Team Of Rivals Part 40

AS THE FIRST DAY of January 1863 approached, the public evinced a "general air of doubt" regarding the president's intention to follow through on his September pledge to issue his Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation on New Year's Day. "Will Lincoln's backbone carry him through?" a skeptical George Templeton Strong asked. "n.o.body knows."

The cynics were wrong. Despite repeated warnings that the issuance of the proclamation would have harmful consequences for the Union's cause, Lincoln never considered retracting his pledge. As Frederick Dougla.s.s had perceived, once the president staked himself to a forward position, he did not give up ground. The final proclamation deviated from the preliminary doc.u.ment in one major respect. The doc.u.ment still proclaimed that "all persons held as slaves" within states and parts of states still in rebellion "are, and henceforward shall be free"; but Lincoln, for the first time, officially authorized the recruitment of blacks into the armed forces. Stanton and Chase had advocated this step for many months, yet Lincoln, knowing that it would provoke serious disaffection in his governing coalition, had hesitated. Now, as the public began to comprehend the ma.s.sive manpower necessary to fight a prolonged war, he believed the timing was right.

The cabinet members suggested a few changes that Lincoln cheerfully adopted, most notably Chase's proposal to conclude the legalistic doc.u.ment with a flourish, invoking "the considerate judgment of mankind, and the gracious favor of Almighty G.o.d...upon this act."

On the morning he would deliver the historic proclamation, Lincoln rose early. He walked over to his office to make final revisions and sent the doc.u.ment by messenger to the State Department, where it was put into legal form. He then met with General Burnside, who had readied his army for "another expedition against the rebels along the Rappahannock," only to be restrained by the president. Lincoln explained that several of Burnside's division commanders had made forceful objections to the new plan. Troubled by the realization that he had lost the confidence of his officers, Burnside offered to resign. Lincoln managed to a.s.suage the discord temporarily, but three weeks later, he would replace Burnside with "Fighting Joe" Hooker. A West Point graduate who had fought in the Mexican War, Hooker had served under McClellan in the Peninsula Campaign and at Antietam.

Seward returned from the State Department with the formally copied proclamation shortly before 11 a.m. Lincoln read it over once more and made ready to sign it when he noticed a technical error in the format. The doc.u.ment had to be returned to the State Department for correction. Since the traditional New Year's reception was about to begin, the signing would have to be delayed until midafternoon.

The first hour of the three-hour reception was reserved for Washington officials-diplomats, justices, and high officers in the armed forces. All the cabinet members and their families were there, with the exception of Caleb Smith, who had recently resigned his Department of Interior post to become a district judge in Indiana. Young f.a.n.n.y Seward anxiously antic.i.p.ated the occasion, for she had just pa.s.sed her eighteenth birthday and this was her "coming out" day. Outfitted in blue silk with a white hat and an ivory fan, f.a.n.n.y was thrilled when the president and first lady remembered her. Between the "full court dress" of the diplomatic corps and the dazzling costumes of the ladies, "the scene," f.a.n.n.y recalled, was "very brilliant." She recorded in her diary that Mary "wore a rich dress of black velvet, with lozenge formed tr.i.m.m.i.n.g on the waist," but she was especially captivated by Kate Chase, "looking like a fairy queen" in her lace dress: "Oh how pretty she is."

At noon, the cabinet members left to prepare for their own receptions and the gates to the White House were opened to the general public. The immense and disorderly crowd surged into the mansion at the cost of torn coattails and lost bonnets. The journalist Noah Brooks was relieved when he finally reached the Blue Room, where a single line formed to shake the president's hand. He had recently noted how Lincoln's appearance had "grievously altered from the happy-faced Springfield lawyer" he had first met in 1856. "His hair is grizzled, his gait more stooping, his countenance sallow, and there is a sunken, deathly look about the large, cavernous eyes." Nonetheless, the president greeted every visitor with a smile and a kind remark, "his blessed old pump handle working steadily" to ensure that his "People's Levee" would be a success. Benjamin French, standing beside Mary during the first part of the public reception, noted her doleful appearance. "Oh Mr. French," she said, "how much we have pa.s.sed through since last we stood here." This was the first reception since Willie's death, and Mary was "too much overcome by her feelings to remain until it ended."

