Team Of Rivals Part 41

Those who worked with Stanton attributed his "nervous irritability" to the combination of overwork and poor health. At times, his asthma became so severe that he collapsed in "violent fits of strangulation." Still, he refused to take a break. When doctors pleaded with him to get some rest and exercise, he insisted that he wanted only to be kept alive until the war ended and then, and only then, would he consent to seek rest. Though he loved good conversation and had built his large house in order to gather interesting people around his table, he stayed in the War Department day and night, rarely enjoying the convivial evenings that replenished Seward and Lincoln or that Kate provided for Chase. And while he enjoyed reading novels, with a special preference for d.i.c.kens, Stanton seldom found the time to unwind with a book. Instead, one of his clerks recalled, when he wanted "an hour's rest," he would lock his door, lie on his couch, and peruse English periodicals sympathetic to the Confederate cause, endeavoring to better understand the British att.i.tude to the war.

Unlike Seward, who had promptly brought Fred into the State Department and relished the professional and personal support of his own son, Stanton had no family member or intimate friend to rely upon for daily counsel. Except for the initial appointment of his brother-in-law Christopher Wolcott as a.s.sistant secretary of war, Stanton refused to bring any of his relatives into his department. When Senator Ben Wade recommended an appointment for Stanton's capable cousin William, the secretary angrily declared that no relative would have any "office in his gift" so long as he remained at his post. John Hay went so far as to remark that he "would rather make the tour of a small-pox hospital" than be forced to ask Stanton for a favor. Even when Stanton's own son, Edwin Junior, wanted to serve as his private secretary after graduating from Kenyon, Stanton refused to bend. Only after months of unpaid labor for an a.s.sistant secretary did the boy receive his father's consent to an official appointment.

Stanton rarely returned to Steubenville during the war. During the winter of 1862, Christopher Wolcott had become seriously ill. When he died in April 1863, Stanton and his son boarded a special train to join Stanton's sister for the funeral in Ohio. Pamphila's conviction that her husband had died from overwork must have made Stanton's attempts at consolation difficult. Though he tried to relax on his old home ground, revisit the places he had loved, Stanton returned to Washington more exhausted than restored.

As the pressure on all the key administration officials mounted, Lincoln, with the hardest task of all, maintained the most generous and even-tempered disposition. Even he, however, was sorely tried on occasion. After recommending that the War Department utilize the services of a meteorologist, Francis Capen, Lincoln was exasperated when none of Capen's presumably scientific predictions proved correct. "It seems to me Mr. Capen knows nothing about the weather, in advance," Lincoln wrote three days after Capen had a.s.sured him it would not rain for five or six days. "It is raining now & has been for ten hours. I can not spare any more time to Mr. Capen." He was more irritated when warring factions in Missouri refused to reconcile. He informed the recalcitrant groups that their continuing feud was "very painful" for him. "I have been tormented with it beyond endurance for months, by both sides. Neither side pays the least respect to my appeals to your reason. I am now compelled to take hold of the case."

But Lincoln refused to let resentments rankle. Discovering that a hastily written note to General Franz Sigel had upset the general, he swiftly followed up with another. "I was a little cross," he told Sigel, "I ask pardon. If I do get up a little temper I have no sufficient time to keep it up." Such gestures on Lincoln's part repaired injured feelings that might have escalated into lasting animosity.

The story is told of an army colonel who rode out to the Soldiers' Home, hopeful of securing Lincoln's aid in recovering the body of his wife, who had died in a steamboat accident. His brief period of relaxation interrupted, Lincoln listened to the colonel's tale but offered no help. "Am I to have no rest? Is there no hour or spot when or where I may escape this constant call? Why do you follow me out here with such business as this?" The disheartened colonel returned to his hotel in Washington. The following morning, Lincoln appeared at his door. "I was a brute last night," Lincoln said, offering to help the colonel in any way possible.

