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| Henry Laurens Dawes |
This paper was presented to the Club by Henry Laurens Dawes on Monday evening, November 22, 1886, at a meeting of the Club he hosted at his home in Pittsfield, Dawes presented this paper about events in Washington, D.C. between Abraham Lincoln’s election in November, 1860 and his inauguration in March, 1861.
Dawes (1816-1903) was a
founding member of the Monday Evening Club in 1869 and remained a member until
his death, hosting and presenting papers often.
As Dawes notes in the paper itself, “some of the
incidents of those days [were] not recorded in the history of the time and …
will soon be beyond recall if left alone to the memory of contemporaries and
participants.” In this paper Dawes presents many details that only an eyewitness
and participant could know.
According to notes on the manuscript, Dawes later
presented this paper to the Wednesday Morning Club[1]
(also of Pittsfield) on November 28, 1886; to the Social Senior Club of Ware,
Mass. on November 20, 1888, and at a public meeting at South Congregational
Church in Pittsfield on Saturday, May 10, 1890.
Judging by the manuscript (a copy which was
obtained from the National Archives where the original is among its holdings of
Dawes’s papers), for these subsequent presentations, Dawes made small edits and
appears to have inserted some new passages. In transcribing the paper, we have
generally included these changes, but have retained some passages that Dawes
bracketed —‘ he appears to have intended to skip over for brevity. In other
instances Dawes made changes for modesty — for example, changing “I” to
“one of the committee” or the like. In those cases we’ve generally retained the
original first person version. Because of these changes and interpolations made
over time this final version differs somewhat from the original presentation to
the Monday Evening Club.
The first half of this paper was published, under
the same title, in the Atlantic Monthly of August, 1893. The text of that
article very closely follows the manuscript text we have used here. A small
portion of this article has been used here to fill in a gap where one or two
pages of the original manuscript are missing. The second half is published here for the first time.
For the reader’s convenience we have added a few
subheadlines not found in the original manuscript. For some events, dates have
been added in brackets to help illuminate the timeline. A few spelling
corrections and punctuation and capitalization changes have been made for
clarity.
Thanks to Megan Hoffenberg for her transcription
of the manuscript.
Looking back over the graves of more than a
million brave men who, on the one side or the other, laid down their lives in
the struggle for mastery which began at Washington in the winter of 1860-61, the
recollection of the flippancy and air of lightness and almost sportiveness with
which it was entered upon fills me with a shiver of amazement. How great things
were trifled with as if they were playthings and great stakes were played for
as boys play for pennies, no one could now, in the lurid light of subsequent
events, ever be made to believe, had not his own eyes been the witness. Much
that happened would have been impossible but for the impenetrable veil which
shut out the future. What seemed to us before whose eyes they were enacted as
absurdities, arrant nonsense, and which it is difficult to recall after thirty-five
years, with a sober face, were in truth the beginnings of Andersonville and
Gettysburg and the assasination of Lincoln. I sometimes think it almost wicked
to hold up their ludicrous side to public gaze, in the light of such a terrible
realization. It is with no purpose to belittle the great events, the beginnings
of which I saw that winter, that I venture, for your entertainment if not
instruction, to present some of the incidents of those days not recorded in the
history of the time and which will soon be beyond recall if left alone to the
memory of contemporaries and participants.
delegated to meet with the “ambassadors” of South Carolina
One of these incidents seemed at the time a
genuine burlesque; yet it covered a trap into which it would have been much
easier to put a foot than to get it out when once in. Mr. Lincoln was elected
in November. Within a week after it was known South Carolina took steps to set
up her independence as a sovereign state. She did not seem to have contemplated
in the outset the possibility of armed resistance to the carrying out of her
scheme but proceeded with the formal steps of ordinary legislation as if that
alone on her part was sufficient to cut up this nation into sections and to set
up the several parts into sovereignties with all the attributes of independent
nationalities. It took her about three weeks to get her legislature together
and create a convention, which passed an ordinance declaring in high-sounding
phrase, South Carolina to be a free, independent and sovereign nation among the
nations of the earth, with "full power to levy war, conclude peace,
contract alliances, establish commerce and to do all other acts and things
which independent states may of right do."
One of the first acts of this new sovereignty was
an attempt to negotiate a treaty with the United States. And so (within a month
of the election), before the votes had been counted or a single step taken
looking to the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln, this independent power which had sprung
up in a night almost, in our very midst, waving a foreign flag in sight of
United States forts and arsenals over all the United States property within her
limits, appointed an embassy — ministers plenipotentiary — to proceed to the
government of the United States and negotiate a treaty of peaceable surrender
to her of the armed fortresses and other property of the United States found
within the limits of her dominion when she woke up a sovereign. This embassy
came on to Washington with a secretary of legation and credentials as formal
and with a seal as large as ever certified our minister to the Court of St.
James. They took a large house on K Street — the rent of which, it is said,
they never paid — unfurled the flag of their embassy and prepared to present
their credentials and to be received as ministers plenipotentiary of the new
government of South Carolina, resident, as they were pleased to term it, in
true diplomatic language, near the government of the United States of America.
Most people in Washington looked upon the whole thing as a huge joke — as a
harmless outcome of the vanity and pride of South Carolina. Not so with Mr.
Buchanan[2].
The moment they presented their credentials he found himself in a dilemma. If
he received them, even addressed them in the character they had put on, he at
once recognized the sovereignty they assumed to represent. If he turned them
out of doors, not to say arrested them for the treason they were committing, he
would at once bring on that crisis which it was his prayer might and day might
be averted till after the 4th of March. So he did neither, but referred the
whole matter to Congress, and Congress referred it to a select committee of
which I was one. (Alas, disease and death have left, me alone, but one, of that
committee to recount today a few of the many incidents of its work, nowhere of
record, and which are already too shadowy with me, I fear, to venture their
recital.) The committee had subsequently many other more serious matters in
charge, but this they never could treat otherwise than as a sublime farce,
little dreaming themselves of what it was the beginning. They summoned these
gentlemen before them just as they would any other American citizens. Instead
of appearing themselves they sent their "secretary of legation," who
communicated to the committee in very courteous but exceedingly formal manner
that the committee had overlooked the fact, unintentionally, no doubt, that the
gentlemen summoned to appear before the committee were ambassadors of a sovereign
state residing, in their diplomatic character alone, near the United States
government and acknowledging no other authority but that of the government
whose commission they bore. (Ahem!) This was our first experience of this
new-fledged eagle, and the bird had spread its wings for so lofty a flight at
the first opportunity that we stood back in wonder and amazement, uncertain for
the moment whether it would soar into the sun or come tumbling down at our
feet. We were thus suddenly brought face to face with this new sovereignty
flaunting its awful attributes before us, all embodied for the moment in the
person of this secretary of legation, as he supposed himself to be — and not a
very imposing personage at that. He was a very young man for one representing
in his person the majesty of an independent government, apparently having
hardly attained his majority, of very light hair and boyish face, with a
moustache (after the imperial order), very rare in those days, which was a
surprising success upon a face otherwise so downy. He wore patent leather
shoes, light colored trousers in very large plaids, twirled on the tips of his
fingers a cane with an apparently golden head turned over and finished in the
hoof of a horse — in short a very dude of that day and fit to be the prototype
of the race. Thus equipped and, hat in hand, he stood before us personating the
new national sovereignty which had thus sprung into existence out of our very
selves full-armed, like Minerva from the head of Jove. It was, of course, his
first experience in diplomacy and he was evidently intent on making the most of
it. One member of the committee was directed to examine him, and after a few
formal inquiries he was asked what had brought him to Washington. What had
brought him to Washington, he repeated, with an air of injured surprise.