After mingling with the crowd, Noah Brooks took his California friends "a-calling" at the homes of various cabinet members. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the streets were jammed with carriages. At Chase's mansion, they were greeted by a "young gentleman of color who had a double row of silver plated b.u.t.tons from his throat to his toes." Handing their "pasteboards" to the doorkeeper, they were brought into the crowded parlor, where they shook hands with the secretary and his "very beautiful" daughter. Chase was "gentlemanly in his manners," Brooks noted, "though he has a painful way of holding his head straight, which leads one to fancy that his shirt collar cuts his ears." Their next stop was Seward's Lafayette Square house, where Brooks's eye, initially drawn to the elegant furnishings in the upstairs parlor, came to rest on "the prodigious nose" of the secretary, who greeted each visitor "with all of his matchless suaviter in modo."

Of all the receptions that day, the Stantons' was the most elaborate. Brooks was overwhelmed by the abundant supply of "oysters, salads, game pastries, fruits, cake, wines...arranged with a most gorgeous display of china, gla.s.s, and silver." Remarking on Stanton's "little, aristocratic wife," Ellen, Brooks wondered if her lavish style was depleting the fortune Stanton had acc.u.mulated during his years as a lawyer. His observation was perceptive: while Stanton's salary had been reduced markedly by his decision to leave private practice, Ellen continued to spend money as though large retainers were still coming in. Yet Stanton refused to puncture Ellen's dreams, even as his rapidly diminishing wealth stirred old worries about bankruptcy.

At 2 p.m., Lincoln, wearily finished with his own reception, returned to his office. Seward and Fred soon joined him, carrying the corrected proclamation in a large portfolio. Not wishing to delay any longer, Lincoln commenced the signing. As the parchment was unrolled before him, he "took a pen, dipped it in ink, moved his hand to the place for the signature," but then, his hand trembling, he stopped and put the pen down.

"I never, in my life, felt more certain that I was doing right, than I do in signing this paper," he said. "If my name ever goes into history it will be for this act, and my whole soul is in it." His arm was "stiff and numb" from shaking hands for three hours, however. "If my hand trembles when I sign the Proclamation," Lincoln said, "all who examine the doc.u.ment hereafter will say, 'He hesitated.'" So the president waited a moment and then took up the pen once more, "slowly and carefully" writing his name. "The signature proved to be unusually bold, clear, and firm, even for him," Fred Seward recalled, "and a laugh followed, at his apprehensions." The secretary of state added his own name and carried it back to the State Department, where the great seal of the United States was affixed before copies were sent out to the press.

In cities and towns all across the North, people had anxiously waited for word of Lincoln's action. Count Gurowski was in despair as the day dragged on without confirmation that the proclamation had been signed. "Has Lincoln played false to humanity?" he wondered. At Tremont Temple in Boston, where snow covered the ground, an audience of three thousand had gathered since morning, antic.i.p.ating "the first flash of the electric wires." Frederick Dougla.s.s was there, along with two other antislavery leaders, John S. Rock and Anna d.i.c.kinson. At the nearby Music Hall, another expectant crowd had formed, including the eminent authors Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Ralph Waldo Emerson, John Greenleaf Whittier, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Oliver Wendell Holmes. "Every moment of waiting chilled our hopes, and strengthened our fears," Dougla.s.s recalled. "A line of messengers" connected the telegraph office with the platform at Tremont Temple, and although the time was pa.s.sed with speeches, as it reached nine and then ten o'clock without any word, "a visible shadow" fell upon the crowd.

