• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN •

“WITH MALICE TOWARD NONE”

The glow of victories continued through the autumn months. Grant and Meade were heroes of the time. The President’s skill in keeping Kentucky from seceding was little noticed. Few realized that he had kept Missouri as a safety zone, or observed the important work the Navy was doing on the Mississippi River. Lincoln rejoiced in the sense of winning, and he too now felt sure that he had found the right generals.

General Ulysses S. Grant.

“The Lord is on our side!” someone remarked and Lincoln answered quickly:

“I am not so much concerned that the Lord should be on our side,” he said. “I pray daily that we may be on the Lord’s side.”

Grant followed up his success at Vicksburg with a victory at Chattanooga in November; so early in 1864 the President gave him command of all the Union armies. Congress approved, and revived the rank of Lieutenant General which George Washington had held. Grant was voted this honor and ordered to Washington.

On the eighth of March (1864) the President and Mrs. Lincoln were giving a reception and word got around that Grant might be there. The rooms were crowded with guests.

Grant had not expected a party. As he left the train, travelworn and wearing his service uniform, he went directly to the White House.

The Executive Mansion was brightly lighted, but Grant hardly noticed. He asked to see the President, and was ushered into the crowded rooms. Often the measure of a man’s greatness is shown in such a time. Grant walked forward. A few recognized him from his pictures and drew back, respectfully. Chatter stopped. Grant reached the room where the President was receiving, and the two great men faced each other. They needed no introduction. The short, shabby soldier looked up at the tall gaunt President, and they clasped hands.

Secretary Seward, ever ready to do the correct thing, introduced the general to Mrs. Lincoln. Guests, recovering breath, cheered till the crystal drops on the chandeliers tinkled. Crowds surged near to shake the general’s hand. Seward edged him to a sofa—from it General Grant spoke briefly, and then met the long line of guests.

The next morning Grant came again to the White House and his commission as Lieutenant General was formally presented. The President made a short speech, a part of which was:

“ … As the country herein trusts you, so, under God, it will sustain you… . with what I speak here for the nation goes my own hearty personal concurrence.”

Now people were hopeful. Few guessed then that a year of fighting was still ahead.

President Lincoln’s popularity went up and down along with the success of battles. Through the middle of his term he seemed to have more enemies than friends. But after Grant took command that changed.

In June a convention met in Baltimore to nominate a president. Most men attending were Republicans; but since there were also some who called themselves “War Democrats,” the convention was named the “National Union” convention.

Mr. Lincoln must have chuckled when he heard what happened there. Now, after the months of bitter criticism, men actually fought for the honor of nominating him for president! He won on the first ballot.

But popularity is a fragile thing. By August, when the city of Washington was threatened and the rebel army was in sight of the Capitol itself, it seemed that Lincoln could not possibly be elected. He himself did not expect it. That midsummer raid did not succeed, but it hurt people’s faith in the Union. Even Grant slipped from his pedestal, and the mournful song, “We’re Tenting Tonight,” was heard more often than the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

But the autumn successes of Farragut, Grant, and Sherman changed everything again, and Lincoln won the election.

“If I know my heart,” Lincoln said when he was congratulated, “my gratitude is free from any taint of personal triumph.”

Thoughtful voters may have been surprised when they learned that Lincoln was elected by a large majority although he was in disagreement with the Congress (which was elected then too) on the next most important problem—what to do with the South after the war. His triumph was clearly a personal victory; was it also a vote of confidence for his determination to consider rebellious states as still members of the Union? Only time would answer that question.

And now Abraham Lincoln prepared for another inauguration. The war seemed to be ending. His thoughts were about how to unite a nation of brothers who had been enemies. No one knew just what Lincoln had in his mind to do. But all knew that he wished for justice, tempered with mercy.

“We must not sully victory with harshness,” was an idea he often expressed. But paying Southerners for slaves and softening defeat with kindness were not popular ideas around the President. It was a hard winter, with need every day to watch his words.

Lincoln aged rapidly during this time. He had little recreation to balance his responsibilities. Parties were stiff, formal affairs—no rest for a weary man. Summers, the Lincolns lived in a cottage at the Soldiers’ Home outside of Washington, and the President enjoyed the trips to and from his office. Winters, he was much confined.

Washington life had been disappointing to Mrs. Lincoln. She was an ambitious woman, and the bitter criticism of the President and herself had been hard to endure. Like many others she had family ties on both sides of the fighting. That strain, Willie’s death, and her own difficult nature made her draw into herself.

