Team Of Rivals Part 44

Dougla.s.s was overjoyed. He had long believed that the war would not be won so long as the North refused "to employ the black man's arm in suppressing the rebels." He wrote stirring appeals in his Monthly magazine and traveled throughout the North, speaking at large meetings in Albany, Syracuse, Buffalo, Philadelphia, and many other cities, offering a dozen answers to the question: "Why should a colored man enlist?" Nothing, he a.s.sured them, would more clearly legitimize their call for equal citizenship: "You will stand more erect, walk more a.s.sured, feel more at ease, and be less liable to insult than you ever were before. He who fights the battles of America may claim America as his country-and have that claim respected."

The black soldiers who initially answered Dougla.s.s's call became part of the famed 54th Ma.s.sachusetts Regiment. Captained by Robert Gould Shaw, the son of wealthy Boston abolitionists, this first black regiment from the North included two of Frederick Dougla.s.s's own sons, Charles and Lewis. On May 28, thousands of Bostonians poured into the streets cheering the men as they marched past the State House and the Common. At the parade ground, they were reviewed by the governor and various high-ranking military officials. "No single regiment has attracted larger crowds," the Boston Daily Evening Transcript reported. "Ladies lined the balconies and windows of the houses," waving their handkerchiefs as the bra.s.s band led the proud regiment to the parade ground.

Frederick Dougla.s.s attended the ceremonies, proudly extolling the "manly bearing" and "admirable marching" of the men he had worked hard to recruit. After bidding his sons farewell, he returned to the task of recruiting with renewed zeal.

Lincoln was in full accord with this drive to build black regiments. Though he had initially resisted proposals to arm blacks, he was now totally dedicated. He urged Banks, Hunter, and Grant to speed the enlisting process and implored Governor Andrew Johnson of Tennessee to raise black troops. "The colored population is the great available and yet unavailed of, force for restoring the Union," Lincoln wrote. "The bare sight of fifty thousand armed, and drilled black soldiers on the banks of the Mississippi, would end the rebellion at once." Chase, who had argued more strongly than any other cabinet member for black soldiers, took great satisfaction in Lincoln's newfound commitment. "The President is now thoroughly in earnest in this business," he wrote a friend, "& sees it much as I saw it nearly two years ago."

In his efforts to recruit black soldiers, Dougla.s.s encountered a series of obstacles forged by white prejudice: black soldiers received less pay than white soldiers, they were denied the enlistment bounty, and they were not allowed to be commissioned as officers. Still, Dougla.s.s insisted, "this is no time for hesitation.... Once let the black man get upon his person the bra.s.s letters, U.S.; let him get an eagle on his b.u.t.ton, and a musket on his shoulder, and bullets in his pocket," he told a ma.s.s audience in Philadelphia, "and there is no power on the earth or under the earth which can deny that he has earned the right of citizenship in the United States. I say again, this is our chance, and woe betide us if we fail to embrace it."

When the newly organized black troops went into battle-at Port Hudson, Milliken's Bend, and Fort Wagner-they earned great respect from white soldiers and civilians alike for their "bravery and steadiness." If captured, however, they ran the risk of losing their freedom or their lives, for the Confederate Congress had pa.s.sed an ordinance "dooming to death or slavery every negro taken in arms, and every white officer who commands negro troops."

As word of the unique dangers they faced spread through the black community, Dougla.s.s found that the size and enthusiasm of his audiences were swiftly diminishing, as was the number of black enlistments. He blamed Lincoln for not speaking out against the Confederate ordinance. "What has Mr. Lincoln to say about this slavery and murder? What has he said?-Not one word. In the hearing of the nation he is as silent as an oyster on the whole subject." The time for patience with the president had come and gone, he argued. Until he "shall interpose his power to prevent these atrocious a.s.sa.s.sinations of negro soldiers, the civilized world will hold him equally with Jefferson Davis responsible for them."

Lincoln's failure to speak out and protect the Union's black soldiers convinced Dougla.s.s that he could no longer persuade men to enlist in good conscience. "When I plead for recruits, I want to do it with my heart, without qualification," he explained to Major Stearns. "I cannot do that now. The impression settles upon me that colored men have much overrated the enlightenment, justice and generosity of our rulers at Washington."