"On the side of doubt," Dougla.s.s recalled, "it was said that Mr. Lincoln's kindly nature [toward the South] might cause him to relent at the last moment." It was rumored that Mary Lincoln, "coming from an old slaveholding family," might have stayed his hand, persuading him to "give the slaveholders one other chance." These speculations, which "had absolutely no foundation," hurt Mary "to the quick," her niece Katherine noted. In fact, Mary had rushed a photograph of her husband to Sumner's abolitionist friend Harvard president Josiah Quincy, hoping it would "reach him, by the 1st of Jan" to mark the joyous occasion.

Finally, at roughly 10 p.m., when the anxiety at Tremont Temple "was becoming agony," a man raced through the crowd. "It is coming! It is on the wires!!" Dougla.s.s would long remember the "wild and grand" reaction, the shouts of "joy and gladness," the audible sobs and visible tears. The happy crowd celebrated with music and song, dispersing at dawn. A similar elation poured forth in the Music Hall. "It was a sublime moment," Quincy's daughter, Eliza, wrote Mary; "the thought of the millions upon millions of human beings whose happiness was to be affected & freedom secured by the words of President Lincoln, was almost overwhelming.... I wish you & the President could have enjoyed it with us, here."

In Washington, a crowd of serenaders gathered at the White House to applaud Lincoln's action. The president came to the window and silently bowed to the crowd. The signed proclamation rendered words unnecessary. While its immediate effects were limited, since it applied only to enslaved blacks behind rebel lines, the Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation changed forever the relationship of the national government to slavery. Where slavery had been protected by the national government, it was now "under its ban." The armed forces that had returned fugitive slaves to bondage would be employed in securing their freedom. "Whatever partial reverses may attend its progress," the Boston Daily Evening Transcript predicted, "Slavery from this hour ceases to be a political power in the country...such a righteous revolution as it inaugurates never goes backward." Ohio congressman-elect James Garfield agreed, though he retained a low opinion of Lincoln, doubtless shaped by his close friendship with Chase. "Strange phenomenon in the world's history," he wrote, "when a second-rate Illinois lawyer is the instrument to utter words which shall form an epoch memorable in all future ages."

Lincoln did not need any such confirmation of the historic nature of the edict. "Fellow-citizens," he had said in his annual message in December, "we cannot escape history. We of this Congress and this administration, will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No personal significance, or insignificance, can spare one or another of us. The fiery trial through which we pa.s.s, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation."

When Joshua Speed next came to visit, Lincoln reminded his old friend of the suicidal depression he had suffered two decades earlier, and of his disclosure that he would gladly die but that he "had done nothing to make any human being remember that he had lived." Now, indicating his Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation, he declared: "I believe that in this measure...my fondest hopes will be realized."

GRAVE QUESTIONS REMAINED: Had Lincoln chosen the right moment to issue his revolutionary edict? Would the Union cause be helped or hindered? Even Republican papers worried that the edict would create "discord in the North and concord in the South," strengthening "the spirit of the rebellion" while it diminished "the spirit of the nation." Lincoln's most intimate counselor, Seward, repeatedly warned that the situation demanded "union and harmony, in order to save the country from destruction."

All his life, Lincoln had exhibited an exceptionally sensitive grasp of the limits set by public opinion. As a politician, he had an intuitive sense of when to hold fast, when to wait, and when to lead. "It is my conviction," Lincoln later said, "that, had the proclamation been issued even six months earlier than it was, public sentiment would not have sustained it." If the question of "slavery and quiet" as opposed to war and abolition had been placed before the American people in a vote at the time of Fort Sumter, Walt Whitman wrote, the former "would have triumphantly carried the day in a majority of the Northern States-in the large cities, leading off with New York and Philadelphia, by tremendous majorities." In other words, the North would not fight to end slavery, but it would and did fight to preserve the Union. Lincoln had known this and realized that any a.s.sault on slavery would have to await a change in public att.i.tudes.

