying prisoners to their execution. In response to the sociable and animated observations made by Lincoln, who seemed calm and oblivious to the excited crowd, the anxiety-ridden, nerve-wracked Buchanan had little to say and gave the impression that he would have preferred to be elsewhere. Unable to engage Buchanan in conversation, Lincoln then stared at the floor of the carriage absently.
Arriving at the Capitol at 1:15 P.M., Lincoln and Buchanan descended from their carriage. The weary, sad-faced, white-haired incumbent aroused pity, for he seemed friendless and abandoned. By contrast, the black-haired, younger Lincoln, though looking somewhat awkward, radiated confidence and energy. The party repaired to the President’s Room, where they shed the dust of Pennsylvania Avenue.
As Lincoln and Buchanan chatted amicably, John Hay eavesdropped on their conversation with “boyish wonder and credulity to see what momentous counsels were to come from that gray and weather-beaten head.” Though Hay assumed that each “word must have its value at such an instant,” that was not the case. “I think you will find the water of the right-hand well at the White-House better than that at the left,” said Buchanan, who “went on with many intimate details of the kitchen and pantry.” The president-elect “listened with that weary, introverted look of his, not answering.” The following day, when Hay mentioned this colloquy, Lincoln “admitted he had not heard a word of it.”97
Arm-in-arm the two presidents entered the senate chamber, where diplomats, congressmen, senators, military officers, state governors, justices of the Supreme Court, cabinet members, and other officials had foregathered. Preternaturally calm and impassive, Lincoln sat still, heedless of the gaze that all onlookers directed at him. The nervous, discouraged, and tired Buchanan, on the other hand, fidgeted and sighed gently. After the swearing in of Vice President Hamlin, the assembled dignitaries proceeded to a temporary platform erected over the steps of the east facade of the Capitol. That building was undergoing a major expension that had begun nearly a decade earlier. Above the ramshackle scaffolding loomed the skeletal, half-finished, new cast-iron dome, flanked by a crane. Before it stood thousands of cheering spectators of all ages and both sexes, coming from near and far, some from neighboring Pennsylvania, others from the distant Pacific coast. Many trekked in from the Midwest and Border States. The clouds which had seemed so threatening that morning had lifted, giving way to bright sunshine.
In his famously sonorous voice, Senator Baker announced: “Fellow Citizens: I introduce to you Abraham Lincoln, the President elect of the United States of America.” Charles Francis Adams thought Baker undignified, speaking “just as if about to make a speech from the stump.”98
Before rising to speak, Lincoln sought a place to put his hat. Observing his awkwardness, Stephen A. Douglas (according to an Ohio congressman who witnessed the proceedings) “gallantly took the vexatious article and held it during the entire reading of the Inaugural.”99 Lincoln then stood up, calm, cool, and self-possessed. The crowd cheered, but not vociferously.
After surveying the vast assemblage, Lincoln began deliberately and solemnly reading his address, which lasted thirty-five minutes. He seemed very much at ease and cheerful as he recited the carefully prepared text in a clear, high, firm voice that carried to the outer edge of the vast crowd. A Douglas Democrat reported that each sentence “fell like a sledge hammer driving in the bolts which unite our states.”100 Lincoln’s voice falter
ed only in the final paragraph, whose reference to “the better angels of our nature” brought tears to many eyes. He delivered that peroration feelingly.
“What an audience!” exclaimed Republican leader John Z. Goodrich of Massachusetts. “How attentive!”101 It often applauded, especially when Lincoln alluded to the Union. After his pronouncement that “I hold, that in contemplation of universal law, and of the Constitution, the Union of these States is perpetual,” the lusty cheering went on and on. An exceptionally vigorous shout of approval greeted his pledge to “take care, as the constitution itself expressly enjoins upon me, that the laws of the Union be faithfully executed in all the states.” The loudest demonstration occurred when he said to secessionists, “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.” This passage received several rounds of cheering, as did his firm statement that 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.” In addition to cheers, the crowd interjected shouts of “Good,” “That’s right,” “We’ll stand by you,” “Thank God, daylight appears at last,” and “That is the doctrine.” On the platform, Douglas made sotto voce comments: “Good!” “that’s so,” “no coercion,” and “good again.” At the conclusion, the crowd waved hats and manifested its joy with thunderous applause.102 Grenville M. Dodge of Iowa told his wife: “Old Abe delivered the greatest speech of the age. The ‘Sermon on the Mount’ only excels it. It is backbone all over.”103
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