Republican stalwart Carl Schurz relates an equally remarkable encounter in the wake of an unpleasant written exchange that initially seemed to threaten his friendship with Lincoln. Discouraged by the lack of progress in the war, Schurz had blamed Lincoln's misguided appointment of Democrats "whose hearts" were not fully "in the struggle" to top positions in the field. Lincoln had responded testily, telling Schurz that he obviously wanted men with "heart in it." The question was "who is to be the judge of hearts, or of 'heart in it?' If I must discard my own judgment, and take yours, I must also take that of others; and by the time I should reject all I should be advised to reject, I should have none left, Republicans or others-not even yourself." Schurz, at the army camp in Centreville, Virginia, where he led the Third Division of the 11th Corps, detected in Lincoln's long reply "an undertone of impatience, of irritation, unusual with him." Though he had been encouraged by the president to correspond freely, he feared that his letter had transgressed.

Several days later, a messenger arrived at Schurz's encampment with an invitation from Lincoln "to come to see him as soon as my duties would permit." Obtaining permission to leave that same day, Schurz reached the White House at seven the next morning. He found Lincoln upstairs in his comfortable armchair, clad in his slippers. "He greeted me cordially as of old and bade me pull up a chair and sit by his side. Then he brought his large hand with a slap down on my knee and said with a smile: 'Now tell me, young man, whether you really think that I am as poor a fellow as you have made me out in your letter!'" Fl.u.s.tered, Schurz hesitantly explained the reason behind his tirade. Lincoln listened patiently and then delineated his own situation, explaining that his terse reply had been provoked by a hailstorm of criticism that had been pelting down on him. "Then, slapping my knee again, he broke out in a loud laugh and exclaimed: 'Didn't I give it to you hard in my letter? Didn't I? But it didn't hurt, did it? I did not mean to, and therefore I wanted you to come so quickly.'" Lincoln and Schurz talked for an hour, at the end of which Schurz asked whether his letters were still welcome. "'Why, certainly,' he answered; 'write me whenever the spirit moves you.' We parted as better friends than ever."

TO CELEBRATE Tad's tenth birthday on Sat.u.r.day, April 4, Mary Lincoln proposed a family excursion by steam and train to the Army of the Potomac headquarters in Falmouth, Virginia. Delighted by the chance to escape from Washington, Lincoln organized a small traveling party, including his old Illinois friend Dr. Anson Henry, Noah Brooks, and, at Henry's suggestion, Edward Bates. Dr. Henry had maintained a friendship with Bates over the years and considered him "one of the purest and best men in the world." Bates agreed to the foray, hoping to visit his son Coalter, who was with Hooker's army; as it happened, Coalter had just left to pay a final visit to the family in Washington before the expected spring battles began.

The little party left the White House in the midst of a furious blizzard. Gale winds blew clouds of dust and snow in all directions as they boarded the steamer Carrie Martin at sunset. They headed south past Alexandria and Mount Vernon, where, according to the custom of the river, a bell tolled a salute in honor of George Washington. The steamer was due to reach the army supply depot at Aquia Creek that evening, but the escalating storm required them to cast anchor in a protected cove for the night. Undeterred by the falling snow and the howling winds that drove everyone else to the warm comfort of the cabin, Tad remained on deck with his fishing line, determined to provide food for supper. Racing in to announce every bite to his parents, Tad finally caught a small fish that, much to his delight, was added to the dinner menu. Brooks marveled at the simplicity of the scene, watching "the chief magistrate of this mighty nation" relax with family and friends, "telling stories" and conversing in "a free and easy way," with no servant standing by and no guard on deck. Had the rebels known their whereabouts, Brooks mused, they "might have gobbled up the entire party without firing a shot."

The snowstorm was "at its height" when the Carrie Martin pulled into the busy dock at Aquia Creek, where, on Easter morning, the presidential party boarded a special train for Falmouth Station. Along the way, with "snow piled in huge drifts" and "the wind whistling fiercely over the hills," they pa.s.sed one army camp after another. Each encampment along the thirty miles had hundreds of campfires surrounded by tents, fortifications, and stockades. Disembarking at Falmouth Station, they were taken by closed carriage over rough roads to Hooker's headquarters a half mile away. Situated about three miles from the Rappahannock, the headquarters resembled a small city, complete with telegraph office, printing establishment, bakery, post office, and accommodations for more than 133,000 soldiers.