The proposition to enlist blacks in the armed forces had required a similar period of preparation. "A man watches his pear-tree day after day, impatient for the ripening of the fruit," Lincoln explained. "Let him attempt to force the process, and he may spoil both fruit and tree. But let him patiently wait, and the ripe pear at length falls into his lap!" He had watched "this great revolution in public sentiment slowly but surely progressing." He saw this gradual shift in newspaper editorials, in conversations with people throughout the North, and in the views expressed by the troops during his own visits to the field. He had witnessed the subtle changes in the opinions of his cabinet colleagues, even those who represented the more conservative points of view. Although he knew that opposition would still be fierce, he believed it was no longer "strong enough to defeat the purpose."

Events soon tested Lincoln's belief. In the weeks that followed the issuance of the proclamation, the tenuous coalition of Democrats and Republicans that had supported the war showed signs of disintegration. In New York, the newly elected Democratic governor Horatio Seymour denounced emanc.i.p.ation in his inaugural message. In Kentucky, Governor James Robinson recommended that the state legislature reject the proclamation. Heavily Democratic legislatures in Illinois and Indiana threatened to sever ties with abolitionist New England and ally their states with the states of the lower Mississippi in order to end the war with slavery intact. "Every Democratic paper in Indiana is teeming with abuse of New England," Indiana governor Oliver Morton warned Stanton. "They allege that New England has brought upon us the War by a fanatical crusade against Slavery." As reports filtered into the White House, John Nicolay feared that "under the subterfuge of opposing the Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation," a portion of the Democratic Party was "really organizing to oppose the War."

The "fire in the rear," in Lincoln's phrase, was fed by the lack of military progress. Heavy rains in January followed by a succession of snowstorms in February and March forced the demoralized Army of the Potomac into winter quarters on the north side of the Rappahannock. Nature conspired against Grant's Army of the Tennessee as well. Between February and March, four different attempts to capture Vicksburg failed, preventing the Union from gaining control of the Mississippi River. "This winter is, indeed, the Valley Forge of the war," one officer wrote.

In the Congress, the Peace Democrats, popularly known as Copperheads, thought war measures had strayed too far from simply repressing the rebellion and restoring the Union as it had been, and thus vigorously opposed legislation to reform the banking system, emanc.i.p.ate the slaves, and curtail civil liberties. They especially railed against the conscription law, which authorized provost marshals in every congressional district to enroll men between twenty and forty-five for a term of three years. As the March 4 date of adjournment neared, they engaged in a variety of tactics to suppress votes on all of these key measures. They hid out in the House lobbies and cloakrooms during quorum calls, attached unacceptable amendments onto each of the bills, and kept the Senate up day and night with filibusters.

In the House, Copperhead Clement Vallandigham, a lame duck congressman from Ohio, took the lead. He delivered a series of violent antiwar speeches that attracted national attention. As he warmed to his theme, Noah Brooks observed, his face "fearfully changed," his agreeable smile gave way to "a vindictive, ghastly grin," his smooth voice rose "higher and higher" until it reached a piercing shriek that echoed through the chamber. "Ought this war to continue?" Vallandigham thundered, depicting a war purportedly waged to defend the Union, now become "a war for the negro." He answered: "no-not a day, not an hour." The time had come for the soldiers on both sides to go home. Let the Northwest and the Old South come together in compromise. If New England did not want to remain in a Union with slavery intact, then let her go.

In the Senate, Willard Saulsbury of Delaware took to the floor to prevent a vote sustaining the administration on the suspension of habeas corpus. He could hardly keep his footing during a liquor-fueled harangue, while he inveighed against the president "in language fit only for a drunken fishwife," calling him "an imbecile" and claiming that he was "the weakest man ever placed in a high office." Called to order by Vice President Hamlin, he refused to take his seat. When the sergeant at arms approached to take Saulsbury into custody, he pulled out his revolver. "d.a.m.n you," he said, pointing the pistol at the sergeant's head, "if you touch me I'll shoot you dead." The wild scene continued for some time before Saulsbury was removed from the Senate floor.

