CHARLESTON

Some Good Thing in the Wind

MARCH 24–27

WHAT LINCOLN NEEDED WAS A BETTER SENSE OF JUST HOW MUCH pro-Union sentiment really did exist in South Carolina. Like Seward, Lincoln believed, on basically no evidence, that loyalty to the Union was pervasive, but unlike Seward, he now wanted proof. Soon after Captain Fox’s return from Sumter, Lincoln dispatched two more emissaries to Charleston, both friends of his, with instructions to talk with residents and gauge the local mood. They took the train together and reached the city early on Sunday morning, March 24.

One of these friends was Stephen A. Hurlbut, traveling ostensibly as a private citizen on his way to visit his sister in Charleston. Hurlbut had grown up in the city; he had also been run out of town in 1845 for forgery and embezzlement. He moved to Illinois, where he and Lincoln became friends, though Lincoln apparently had no knowledge of his past financial wrongdoing.

On the train south Hurlbut noticed energetic preparations for war and reported these to Lincoln. In Richmond men readied shipments of projectiles and other materials. His train passed two open flatcars loaded with shells. At Charleston’s rail depot he counted eight newly arrived mortars awaiting placement.

Exactly how many people Hurlbut talked to and who they were is unclear. By his own account he went to church that Sunday afternoon and chatted with old friends, and on Monday he called on as many prominent people as he could think of. He did not meet with Governor Pickens or with Major Anderson. His most significant encounter was a more than two-hour meeting with his friend and legal mentor, Judge James Petigru, the state’s foremost unionist, at Petigru’s home.

Hurlbut stayed in Charleston all of thirty-six hours before heading back to Washington. On March 27 he sent a sixteen-page report to Lincoln. One paragraph stood out: “From these sources,” Hurlbut wrote, “I have no hesitation in reporting as unquestionable—that Separate Nationality is a fixed fact, that there is an unanimity of sentiment which is to my mind astonishing—that there is no attachment to the Union.” He added, “The Sentiment of National Patriotism always feeble in Carolina, has been Extinguished and overridden by the acknowledged doctrine of the paramount allegiance to the State.”

Hurlbut quoted none of his sources, not even Petigru, but did offer his own opinion on a wide range of associated points, as well as his conclusion “that this whole matter of Secession could have been stopped in the bud, by prompt and gallant action on the part of the late administration.” But now, he warned, any action by Lincoln to enforce federal law in the seceded states would result in war. “I cannot close without repeating to the President, that this is a time to expect and be prepared for the worst.”

More confounding and problematic was the foray of the second emissary, Ward Lamon, Lincoln’s sometime bodyguard who had accompanied him on his inaugural journey. In Charleston he and Hurlbut parted company. Lamon checked into the Charleston Hotel and there met with Governor Pickens. Lamon was known to be a close associate of Lincoln’s, and thus his visit had a quasi-official aura. He also bore with him a letter of introduction from Postmaster General Montgomery Blair stating that he had been sent to Charleston as an agent of the post office, but no one seemed to take this letter seriously. The conversation quickly turned to the standoff in Charleston Harbor. The only way to prevent war, Pickens told him, was for Lincoln to accept secession and to pledge not to reinforce any Southern forts. With absolutely no authority to do so, Lamon assured the governor that Lincoln planned to evacuate Fort Sumter.

Pickens gave Lamon permission to meet with Major Anderson in the apparent belief that Lamon proposed to work out details of the garrison’s exit. Lamon reached the fort at about two P.M. on March 25 accompanied by a member of Pickens’s staff who apparently allowed the men to converse by themselves. One Sumter officer observed that the two “remained closeted” for an hour and a half, during which Lamon explained that the president wanted more information to bolster his plan to withdraw the garrison. Lamon left no doubt that the fort would soon be evacuated, possibly within days.

The matter of honor again intervened. Anderson expressed to Lamon his concern that before any evacuation of the fort, he would be required to agree to a formal military surrender, as if he had lost a battle. He considered it a dishonorable proposition. Lamon relayed his concern to General Beauregard before leaving town.

Lamon and Hurlbut took the same train north on Monday night, March 25.

THE NEXT DAY, BEAUREGARD sent Anderson a note to correct the impression left by Lamon. It was cordial and apologetic, but these were tetchy times, when an imprecise phrase or a minor misunderstanding could raise hackles and hurt feelings.

First Beauregard assured Anderson that no such surrender was contemplated, as “our countries” were not at war. He promised that whenever Anderson was ready, the Confederacy would provide his garrison with transportation to whatever post he designated.