General Hooker, tall and broad-shouldered, awaited them in front of his tent, which stood at the end of a wide street flanked with officers' tents on both sides. He greeted the party of six and beckoned them into his comfortable quarters, furnished with a large fireplace, two beds, chairs for the entire party, and a long table covered with papers and books.

Lincoln liked and respected Hooker. When he had tendered him command of the Army of the Potomac ten weeks earlier, he had sent along a remarkable letter of advice. "I believe you to be a brave and a skillful soldier," the letter began. "You have confidence in yourself, which is valuable, if not an indispensable quality. You are ambitious, which, within reasonable bounds, does good rather than harm. But I think that during Gen. Burnside's command of the Army, you have taken counsel of your ambition, and thwarted him as much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country, and to a most meritorious and honorable brother officer." Lincoln continued with an admonition about Hooker's recent comments suggesting the need for a dictator to a.s.sume command of "both the Army and the Government." He informed Hooker that "it was not for this, but in spite of it, that I have given you the command. Only those generals who gain successes, can set up dictators. What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship." The president closed with shrewd words of guidance: "Beware of rashness, but with energy, and sleepless vigilance, go forward, and give us victories." Aside from the wisdom of the advice, the letter clearly manifests Lincoln's growing confidence in his own powers.

Hooker took the advice in stride. In fact, he was so moved by the kindhearted tone of the letter that over the next few days he read it aloud to various people, including Noah Brooks and Dr. Henry, who thought it should be printed in gold letters. "That is just such a letter as a father might write to his son," Hooker fervently told Brooks as the young journalist sat with him before a fire in his tent. "It is a beautiful letter," Hooker continued, "and, although I think he was harder on me than I deserved, I will say that I love the man who wrote it."

Reporters noted Mary's curiosity about every aspect of camp life; they commented on her simple attire and speculated that this was her first experience sleeping in a tent. In fact, the first couple's tent was far more elaborately outfitted than an ordinary one. It boasted a plank floor, a stove, and beds especially constructed for the occasion, complete with real sheets, blankets, and pillowcases. As the days went by, the weariness that had marked Mary's face upon arrival began to fade, and "the change seemed pleasant to her." Brooks reported badinage between husband and wife occasioned by a photograph of a Confederate officer with an inscription on the back: "A rebellious rebel." Mary suggested that this meant he "was a rebel against the rebel government." Lincoln smiled, countering that perhaps the officer "wanted everybody to know that he was not only a rebel, but a rebel of rebels-'a double-dyed-in-the-wool sort of rebel.'"

Stormy weather postponed the first grand review from Sunday to Monday afternoon, leaving the president and first lady free to talk at length with the members of Hooker's staff. The irrepressible Tad, meanwhile, inspected every facility in the compound, zealously racing from one place to another. A reporter present at the meetings with Hooker's officers and aides noted that "Lincoln was in unusual good humor," lightening the atmosphere "by his sociability and shafts of wit."

The roar of artillery at noon the next day signaled the start of the cavalry review. With General Hooker by his side, Lincoln rode along serried ranks that stretched for miles over the rolling hills. The soldiers cheered and shouted when they saw the president and cheered even louder when they saw Master Tad Lincoln bravely attempting to keep up, "clinging to the saddle of his pony as tenaciously as the best man among them," his gray cloak flapping "like a flag or banneret."

The boy's "short legs stuck straight out from his saddle," Brooks noted, "and sometimes there was danger that his steed, by a sudden turn in the rough road, would throw him off like a bolt from a catapult." Much to the relief of onlookers, Tad made it through "safe and sound," his reckless riding steadied by a young orderly who remained faithfully by his side. "And thereby hangs a tale," noted a New York Herald reporter. The orderly was a thirteen-year-old boy, Gustave Shuman, who had left home when the war began to accompany the New Jersey Brigade. General Philip Kearny had made him his bugler. The boy rode in front of the troops throughout the Peninsula Campaign. When General Kearny was killed in the late summer of 1862, the new commander, Daniel Sickles, retained the boy as bugler. So, though not much older than the president's son, Gustave was a hardened veteran, quite capable of containing the impulsive Tad. Reporters noted that from that first review on, the two boys became inseparable, roaming about the camp like brothers.