The brouhaha on Capitol Hill troubled Lincoln less than repeated reports of growing disaffection in the army. Admiral Foote claimed that the proclamation was having a "baneful" impact on the troops, "damping their zeal and ardor, and producing discontent at the idea of fighting only for the negro." Orville Browning, who considered the proclamation a fatal mistake, warned Lincoln that recruiting new volunteers would be nearly impossible and that "an attempt to draft would probably be made the occasion of resistance to the government." Browning had talked with some friends upon their return from the front, where they had "conversed with a great many soldiers, all of whom expressed the greatest dissatisfaction, saying they had been deceived-that the[y] volunteered to fight for the Country, and had they known it was to be converted into a war for the negro they would not have enlisted. They think that scarcely one of the 200,000 whose term of service is soon to expire will re enlist."

Patiently, Lincoln weathered criticisms from Browning and a host of others. He listened carefully when David Davis, who, more than anyone, had helped engineer his victory at the Chicago convention and whom he had recently appointed to the Supreme Court, warned him about "the alarming condition of things." Yet when Davis told Lincoln to alter his policy of emanc.i.p.ation "as the only means of saving the Country," Lincoln told him it was "a fixed thing." And when Browning raised the specter that "the democrats would soon begin to clamor for compromise," Lincoln replied that if they moved toward concessions, "the people would leave them." Through the worst days of discord and division, Lincoln never lost his confidence that he understood the will and desires of the people.

"The resources, advantages, and powers of the American people are very great," he wrote the workingmen of London when they congratulated him on emanc.i.p.ation, "and they have, consequently, succeeded to equally great responsibilities. It seems to have devolved upon them to test whether a government, established on the principles of human freedom, can be maintained."

While his anxious friends observed only the rancor on Capitol Hill, Lincoln noted that before Congress adjourned on March 4, the people's representatives had pa.s.sed every single one of the administration's war-related bills. They had supported the vital banking and currency legislation that would provide the financial foundation for a long and costly war, as well as the conscription bill, called by the New York Times "the grandest pledge yet given that our Government means to prevail."

Moreover, with Lincoln's blessings, monster ma.s.s rallies in city after city throughout the North were organized to express popular support for the war against the defeatism of the Copperheads. In New York, the Times reported, the "largest popular gathering ever held in this City" thronged Madison Square to hear General Scott speak and to "cheer with hearty voice each testimony of fealty to the land of the free and the home of the brave." In Washington, Lincoln and his cabinet attended a giant Union rally at the Capitol, hailed as "the greatest popular demonstration ever known in Washington." A journalist noted that while Lincoln was dressed more plainly than the others on the platform, with "no sign of watch chain, white bosom or color...he wore on his breast, an immense jewel, the value of which I can form no estimate." She was speaking of little Tad, snuggled against his father's chest. Though he occasionally grew restless during the long speeches and jumped off his father's lap to wander along the platform, Tad quickly returned to the security of his father's embrace.

Scheduled for early April, the congressional and state elections in Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New Hampshire would be a test case in the battle for the heart of the North. Lincoln sent a telegram to Thurlow Weed at the Astor House in New York, requesting that he take the first train to Washington. Weed arrived the next morning, had breakfast with Seward, and met with Lincoln at the White House. "Mr. Weed, we are in a tight place," Lincoln explained. "Money for legitimate purposes is needed immediately; but there is no appropriation from which it can be lawfully taken. I didn't know how to raise it, and so I sent for you." The amount needed was $15,000. Weed returned to New York on the next train. Before the night had ended, "the Dictator" had persuaded fifteen New Yorkers to contribute $1,000 each. Although Weed later claimed that he was ignorant of the purpose of the secret fund, it is most likely, as Welles speculated, that it helped finance a plan worked out between Seward and Lincoln "to influence the New Hampshire and Connecticut elections."