"You cannot be ignorant, sir, that the new sovereign State of South
Carolina has sent ambassadors to negotiate a treaty of friendship and alliance
with this neighboring government of the United States, with whom she is
desirous of living on the most liberal terms of amity and good fellowship; and
I have the honor to be the secretary of that legation, sir." As soon as
the Committee could recover its breath a further inquiry, was ventured about
the origin of this new government whose existence he had thus announced and the
authority under which it had been created. With a look of supreme contempt or
pity for our ignorance — one could hardly tell which — he proceeded to
enlighten us. "South Carolina,” he proceeded to say, "when she
consented to become one of the United States, had given up no part of her
sovereignty; had only laid it away for future use whenever it seemed meet to
her. She had now decreed to resume it, and that was sufficient. She had only
put on again the vestments of her sovereignty, just as a man puts on the
raiment he lays aside for some temporary use of others." It was so simple
and easy a process that he expressed astonishment at our ignorance. A few more
questions and the Committee gave up in despair the hope of even getting him
down to earth or itself sufficiently off from it to comprehend their sudden and
absolute metamorphosis. He then went on without specific questions to expound
more at length the theory which had given birth to his government, and
expatiated upon the enormity of the outrages his people expected would happen
and had mapped out beforehand to happen when Lincoln should be inaugurated. He
quoted Grotius and Vattel to prove that the United States forts and arsenals
and other public property found within the limits of South Carolina when she
became an independent power became ipso facts her property, and concluded with
the assertion that the declaration of South Carolina upon the question of her
independence and sovereignty was conclusive with her and she would tolerate no
questioning it. The committee were quite overcome with his learning and equally
overawed by his defiant attitude. They looked upon this first product of the
new order of things as a real prodigy.
He however, took offense at what he considered
some impertinent inquiries put to him by the committee about the government he
represented, and, gathering up its dignity and sovereignty as well as he could,
took them both with himself out of its profane presence and back to the nursery
on K Street, and the committee saw no more of him. They were never able to get
the real ambassadors before them, because, I suppose, neither Vattel[4]
nor Grotius[5]
nor any other writer on public law furnished any precedent for bringing such
high public functionaries before any lesser body than the supreme authority of
the State. (They lingered on, however, were adopted as representatives of the
whole Confederacy by Jefferson Davis when he became their president, and hung
about Washington under the burden of their mission and of their own importance
till [Fort] Sumter was fired on [ April 12, 1861], when they took departure
suddenly and with very much less ceremony and pomp than heralded their coming —
and in a manner, too, more resembling an escape than the leave-taking of
diplomatic representatives.)
Investigation
of threats to the electoral process
The committee was subsequently charged with a
much more serious duty, of which little beyond their printed report was ever
made public. The public mind at Washington had become greatly excited by the
belief that a conspiracy had been formed to seize the Capitol and Treasury, to
get possession of the archives of the government and prevent the counting of
the electoral vote and the declaration of the election of Lincoln — creating
thereby chaos and anarchy out of which might come the establishments of the Confederacy
as the government de facto, in the very halls of the national Capitol. Treason
was known to be plotting to that end in the cabinet itself, and Mr. Buchanan
was bewildered and nerveless. This committee was instructed to investigate the
grounds for these apprehensions. It held its meetings with closed doors, and
had Sen. Scott[6],
the General of the Army, detailed to aid its investigations. Gen. Cass[7]
had left the cabinet because he would not consort with traitors, and the
thoroughly loyal and terribly energetic Stanton[8]
had come in just in time to save Buchanan and as I have sometimes thought the
nation itself. The first struggle this great hero had was with himself. Should
he obey the rule which has hitherto and in ordinary times governed cabinets and
honorable men, and keep secret what transpired in council, or should he
disclose and thwart the machinations of treason wherever he saw them. He obeyed
the higher law and the oath he had taken to support the constitution. Indeed,
he had entered the cabinet for that very purpose. I called on him the evening
after he had taken the oath of office [December 20, 1860] and he said to me:
"I have today sworn to support the Constitution of the United States and
so help me God, I will do it!" Putting himself in communication with this
committee through Mr. Seward[9],
whatever treasonable plans Thompson and Floyd[10]
undertook in cabinet council and sought to involve the administration in were
through this agency laid before the committee. Of course secrecy was absolutely
necessary and the name of our informant was never attached to the
communications we received. Yet those of the committee who could be relied upon
were informed where such communications could be found and where they must be
returned; and of the reliability of the information they contained. Some of
these communications were found and read by us by the light of the street lamp
at night, and then returned to the place of deposit — the information often
giving us the cue to the next day’s investigations. The bold handwriting of
these papers became afterward very familiar to us during the war as our
intercourse with the war office became frequent. I remember distinctly reading
one of these communications handed me by Mr. Howard[11],
chairman of the committee, late one night, giving information of that famous
cabinet meeting in which was disclosed the treason of Floyd in ordering the
guns removed from Pittsburgh to arm Southern forts, and the abstraction of a
million of Indian Trust funds from the custody of the government — when Stanton
branded him as a traitor and a personal conflict was only avoided by the
interference of the President. The next morning [December 29, 1860] Floyd
himself appeared before the committee at its request for examination. A few
questions disclosed to him that we were in possession of the secret and soon
(before three o'clock) the news of his resignation and fight spread through the
city.
At another time the loyalty of the Secretary of
the Navy, through a Northern man, was suspected. The Pensacola navy yard and
all the public property there had been surrendered to the Confederates without
a blow. When this was known in cabinet the bad blood of the future Secretary of
War boiled over and he demanded it as the act of a traitor or a coward. That
night I read in the handwriting that had already become familiar these words:
"There is a Northern traitor in the cabinet. Arrest him tonight. Pensacola
has been given up. Stop him before it is too late." But the committee had
no power to arrest. Power was still in hand either disloyal or paralyzed. Mr. Toucey[12],
the Secretary of the Navy was, however, summoned before the committee and
inquired of why a navy yard with all the guns and other property in it was
surrendered to rebels without the firing of a gun. His answer sounds strangely
enough in the light of the terrible carnage subsequently enacted so many times
in defence of the territory and flag of the Union. "Pensacola was
surrendered," said he, "as the only means of preserving the
peace." "What," said one of the committee[13],
"surrendered to the enemies of the country to preserve the peace, and that
without firing a gun! I would have fired one at least as an experiment, if
nothing more." The secretary looked up in horror and replied: " Why, Mr.
Dawes, you haven't the slightest conception of the situation. There would
certainly have been bloodshed if there had been a single gun fired. It was an
interposition of Providence that the dire calamity of bloodshed was
avoided." It was not thought then that Mr. Toucey was disloyal and no one
now doubts his loyalty. But, like Mr. Buchanan, he strove at every hazard and
at any cost to postpone the conflict till after the 4th of March, when the
responsibility would rest on Mr. Lincoln. The House of Representatives,
however, passed a resolution censuring him for this conduct, and his portrait,
which hung among those of the governors on the walls of the Senate Chamber in
the Capitol of Connecticut, was turned with the face to the wall, where it
remained till after the war.