The one amusement which both Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln enjoyed in the winter was the theater. They attended whenever a Shakespearean play or other good bill was shown. The marshal at the White House worried about Lincoln’s safety. The President had no fear! He would walk around the city, drive to the country, or sit in an open box at the theater—how could they guard a man like that? But Lincoln went his way, unafraid. And March came.

The rain dripped, bleak and cold, on the second inaugural day. But crowds stood patiently before the Capitol building. When the President appeared, they cheered wildly. At that instant the sun broke through and the wide plaza gleamed warmly. Many thought it a divine omen for good.

The inaugural address was deeply religious. Passages sounded like the verses from Isaiah that Tilly Johnston had heard Abe reciting in the woods near Pigeon Creek so long ago. The Bible had been Lincoln’s guide in writing this address: he needed God’s word more than the writings of statesmen if he was to help the country now. People listened in hushed silence. His closing words would be long remembered: “With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us the strength to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work that we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow, and his orphan—to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.”

Later in March the President planned a little journey down the Potomac aboard the River Queen. Mrs. Lincoln and Tad went along, and Robert’s fiancée. Robert was a captain on Grant’s staff. They would see Robert, of course, and the general. Lincoln had liked Grant since that first meeting at the reception. He could talk frankly to him. The order to Sherman to come and meet with Grant and Lincoln was not generally known, but he was there.

On April 2nd, five days after Lincoln had conferred with Grant and Sherman, Richmond fell. Jefferson Davis and his cabinet hurriedly left the city; Lee’s army gave up hope of defending the Confederate capital, and the Union general, Weitzel, was marching to take charge. The end of the long war could not be more than a few days away.

As soon as torpedoes were removed from the river, the President with Admiral Porter as escort, proceeded to Richmond. Lincoln wished to make a personal inspection. This visit to the fallen city, which he had never seen, must have been one of the big moments in Abraham Lincoln’s life. It was no formal entrance, just a walk with Tad to the mansion Jefferson Davis had vacated. A few black men were working on the wharf; as Lincoln and Tad walked from the boat, one recognized him.

“Glory Hallelujah!” the man shouted and ran to kneel before the President.

“Don’t kneel to me!” Lincoln exclaimed. “You must kneel to God only!” But the man did not move.

“ ’Scuse us, sir, we mean no disrespect … we mean all love and gratitude.” Others ran to kneel, too, and they began to sing a hymn. It was with difficulty that Lincoln moved forward. Up the streets, as far as he could see were singing, shouting people.

The tall man walked slowly, holding his son’s hand. Tad was twelve now, but small for his age. He was not afraid; his eyes sparkled, and he smiled. The President’s face showed gentleness and concern. White people, peeping from shuttered windows, looked at him, astonished. Was this man the monster of the dreadful tales they had heard? He looked like a friendly neighbor coming to visit!

When the crowd became too great, Lincoln spoke again.

“I have but little time to spare,” he told them. “I want to see your capital and must return at once to Washington to secure for you that liberty which you seem to prize so highly.” So they let him move on.

Six days later, April 9th, 1865, General Lee surrendered, and generous peace terms were signed. Men could go to their homes and be safe as long as they did nothing against the Federal government.

There was a roar in Washington when these terms were known. They were “far too easy,” it was said. And how did it happen, many asked, that both Grant and Sherman wrote the peace agreement in almost identical words? Politicians rushed to complain to the President. No one seemed to remember the conference on the River Queen. That trip had not been publicized.

“It’s too late for a change, gentlemen,” Mr. Lincoln told them firmly. “Our generals have announced terms which have been accepted. Now we must stand by our given word.” Thus he showed himself to be a master politician.

On the afternoon of the fourteenth of April the President held a long and important cabinet meeting. Plans for the government of the South were informally discussed. Let private citizens go about business unmolested, the members advised, if they committed no hostile act against the government. Put war frictions aside. Let departments of government, the post office, and the treasury begin to work as best they could as though the South had never rebelled.

General Grant had met with the cabinet. As the meeting adjourned the President invited the general and his wife to be his guests at the theater that evening. But they were leaving the city and had to decline the honor.

The day was fine. After the meeting the President and Mrs. Lincoln went for a drive, alone. He talked of their future plans. “Mary,” he said, “we have had a hard time of it since we came to Washington, but the war is over, and with God’s blessing we may hope for four years of peace and happiness; then we will go back to Illinois and pass the rest of our lives in quiet.”

Planning happily, they drove home to supper.