It was money well spent. Voters in both states defeated the Copperhead candidates by clear majorities, ensuring that the great war measures would be sustained in the next House of Representatives. The results were "a stunning blow to the Copperheads," the New York Times noted. The surprising triumph "puts the Administration safely round the cape, and insures it clear seas to the end." John Hay reveled in the thought that the elections had "frightened" and "disheartened" the rebels and their sympathizers, who had expected war weariness to depress voter sentiment. "I rejoiced with my whole heart in your loyal victory," Stanton told an administration supporter in Connecticut. "It was in my judgement the most important election held since the War commenced."

"The feeling of the country is I think every day becoming more hopeful and buoyant," Nicolay told his fiancee, "a very healthy reaction against Copperheadism becoming everywhere manifest." Noah Brooks detected a similar shift in mood. "The glamour which the insidious enemies of the Union had for a while cast over the minds of the people of the North is disappearing," he noted. The Copperheads "find that they have gone too fast and too far" in talking of a compromise peace, "and they have brought upon themselves the denunciations" of Republicans and loyal "War Democrats" alike.

This was precisely what Lincoln had antic.i.p.ated in the dark days of January when he told Browning that "the people" would never sustain the Copperheads' call for peace on any terms. He had let the reaction against the defeatist propositions grow, then worked to mobilize the renewed Union spirit.

AMID THE CLAMOROUS OPPOSITION in Congress, the continued threats of intervention from abroad, and the stalemate in the war, Lincoln remained remarkably calm, good-natured, and self-controlled. While Chase confessed to an unremitting anxiety and Stanton suffered from repeated bouts of exhaustion, Lincoln found numerous ways to sustain his spirits. No matter how brutally trying his days, he still found time in the evenings to call at Seward's house, where he was a.s.sured of good conversation and much-needed relaxation.

Seward appreciated Lincoln's original mind and his keen wit. f.a.n.n.y told of an intimate evening in their parlor when Lincoln engaged the entire family with an amusing tale about young women during the War of 1812 who made belts with engraved mottoes to give their lovers departing for battle. When one young girl suggested "Liberty or Death!," her soldier protested that the phrase was "rather strong." Couldn't she make it "Liberty or be crippled" instead? Although Seward laughed as uproariously as Lincoln, it is certain that neither Chase nor the serious-minded Stanton would have enjoyed such broad humor. Nor would either have approved of the grim levity of Lincoln's response to a gentleman who had waited for weeks to receive a pa.s.s to Richmond. "Well," said Lincoln, "I would be very happy to oblige you, if my pa.s.ses were respected: but the fact is, sir, I have, within the past two years, given pa.s.ses to two hundred and fifty thousand men to go to Richmond, and not one has got there yet."

Like Lincoln, Seward usually possessed a profound self-a.s.surance that enabled him to withstand an endless, savage barrage of criticism. Noah Brooks noted that he was unfailingly cheerful, "smoking cigars always, ruffled or excited never, astute, keen to perceive a joke, appreciative of a good thing, and fond of 'good victuals.'" Newsmen loved to hear Seward's stories and he loved to tell them. At one dinner party, he talked nonstop from five-thirty to eleven o'clock. What left the deeper impression upon his listeners, however, was Seward's unconditional love for Lincoln, whom he praised "without limitation" as "the best and wisest man he [had] ever known."

On the nights he did not spend with Seward, Lincoln found welcome diversion in the telegraph office, where he could stretch his legs, rest his feet on the table, and enjoy the company of the young telegraph operators. He sought out Captains Dahlgren and Fox, whose conversation always cheered him. Describing a pleasant evening in Captain Fox's room, Dahlgren remarked that "Abe was in good humor, and at leaving said, 'Well I will go home; I had no business here; but, as the lawyer said, I had none anywhere else.'"