No conspiracy to prevent the counting of the
electoral votes and declaring Lincoln elected was discovered in Washington if
one ever existed then. Yet the existence of one was so generally believed and
the excitement so great that extraordinary precautions were taken to guard
against it. The method of procedure and the lack of confidence in the loyalty
of Vice President Breckinridge[14],
on whom alone the Constitution, it was contended by many, devolved the power to
count the votes, all tended greatly to increase the anxiety. The certificates
of the electoral vote from each State are kept till the appointed day [February
13, 1861], in two boxes in the custody of the Vice President, who, on that day,
with a messenger carrying the two boxes, and followed by the senators, two and two,
proceeds from the Senate Chamber through the corridors and rotunda, always
crowded with people on either side flocking to witness the ceremony, to the
Hall of the House, where, in the Speaker’s chair and in the presence of the two
Houses and a crowded gallery he opens, and as many believed, alone counts the
votes and declares the result. The ease with which desperadoes, mingling with
the crowd, might fall upon the messenger as he passed through the corridors or
rotunda and violently seize the boxes, or from the galleries of the House in
like manner break up the proceedings, was apparent to anyone, and therefore
armed policemen of the most reliable character and proved courage, to the
number of several hundred, were secretly procured from Philadelphia, New York
and other cities and were stationed in citizens’ dress along the passageways
and in the galleries, prepared for any emergency. Happily there was no occasion
to call upon them. The count and declaration of Mr. Lincoln's election
proceeded without interruption, Mr. Breckinridge winning commendation for the
dignity and propriety of his conduct, though his heart was so thoroughly with
the rebels that he was among the earliest to join after their official duties
were at an end. But the excitement and anxiety was intense from beginning to
end of the proceeding, and the feeling of relief was almost visible in the
countenance of the loyal men oppressed as they were by knowledge of treasonable
designs, all the more alarming because imperfect and shadowy. The critical
point in the formal proceeding had been safely passed. The oath of office on
the coming fourth of March was all that remained of these formalities to clothe
the President-elect with the insignia of the great office to which he had been
called and to extinguish the hope of rebeldom to build some claims to a de
facto rule upon information or defects discovered or erected in the several
steps leading up, from the casting of their votes in December by the Electoral
College, through the different stages presented by the Constitution and laws to
the final consummation on the Eastern front of the Capitol.
Arrival of
Lincoln in Washington
Startling events and occasions of intense
excitement followed one another in such quick succession that relief from one
seldom brought an hour's repose. We lived in the focus of all the elements out
of which were to come order or disorder, no one could tell which — government
or anarchy, peace or violence, personal security or personal peril. And so it
was that hardly had the important step in the order of events — the counting of
the votes and the official declaration that Mr. Lincoln was elected — been
taken, and the surging tide of passion and terror partially subsided, when the
unexpected and inexplicable broke over us filling the public mind with mingled
emotions of wonder, anxiety, disappointment, and disgust. Mr. Lincoln had left
Springfield for Washington a week earlier amid becoming and impressive
ceremonies and with the prayers and parting blessings of thousands who had
assembled to witness his departure. His journey had been attended all along the
route with the most remarkable demonstrations and manifestations of interest
and regard which had ever marked the passage of a President-elect from his home
to the capital to assume the authority the people had conferred on him. It
could not have been otherwise, for no President-elect ever before journeyed on
a way so beset with perils and hedged about with difficulties, or to a mission
so wrapped in impenetrable mystery and so burdened with new and unmeasured
responsibilities. Forty millions of people, South as well as North, had lent
the most intent ear to catch every word he uttered as the multitudes forced him
to speak on the way. The words he had spoken were full of wisdom, indicated calmness
of temperament and comprehension of the new and weighty responsibilities before
him, and disclosed a devout reliance on a higher than human power for strength
unto his day, and a self abnegation that counted his own life of little worth
in comparison with the great work to which he had been called. The excitement
and crowd increased as he journeyed, and greater preparations than ever before
had been made for his reception upon an appointed day at the capital. Amid all
this intensity of expectation and preparation, imagine the consternation and amazement
which came over everyone when it was announced at the breakfast table on the
morning before the appointed day, that Mr. Lincoln was already at Willard's
Hotel [in Washington], that he had arrived at six o'clock that morning in the
New York sleeper, in company with a stranger, and was met at the depot by only
one man, his old friend Elihu B. Washburne[15].
A hostile penny sheet added to the wonder the feeling, also, of disappointment
and disgust, by fabricating the story that he came disguised in a Scotch cap
and cloak. There was a sudden and painful revulsion of feeling toward him which
waited for neither reason nor explanation. Never idol fell so suddenly or so
far — and that, while the fickle multitude was actually on its knees and
vociferous in lip service. The outcry came near being: "Away with him!”[16]
“He had sneaked into Washington." He was a coward." "The man
afraid to come through Baltimore was not fit to be President."
"Frightened at his own shadow." These and worse epithets greeted the
purest, the bravest, the wisest and the most unselfish patriot of all who lived
in his time, on the day he entered the capital of the nation he had come to
save and to die for. And yet he had escaped, as by a hair's breadth, the fate
which the Ruler of the Universe had ordered should not overtake him till he had
finished a greater work than man in his own strength had ever yet achieved.
While we were searching in vain for conspirators and assassins in and about
Washington they had taken themselves to Baltimore and, for greater safety and more effective
work, had there perfected their plans to shoot Mr. Lincoln from among the crowd
gathered to greet him on his arrival at the depot on his way to Washington,
and, after making sure and thorough work with hand grenades, to escape to
Mobile in a vessel waiting for them in the harbor. While the attention of all
others was directed to the search about Washington for conspirators and
assassins who, all believed, were concocting their foul plot somewhere, a
detective of uncommon skill, following them to Baltimore, was pursuing his
investigations secretly and silently in the city, unknown even to reporters —
for we did not then, as now, live and move and have our being by their permission.
He had become familiar with their place of meeting, had record of their names —
eighteen in number — the part each was to perform, their leader, his character
and nerve, and the minutest details of the plot. He laid these facts before Mr.
Seward, and was sent by him, accompanied by Mr. Frederick A. Seward[17],
to meet and lay them before Mr. Lincoln at Harrisburg. The result was that
after a reception by the legislature in the afternoon he retired to his room at
the hotel at six o'clock, very weary, for needed rest till the next morning,
when the whole party were going by special train by way of Philadelphia and
Baltimore, leaving Baltimore at 12 o’clock noon, to Washington. Immediately on
arriving at his room Lincoln was taken, without knowledge of any one, to the
depot and the electrician having first cut the telegraph wires, the detective
accompanied him by special train, already provided, to Philadelphia just in
time to take a belated train and sleeping, as any other passenger, for
Washington. And thus he passed through Baltimore in perfect quiet at midnight
while the conspirators were yet burnishing their weapons for his assassination
at noon on the morrow. The Washington telegraph the next morning announced his
safe arrival there both to the assassins in Baltimore and to his bewildered
escort in Harrisburg. Several years after this, as history of the rebellion has
since disclosed, and during the war, a desperate character in the rebellion was
brought before the Richmond authorities for punishment for some heinous
offence, and was saved by the intercession of a United States, ex-senator,
Wigfall,[18]
on the grounds of meritorious service as captain of this Baltimore band of
conspirators for the murder of Lincoln.
To refute the charge that Mr. Lincoln was hiding,
and to kindle anew as soon as possible the enthusiasm which had been so
suddenly and ignorantly dampered, Mr. Seward hastened, without waiting for
trunk or hair brush, to take him at once to the Capitol and present him to the
senators and representatives and afterward to the people generally. It was thus
I got my first sight of this immortal hero, then only an untried and untotored
western politician. He was in a sorry plight enough when Mr. Seward escorted
him into the hall. The House had heard of him in the Senate Chamber and were
impatiently awaiting his arrival, with all eyes turned intently toward the door
to catch the earliest possible glimpse of the future President appearing under
circumstances so novel and mysterious. I had somehow wrought out unconsciously
in my mind the great qualities of his soul and heart and head into a
corresponding personality, and, in spite of all I had heard, was expecting to
see a god. Never did god come tumbling down more suddenly and completely than
did mine as the unkempt, ill-formed, loose-jointed and disproportioned figure
of Mr. Lincoln appeared at the door. Weary, anxious, struggling to be cheerful,
under a burden of trouble he must keep to himself, with thoughts far off or
deep hidden, he was presented to the representatives of the nation over which
he had been placed as chief magistrate. I have always thought that this scene
should he perpetuated on canvas. It would be sure, in my opinion to make a
resting-place where this hurrying people of ours would stop and ponder. From
the Representatives Hall to the officials gathered on the balcony and thence to
the multitude generally Mr. Lincoln was in turn introduced. He held constant
receptions for many days thereafter at the parlors of Willard's Hotel. There I
took my family and there he kissed my little daughter,[19]
and settled her politics for life.
