Part 25 (1/2)

Early on the morning of July 2, 1863, Lincoln read the incoming dispatches from General Meade. The Confederate attacks were uncoordinated and disjointed, whereas the Union leaders acted with initiative and self-a.s.surance. Yet there was no clear outcome of the battles on this second day of fighting.

With Lincoln busy at the War Department, word came that Mary Lincoln, while being driven in her carriage from the Soldiers' Home to the White House, had been involved in an accident. The driver's seat became detached from the carriage, frightening the horses; Mary was tossed from the coach and hit her head on a rock. Although injured, Mary would make a full recovery.

On the morning of July 3, 1863, as preparations in Was.h.i.+ngton for the Independence Day celebration were in full swing, the battle at Gettysburg turned. Lee, against the counsel of his most trusted generals, decided to attack the center of the Union line. The plan was to overwhelm the Union artillery with Confederate cannon followed by a charge of 13,000 soldiers-ever after known as ”Pickett's charge.” The advance led to a crus.h.i.+ng defeat, with approximately 6,600 Confederate casualties and half again that number taken prisoner. Meade, with the advantage s.h.i.+fted to his side, did not counterattack. An evening rain helped end three of the most deadly days in the war.

On July 3, 1863, at Gettysburg, Mathew Brady photographed the dead of the First Minnesota near the Peach Orchard.

On July 4, 1863, Meade's headquarters issued a congratulatory declaration to the army. He did not write it but must have approved it. ”Our task is not yet accomplished, and the commanding general looks to the army for greater efforts to drive from our soil every vestige of the presence of the invader.” Lincoln surely winced when he read Meade's declaration. Once again, a Union commander revealed that he did not understand that his task was to destroy the army, not drive it from Union soil, where it could only restore itself once again.

BY THE END OF MAY 1863, Lincoln believed that the fall of Vicksburg was just a matter of time. Grant, having suffered more than 3,000 casualties in his initial a.s.saults, and with an overwhelming advantage in manpower, decided to settle into a siege. Confederate general John Pemberton pleaded for relief, but with Sherman guarding the Union rear with six divisions, no relief would be forthcoming.

As the days turned into weeks, Grant's 80,000 men, with limitless ammunition, slowly squeezed the 30,000 defenders of Vicksburg into submission. Finally, on July 3, Pemberton, who had served in the same division with Grant in the Mexican War, sent his aide-de-camp to discuss terms of surrender with Grant. Lincoln's leading general offered his standard reply: unconditional surrender.

After a siege of forty-seven days, as the Confederate soldiers stacked their rifles in defeat, there was no cheering but silent respect by the victors. The unconditional Grant, out of respect for the bravery of the defenders, granted the condition to the defenders not of a Union prison but of parole. On July 4, at 10 a.m., twelve hundred miles from Gettysburg, the Stars and Stripes was raised over Vicksburg.

FOR THREE DAYS, Was.h.i.+ngton had waited as incomplete reports trickled in about the battle at Gettysburg. Finally, at 10 p.m. on July 3, the Was.h.i.+ngton Star Was.h.i.+ngton Star issued a bulletin of Meade's victory. The next day, the Fourth of July, amid firecrackers and rockets, the U.S. Marine Band played ”The Star-Spangled Banner” over and over again. At 10 a.m., the president issued an announcement. He wished the nation to know that the victory at Gettysburg ”is such to cover that Army with the highest honor, and to promise a success to the cause of the Union.” The an nouncement concluded, ”He especially desires that on this day, He whose will, not ours, should ever be done, be everywhere remembered and reverenced with profoundest grat.i.tude.” issued a bulletin of Meade's victory. The next day, the Fourth of July, amid firecrackers and rockets, the U.S. Marine Band played ”The Star-Spangled Banner” over and over again. At 10 a.m., the president issued an announcement. He wished the nation to know that the victory at Gettysburg ”is such to cover that Army with the highest honor, and to promise a success to the cause of the Union.” The an nouncement concluded, ”He especially desires that on this day, He whose will, not ours, should ever be done, be everywhere remembered and reverenced with profoundest grat.i.tude.”