In fact, Lincoln was already formulating a response. During the last week of July 1863, he asked Halleck to prepare an Order of Retaliation, which was issued on July 30. The order made clear that "the law of nations and the usages and customs of war as carried on by civilized powers, permit no distinction as to color in the treatment of prisoners of war." The Confederate ordinance represented "a relapse into barbarism" that required action on the part of the Union. "It is therefore ordered that for every soldier of the United States killed in violation of the laws of war, a rebel soldier shall be executed; and for every one enslaved by the enemy or sold into slavery, a rebel soldier shall be placed at hard labor."

The order was "well-written," the antagonistic Count Gurowski conceded, "but like all Mr. Lincoln's acts it is done almost too late, only when the poor President was so cornered by events, that shifting and escape became impossible." Dougla.s.s agreed but acknowledged that the president, "being a man of action," might have been waiting "for a case in which he should be required to act."

Although the retaliatory order alleviated one major concern, Dougla.s.s feared that the lack of "fair play" in the handling of black enrollees would continue to hamper recruiting. Major Stearns suggested that Dougla.s.s should go to Washington and explain the situation to the president. Having never visited the nation's capital, Dougla.s.s experienced an inexpressible "tumult of feeling" when he entered the White House. "I could not know what kind of a reception would be accorded me. I might be told to go home and mind my business.... Or I might be refused an interview altogether."

Finding a large crowd in the hallway, Dougla.s.s expected to wait hours before gaining an audience with the president. Minutes after presenting his card, however, he was called into the office. "I was never more quickly or more completely put at ease in the presence of a great man than in that of Abraham Lincoln," he later recalled. The president was seated in a chair when Dougla.s.s entered the room, "surrounded by a mult.i.tude of books and papers, his feet and legs were extended in front of his chair. On my approach he slowly drew his feet in from the different parts of the room into which they had strayed, and he began to rise." As Lincoln extended his hand in greeting, Dougla.s.s hesitantly began to introduce himself. "I know who you are, Mr. Dougla.s.s," Lincoln said. "Mr. Seward has told me all about you. Sit down. I am glad to see you." Lincoln's warmth put Dougla.s.s instantly at ease. Dougla.s.s later maintained that he had "never seen a more transparent countenance." He could tell "at a glance the justice of the popular estimate of the President['s] qualities expressed in the prefix 'honest' to the name of Abraham Lincoln."

Dougla.s.s laid before the president the discriminatory measures that were frustrating his recruiting efforts. "Mr. Lincoln listened with earnest attention and with very apparent sympathy," he recalled. "Upon my ceasing to speak [he] proceeded with an earnestness and fluency of which I had not suspected him." Lincoln first recognized the indisputable justice of the demand for equal pay. When Congress pa.s.sed the bill for black soldiers, he explained, it "seemed a necessary concession to smooth the way to their employment at all as soldiers," but he promised that "in the end they shall have the same pay as white soldiers." As for the absence of black officers, Lincoln a.s.sured Dougla.s.s that "he would sign any commission to colored soldiers whom his Secretary of War should commend to him."

Dougla.s.s was particularly impressed by Lincoln's justification for delaying the retaliatory order until the public mind was prepared for it. Had he acted earlier, Lincoln said, before the recent battles "in which negroes had distinguished themselves for bravery and general good conduct," he was certain that "such was the state of public popular prejudice that an outcry would have been raised against the measure. It would be said-Ah! we thought it would come to this. White men were to be killed for negroes." In fact, he confessed to grave misgivings that, "once begun, there was no telling where it would end; that if he could get hold of the Confederate soldiers who had been guilty [of killing black prisoners] he could easily retaliate, but the thought of hanging men for a crime perpetrated by others was revolting to his feelings." While Dougla.s.s disagreed, believing the order essential, he respected the "humane spirit" that prompted Lincoln's concerns.