There that homely kindless of manner, which
afterwards became so prominent and attractive an element in his personality,
began early to overcome the dislike, and break through the prejudices that the
manner of his entry into the capital had at first created, and soon drew the
multitude to his rooms for a shake of his big hand, and for a word or sentence
from his lips to carry away and ponder or repeat. Every thing about him — his
ways not less than his looks, his methods with men not less than his speech — were
all so unusual and so unlike anything ever seen or heard before in the
surroundings or utterances of a President-elect at the threshold of
presidential authority and responsibility, that he was taken at the outset to
be a mystery, a character never entirely laid aside or dispelled. It was,
however, the mystery of his position and not of his character, for no man was
ever more frank or unreserved when the exercise of these qualities was safe,
but reserved or otherwise, he never mystified or misled. If in those days no
man could comprehend him it was because no man, as clearly as he did,
comprehended what was before him. He seemed to see what was invisible to those
of us who were crowding around him, and by spells, to be as one studying
objects or phenomena that did not come within the vision or thought of others.
When we came to know him better, in the days when trouble could no longer be
hidden, and struggles with great problems revealed themselves in every line of
his face, then we understood that deep and serious look which at times came
over him in the midst of these handshakings, at first mistaken for absent-mindedness.
Notwithstanding all these peculiarities, seen only in him, he won the hearts of
all who came in contact with him. No one who saw him in those days has ever
forgotten what he then saw and heard. The very youngest boy in the promiscuous
crowd that flocked to see him at these informal receptions, is a middle-aged
man today, all the better citizen because he remembers the good words of cheer
with which Lincoln greeted him when he took his hand that day.
It was not deemed prudent to make known at that
time the reasons for this strange arrival in Washington so disappointing to
public expectation and in such utter disregard of the great preparations that
had been made. Nor was it known till long after that an attempt was made to
derail his train soon after it left Springfield or that a hand grenade was found
in his car at Cincinnati. The President therefore bore in silence the
ungenerous criticisms upon his conduct. But it was evident that the possibility
of assassination was present with him much of the time thus early. At Trenton
when called upon to define his policy in the pending crisis he replied, "I
shall be obliged, one week from tomorrow to officially announce that policy, if
I live till then, and if I do not it would be useless to announce it now.” And
in a speech in Independence Hall he said that "rather than fail to
maintain the principles first enunciated here I would rather suffer
assassination."
The committee before spoken of were warned by
these occurrences to take more pains than ever to prevent a renewal of such an
attempt, especially on the day of the inauguration. They accordingly, without
notice to any one, under guard, and cannon were placed in such position as to
command every exposed position, and armed men were so posted in every part of
the way from the White House to the Capitol as to completely protect the
President from everything but a secret bullet. Thus was he with President
Buchanan escorted from the Executive Mansion to the Capitol and back in safety.
The
atmosphere in Washington between the election and the inauguration of Lincoln
Those who resided in Washington during this
eventful winter can never forget the intense strain to which all social and
other relations of life were subjected. Social intimacy, business relations,
family ties, and all intercourse of the most ordinary and normal kind, between
men and between women was broken off entirely except they were in harmony with
the then prevailing prejudices against all Northern institutions and ideas.
Southern women would pass by, without recognition and with most contemptuous manifestations
of offensive insult, Northern ladies, their equals in official and social
position, and with whom they had previously been on the most friendly social
terms. There was — as it were — a great gulf fixed between Northern and Southern
life — fixed by the South itself — for Northerners were careful, up to actual
war upon the flag of the country, to maintain on their part a strict observance
of all the requirements of social intercourse regardless of political opinions.
But with Southerners — Southern women especially — Southern sentiments became a bar to social
life. This condition of things grew more and more intense and unendurable as
the day of actual conflict approached — till months before the firing upon
Sumpter, the loyal and the disloyal elements went to one side or the other of
the dividing line and never crossed it afterword. I have seen Mrs. Jefferson
Davis[20]
herself, who was in the olden time, one of the most punctilious observers of
etiquette stiffening herself up like a statue, after the bane of secession had poisoned
the blood of the South — and looking neither to the right or left, lest she
should recognise some Northern lady who was her equal everywhere, and whom till
then she had been most free to treat as such.
The very atmosphere we breathed seemed all
noxious and venomous life. It seemed to be especially directed, to discover
ways of annoying and persecuting the negroes — great and small, men would fire
off pistols in the street after dark at passing colored men, to amuse themselves
by frightening them. I once at a later period saw a military officer in full
uniform get off his horse, to chastise a negro digging in the street, because
forsooth — he had the inpudence to hold up his hands and cry out at being
nearly run over while at his work. The negro tried to escape by running up a
flight of outside stairs. The officer pursued, cursing him for his impertinence
— and literally tore his coat from his back. I interfered and got myself dammed
for a "black republican" — but taking note of his rank and regiment.
I assured him that he would hear from me again. I had the satisfaction of
seeing him summoned, the next morning, before the War Department for his
conduct, and he barely saved his shoulder straps, by apology and promise of amendment
in the future. The little boys in the streets caught the spirit from their
elders and amused themselves by tormenting the "[n-word]"[21]
boys. One day I found my own son (Chester) then not five years old, having a
messy time with some of the boys of the neighborhood — they had caught a
little Negro and were [attacking] him with their handkerchiefs, into the
corners of which they had tied little stones and they were shouting with
delight, as the poor little fellow-jumped and shrieked, every time he was hit.
These are but illustrations of the spirit which
pervaded all classes high and low —great and small.
Protecting
Mr. Sumner after his return to the Senate
After the assault upon Mr. Sumner by Brooks of
South Carolina for the speech he had delivered in the Senate upon the
wickedness of slavery, he was forced for medical treatment to be absent from
the Senate for a year.[22]
On his return with somewhat invigorated health and strength and his old fire
unabated, he prepared and delivered [on June 4, 1860] his great speech on
"The Barbarism of Slavery," as he entitled it. Its delivery was a
marked occasion. Mr. Sumner's friends were specially anxious for two things: that
the slave power should see and understand that it had gained nothing by its
cowardly assault upon him — in other words that the speech be in time and
temper and boldness equal to the one which had brought down upon his head the
murderous blows of the bully in defence of slavery; and also that Mr. Sumner
should prove physically equal to the undertaking — of which there was grave
doubt among his friends. The speech itself dispelled all solicitude on the
first point, and time allayed apprehension that his health would suffer from
the effort. The Massachusetts delegation in Congress partook of the general
solicitude in respect to Mr. Sumner, and had, in addition a great state pride
in their distinguished colleague as well as a determination that no harm should
again come to him for the utterance of his views and advocacy of his
principles, however bold and defiant he might choose to be. They held
themselves ready for any emergency and talked pretty freely and bravely about
the manner in which, had they been present, at the Brooks assault they would
have vindicated the honor of their state and avenged the outrage upon her
senator. They were all sincere in this. We all felt so.
