Lincoln (99 page)

Consequently those Republicans in Congress opposed to Lincoln’s renomination took the lead in attacking the governments set up under the President’s plan of reconstruction as a way of blocking the renomination of Lincoln. Angered by the President’s failure to support him in his fierce battle against the Blair faction in Maryland politics, Henry Winter Davis by late January concluded that “Lincoln is thoroughly Blairized” and publicly showed his animosity by proposing a resolution in the House: “There is no legal authority to hold any election in the State of Louisiana;... [and] any attempt to hold an election ... is a usurpation of sovereign authority against the authority of the United States.” On February 15 he introduced a measure in the House designed to replace Ashley’s bill, which had generally followed the President’s plan of reconstruction; Davis proposed giving a major role in the process of reconstruction to the Congress, not the President. A little later he denounced the President’s efforts to organize a “hermaphrodite government, half military, half republican, representing the alligators and the frogs of Louisiana.” The timing of Davis’s outburst was significant; it occurred just four days before the publication of the Pomeroy Circular, urging Chase’s candidacy for the presidency. Accurately concluding that the Maryland representative “was now an active friend of the Secretary of the Treasury,” Lincoln saw clearly that the fate of his reconstruction plan depended on the outcome of the race for the presidential nomination.

In turn, that contest would depend on the success of the Union armies, and in the winter of 1863–1864 the outlook for the Lincoln administration was bad. In the East, ever since Gettysburg the Army of the Potomac and the
Army of Northern Virginia seemed to be doing a slow dance. In the West, after the brilliant victories at Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge, the Union armies remained largely idle for the next six months. At the same time, the strength of the armies was dwindling through death and desertions, and there were virtually no new volunteers. On February 1, Lincoln felt obliged to order a draft of 500,000 more men, and on March 14 he directed the conscription of 200,000 more.

In these grim months a streak of ruthless determination, not hitherto noticeable, began to appear in Lincoln’s character. It was not manifested toward the private soldiers in the army, for he was even more considerate than usual of what he called his “leg cases”—men who, he said, could not help running away because God had given them a cowardly pair of legs. But in other actions he betrayed his sense that the war had gone on too long, with too much loss of blood and treasure, and that it was time to force it to a close. His impatience was in evidence as early as September, when he threatened to jail and exile judges who used the writ of habeas corpus to interfere with the draft. Only with difficulty did Chase and other cabinet members persuade him simply to announce the suspension of the writ throughout the country.

Outraged when the Confederacy threatened to shoot captured Negro soldiers, Lincoln issued an order of retaliation. “For every soldier of the United States killed in violation of the laws of war,” it read, “a rebel soldier shall be executed; and for every one enslaved by the enemy..., a rebel soldier shall be placed at hard labor on the public works.” It was an order that pleased many Northerners, horrified by reports of Confederate brutalities toward Union prisoners. For instance, the widow of Horace Mann urged the government to “cull out from our prisoners of war the most valuable officers... and shoot or hang them,” and she reported that Ralph Waldo Emerson shared her views. But Lincoln’s order remained an empty threat, even as he continued to fume over mistreatment of Northern prisoners. In time, he came to reject retaliation because, he wrote Stanton, “blood can not restore blood, and government should not act for revenge.”

Out of this frustration, and out of his growing sense that something had to be done to break the military stalemate, arose the plan for a daring raid against Richmond. It originated with the son of Admiral Dahlgren, Colonel Ulric Dahlgren, a longtime favorite of the President. Though this young man had lost a leg in battle, he was vigorous and ambitious, and he convinced Lincoln that a two-pronged cavalry raid, with the larger force led by General Hugh Judson Kilpatrick and a smaller troop under his own command, could swoop behind the Confederate lines, attack Richmond simultaneously from the east and the west, break through its defenses, and reach the infamous Belle Isle Prison, where many Union captives were held. The ill-fated expedition got under way on February 28. Both forces were repulsed on the outskirts of Richmond, and Dahlgren was killed. On his body Confederates claimed they discovered papers that showed Dahlgren planned, after releasing
the prisoners, to destroy and burn the Virginia capital, pledging not to allow “the rebel leader Davis and his hateful crew” to escape. High-ranking Union officers immediately, but not altogether convincingly, denied the authenticity of these documents, and they could not be linked to Lincoln. But Dahlgren’s raid did reflect the President’s determination to take whatever steps were necessary to end the rebellion.

The President saw little evidence that the commanders of the Army of the Potomac shared his sense of urgency. Throughout the fall and into the winter Meade engaged Lee in an elaborate campaign of feints and maneuvers, but nothing came of the sharp clashes at Bristoe, Kelly’s Ford, and Mine Run. Unimpressed by Meade’s strategy, the President told him bluntly on the eve of one of these engagements, “Only be sure to fight; the people demand it of the Army of the Potomac.” But Meade was not about to seek a head-on collision with the Army of Northern Virginia. With growing exasperation Lincoln kept prodding him, and he even made him a kind of no-lose offer, promising that if Meade would attack the enemy “with all the skill and courage, which he, his officers and men possess, the honor will be his if he succeeds, and the blame may be mine if he fails.”