Before they parted, Lincoln told Dougla.s.s that he had read a recent speech in which the fiery orator had lambasted "the tardy, hesitating and vacillating policy of the President of the United States." Though he conceded that he might move with frustrating deliberation on large issues, he disputed the accusation of vacillation. "I think it cannot be shown that when I have once taken a position, I have ever retreated from it." Dougla.s.s would never forget his first meeting with Lincoln, during which he felt "as though I could...put my hand on his shoulder."

Later that same day, Dougla.s.s met with Stanton. "The manner of no two men could be more widely different," he observed. "His first glance was that of a man who says: 'Well, what do you want? I have no time to waste upon you or anybody else.'" Nonetheless, once Dougla.s.s began to outline much the same issues he had addressed with the president, "contempt and suspicion and brusqueness had all disappeared from his face," and Stanton, too, promised "that justice would ultimately be done." Indeed, Stanton had already implored Congress to remove the discriminatory wage and bounty provisions, which it would eventually do. Impressed by Dougla.s.s, Stanton promised to make him an a.s.sistant adjutant general a.s.signed to Lorenzo Thomas, then charged with recruiting black soldiers in the Mississippi Valley. The War Department followed up with an offer of a $100-a-month salary plus subsistence and transportation, but the commission was not included. Dougla.s.s declined: "I knew too much of camp life and the value of shoulder straps in the army to go into the service without some visible mark of my rank."

Dougla.s.s and Lincoln had established a relationship that would prove important for both men in the weeks and months ahead. In subsequent speeches, Dougla.s.s frequently commented on his gracious reception at the White House. "Perhaps you may like to know how the President of the United States received a black man at the White House," he would say. "I will tell you how he received me-just as you have seen one gentleman receive another." As the crowd erupted into "great applause," he continued, "I tell you I felt big there!"

IN THE RELATIVE QUIET that followed, Lincoln immersed himself in the task of composing another public letter. This letter was addressed to James Conkling, the old Springfield friend in whose office he had anxiously awaited news from Chicago during the Republican nominating convention. As a leading Illinois Republican, Conkling had invited Lincoln to attend a ma.s.s meeting in Springfield on September 3, organized to rally loyal Unionists in a show of strength against the Copperhead influence, which remained strong in the Northwest. Union victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg had created a deceptive feeling that peace was close at hand. False rumors circulated that Lincoln had received and rejected several viable peace proposals. It was essential to derail these damaging stories and halt Copperhead momentum in its tracks. While he doubtless would have been received with adoration in his hometown, Lincoln decided to remain in Washington and compose a comprehensive letter for Conkling to read at the meeting and then have printed for ma.s.s distribution.

After completing an early draft, Lincoln searched out someone to listen as he read it aloud. It was a Sunday night, and the mansion was nearly vacant. Entering the library, the president was delighted to find William Stoddard. "Ah! I'm glad you're here," Lincoln said. "Come over into my room." Stoddard followed him into his office. "Sit down," Lincoln urged. "What I want is an audience. Nothing sounds the same when there isn't anybody to hear it and find fault with it." Stoddard expressed doubt that he would be inclined to criticize the president's words. "Yes, you will," Lincoln good-humoredly replied. "Everybody else will. It's just what I want you to do." Then, taking the sheets of foolscap paper from the end of the cabinet table on which he had been writing, he began to read.

Warming to the task, Lincoln allowed his voice to rise and fall as if he were speaking to an audience of thousands. When he finished, he asked Stoddard's impression. Stoddard's sole objection was to fault Lincoln's metaphor-"Uncle Sam's web-feet"-for the navy gunboats that plied the rivers and bayous. "I never saw a web-footed gunboat in all my life," Stoddard said. "They're a queer kind of duck." Lincoln laughed. "Some of 'em did get ash.o.r.e, though. I'll leave it in, now I know how it's going to sound." Then, thanking Stoddard, he bade him good night.

The address was designed to curb the "deceptive and groundless" rumors that Lincoln had secretly rejected peace proposals. If any legitimate propositions should be received, he pledged, they would not be kept a secret from the people he was elected to serve. "But, to be plain," he went on, "you are dissatisfied with me about the negro.... You dislike the emanc.i.p.ation proclamation; and, perhaps, would have it retracted." On this point there would be no compromise: "it can not be retracted, any more than the dead can be brought to life," for "the promise being made, must be kept." Furthermore, black soldiers had become so integral to the war effort that "some of the commanders of our armies in the field who have given us our most important successes, believe the emanc.i.p.ation policy, and the use of colored troops, const.i.tute the heaviest blow yet dealt to the rebellion....