At the time of the delivery of this speech upon
"The Barbarism of Slavery," I was living with three of my colleagues,
Mr. Gooch, Mr. Buffington and Mr. Alley[23],
nearly across the city from Mr. Sumner's residence. About seven o'clock in the
evening of that day Mr. Sumner's private secretary drove up in close carriage
and requested to see the gentlemen of the house alone.
The others being absent, Mr. Gooch and myself
held an interview with him, in which he stated in a hurried and somewhat
excited manner that just before he had left Mr. Sumners's house, a large man, a
stranger, apparently a little flushed by drinking, had called and stated to Mr.
Sumner that, as the representative of a body of Southern gentlemen who had met
to consider what the speech he had delivered that day required at their hands,
he had come to demand an apology and if it was not given then he would return
at ten o'clock the next day prepared to exact it. Getting no satisfaction, he
left, saying that he would call again in the morning for it. Mr. Sumner, not
knowing what all this indicated, and Mr. Johnson,[24]
his secretary, both thinking another attack possible, wished to see us at his
rooms. Mr. Gooch and myself, without communicating with the ladies of the
family or leaving any word for our absent associates, accompanied Mr. Johnson
to Mr. Sumner's rooms, where we remained all night, to the wonder and anxiety
of the household we had so unceremoniously left. We found Mr. Burlingame
already there and we three, with his private secretary, kept vigil over Mr.
Sumner's life till morning. We discussed with him upon the appearance of his
mysterious visitor and what he had said and done during his brief stay and
speculated a good deal over the chances, till we finally concluded, Mr. Sumner
and all, that a repetition of the Brooks assault might be attempted at any time
and that the suggestion of ten o'clock the next morning was only a ruse to
throw him off his guard. He was resolved to meet the consequences, whatever
they might be, and his colleagues present were equally resolved to die, if need
be, in his defence. Preparation was at once made for the worst. As Mr.
Burlingame was the only one of us who had publicly proved his courage or had
ever made any pretence of skill in arms, he was, by a sort of common consent,
put in charge of all arrangements. The doors were at once locked from the
street to the room we all occupied. Mr. Sumner was first put in position with
due reference to the door and with no little reference to his surroundings if
he fell, for even in this hour we were not wholly lost to classical propriety
and the fitness of things. Mr. Burlingame, armed with the revolvers he always
carried, next took his position where he could most surely bring down any man
who might succeed in effecting an entrance. The rest of us, defenceless
ourselves, took the places and undertook the parts assigned us as best we could
and with such weapons as we could get hold of in the room. No ancient knight
clad in steel ever posed more boldly, or stood firmer for his cause. Here it
was proposed that we should patiently await the onset. And here we did wait,
like so many puppets in a show, whiling away the time, which hung heavily on
our hands, with such conversation as the proprieties of the solemn occasion
demanded, changing our relative positions occasionally, as a further study of
the situation and of his men seemed to our leader to require. Mr. Sumner was himself
wonderfully cool and self-possessed for one waiting for the bludgeon or
revolver, was remarkably entertaining in his conversation, rich in his
classical quotations and abundant in his allusions to incidents in ancient
history most resembling the present situation — finally deciding that the one
most nearly parallel to it was the fall of Gracchus.[25]
Then, taking down from the shelf the ever ready classical dictionary, he read
us the account of that tragedy and, turning down the leaf, put the book back in
its place with the remark that "this can easily be found here after,
whatever may happen tonight."
The hours wove away very slowly and without
disturbance till drowsiness began to creep over some of us not particularly
anxious for the fray. A little after midnight, Mr. Sumner, either desirous of
relieving his colleagues of the burden and peril, or seeing how heavy our
eyelids were, suggested that there was in the city a man by the name of Wattles[26],
from Kansas, a devoted friend of his, a giant in stature and strength and who
had proved his courage in many a desperate encounter between Free State men and
Border Ruffians at home. If word could be got to him he would certainly take
upon himself the defence and he should feel safe and we might be relieved. He
was stopping with a colored woman on the other side of the city whom Mr. Sumner
had befriended and had done some special act of kindness for and who was
devoted to him. Mr. Johnson alone of us all knew her residence and I was
detailed to go with him and hunt up Wattles. The city was awfully still and the
errand not the most inspiring, and my nerves were not then in their best
estate. It was a long way before we reached the street where Wattles was to be
found; and when we reached it, it turned out that Johnson didn't know the house
by its number but only by his recollection of its location and appearance. The
consequence was that we went calling up people a good deal at random, first on
one side of the street and then on the other, and every time we rapped the
echoes would rattle round our heads a great deal louder than any we made
ourselves waking up some dog either inside or behind us which was sure to
answer back with a frightful outcry. Then up would go windows, and heads in
white would call out to know what we wanted, and as many as we could count on
both sides of us would listen while we inquired for Wattles or apologized for
the disturbance. We had well nigh roused the whole street and run the risk of
arrest as prowling disturbers of the peace before Johnson recognized the voice of
the woman we were in search of from an upper window, demanding to know our
business. On being assured that we brought a message from Mr. Sumner, who
wanted Wattles, she became at once communicative and anxious to serve us.
Wattles had gone out in the early evening. When he returned she would send him
immediately to Mr. Sumner. We could not bring Wattles with us, but retraced our
steps without him and reported. As morning approached and no disturbance had as
yet taken place we came to the conclusion that there would be no anticipation
of the ten o'clock appointment. We began then to discuss the situation when
that time should arrive. Ten o'clock was the hour for Mr. Sumner to go to the
Capitol, and upon going at that hour, if alive, he was resolved. It might be
that he was to be assaulted on the way and it might be that he was to fall in
the very corridors of the Senate Chamber and by the pillars of the Capital. Be
it so, but whatever was to come his duty was there and to its performance he
should go. It was thereupon resolved that the rest of the delegation should be
summoned to Mr. Sumner's room at half past nine and if, after hearing all the
facts, they approve, Mr. Charles Francis Adams[27]
then one of our number, should be requested to ride with Mr. Sumner to the
Capitol, and that the rest of the delegation should act as escort on foot
prepared for defence. It never occurred to either of us what a ridiculous
figure we should cut as the procession moved slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue.
Thus the matter was arranged and Mr. Gooch and myself, when morning came,
repaired to our home for breakfast. We first reported to our two absent
colleagues and our anxious wives at the breakfast table — and were met with an
incredulous laugh. No amount of argument from us, who had never harbored a
doubt ourselves, could convince the table that we had not been badly taken in.
We, however, not shaken in the least, returned as soon as we had got our
breakfast to Mr. Sumner's lodgings. As we approached I saw plainly that Wattles
had arrived, for a giant of a man was pacing the sidewalk to and fro in front
of the entrance like a sentry. One by one our colleagues dropped in before the
appointed hour, each curious enough to know what had called him there. As Mr.
Charles Francis Adams heard our story and our proposition that he should ride
to the Capitol with Mr. Sumner in the carriage while the rest of us should walk
by its side as an escort, and defence, he turned up his face in utter contempt
and with an epithet of concentrated disgust, took his departure without another
word. We were always left in doubt whether he failed us at this critical moment
because he feared that the assassin might mistake him for Mr. Sumner in the
carriage, or because he lacked confidence in the courage of the outside escort.
One after another of our colleagues, not liking, I suppose, the part so
resembling that of pall-bearers, followed him and we were soon left alone,
looking at each other and wondering whether we had been sold or not. In the
meantime the pacing of Wattles to and fro outside and the passing of so many
people in and out began to attract attention, and the police took the matter in
hand. They soon brought to light that the evening before a company of hot-headed
Southerners, meeting for purposes of conviviality nearby, fell to discussing
Mr. Sumner's speech and grew very much excited over it as the champagne went
around, till one of them laid a wager that he could frighten Mr. Sumner into an
apology for it, and went out to win his bet. It was some compensation, however,
to those who watched all night for his bludgeon and revolver that to avoid
arrest he was himself compelled to make the apology he boasted of his ability
to exact.