On July 7, Secretary Welles received word from Admiral Porter that Vicksburg had fallen on July 4, 1863. The celebration started up again. At 8 p.m. on July 7, 1863, a huge throng a.s.sembled at the National Hotel and marched up Pennsylvania Avenue to the Executive Mansion. Reaching the White House, the crowd serenaded the president until Lincoln appeared at a window and offered an impromptu response. After thanking both the a.s.semblage and ”Almighty G.o.d,” Lincoln asked a question. ”How long ago is it?-eighty odd years-since on the Fourth of July for the first time in the history of the world a nation by its representatives, a.s.sembled and declared as a self-evident truth that 'all men are created equal?' ” The sentence was too long and complex, but he would tuck the idea away for later use.

UNBEKNOWNST TO THE PUBLIC that festive evening, but known to members of his cabinet who had met earlier that day, Lincoln was deeply disturbed that Meade, flushed with victory and attending to housekeeping duties of his battered troops, had failed to go after Lee. The rains that fell on Gettysburg on the evening of July 3, 1863, kept falling, so Lee was stuck in Pennsylvania, unable to ford the raging Potomac River. Meade's infantry skirmished with some of Lee's rearguard troops on July 11, 12, and 13, more than a week after the victory celebrations in Was.h.i.+ngton. Finally, on the morning of July 14, at 6 a.m., the Union forces mounted their long-awaited offensive. But when they approached the river, there was no one to fight. The last of Lee's troops had crossed over during the night. that festive evening, but known to members of his cabinet who had met earlier that day, Lincoln was deeply disturbed that Meade, flushed with victory and attending to housekeeping duties of his battered troops, had failed to go after Lee. The rains that fell on Gettysburg on the evening of July 3, 1863, kept falling, so Lee was stuck in Pennsylvania, unable to ford the raging Potomac River. Meade's infantry skirmished with some of Lee's rearguard troops on July 11, 12, and 13, more than a week after the victory celebrations in Was.h.i.+ngton. Finally, on the morning of July 14, at 6 a.m., the Union forces mounted their long-awaited offensive. But when they approached the river, there was no one to fight. The last of Lee's troops had crossed over during the night.

That day, Halleck wrote Meade, ”The enemy should be pursued and cut up, wherever he may have gone.” He went on to say, ”I need hardly say to you that the escape of Lee's army without another battle has created great dissatisfaction in the mind of the President.”

Meade could not bear this censure and immediately offered to resign his command. Lincoln took up his pen to reply that very day, although his letter may have taken several days to compose. After thanking Meade for what he did at Gettysburg and recapitulating the strength of Meade's forces and the weakness of Lee's forces, he concluded: I do not believe you appreciate the magnitude of the misfortune involved in Lee's escape-He was within your easy grasp, and to have closed upon him would, in connection with our other late successes, have ended the war-As it is, the war will be prolonged indefinitely. If you could not safely attack Lee last Monday, how can you possibly do so South of the river, when you can take with you very few more than two thirds of the force you then had in hand? It would be unreasonable to expect, and I do not expect you can now effect much. Your golden opportunity is gone, and I am distressed immeasurably because of it.

This was a strong letter from the commander in chief to the commander of the Army of the Potomac. Too strong. Lincoln never sent it, understanding that if he sent it he would lose the services of a hard-working commander. Lincoln folded the letter and placed it in an envelope, on which he wrote, ”To Gen. Meade, never sent, or signed.”

Lincoln recognized, even if many did not, that the victory at Vicksburg was at least equal to the accomplishment at Gettysburg.

One day before writing Meade, Lincoln took up his pen to write a very different letter to Grant. On July 13, 1863, he began, ”I do not remember that you and I ever met personally.” After acknowledging ”the almost inestimable service you have done the country,” Lincoln said he wished ”to say a word further.”

When you first reached the vicinity of Vicksburg, I thought you should do what you finally did-march the troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports and thus go below; and I never had any faith, except a general hope that you knew better than I, that the Yazoo-Pa.s.s expedition, and the like could succeed. When you got below, and took Port Gibson, Grand Gulf and vicinity, I thought you should go down the river and join Gen. Banks; and when you turned Northward, East of the Big Black, I feared it was a mistake.

Lincoln, after this detailed recitation of his disagreements with Grant's strategy, concluded: ”I now wish to make the personal acknowledgement that you were right and I was wrong.”

In two days, Lincoln wrote two completely different letters to the commanders who had won victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg. The letters reflected his quite different views of the two generals. Meade had fought well in a defensive posture in a battle he had not sought, but had failed to follow up that victory. Grant had continuously sought the initiative and, in the face of many setbacks, against ma.s.sive fortifications, de termined to achieve nothing but unconditional surrender of the enemy.