Over the next few hours, tens of thousands of troops pa.s.sed in front of the president and first lady, sweeping one after another "like waves at sea." From atop the little knoll on which the Lincolns were stationed, the endless tiers provided a majestic vista. When the sun came out, one reporter observed, "the sunbeams danced on the rifles and bayonets, and lingered in the folds of the banners." At the review of the infantry and artillery, artists sketched the spectacle of sixty thousand men, "their arms shining in the distance and their bayonets bristling like a forest on the horizon as they disappeared far away."

Lincoln so enjoyed mingling with the men-who appeared amazingly healthy and lavishly outfitted with new uniforms, arms, and equipment-that he extended his visit until Friday. After one review, someone remarked that the regulars could be easily distinguished from the volunteers, for "the former stood rigidly in their places without moving their heads an inch as he rode by, while the latter almost invariably turned their heads to get a glimpse of him." Quick to defend the volunteers, Lincoln replied, "I don't care how much my soldiers turn their heads, if they don't turn their backs."

During a break from the reviews, several members of the presidential party, including Noah Brooks, journeyed down to the Rappahannock for a glimpse of the rebel camps across the river. With the naked eye, they could see the houses and steeples of Fredericksburg. The wooded hills and the renowned plain that had become "a slaughter pen for so many men" in the December battle were also clearly visible. Binoculars allowed a view of the ridge on which thousands of unmarked graves had been dug. Beyond the ridge, smoke rose from the rebel camps with elaborate earthworks, a myriad of white tents, and the flag of stars and bars. At the sh.o.r.eline, the Union pickets paced their rounds mirrored by rebel sentries across the narrow river. Honoring the "tacit understanding" that sentries would not fire at each other, they bandied comments across the water, hailing each other as "Secesh" or "Yank," and conversing "as amiably as though belonging to friendly armies." At one point, Brooks noted, a Confederate officer "came down to the water's edge, doubtless to see if Uncle Abraham was of our party. Failing to see him, he bowed politely and retired."

Both sides knew that as soon as the weather cleared, the brutal fighting would resume. "It was a saddening thought," Brooks remarked after one impressive review, "that so many of the gallant men whose hearts beat high as they rode past must, in the course of events, be numbered with the slain before many days shall pa.s.s." Yet despite the awareness that a major engagement was not far off, "all enjoyed the present after a certain grim fashion and deferred any anxiety for the morrow until that period should arrive." Before he departed, Lincoln issued one final directive to Hooker and his second in command, General Darius Couch. "Gentlemen, in your next battle put in all your men."

Tremendously heartened by the splendid condition of the army and the high spirits and reception of the troops, Lincoln boarded the Carrie Martin at sunset on Friday for the return trip to Washington. The Herald noted that he "received a salute from all the vessels in port and locomotives on sh.o.r.e, whistles being blown, bells run, and flags displayed."

LINCOLN RETURNED to the White House to find Blair enraged with Stanton, Welles feuding with Seward, and Chase threatening once again to resign. The Blairs, father and son, were defending James S. Pleasants, a Union man from Maryland who was related to Confederate John Key. Key had sought refuge at Pleasants's house, begging food and shelter. Reluctantly, the loyal Marylander had allowed him to stay at his home. Stanton insisted that such treason deserved the gallows. "The skirmish was sharp & long," Elizabeth Blair told her husband, but finally, the president commuted the sentence to imprisonment. Furthermore, when Lincoln learned of the man's poor health, he agreed, at the Blairs' request, to reduce the sentence. All of this left Stanton "very bitter."

The quarrel between Seward and Welles concerned an English ship captured in neutral waters by a blockade runner. Suspecting that the cargo aboard was meant for the Confederacy, the Union Navy sent the Peterhoff to New York for disposition by a prize court. Long-standing tradition dictated that the ship's mail be opened by the court to determine the true destination of the vessel and its cargo. The controversy had aroused strong protest from Britain regarding the sanct.i.ty of its mails. Seward, wanting to avoid British intervention at all cost, had agreed to surrender the mails unopened. Furious, Welles claimed that surrender was in violation of international law and would set a terrible precedent. Moreover, Seward had no basis meddling in this issue, since jurisdiction belonged to the Navy Department.