And thus narrowly did I escape being an actor in
a bloody tragedy and possibly a funeral oration and a striking epitaph.
Since writing the above paragraph, the news has
come to us of the death of Mr. Adams on yesterday morning.[28]
I shall be pardoned. I am sure in departing from the original scope of this
paper to say that in the death of Charles Francis Adams is removed the last of
those great men in civil life who met the shock of the Civil War, and held the
republic in its public and diplomatic relations, as the great generals did its
fortunes in the field, safe above the engulphing perils which the storm had
raised. It was because of him in his service as minister to England, more than
to any of the human agency, that the Confederacy never had recognition among
the nations of earth, or credit abroad or flag on the high sees or place in a
foreign port. His services to his country in its greatest need can never be
measured or forgotten. Of the mental qualities and personal character which
equipped him for the high functions and grave responsibilties resolved upon
him, I do not presume to speak. In the highest places of trust in his native
state, as one of her representatives in a congress in which republican
institutions had their severest test and encountered their greatest peril, as
the representative of his country at the court of St. James when its national
life was played with by the crowned heads of Europe, and as a member of the
great Court of Arbitration at Geneva, where nations as plaintiff and defendant,
submitted to final judgment grievances heretofore settled only by the arbitrament
of war — in all these he was great and accomplished great results.
[A gap exists in the manuscript at this point;
one or more pages are missing. The narrative from this point covers an episode
that took place on February 5, 1858.]
est were under discussion would this compact
crowd hold its place from the opening of the doors in the morning till the
adjournment in the late hours of the night and even to the gray of the next
morning. Many of them would come armed and jeers and curses, with the cocking
of pistols in the gallery, would sometimes be the audible response to
sentiments uttered on the floor which met the disapproval of the mob assembled
to overawe and cow the already too assertive spirit of the North.
In this excited and angry mood the House had been
in heated debate all day, and by filibustering and other dilatory motions the
session had been protracted past midnight. Members, much according to their
several temperaments, some lounging, some dozing, some excited with liquor, and
all out of temper, were gathered in disorderly groups, gesticulating in
animated discussions or stretching themselves on sofas in different parts of
the Hall, when Mr. Grow[29]
of Pennsylvania, an ardent, restless, excitable Republican, never able to stay
long in any one place, wandering over to the Democratic side of the House, found
himself expressing quite freely his sentiments in a group of hot-headed
Southerners, already exasperated to the utmost tension. Keitt[30]
of South Carolina, of a long lank, shaky, ill-adjusted body, a fierce eye and
big head crowned with a shock of hair like a sheaf of wheat — only black as tar
— called out to him offensively: "What are you here for? Go to your own
side of the House!" Grow asserted his right to go where he pleased, when
Keith made a show of intention to assault him. Grow instantly felled him to the
floor with a single blow upon the side of the head. In a moment the House was
in an uproar. The Republicans left their seats and rushed to the scene, while
the Democrats stood on the defensive and attempted to drive them back to their
places. The melée was general and they fought with fists and chairs and
anything their hands could get hold of, without anybody's knowing what it was
all about or who began it. I had been myself in an argument with Reuben Davis[31]
of Mississippi, who had come over to my seat a good deal excited with liquor
and debate, and was trying to convince me what a mean cuss as he called him, a
Yankee slave-driver was; and I was retorting that a Mississippi planter mobbing
a Yankee from whose trunk he had first stolen a copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin was
the meaner of the two. The next instant, without knowing how I came there, I
found myself on the other side of the Hall standing between Rev. Owen Lovejoy[32],
of Illinois and Otho R. Singleton[33]
of Mississippi, glaring at each other like madmen and with fists drawn up ready
to knock the breath out of each other, but more likely to knock it out of me.
In the midst of this promiscuous fisticuff two members, C.C. Washburn[34]
and Potter[35]
of Wisconsin seemed to have hit at the same time Barksdale[36]
of Mississippi in the head, one in front and the other at the side, which had
the effect to knock his head out from under a wig which nobody up to that
moment had detected him in wearing. All of a sudden the head of Barksdale, as
white and bare as a sugarloaf and somehow much of the same shape, was seen
towering up among the combatants, while its proprietor, unconscious of his
dilapidated condition, red in the face and furious with rage, was dealing blows
on every side with most praiseworthy impartiality. Nothing could have been more
ridiculous than the figure he cut. Everybody stopped and gazed and wondered for
a moment, then burst into a laugh, and the fight was at an end. All took
themselves to their seats in a guffaw, save poor Barksdale, who got himself out
of sight for repairs as soon as possible.
Recollections
of some of the principal players during this period
I do not find myself able to picture the public
life of Washington, during the winter proceeding the breaking out of the war as
it then appeared to me — there is nothing now to which I can liken it. Who can
describe Jefferson Davis as he then was? — the man so strangely put at the head
of the conspiracy but who had barely ability enough to wreck it, a vain pompous
rhetorician in the Senate, bedridden with narrow prejudices and hate of the
North — opinionated, self-willed and consequently impracticable as an
administrator, and the dupe of his own partialities, in his likes and dislikes
of the men he used.
There was Benjamin[37]
— the ablest of them all, looking every inch the Jew he was, short, thick set,
with a hand as handsome as that of a woman, and a mouth as pretty, standing up,
and in the most polished periods, talking about the original sovereignty of the
States and laughing all over to himself, at the absurdity of his own logic, as
applied to his own state of Louisiana, which never had any intermediate
existence between a province of France, and a State of this Union.
Goombs[38]
too — who wanted to call the roll of his slaves under the shadow of Bunker
Hill, full of brain and gall, stood up tall, stout, brawny, with a heavy shock
of black hair, like that on the head of a buffalo — large black firey eyes, and
huge mouth from which poured out torrents of bitter denunciation whenever he
opened it, and who afterward came within one vote of being the President of the
Confederacy instead of Jefferson Davis.
Slidell[39]
of Trent notoriety was one of the most dangerous of all the conspirators. Nobody
else else looked like him. His face was as red raw beef, his hair white, soft
as silk and very long, hung down a good deal over that red face of his, without
any part in it. He was by birth a New Yorker, but of that class least to be
trusted, a Northerner turned Southern. His ways were as unintelligible as his
face. Mason of Virginia, the companion of Slidell on the Trent, whose chief
claim to distinction was that he was a grandson of the great George Mason, was
counted the fifth man in the conspiracy, though why, I never knew, except that
he was the author of the infamous fugitive slave law, which roused the North at
last, to assert its power for freedom. Mason was a large man bodily, otherwise
light, with a florid skin, and thin long hair, always flowing back, as if the
wind was flowing in his face, He wore that winter, to emphasise his hate of the
North, a suit of course grey woolen home spun, which he thought was the entire
product of Virginia.
Three, bold, able and patriotic men antagonized
these men, on their own side of the Senate Chamber. Douglas[40]
— the little giant — stout, thick set with hardly any neck, and massive head
apparently set directly upon very broad shoulders. He would be taken anywhere
as a leader, and was the best debater I ever heard, except perhaps Fessenden[41].
No man ever entered the lists with him, who did not find himself put on the
defensive before he had as yet struck a blow himself. It was not that he always
took such impregnable positions, but because he always set his antagonist to
fortify his own caving foundations, and kept him busy with his own words.