Occasionally, late at night, Lincoln would rouse John Hay. Seated on the edge of his young aide's bed, or calling him into the office, the president would read aloud favorite pa.s.sages ranging from Shakespeare to the humorist Thomas Hood. Hay recorded one occasion, "a little after midnight," when Lincoln, with amused gusto, read a portion of Hood, "utterly unconscious that he with his short shirt hanging about his long legs & setting out behind like the tail feathers of an enormous ostrich was infinitely funnier than anything in the book he was laughing at. What a man it is! Occupied all day with matters of vast moment...he yet has such a wealth of simple bonhommie & good fellow ship that he gets out of bed & perambulates the house in his shirt to find us that we may share with him the fun of one of poor Hoods queer little conceits."

Lincoln's evening rambles suggest that Mary's continuing depression over Willie precluded easy relaxation at home. "Only those, who have pa.s.sed through such bereavements, can realize, how the heart bleeds," Mary admitted to Mary Jane Welles. Yet despite the desolation that still tormented her, Mary had gamely resumed her duties as first lady, telling Benjamin French that she felt responsible to "receive the world at large" and would endeavor "to bear up" under her sorrow. French, in turn, marveled at the "affable and pleasant" demeanor the first lady regularly displayed in public. "The skeleton," he noted, "is always kept out of sight."

As the anniversary of Willie's death approached, Robert came down from Harvard to spend a few weeks with his family. Encountering him at a number of parties, f.a.n.n.y Seward found him to be a delightful young man, "much shorter than his father," with "a good, strong face," though not an especially handsome one. "I talked some time with him. He is ready and easy in conversation-having, I fancy, considerable humor in his composition."

With the official mourning period behind them, the Lincolns resumed the weekly public receptions they both enjoyed despite the exhausting rounds of handshaking. In grat.i.tude to Rebecca Pomroy, the nurse who had cared for Tad after Willie died, Mary arranged for all the nurses, officers, and soldiers at Pomroy's hospital to attend a grand White House reception in early March. Mrs. Pomroy instructed the soldiers "to provide themselves with clean white gloves, and to look their best." The White House that night was "brilliantly lighted and decorated with flowers in the greatest profusion." Pomroy was certain that her soldiers would remember this night, declaring that if they survived the war, "they will tell their children's children" of their enchanting evening at the White House.

The abolitionist Jane Grey Swisshelm had initially been reluctant to join her friends at one of these Sat.u.r.day receptions. She had no interest in meeting Mary Lincoln after the tales suggesting the first lady's sympathy with the Confederate cause. Yet when she was actually introduced to Mary, she realized at once that the stories were slanderous gossip. "When I came to Mrs. Lincoln, she did not catch the name at first, and asked to hear it again, then repeated it, and a sudden glow of pleasure lit her face, as she held out her hand and said how very glad she was to see me. I objected to giving her my hand because my black glove would soil her white one; but she said: 'Then I shall preserve the glove to remember a great pleasure, for I have long wished to see you.'" Over time, as the two women developed a close friendship, Swisshelm came to believe that Mary was "more staunch even than her husband in opposition to the Rebellion and its cause."

In February, Mary was delighted and surprised by Lincoln's impulsive agreement to attend a seance in Georgetown featuring a celebrated medium, Nettie Colburn. The good-looking young woman's sessions attracted many distinguished people, including Joshua Speed, who described Nettie and a fellow medium to Lincoln as "very choice spirits, themselves. It will I am sure be some relief from the tedious round of office seekers to see two such agreeable ladies." When the president and first lady arrived, the host said: "Welcome, Mr. Lincoln...you were expected." Lincoln stopped short. "Expected! Why, it is only five minutes since I knew that I was coming." The guests settled into chairs for the presentation, which, according to the Philadelphia banker S. P. Kase, included a piano that "began to move up and down in accord with the rise and fall of the music." Intrigued by the mechanics behind such spectacles, Lincoln told one of the soldiers present to sit on the piano to weigh it down. When it continued to move, the president himself "stepped to the end of the piano and added his weight to that of the soldiers." When the rise and fall of the piano persisted, Lincoln "resumed his seat in one of the large horse hair easy chairs of the day."