For days, as the unresolved matter led to rumors of war with England, the two colleagues argued the case before Lincoln. They visited him late at night armed with letters explaining their positions, argued in cabinet council, and solicited allies. Sumner backed Welles in the fray, maintaining that England would never go to war over this issue. The president, however, concurred with Seward that at this juncture good relations with England must supersede the legal questions surrounding the mails. Sumner left much disgruntled, considering Lincoln "very ignorant" about the precedents involved. Welles agreed, blaming Seward for "daily, and almost hourly wailing in [Lincoln's] ears the calamities of a war with England," thus diverting the president "from the real question." Montgomery Blair also sided with Welles, telling him after a cabinet meeting that Seward "knows less of public law and of administrative duties than any man who ever held a seat in the Cabinet." In the end, as Seward had advised, the president determined that the mails would be returned unopened to the British government.

Chase's disaffection also weighed heavily on Lincoln that spring. For the third time in five months, Chase threatened to resign his position in the Treasury. His first resignation during the cabinet crisis had been repeated in March when Lincoln, bowing to pressure from a Connecticut senator, had decided not to renominate one of Chase's appointees for collector of internal revenue in Hartford. Livid, Chase informed the president that unless his authority over his own appointments could be established, he could not continue in the cabinet: "I feel that I cannot be useful to you or the country in my present position." Lincoln managed once again to placate Chase, only to receive another threat in short order. This squabble was provoked by Lincoln's removal of one of Chase's appointees in the Puget Sound district who had been accused of speculating in land. Enraged that he was not consulted, Chase argued that he could not function in his department if decisions were made "not only without my concurrence, but without my knowledge." If the president could not respect his authority, Chase wrote, "I will, unhesitatingly, relieve you from all embarra.s.sment so far as I am concerned by tendering you my resignation."

Understanding that "Chase's feelings were hurt," Lincoln set about once again to sooth his ruffled pride. That evening, he later recounted, he called at Chase's house with the resignation in hand. Placing his long arms on Chase's shoulders, he said: "Chase, here is a paper with which I wish to have nothing to do; take it back, and be reasonable." He then explained why he had felt compelled to make the decision, which had taken place in Chase's absence from the city, and promised his touchy secretary that he would have complete authority to name the removed appointee's successor. "I had to plead with him a long time, but I finally succeeded," Lincoln happily noted.

Though irritated by Chase's haughty yet fundamentally insecure nature, Lincoln recognized the superlative accomplishments of his treasury secretary. In the two months since Congress had adjourned, Chase had sold more than $45 million in bonds, and the demand for the bonds was steadily increasing. "Never before did the finances of any nation, in the midst of a great war, work so admirably as do ours," the New York Times noted in a laudatory article on Chase. Even as Lincoln deferred to Chase, however, he placed his p.r.i.c.kly secretary's third resignation letter on file for future reference.

Monty Blair, meanwhile, resented Chase and showed little respect for his remaining colleagues. He considered Seward "an unprincipled liar" and Stanton "a great scoundrel." In fact, Blair thought the entire cabinet save Welles, and perhaps Bates, whom he liked but did not consider a stalwart ally, should be replaced, and that his father, "the ablest and best informed politician in America," should become Lincoln's "private counsellor." And so one personal struggle succeeded another, complicating the president's job, absorbing his energies.

Lincoln's uneasiness about his warring cabinet colleagues paled in comparison, however, to his disquietude about the impending movements of the Army of the Potomac. On April 13, 1863, three days after Lincoln returned from his trip, Hooker took the first step in what would become known as the Battle of Chancellorsville. He dispatched ten thousand cavalrymen under General George Stoneman to head south and insert themselves between Lee's army and Richmond. With the Confederate supply lines to Richmond severed, Hooker intended to cross the Rappahannock, draw the enemy away from Fredericksburg, and engage him in battle. Heavy rains and impa.s.sable roads delayed the advance, but finally, during the last week of April, Hooker's men began crossing the river.