"Peace does not appear so distant as it did," Lincoln concluded. "And then, there will be some black men who can remember that, with silent tongue, and clenched teeth, and steady eye, and well-poised bayonet, they have helped mankind on to this great consummation; while, I fear, there will be some white ones, unable to forget that, with malignant heart, and deceitful speech, they have strove to hinder it."

Lincoln continued to refine his letter over the next ten days, stealing what time he could from his public duties. He finally sent it, accompanied with a personal note to Conkling: "You are one of the best public readers. I have but one suggestion. Read it very slowly." An immense crowd was expected, drawn "from the farm and the workshop," the local newspaper reported, "from the office and the counting-room," to prove to the Copperheads that behind the soldiers already in the field were "hundreds of thousands more who are willing to offer their services whenever the country calls."

Confident in his final composition, Lincoln antic.i.p.ated a positive reception on September 3 when it would be read to the crowd and then given to newspapers for publication the following day. When he awoke on the morning of the ma.s.s meeting, however, he was furious to see a truncated version of his letter printed in the Washington Daily Chronicle. Lincoln immediately complained to the editor, John Forney. Don't blame us, Forney explained to Lincoln, we got it from the a.s.sociated Press, and it's in daily newspapers around the country. Provoked, Lincoln telegraphed Conkling in Springfield. "I am mortified this morning to find the letter to you, botched up, in the Eastern papers, telegraphed from Chicago. How did this happen?"

Hearing nothing that day from Conkling, Lincoln remained testy. When a pet.i.tioner tried to solicit his help in securing property for a Memphis woman whose husband was in the Confederate Army, the president uncharacteristically replied that he had "neither the means nor time" to consider the request and that "the impropriety of bringing such cases to me, is obvious to any one."

The following morning, a message arrived from Conkling. Apparently, he had telegraphed the letter in advance, with "strict injunctions not to permit it to be published before the meeting or make any improper use of it." He was "mortified" that someone had broken faith, but trusted that "no prejudicial results have been experienced as the whole Letter was published the next day."

In fact, the publication of the entire letter received excellent reviews. "Disclaiming the arts of the diplomatist, the cunning of the politician, and the graces of rhetoric, he comes straight to the points he wants to discuss," praised the New York Daily Tribune. "The most consummate rhetorician never used language more pat to the purpose," the New York Times declared, "and still there is not a word in the letter not familiar to the plainest plowman." While "felicity of speech" was usually linked to "high culture," the Times continued, Lincoln, "in his own independent, and perhaps we might say very peculiar, way," exhibits a "felicity of speech far surpa.s.sing" stylistic preference. He possesses a far more valuable "felicity of thought," which "invariably gets at the needed truth of the time," hitting "the very nail of all others which needs driving." The Philadelphia Inquirer had regarded Lincoln's unconventional habit of writing public letters with skepticism, but granted that his recent letters, including this one, "have dispelled the doubt. If he is as felicitous in the future, we hope he will continue to write."

"His last letter is a great thing," Hay told Nicolay a few days later. "Some hideously bad rhetoric-some indecorums that are infamous-yet the whole letter takes its solid place in history, as a great utterance of a great man. The whole Cabinet could not have tinkered up a letter which could have been compared with it. He can snake a sophism out of its hole, better than all the trained logicians of all schools."

In its fulsome praise of the letter to Conkling, the New York Times also commended a long line of Lincoln's writings, including his inaugural, the letters to McClellan made public by the congressional Committee on the Conduct of the War, and his published letters to Greeley and Corning, which revealed "the same fitness to the occasion, and the same effectiveness in its own direction." Taken together, these remarkable doc.u.ments had made Lincoln "the most popular man in the Republic. All the denunciations and all the arts of demagogues are perfectly powerless to wean the people from their faith in him."