The Union victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg marked a turning point in the war, but Lincoln understood that the South was far from defeated and that there would be much hard fighting ahead. Lincoln, confronting a North tiring of war, had much to do to convince them that the fight to preserve the Union was worth the sacrifice.

IN AN AUGUST 9, 1863, letter to Ulysses S. Grant, Lincoln brought up the possibility of the arming of black troops. He noted that General Lorenzo Thomas was recruiting black troops. ”I believe it is a resource which if vigourously applied now, will soon close the contest.”

Yet, Frederick Dougla.s.s was discouraged. He had discovered the Union army was treating black soldiers poorly and not providing equal pay. Draft riots had erupted in New York City in early July. The mostly black victims were beaten to death while their homes and churches were burned. Lincoln had to deploy federal troops to restore order. Major George Luther Stearns, a wealthy Boston abolitionist, had appointed Dougla.s.s as an agent for recruitment and now encouraged him to present his concerns to Lincoln.

On August 10, 1863, Dougla.s.s arrived at the White House in hopes of seeing Lincoln, but when he entered, he saw a large number of people waiting with the same intent. To his surprise, within minutes, a door opened and Dougla.s.s was ushered into Lincoln's office. The president stood to welcome him. Dougla.s.s pressed upon Lincoln the need for more official recognition of black troops. They spoke about the troublesome issue of unequal pay for blacks.

Dougla.s.s was taken aback by the tone and substance of their conversation. Later, in Philadelphia, he spoke about his meeting with Lincoln. ”I never met with a man, who, on the first blush, impressed me more entirely with his sincerity, with his devotion to his country, and with his determination to save it at all hazards.”

On August 23, 1863, Grant replied to Lincoln, ”I have given the subject of arming the negro my hearty support. This, with the emanc.i.p.ation of the negro, is the heaviest blow yet given the Confederacy.” The exchange with Grant and the meeting with Dougla.s.s prompted the president to seek out a public opportunity to defend both emanc.i.p.ation and the courage of the black soldiers.

So when he was invited to speak at a ”Grand Ma.s.s Meeting” in Springfield, Illinois, on September 3, 1863, his heart must surely have leapt.

Lincoln's old Springfield neighbor James C. Conkling had tendered the invitation. He wrote, ”It would be gratifying to the many thousands who will be present on that occasion if you will also meet with them.” He concluded with a plea, ”Can you not give us a favorable reply?”

Conkling made Lincoln a tempting offer. After victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, Conkling believed the Springfield meeting offered Lincoln the opportunity to speak about his policies at a crucial moment. Lincoln could expect that vindication would be his traveling companion on the train trip home to Springfield.

Frederick Dougla.s.s, abolitionist editor and reformer, strongly disapproved of Lincoln's First Inaugural Address. Dougla.s.s's meeting with Lincoln at the White House in August 1863 began a series of significant conversations between the two leaders.

Six days later Lincoln replied: ”Your letter of the 14th is received. I think I will go, or send a letter-probably the latter.”

Lincoln's secretaries, John Nicolay and John Hay, both from Illinois, appreciated the emotional tug-of-war they observed in their boss. ”For a moment the President cherished the hope of going to Springfield, and once more in his life renewing the sensation, so dear to politicians, of personal contact with great and enthusiastic ma.s.ses, and of making one more speech to shouting thousands of his fellow-citizens.”

Conkling wrote again on August 21, 1863. ”While it would afford the many thousands of loyal men a.s.sembled together on that occasion, great pleasure to hear from you, by Letter ... they would infinitely prefer to see you in person.”

With little time before the event, Lincoln had to make a decision. On August 26, 1863, he gave his answer. ”It would be very agreeable to me, to thus meet my old friends, at my own home; but I can not, just now, be absent from here, so long as a visit there, would require.”

The next day, Lincoln wrote on War Department stationery, ”I cannot leave here now. Herewith is a letter instead. I have but one suggestion-read it very slowly.”

William O. Stoddard witnessed the composition of the letter. As a young newspaper editor from Champaign, Illinois, he was one of the first to champion Lincoln for the Republican nomination in 1859. He now served as an additional secretary, a.s.sisting Nicolay and Hay, from 1861 to 1864. Stoddard entered Lincoln's office on or about August 23, 1863, and the president asked him if he could read what he was writing aloud, saying, ”I can always tell more about a thing after I've heard it read aloud, and know how it sounds.”