Stephen A. Douglas fought a grand battle that winter, with all the odds but
justice and right against him in his party. When he could not save it he refused
to compromise his own loyalty and tendered the support of a patriot to Lincoln,
his old rival at home, even to an offer to serve in the army, if it came to
war. His death in two short months after the inauguration of Lincoln, closed an
already illustrious life, but one which to human view could ill be spared in
the terrible emergencies which soon followed.
The great services Andrew Johnson rendered his
country at this period were cast into the shade by his subsequent eccentric
career. But no man dealt such heavy blows upon the heads of these conspirators as
he did. He was of medium hard-knit iron frame, swarthy complexion, big nose,
sunken eyes and jaws close set, as if he was biting a nail. He had no culture,
his early education having been very imperfect, and his diction was barren of
illustration or metaphor. But his utterances were like the blows of a sledge
hammer. He fairly pounded his adversary. The South hated him beyond measure. It
seemed to lash Southern Senators into a perfect fury, that one of their own
number should step out and defy them. As he thundered his anathemas upon their
treason they would almost literally foam and gnash their teeth, and in voices
altogether too audible, would curse him to his face. Had he died when Douglas
did, his fame would have been secure and his place in history an enviable one.
Sam Houston — the old hero of San Jacinto — was
as true a patriot in all this struggle as lived. He did not debate much. He sat
for the most part, wearing a spotted fawn skin vest, and fur trimmed coat,
whittling into trinkets, for amusement, pieces of pine, and then giving them
away to young ladies for keepsakes, but all the while, musing or
philosophising. He had led a strange life. His early public career had been
interrupted by a romantic love affair and years of exile and Indian life.
Subsequently he led the Texans to victory over Santa Ana, and became president
of their republic, And now he was a venerable Senator from that state —
unimpassioned, sedate, deliberate and of great influence in the Southeast, all
of which he threw on the side of the Union. The last words I remember to have
heard him utter on the floor of the Senate, ought to be written in gold over
the portals of his tomb. "I have followed the flag that floats over us in
battle, my blood has been spilled in the cause of the Union it represents and
may this right arm fall paralized by my side if ever lifted to strike it."[42]
Let me speak of two conspicuous characters on the
other side of the chamber before I pass to other topics. Seward — the philosopher,
orator, politician, statesman — small of stature and of frame too weak and
delicate to hold up the big head it carried, exerted more influence than any
other man in shaping and directing events on the Union side, as he had for
years all northern political sentiment. He was not a great debater — but like
Burke[43],
the greatest orationist of his time, he wrote out beforehand, and read all his
great speeches, and his political friends subscribed for them by the hundred
thousand. Members of Congress would repair to his house every evening to frank[44]
for him his speeches for distribution. Many a sultry night of the summer
previous, till past midnight did I spend in my shirt sleeves, in his house
writing my name on the speeches he was packing into the mail. One cannot write
much of him that winter, all he had done at that time, great as it was,
standing by itself was still so dwarfed by the greater events which followed,
in which he bore so large a part, that it does not receive its due need of
commendation. He was a great conversationalist, like McCauley, a winner and
moulder of men. The friendships he enjoyed were strong and devoted. The
enmities he incurred were bitter and implacable. He was at the same time an
idol — and a bête noire.
William Pitt Fessenden[45]
was the greatest debater I ever heard. He was keen as a razor, and cut all
sophistries and shams through and through as with a scimitar. No one
encountered him who did not bleed somewhere, and yet it was all done, secundum artem[46],
and the victim hardly knew when it was done.
Personally he was popular, but as an opponent in
debate, he was dreaded. He busied himself too much in making mincemeat of other
men's projects — and too little in maturing his own. To what he approved however
he contributed the most valuable aid in moulding and perfecting. He was all
intellect, and a little distant and hard to approach — but true — sterling
pure.
These great characters who filled in that time so
large a space in public affairs and impressed each his individuality in
different measure upon passing events, (all save Jefferson Davis) have already
made up their record, and passed out of sight and into history, all for the
instruction of coming generations, some as examples, and some as warnings.
I have spoken also of Gen. [Winfield] Scott as having been
detailed to aid the Committee in their efforts to search out a conspiracy to
prevent the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln. I saw very much of this distinguished
military man, during that winter. I had previously been brought into somewhat
peculiar political relations to him — when he was a candidate for the
Presidency in 1852. I had been chosen a Scott delegate to the Whig National
Convention at Baltimore, which ultimately nominated him as Whig Candidate for
the Presidency, the only Scott delegate from Massachusetts, and I alone of all
that delegation, voted for him fifty-three times before he was nominated. (I
visited Washington for the first time a few days before that Convention, and
was taken some notice of by the Scott Whigs, and was introduced to the General
himself, as a rare specimen, a Scott Whig from Massachusetts! I have always
thought that had he been elected I should have been considerable of a boss here
at home, in the dispensing of patronage, and would have had post-offices
enough, to have given every friend I had in North Adams and Pittsfield at least
one.)
Gen. Scott occupied at that time miserably
contracted, scantily furnished quarters in the old War Department building —
not a whit better than my office, and in strange contrast to the spacious and
gorgeously furnished apartments now occupied by the General of the Army. He was
then in his prime, mentally and physically — tall as the tallest of the
Plunketts[47],
but much stouter, erect as a flag staff — the shoulder which won the bullet at
Lundy's Lane a little dropped — sandy side whiskers on full sagging cheeks,
proud, stately and vain. (He was quite disposed to patronize the young Whig who
had called to pay his respects — indeed, I really basked in the sunshine of
what I supposed would prove royal favor, till the election was over, when the
bubble burst, and my expectations collapsed.) Gen. Scott was a great military
man for his day, but a failure as a politician, though like many another
distinguished man, he had more confidence in his own ability to succeed in the
very things others thought him unfit for.
Accordingly he believed that he was greater as a
politician than even as a military man. He had, however, on more than one
occasion, rendered the country signal service in a semi-diplomatic capacity —
notably in the troubles with England, growing out of the McLeod affair, and
later those in reference to boundaries of the United States and British
America. He was offered also, after peace with Mexico, the dictatorship of that
country, with a large salary. So it must be admitted that he had great ability
as a civilian, as well as a general. But as a politician he was always doing
just the wrong thing. (I cannot refrain form relating here, one incident, of
personal interest of which you will see the bearing. When I entered Congress in
1857, Gen. Scott persuaded me to appoint as cadet at West Point the son of an
army officer who had his residence in my district, and who was a personal, as
well as political friend of the General, and to repeat the appointment, after
one failure. After a third such appointment, I gave up the advice of Army
officers altogether, and gave the appointment to an Irish boy, of whom I had
heard, in Cheshire, and whom I found there shoveling sand with his father, but
who had never heard of West Point before. That Irish boy, with only the
education afforded by the District School in Cheshire, entered the list at West
Point and graduated among the first five in his class, and is now the
accomplished and popular Captain Turtle of the Engineer Corps[48],
and a member of the Mississippi River Commission. You have probably already
recognised this gentleman as a brother of my own fellow townsman, Mr. William
Turtle.)
At the time of the Committee investigation,
mentioned, in 1861, Gen. Scott was 77 years of age, exceedingly corpulent, and
very asthmatic. It was with great difficulty that he could get himself up the
long flight of steps to the Committee room, and when he reached it was so out
of breath as to require rest before doing any business. Though absolutely loyal
— and exceedingly anxious and jealous to render all possible aid to the
Committee — yet he was of little practical assistance. He never seemed able to
understand the rebellion nor what was necessary to cope with it. He judged and
measured all plans and methods as well in the preliminary investigations and preparations,
as in actual war, by the science and methods of war when he won his great
laurels — in the war of 1812, and in Mexico. He did not seem able at that late
day to comprehend the new elements, and modifications of old ones, which the
railroad and telegraph and recent inventions had forced into modern warfare,
and it was too late for him to learn. The first battle of Bull Run was an
illustration of this truth. It was all planned by him and according to old
tests, admirably planned, but the rebel Johnston had by modern means — the
telegraph and railroad — escaped an old veteran general who was placed by Scott
near Winchester to watch him, and had joined Beauregard before it was known
that he had moved at all, and thus turned Gen. Scott’s assured victory into
defeat.