"I know the people want him," Hay wrote to Nicolay, looking forward to the next election. "There is no mistaking that fact. But politicians are strong yet & he is not their 'kind of a cat.' I hope G.o.d wont see fit to scourge us for our sins by any one of the two or three most prominent candidates on the ground."

BY THE MIDDLE of September 1863, all the members of Lincoln's cabinet had returned from their summer sojourns. Seward came back invigorated by his trip through the lake region with the diplomatic corps. Bates was back from Missouri in time to celebrate his seventieth birthday, grateful that his long life had "been crowned with many blessings, and, comparatively few crosses." He noted with pride that, as a public figure, he had achieved a reputation "for knowledge and probity, quite as good as I deserve." Stanton, too, had enjoyed a much-needed vacation with his family in the mountains of Pennsylvania. Chase, in characteristic fashion, had allowed himself scant respite from work, leaving his daughters at the seash.o.r.e and then peevishly awaiting their return. Welles was gratified to return from his ten-day visit to the Navy Yards, noting in his diary that all his colleagues seemed "glad to see me,-none more so than the President, who cordially and earnestly greeted me. I have been less absent than any other member and was therefore perhaps more missed." Lincoln himself still enjoyed leisurely nights at the Soldiers' Home and looked forward to Mary's homecoming from the Green Mountains.

Grim news from Tennessee deflated the genial, relaxed mood of the president and his cabinet. After the victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, Lincoln and Stanton had hoped that General Rosecrans, with the Army of the c.u.mberland, could deliver the "finishing blow to the rebellion." He was positioned to push the enemy from Chattanooga and Knoxville, Tennessee, with an eye to advancing on Georgia. However, after Rosecrans delivered "a great and bloodless victory at Chattanooga" as the enemy fled from the city before advancing troops, the Confederates regrouped and "unexpectedly appeared in force, on the south bank of [the] Chicamauga." A furious battle commenced on Sat.u.r.day, September 19. Within thirty-six hours, the telegrams from the field indicated a stunning Confederate victory. "Chicamauga is as fatal a name in our history as Bull Run," Dana wired Stanton. Union casualties totaled sixteen thousand men. "We have met with a serious disaster," Rosecrans acknowledged. "Enemy overwhelmed us, drove our right, pierced our center and scattered troops there."

Lincoln told Welles that the dispatches reached him "at the Soldiers' Home shortly after he got asleep, and so disturbed him that he had no more rest, but arose and came to the city and pa.s.sed the remainder of the night awake and watchful." At daybreak, the president wandered into Hay's room, where, seated on the bed, he broke the news to his young aide. "Well, Rosecrans has been whipped, as I feared. I have feared it for several days. I believe I feel trouble in the air before it comes."

Later that same day, perhaps hoping that the presence of his family might lift his spirits, Lincoln telegraphed Mary. "The air is so clear and cool, and apparently healthy, that I would be glad for you to come. Nothing very particular, but I would be glad [to] see you and Tad." Mary responded immediately, saying she was "anxious to return home" and had already made plans to do so.

As further reports filtered in, the fallout of the battle proved "less unfavorable than was feared," a relieved Chase noted. General George Thomas's corps had held its ground, and the rebels had lost even more troops than the Federals. Chattanooga "still remains in our hands," Charles Dana wired to Stanton and, with reinforcements of twenty to thirty thousand troops "can be held by this army for from fifteen to twenty days." Without the additional troops, however, the outnumbered Federals would have to abandon Chattanooga or face another potentially disastrous battle. Everything hinged on whether this ma.s.sive movement of troops would reach Tennessee in time. Shortly before midnight on Wednesday, Stanton came up with a bold idea that required the president's approval.

Unwilling to waste the remainder of the night, Stanton dispatched messengers to bring Lincoln, Halleck, Seward, and Chase to a secret meeting in his office. Chase had just retired for the night when the courier rang his bell. "The Secretary of War desires that you will come to the Department immediately & has sent a carriage for you," he announced. Chase "hastily rose & dressed," terrified that the enemy had captured Rosecrans and his entire army. John Hay was sent to the Soldiers' Home to summon Lincoln, who, like Chase, was already in bed. As Lincoln rose to dress, "he was considerably disturbed," saying that "it was the first time Stanton had ever sent for him." Guided by the light of the moon, Lincoln and Hay then rode back to the War Department.