The September 3, 1863, meeting was in part a response to a large ”peace meeting” that had been held in Springfield on June 17. On a warm summer's day, a Democratic antiadministration crowd of upward of forty thousand had listened to heated oratory critical of Lincoln, the Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation, and the arming of black troops. The culmination of the day's events was the adoption of twenty-four resolutions, highlighted by what became known as the famous twenty-third resolution, declaring, ”Further offensive prosecution of this war tends to subvert the const.i.tution and the government, and entail upon this Nation all the disastrous consequences of misrule and anarchy.” In Lincoln's hometown, the boisterous a.s.semblage churned out anti-Lincoln sentiment as it called for peace.

Expecting a huge crowd for the September meeting, organizers arranged for speeches to take place into the twilight at a half dozen stands. Conkling drew out Lincoln's letter and started to read-slowly.

Lincoln did not usually respond to critics, especially Peace Democrats or Copperheads, but he began this speech by addressing them as well as his supporters, not simply at Springfield but in the nation. ”There are those who are dissatisfied with me. To such I would say: You desire peace; and you blame me that we do not have it.”

The victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, hailed by most Republicans, were understood quite differently by Peace Democrats, War Democrats, and some conservative Republicans. They greeted these victories as an opportunity to bargain for peace and end the war.

Lincoln, invited to speak in Springfield on September 3, 1863, sent a letter read by his friend James Conkling to the largest Union rally of the war.But, to be plain, you are dissatisfied with me about the negro. Quite likely there is a difference of opinion between you and myself upon that subject. I certainly wish that all men could be free, while I suppose you do not. ... You dislike the emanc.i.p.ation proclamation; and, perhaps, would have it retracted. You say it is unconst.i.tutional-I think differently, I think the Const.i.tution invests its commander-in-chief, with the law of war, in time of war.

Lincoln recognized that their conflict with him was over African-Americans and slavery. He knew that there were few abolitionists in the West. Most who united with the Republican Party in the 1850s shared his rejection of the expansion of slavery, but were not committed to its obliteration.

Lincoln used here almost the same words with which he had ended his public letter to Horace Greeley: ”I certainly wish that all men could be free.” In his response to Greeley, written one year before, he had made a distinction between his personal wish and his duty under the Const.i.tution. A year later, this division between personal and public views was no longer present.

You say you will not fight to free negroes. Some of them seem willing to fight for you; but, no matter. Fight you, then, exclusively to save the Union. I issued the [Emanc.i.p.ation] proclamation on purpose to aid you in saving the Union. Whenever you shall have conquered all resistance to the Union, if I shall urge you to continue fighting, it will be an apt time, then, for you to declare you will not fight to free Negroes.

Lincoln had concluded his letter to Greeley by stating, ”I shall adopt new views so fast as they appear to be true views.” His affirmation of black soldiers here demonstrates how far he had traveled in the eight months since January 1, 1863.

These fiery words gave the Springfield letter its ident.i.ty, but nowhere is Lincoln's political and military strategy expressed in more picturesque language. Instead of detailing a list of military battles and victories, Lincoln invited his audience to stand with him on the mighty Mississippi. For Western people whose lives radiated around rivers, Lincoln could not have chosen a more open metaphor. He wanted this Illinois audience to appreciate all the partners in making the Mississippi free again.

The signs look better. The Father of Waters again goes unvexed to the sea. Thanks to the great North-West for it. Not yet wholly to them. Three hundred miles up, they met New-England, Empire, Keystone, and Jersey, hewing their way right and left. The Sunny South too, in more colors than one, also lent a hand. On the spot, their part of the history was jotted down in black and white.

Lincoln's rhetoric soared when he allowed his imagination free rein. A sign signifies something that points beyond itself. What did these signs point toward? The preservation of the Union. If Lincoln told Greeley he would save the Union, he told Conkling what kind of Union was worth saving.

Lincoln used images to describe these allies working together. He also doffed his tall stovepipe hat to the ”Sunny South.” Up until now, the images had all been geographical, one kind of diversity. Lincoln now changed the metaphors of diversity in his word picture: ”in more colors than one.” He said to the naysayers and doubters in the audience that even the South has ”lent a hand” and that this part was acted out by both ”black and white.”

Dougla.s.s had once accused Lincoln of fighting with his white hand while his black hand was tied behind his back. Lincoln now used the same metaphor to affirm the black hand and point to the courageous actions of black soldiers. The great majority of black soldiers who would fight for the Union were from the South.