I applied to him for permission to pass through
our lines and witness the battle. As he gave me the permission he said, "I
am glad, Mr. Dawes, you are going out to see that battle. It is not probable
that in the course of events you will ever have an opportunity to witness
another, and this will be greater than any battle which has ever transpired on
this continent. And our victory will be complete. Everything is so arranged and
perfected that you will see a great triumph of our arms, and a decisive
victory, as certainly as there is a battle. It cannot be otherwise, and it will
settle the whole matter."
When the government came to be convinced for the
reasons given, of the necessity to relieve him, and put younger blood and
modern science in control of the army, great care was taken, so to do it, as
not to hurt the feelings of the patriotic old warrior. But he failed entirely
to appreciate the necessity for the change, and ever after, had a feeling which
his proud spirit could not altogether conceal, that in his retirement from
active service, injustice had been done him, with no corresponding benefit to
the cause. He was a grand figure in his time, a great man whose little foibles
and weaknesses, only made more conspicuous his great qualities. He never
faltered when duty called — and he loved his country as a lover does his idol.
An equestrian statue to his memory and fame
stands on 16th Street in Washington, that wide avenue which runs
north from the front of the Executive Mansion, and where Massachusetts and
Rhode Island Avenues cross each other about a half mile north of the
President's House. A wicked cynic passing it one day, remarked, "Ever
looking toward the White House but never reaching it!" — to which he got
the spirited reply, "Rather too far north to be President."
I have indulged in these reminiscences of a
period now a generation gone by, beyond even the personal recollection, if not
the birth of most of those who hear me, not for the purpose of keeping alive
animosities now happily disappearing, or calling back memories of the mourning
and woe which once filled the land, already faint and fast fading out of the
lives of a once stricken people, but that you may not fail to keep in mind the
cost of the institutions under which you live, and prize them the more — that
you may the better appreciate the citizenship you enjoy of a government saved from
dissolution by the blood of the fathers and brothers of those among whom you
live. And by the crowning sacrifice of the noblest and grandest of all the
patriots who have ever served and died for their country.
[4] Emer de Vattel
(1714-1767) Swiss international lawyer, best known for his book The Law of
Nations.
[5] Hugo Grotius (1583-1645),
Dutch jurist, whose work on international law was entitled De jure belli ac
pacis libri tres (On the Law of War and Peace: Three books).
[6] Winfield Scott
(1786-1866), in 1860 serving as General of the Army, a native of Virginia.
Lincoln also sent an envoy, Thomas S. Mather, to ascertain Scott’s loyalty, and
Scott’s response was, “"I shall consider myself responsible for
[Lincoln's] safety. If necessary, I shall plant cannon at both ends
of Pennsylvania Avenue, and if any of the Maryland or Virginia gentlemen
who have become so threatening and troublesome show their heads or even venture
to raise a finger, I shall blow them to hell."
[7] Lewis Cass (1782-1866),
Secretary of State under Buchanan. He resigned on December 14, 1860 in protest
of Buchanan’s failure to act against the secession of Southern states and their
seizure of federal assets.
[8] Edwin Stanton (1814-1869), sworn in on December 20, 1860 as Buchanan’s
attorney general. He later served as Secretary of War under Lincoln.
[9] William H. Seward
(1801-1872), Senator from New York 1849-1861; Secretary of State under
Presidents Lincoln and Johnson 1861-1869.
[10] Jacob Thompson
(1810-1885), Secretary of the Interior, and John Buchanan Floyd (1806-1863),
Secretary of War. During the Civil War Thompson became inspector general of the
Confederate States Army, and Floyd served as a Confederate general.
[13] Apparently Dawes himself
asked this question. In quoting Toucey’s reply, Dawes first wrote, “Why, Mr.
Dawes…”, then struck out “Mr. Dawes” and replaced it with “Senator.”
[16] From John 19:15, during
the trial of Jesus by Pilate. Dawes originally wrote “Away with him! Crucify
him!” but struck out the latter phrase.
[17] Frederick A. Seward
(1830-1915), son of William H. Seward. At this time he was editor of the Albany (NY) Evening Journal. He carried
to Lincoln in Baltimore a letter from Charles Pomeroy
Stone (1824-1887), who, with several detectives, had gathered information about
the plot against Lincoln.
[18] Louis
Trezevant Wigfall (1816-1874), U. S. Senator from Texas 1859-1861; Confederate
States Senator 1862-1865.
[22] Charles Sumner
(1811-1874), Senator from Massachusetts. In May, 1856, he delivered an
anti-slavery speech entitled “Crime against Kansas” to which Southern Senators
and Representatives took great offense. One of them, Preston Brooks
(1819-1857), Representative from South Carolina, delivered such a severe
beating (in the Senate chamber with a cane) to Sumner, several days after the
speech, that Sumner needed several years to recuperate before he could return
to the Senate, and suffered chronic pain for the rest of his life.
[23] Daniel Wheelwright Gooch (1820-1891; James Buffington (1817-1875);
John Bassett Alley (1817-1896). All three were Representatives from
Massachuetts
[25] Tiberius
Sempronius Gracchus (c. 169–164 – 133 BC), Roman politician murdered by
conservative senators who opposed his plan to transfer land from wealthy
landowners to poorer citizens.
[26] Augustus Wattles
(1807-1876), abolitionist activist from Kansas, who was in Washington in
connection with Congressional inquiries into John Brown’s raid at Harper’s
Ferry.
[27] Charles Francis Adams (1808-1886),
editor, writer, politician and diplomat, son of John Quincy Adams. At this time
he was serving in the House of Representatives, but soon resigned in order to
become ambassador to Great Britain.
[28] November 21, 1886, the
day before the Monday Evening Club meeting at which this paper was first
presented.
[30] Laurence Massillon Keith (1824-1864), representative from South
Carolina. Keitt had previously assisted Preston Brooks in 1956 in the caning of
Sen. Sumner. Other accounts of his altercation with Grow do not mention that
Grow “felled him to the floor” as described here by Dawes.
[38] Robert Augustus Toombs
(1810-1885), senator from Georgia, later the first secretary of state of the
Confederacy.
[39] John Slidell (1793-1871),
senator from Louisiana. Appointed a Confederate commissioner to France, he
sailed to Havana on a British mailboat, the R.M.S. Trent. The ship was
intercepted by the U. S. Navy, and Trent and a fellow commissioner, James
Murray Mason, were taken prisoner. Subsequently, Slidell and Mason were
released because the capture was deemed contrary to maritime law and risked was
with Britain. This became known as the Trent Affair.
[40] Stephen Arnold Douglas
(1813-1861), senator from Illinois, Democratic candidate for president in the
1860 election.
[42] Houston was elected
governor of Texas in 1859 but continued to serve in the Senate until the end of
his term in early 1860. Following Lincoln’s election, Texas voted to secede.
Houston proclaimed Texas once again independent, but refused to swear an oath
of loyalty to the Confederacy, and was removed from office by the legislature.
He continued to warn against war with the North, and died in 1863.
[44] The franking privilege
permits free postage for members of Congress by means of a signature on the
envelope.
[47] The Plunkett family of
Pittsfield, multi-generational members of the Monday Evening Club from 1869
until 2009.
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