When the five men were a.s.sembled around the table, the austere Stanton said: "I have invited this meeting because I am thoroughly convinced that something must be done & done immediately." He proceeded to outline an audacious proposal to remove twenty thousand men from General Meade's Army of the Potomac to Nashville and Chattanooga under General Hooker's command. The plan struck both Halleck and Lincoln as dangerous and impractical. Halleck protested that it would take at least forty days to reach Tennessee. The troops would arrive too late, and Meade would be left vulnerable on the Rappahannock. The president agreed. "Why," he quipped, "you cant get one corps into Washington in the time you fix for reaching Nashville." A humorous anecdote he employed to ill.u.s.trate his point "greatly annoyed" Stanton, who remarked that "the danger was too imminent & the occasion [too] serious for jokes." He said that "he had fully considered the question of practicability & should not have submitted his proposition had he not fully satisfied himself" as to its feasibility.

After further discussion, Chase suggested taking a break for the refreshments Stanton had prepared. "On returning," Chase recalled, "Mr. Seward took up the subject & supported Mr. Stantons proposition with excellent arguments." Chase believed that Seward's support for the proposal was instrumental. Sensing his advantage, Stanton immediately sent an orderly to find Colonel D. C. McCallum, director of the Department of Military Railroads. Stanton had briefed McCallum earlier in the evening and directed him to prepare an estimate of the time necessary to transfer the troops by rail if all available trains were put at his disposal. When McCallum entered, Lincoln described the proposition and asked him to estimate how long it would take to achieve the goal. Without disclosing that he had received prior notice to consider the matter, McCallum asked for a moment to "make a few figures." Seated at a desk with timetables spread before him, he worked for some time while the room remained silent. Finally, he stood up and said: "I can complete it in seven days."

"Good!" Stanton exclaimed, turning contemptuously to Halleck. "I told you so! I knew it could be done! Forty days! Forty days indeed, when the life of the nation is at stake!" He then addressed McCallum: "Go ahead; begin now." At this point, Lincoln interrupted. "I have not yet given my consent," he reminded the secretary of war. "Colonel McCallum, are you sure about this?" Lincoln asked. "There must be no mistake." When McCallum said he would "pledge [his] life to accomplish it inside of seven days," Lincoln was satisfied. "Mr. Secretary, you are the captain. Give the necessary orders and I will approve them."

Relentlessly, Stanton worked for more than forty-eight hours straight, commandeering trains for military use, telegraphing railroad managers along the route, determining the various gauges of the tracks. He acquired the provisions necessary for soldiers and horses to travel straight across the Alleghenies into East Tennessee without a stop to resupply.

The first train left Washington at 5 p.m. on September 25, with departures every hour until 23,000 men and 1,100 horses, 9 batteries, and hundreds of wagons, tents, and supplies arrived in Tennessee ready to join Rosecrans in defense of Chattanooga. Monitoring reports from every station along the way, Stanton refused to go home. When exhaustion overtook him, he would collapse on his couch for a few hours, a cologne-moistened handkerchief tied around his forehead. Only when it became clear that the movement would succeed within the promised seven days did he agree to leave his post. "It was an extraordinary feat of logistics," James McPherson writes, "the longest and fastest movement of such a large body of troops before the twentieth century."

The immediate peril was past, but Dana's reports in the following weeks indicated that the rebels had cut off supply routes into Chattanooga and that the troops had lost confidence in Rosecrans. Lincoln and Stanton decided that the time had come for a change in command. Stanton telegraphed Grant to leave Cairo, Illinois, for Louisville, Kentucky, where he would "meet an officer of the War Department" and receive new instructions. When Grant reached Indianapolis, he discovered that the War Department officer was Stanton himself. This was the first meeting between the two men.

Stanton presented Grant with a choice between two orders. Both offered him command of a new "Military Division of the Mississippi" encompa.s.sing the Departments of the c.u.mberland, the Ohio, and the Tennessee. The first left the departmental commanders in place. Grant chose the second order, which replaced Rosecrans with Thomas. Stanton spent a day with Grant discussing the overall military situation before the general departed for Chattanooga. There, under his leadership, the Federals eventually drove the rebels from Tennessee after a stunning victory at Lookout Mountain.