For Lincoln and his cabinet, anxious days followed. "We have been in a terrible suspense here," Nicolay wrote his fiancee on Monday, May 4. Fighting had begun, but there was no "definite information" on the battle's progress. Welles joined Lincoln in the War Department to wait for news that did not come. Bates was particularly tense, knowing that his son John Coalter was with Hooker "in the most active and dangerous service." Lincoln admitted to Francis Blair, Sr., that n.o.body seemed to know what was going on. Welles found it odd that "no reliable intelligence" was reaching them, correctly surmising that this boded ill. "In the absence of news the President strives to feel encouraged and to inspire others," he wrote, "but I can perceive he has doubts and misgivings, though he does not express them."

"While I am anxious, please do not suppose I am impatient, or waste a moment's thought on me, to your own hindrance, or discomfort," Lincoln had written Hooker at the outset of the campaign. Even when disturbing fragments filtered in, Lincoln refused to pressure Hooker. "G.o.d bless you, and all with you. I know you will do your best," he wired his general on the morning of May 6. "Waste no time unnecessarily, to gratify our curiosity with despatches."

At 3 p.m. that afternoon, the suspense ended with an unwelcome telegram from Hooker's chief of staff. The Union forces had been defeated. The army had retreated to its original position on the north side of the Rappahannock, and seventeen thousand Union soldiers were dead, wounded, or missing. Hooker's second in command, General Darius Couch, later claimed that Hooker was simply "outgeneraled" by Lee. a.s.suming that Lee would "fall back without risking battle," Fighting Joe was "demoralized" by the fierceness of the Confederate attack. Had he committed all his troops, as Lincoln had directed him to do, the course of the battle might have been different. By immediately a.s.suming a defensive stance, however, Hooker gave the initiative to Lee and never regained his footing. An injury sustained on the battlefield further dulled Hooker's perceptions. Though his subordinates wanted to press the battle, he issued the order to retreat.

Noah Brooks was with Lincoln when the news came. "I shall never forget that picture of despair," he later wrote. "Had a thunderbolt fallen upon the President he could not have been more overwhelmed." His beloved army, so healthy and spirited weeks earlier, had been "driven back, torn and bleeding, to our starting point, where the heart-sickening delay, the long and tedious work of reorganizing a decimated and demoralized army would again commence." Observing the president's "ashen" face, Brooks "vaguely took in the thought" that his complexion "almost exactly" matched the French gray wallpaper in the room. "Clasping his hands behind his back, he walked up and down the room, saying, 'My G.o.d! my G.o.d! What will the country say! What will the country say!'"

The news traveled fast. The president informed Senator Sumner, who rushed to tell Welles. "Lost, lost, all is lost!" Sumner exclaimed, lifting both hands as he entered the navy secretary's office. Welles went to the War Department, where Seward was with Stanton. "I asked Stanton if he knew where Hooker was. He answered curtly, No. I looked at him sharply, and I have no doubt with some incredulity, for he, after a moment's pause, said he is on this side of the river, but I know not where." As the afternoon wore on and endless casualty lists began streaming in, Stanton could no longer hide his despair. "This is the darkest day of the war," he lamented. At the Willard Hotel, Brooks observed, secessionists suddenly "sprang to new life and animation and with smiling faces and ill-suppressed joy" moved openly through the gloomy crowds.

Within the hour of receiving the news, Lincoln ordered a carriage to drive him to the Navy Yard. Accompanied by General Halleck, he boarded a steamer bound for Hooker's headquarters, a grim counterpoint to his joyous April visit. Once again, Lincoln found some redemption in the resolute determination of his troops. "All accounts agree," one reporter wrote from army headquarters, "that the troops on the Rappahannock came out of their late b.l.o.o.d.y fight game to the backbone." Though "fresh from all the horrors of the battlefield, with ranks decimated, and almost exhausted with exposure and fatigue," they remained "undaunted and erect, composed and ready to turn on the instant and follow their leaders back into the fray."

Moreover, while the Confederates had lost 4,000 fewer men, their casualty list of 13,000 represented a larger percentage of their total forces. In addition, they had lost one of their greatest generals: Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson. Returning from a reconnaissance mission, Jackson had been mistaken for an enemy and was fired upon by some of his own men. His left arm was amputated in a nearby field hospital, but he died of pneumonia eight days later. The South went into mourning. "Since the death of Washington," the Richmond Whig proclaimed, "no similar event has so profoundly and sorrowfully impressed the people of Virginia as the death of Jackson."