But the general did not rise to the bait. Aware that the President and Halleck still felt that he had permitted Lee to escape after Gettysburg, he now sought to avoid further mistakes. Instead of taking the initiative, he allowed his campaigns to be micromanaged from Washington. If he suggested taking the offensive, he was informed that the President was “unwilling he should now get into a general engagement on the impression that we here are pressing him.” If he proposed a defensive strategy, he learned that the President thought he was throwing away his advantage in numbers over the Army of Northern Virginia. His plan to push Lee’s army back into its entrenchments at Richmond drew the President’s blunt comment which none of his commanders seemed able to understand: “Lee’s army, and not Richmond, [was] it’s objective point.”

Inevitably Lincoln began to contrast the lethargy of the Army of the Potomac with the extraordinary energy demonstrated by the Western armies under Grant and Sherman—failing to recognize that no small part of the success of these generals stemmed from the inability of the President, the Secretary of War, or the chief of staff to interfere with the execution of their plans. When Lincoln learned that Meade had allowed Longstreet’s army, which had been fighting in eastern Tennessee, to retreat into western Virginia without molestation by Union forces, he exploded in anger. “If this Army of the Potomac was good for anything—if the officers had anything in them—if the army had any legs, they could move thirty thousand men down to Lynchburg and catch Longstreet,” he exclaimed. “Can anybody doubt if Grant were here in command that he would catch him?”

Still he was not yet ready to bring Grant in from the West. One reason was that the general was beginning to be talked about as a possible presidential candidate in 1864. He was a favorite of the influential
New York Herald,
and,
since his political views were unknown, he was wooed by both Democrats and Republicans. With General McClellan conspicuously courting the Democrats, Lincoln was not about to appoint another general-in-chief who had political aspirations, and he asked E. B. Washburne, the representative from Grant’s district, to report on the general’s political ambitions. Washburne referred him to J. Russell Jones, a close friend of Grant and his investment adviser, who brought to the White House Grant’s letter pledging that nothing could persuade him to be a candidate for President, particularly since there was the possibility of reelecting Lincoln. “You will never know how gratifying that is to me,” the President said after reading the letter. “No man knows, when that presidential grub gets to gnawing at him, just how deep it will get until he has tried it; and I didn’t know but what there was one gnawing at Grant.”

With that obstacle removed, Lincoln enthusiastically backed a measure in Congress to create the rank of lieutenant general, unused since the days of George Washington, and he promptly appointed Grant to that rank. Summoned east, Grant arrived in Washington on March 8, just in time for the weekly White House reception. He had lost the key to his trunk and had only his rough traveling uniform, which was a good deal the worse for wear, but he decided to go anyway since it had been reported that he might put in an appearance. Arriving at the White House, the general made his way through the throng of buzzing visitors toward the tall figure of the President. When Lincoln spotted this medium-sized, unobtrusive, inconspicuously dressed man, he greeted him warmly, saying, “Why, here is General Grant! Well, this is a great pleasure, I assure you!” Lincoln introduced the visitor to Secretary Seward, who in turn presented him to Mrs. Lincoln. A few minutes later Grant was led into the crowded East Room, and so many people pressed to greet him that he was obliged to stand on a sofa to prevent being trampled while he was shaking hands. It was at least an hour before Grant, flushed and perspiring, was able to return to the President.

Lincoln reminded him of a brief ceremony the next day, when he would receive his commission as lieutenant general. Aware that Grant was not used to public speaking, he gave the general a copy of the remarks he intended to make and considerately suggested that Grant might want to write out his response, which could include a statement to put him on as good terms as possible with the Army of the Potomac and obviate the jealousy of other commanders.

Determined to get good publicity from the occasion, Lincoln summoned all his cabinet officers for the brief ceremony at the White House. At one o’clock Stanton and Halleck escorted Grant into the President’s office, where Lincoln presented the general with his commission and made a brief speech. “With this high honor devolves upon you also, a corresponding responsibility,” he reminded the warrior, but he promised, “As the country herein trusts you, so, under God, it will sustain you.” Grant then took a paper from his vest pocket and began reading, but his voice failed. Straightening up, he
threw his shoulders back, took the paper in both hands, and started again at the beginning and read it through. Accepting “the full weight of the responsibilities now devolving” on him, he did not directly address either of the concerns the President had suggested the night before, though he did praise “the noble armies that have fought on so many fields for our common country.” After that, members of the cabinet were introduced to Grant.

Nearly everybody applauded Lincoln’s appointment of Grant as general-in-chief of the armies, with Halleck as his chief of staff. Militarily the new arrangement made a great deal of sense, but it was also politically wise. The
New York Herald
grumbled that Lincoln had only elevated Grant in order to remove a possible rival for the presidency, though that was unfair since Grant had made it abundantly clear that he was not, and would not be, a candidate. Still, with Grant now definitely out of the picture and Chase at least ostensibly out of the race, Lincoln’s prospects improved. “The canvass for the nomination, is practically closed,” ex-Governor Dennison of Ohio wrote the President. “No person but yourself is seriously thought of for the succession.”

It Was Not Best to Swap Horses

N
aming Grant to head the Union armies won Lincoln a brief respite from pressure to produce a military victory, since everybody recognized that it would take a while for the new commander to take control and to develop a strategy. But there was no armistice in the political warfare as Radical and Conservative Republicans maneuvered for position. During the weeks before the Republican National Convention, Lincoln tried to maintain a cautious neutrality between the rival wings of his party and to build bridges to the War Democrats. His tactics easily secured his renomination, but as reports poured in of the ghastly losses in Grant’s Virginia campaign, his reelection remained in doubt. At times even he despaired, and increasingly he came to feel that the outcome of the war, and of his administration, was in the hands of a Higher Power.