In his memoirs, Grant credits Stanton for playing an important role in saving Chattanooga. The unprecedented troop movement prevented a retreat that, Grant acknowledged, "would have been a terrible disaster." Chase, too, lauded Stanton. "The country does not know how much it owes Edwin M. Stanton for that nights work."

It was this indomitable drive that Lincoln had sought when he put aside any resentment at the humiliation Stanton had inflicted years earlier in Cincinnati. The bluntness and single-minded intensity behind Stanton's brusque dismissal of Lincoln at that first acquaintance were the qualities the president valued in his secretary of war-whom he would affectionately call his "Mars."

Those who observed the improbable pair in the little room adjoining the telegraph office noted the "esteem and affection" that characterized their relationship. "It was an interesting and a pleasant sight," clerk Charles Benjamin recalled, "that of Mr. Lincoln seated with one long leg crossed upon the other, his head a little peaked and his face lit up by the animation of talking or listening, while Mr. Stanton would stand sidewise to him, with one hand resting lightly on the high back of the chair in the brief intervals of that everlasting occupation of wiping his spectacles." Should Lincoln rise from the writing desk that Stanton arranged for him, "the picturesqueness of the scene" would give way to laughter, for "the striking differences in height and girth at once suggested the two gendarmes in the French comic opera."

"No two men were ever more utterly and irreconcilably unlike," Stanton's private secretary, A. E. Johnson, observed. "The secretiveness which Lincoln wholly lacked, Stanton had in marked degree; the charity which Stanton could not feel, coursed from every pore in Lincoln. Lincoln was for giving a wayward subordinate seventy times seven chances to repair his errors; Stanton was for either forcing him to obey or cutting off his head without more ado. Lincoln was as calm and unruffled as the summer sea in moments of the gravest peril; Stanton would lash himself into a fury over the same condition of things. Stanton would take hardships with a groan; Lincoln would find a funny story to fit them. Stanton was all dignity and sternness, Lincoln all simplicity and good nature...yet no two men ever did or could work better in harness. They supplemented each other's nature, and they fully recognized the fact that they were a necessity to each other."

Johnson believed that "in dealing with the public, Lincoln's heart was greater than his head, while Stanton's head was greater than his heart." The ant.i.thetical styles are typified in the story of a congressman who had received Lincoln's authorization for the War Department's aid in a project. When Stanton refused to honor the order, the disappointed pet.i.tioner returned to Lincoln, telling him that Stanton had not only countermanded the order but had called the president a d.a.m.ned fool for issuing it. "Did Stanton say I was a d--d fool?" Lincoln asked. "He did, sir," the congressman replied, "and repeated it." Smiling, the president remarked: "If Stanton said I was a d--d fool, then I must be one, for he is nearly always right, and generally says what he means. I will step over and see him."

As Stanton came to know and understand Lincoln, his initial disdain turned to admiration. When George Harding, his old partner in the Reaper trial, a.s.sumed that Stanton was the author of the "remarkable pa.s.sages" in one of Lincoln's messages, Stanton set him straight. "Lincoln wrote it-every word of it; and he is capable of more than that, Harding, no men were ever so deceived as we at Cincinnati."

"Few war ministers have had such real personal affection and respect for their king or president as Mr. Stanton had for Mr. Lincoln," a contemporary observed. Both had suffered great personal losses, and both were haunted all their days by thoughts of mortality and death. When Stanton was eighteen, a cholera epidemic had spread through the Midwest. Victims were buried as quickly as possible in an effort to contain the plague. Learning that a young friend had been buried within hours of falling ill, Stanton panicked, fearing that "she had been buried alive while in a faint." He raced to the grave, where, with the help of a medical student friend, he exhumed her body to determine if she was truly dead. Contact with the body led to his own infection and near death from cholera. When his beloved wife, Mary, died ten years later, he insisted on including her wedding ring, valuable pieces of her jewelry, and some of his correspondence in her casket. He spent hours at her gravesite, and when he could not be there, he sent an employee to stand guard.