At this juncture, Nettie Colburn entered the room, and Lincoln addressed her cheerfully: "Well, Miss Nettie, do you think you have anything to say to me to-night?" There is no evidence that Lincoln believed in spiritualism. On the contrary, after hearing the mysterious clicking sounds in the presence of another medium the previous summer, he had asked the head of the Smithsonian, Joseph Henry, to discover how the noises were produced. Henry interviewed the medium, Lord Colchester, who, unsurprisingly, revealed nothing. Not long afterward, Henry happened to be seated on a train beside a young man who revealed that he manufactured telegraphic devices for spiritualists. Placed around the biceps, the instrument produced telegraphic clicks when the medium stretched his muscle. Asked if he had sold one to Lord Colchester, the young man said yes. Lincoln was reportedly "pleased to learn the secret."

Lincoln's lack of belief did not prevent him, however, from enjoying the evening's entertainment. Nettie was an accomplished actress, ably mimicking the booming baritone of Daniel Webster or the frail voice of an Indian maiden. She spoke for an hour, channeling one voice and then another as she related historical episodes from the landing of the Pilgrims to the current war. Her oration, which carried a pa.s.sionate abolitionist message, seemed to S. P. Kase "the grandest" he had ever heard. When the spirits left her, she departed as abruptly as she had arrived. All was silent for a while, then "the President turned in his seat, threw his long right leg over the arm of his chair," and exclaimed, "Was not this wonderful?" He seemed to have viewed Nettie's performance with the same pleasure he derived from the theater-respite from the cares of the day.

CHASE, UNLIKE LINCOLN, was never able to forgo his statesmanlike persona and simply enjoy conversations and lighter amus.e.m.e.nts. He was inclined to let things fester, brooding over perceived slights and restlessly calculating the effect of every incident on his own standing. Weeks after the cabinet crisis had been resolved, he questioned his own decision to stay on board. "I have neither love nor taste for the position I occupy," he told Horace Greeley, "and have only two great regrets connected with it-one, that I ever took it; the other, that having resigned it I yielded to the counsels of those who said I must resume it."

Chase became physically ill during the tumultuous debate on Capitol Hill over his banking bill, terrified that the measures necessary to finance the war would not make it through. When the bills pa.s.sed and the new greenbacks were ready for distribution, he momentarily basked in the knowledge that the Treasury was full for the first time since the war began. He was also pleased by the fact that his own handsome face would appear in the left-hand corner of every dollar bill. He had deliberately chosen to place his picture on the ubiquitous one-dollar bill rather than a bill of a higher denomination, knowing that his image would thus reach the greatest number of people. His mood quickly darkened when he contemplated his own strained finances, however, and feared that his personal investments with Jay Cooke and his brother, Henry, might be misconstrued. Their virtual monopoly over the government bond business was beginning to attract negative newspaper comment, though they had succeeded brilliantly in selling the war bonds to the public.

The stormy and irascible secretary of war also seemed unable to relax or distract himself from the incessant pressures of his office. Stanton's clerk, Charles Benjamin, recalled that "a word or a gesture would set [Stanton] aflame in an instant. He would dash the gla.s.ses before his eyes far up on his forehead, as though they pained or obstructed his vision; the muscles of his face would become agitated, and his voice would tremble and grow intense, without elevation." Though "the storm would pa.s.s away as quickly as it came," and though Stanton would quickly make amends to victims of his ill humor, the employees in the War Department, while respecting Stanton greatly, never loved him as Lincoln's aides loved their president.

Stanton also lacked Lincoln's ability to put grudges behind him. When asked why he disliked the Sanitary Commission, which had done so much to promote healthy conditions in the army camps, Stanton replied that the commission had persuaded the president and the Senate to appoint a surgeon general against his vigorous objections. "I'm not used to being beaten, and don't like it," he said, "and therefore I am hostile to the Commission." In fact, Stanton admitted, he "detested it."