Lincoln remained at army headquarters for only a few hours. Before leaving, he handed Hooker a letter expressing confidence in the continuing campaign. "If possible," the president wrote, "I would be very glad of another movement early enough to give us some benefit from the fact of the enemies communications being broken, but neither for this reason or any other, do I wish anything done in desperation or rashness." Lincoln made it clear that he stood ready to a.s.sist Hooker in the development of a new plan of action. As he had done so many times before, Lincoln withstood the storm of defeat by replacing anguish over an unchangeable past with hope in an uncharted future.

CHAPTER 20

"THE TYc.o.o.n IS IN FINE WHACK"

NO SOONER HAD LINCOLN returned from his May 7 visit to the troops than he was confronted by a colossal political uproar over the arrest and imprisonment of former Ohio congressman Clement Vallandigham on the charge of treason.

The arrest was ordered by General Burnside, who had a.s.sumed command of the Department of the Ohio after his replacement by Hooker. Responding to tumultuous peace demonstrations where speakers openly advocated the defeat of the Union's cause, Burnside issued General Orders No. 38, proclaiming that "the habit of declaring sympathy for the enemy will not be allowed in this department." All persons committing "treason, expressed or implied," would be arrested and tried by a military court. In deliberate defiance, Vallandigham incited a large crowd to a frenzy with his pa.s.sionate denunciations of a failed war. This demagogue of defeat railed that the conflict would end only if soldiers deserted en ma.s.se and the people acted to "hurl King Lincoln from his throne."

After reading a transcript of Vallandigham's remarks, Burnside sent his soldiers to arrest him at his home in the middle of the night. "The door resisted the efforts of the soldiers," a local journalist wrote, "and Vallandigham flourished a revolver at the window, and fired two or three shots," but the soldiers made their entry through a side entrance. With unprecedented speed, a military tribunal found him guilty and sentenced him to prison for the remainder of the war. His application for a writ of habeas corpus was denied. When the Chicago Times exacerbated the incident with its incendiary coverage, Burnside, on his own authority, shut the paper down.

Learning of these events in the morning newspaper, Lincoln found himself in a difficult position. While he later admitted that the news of the arrest brought him pain, he felt compelled to uphold Burnside. Nonetheless, he antic.i.p.ated the damaging political fallout. Criticism came not only from Copperheads and Democrats but from loyal Republicans. Thurlow Weed deplored the arrest. Senator Trumbull warned Browning that if such arbitrary arrests continued, "the civil tribunals will be completely subordinated to the military, and the government overthrown." A friend of Seward cautioned him that "by a large and honest portion of the community," the arrest was considered an "invasion of a great principle-the right of free speech," and that it might well precipitate civil war within the loyal states. Seward agreed. Indeed, in a moment of rare accord, every member of the cabinet united in opposition to the Vallandigham arrest.

Lincoln, searching for compromise, publicly supported Vallandigham's arrest but commuted the sentence to banishment within the Confederate lines. There, it was playfully remarked, his Copperhead body could go "where his heart already was." The New York Times recorded "general satisfaction" at the solution, which "so happily meets the difficulties of the case-avoiding the possibility of making him a martyr, and yet effectually destroying his power for evil." Escorted by Union cavalry holding a flag of truce, Vallandigham was removed to Tennessee. In an act that further diminished his reputation, he quickly escaped to Canada. Meanwhile, Stanton revoked Burnside's suspension of the Chicago Times and informed local officials that they were not to suppress newspapers.

Thus, Lincoln was able to maintain his support for General Burnside while minimizing any violation of civil liberties necessitated by war. Asked months later by a radical to "suppress the infamous 'Chicago Times,'" Lincoln told her, "I fear you do not fully comprehend the danger of abridging the liberties of the people. Nothing but the very sternest necessity can ever justify it. A government had better go to the very extreme of toleration, than to do aught that could be construed into an interference with, or to jeopardize in any degree, the common rights of its citizens."

After he dealt with Vallandigham, Lincoln's next priority was to comfort Burnside. Upon hearing that the entire cabinet had opposed his action, the general had offered to resign. Lincoln not only refused the resignation but insisted that while "the cabinet regretted the necessity" of the arrest, once it was done, "all were for seeing you through with it."