But now Beauregard addressed a second matter, one based on erroneous information conveyed to him by Lamon. While showing Lamon the fort, Anderson had told him about the various mines, thunder barrels, and other defensive devices put in place by Sumter’s engineers. Lamon, who had little expertise in military matters, concluded that their purpose was to blow up the fort after the garrison departed. For some reason he felt compelled to convey this to Beauregard and Governor Pickens. Now, in allusive, oblique prose, Beauregard wrote: “All that will be required of you on account of the public rumors that have reached us will be your word of honor as an officer and a gentleman, that the fort, all public property therein, its armament, &c., shall remain in their current condition, without any arrangements or preparation for their destruction or injury after you shall have left the fort.” He closed his letter in civil fashion: “Hoping to have the pleasure of meeting you soon under more favorable circumstances, I remain, dear major, yours, very truly, G. T. Beauregard.” An officer in a boat rowed by enslaved men and flying a white flag of truce carried this message out to Sumter.

Anderson took immediate offense and sent back a reply to Beauregard via the same officer and oarsmen. “I am much obliged to his excellency the governor and yourself for the assurances you give me,” Anderson wrote, “but you must pardon me for saying that I feel deeply hurt at the intimation in your letter about the conditions which will be exacted of me, and I must state most distinctly that if I can only be permitted to leave on the pledge you mention I shall never, so help me God, leave this fort alive.”

Anderson’s reply, so laden with Jane Austen dudgeon, clearly took Beauregard by surprise. He promptly sent another apology, by return boat. It had never been his intention, Beauregard wrote, “of wounding, in any manner whatsoever, the feelings of so gallant an officer by anything I may have written in my letter of this morning.” But, he added, he had only alluded to Anderson’s alleged intention of blowing up the fort because of the “high source from which the rumors spoken of appeared to come”—meaning Ward Lamon.

He added, “I regret now having referred to the subject.”

But for Anderson it did not end there. News took time to travel. A controversy resolved could, with the next mail delivery, arise anew, like an ember left unwatched.

IN WASHINGTON, COMMANDING GENERAL Winfield Scott learned of Anderson’s supposed plan to blow up Fort Sumter and sent the major a scalding order:

“I have heard of your declaration to Col. Lamon, indicating a desperate purpose. I forbid it as your Commander, it being against your duty both as soldier and Christian.”

For Anderson, this was very nearly the last straw. He immediately wrote back:

“I confess that I am deeply mortified at the want of confidence in me, as a ‘Soldier and Christian,’ shown in your favor of the 29th March. I had hoped that if you ever heard any thing calculated to raise a doubt as to my pursuing a proper course, you would have thought that there must have been some misunderstanding about it. I do not, of course, know what terms Col. Lamon used in repeating the declaration referred to.” Anderson acknowledged that when he first arrived in Charleston and sensed the intensity of local hostility toward the Army’s presence, he had imagined circumstances that might compel him to blow up the structures—namely if his forts were overrun by a hostile force and faced extinction. But a peaceful transfer of control was a different matter.

Anderson did not stop here, although prudence and forbearance might have suggested that he do so. He had been under so much pressure, with so little guidance, for so long, that now being called to account for an inept remark by Colonel Lamon drove him to scold General Scott right back.

“Cut off from all intercourse with my Government,” he wrote, “I have been compelled to act according to the dictates of my own judgement; and, had the contingency referred to arisen, I should, after prayerfully appealing to God to teach me my duty, have cheerfully and promptly performed it.

“You have not the time, my dear General, to read, nor have I time to detail, the delicate and important points which have arisen since I have been in this harbor. I have tried to perform all my duty, and I trust that I have, by the blessing of God, so acted that the most searching investigation shall show that I have done nothing amiss.

“I must say that I think the Government has left me too much to myself—has not given me instructions, even when I have asked for them—and that responsibilities of a higher and more delicate character have been devolved upon me than was proper—and I frankly say that such is the fact at this present moment.”

ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, MARCH 27, the Times’ Russell met again with Secretary Seward, this time in Seward’s office at the State Department. Both men recognized the importance of each to the other. Russell knew that Seward was widely believed to be the real source of power in the government. Seward for his part understood that Russell, as the voice of the London Times, had significant influence over British public opinion and that having him as an ally would be useful in assuring that Britain did not recognize the Confederacy.

As Seward and Russell were meeting, Italy’s minister to the United States arrived in full regalia so that Seward could bring him to the White House for a scheduled introduction to Lincoln. Seward invited Russell to come along and assigned son Frederick to be Russell’s personal escort. At the White House, Seward led the minister, Giuseppe Bertinatti, to the center of a large reception room to wait for Lincoln. Frederick guided Russell to one side.

Russell had seen many images of Lincoln rendered in sketches and woodcuts, so many and so often that he believed Lincoln must be the most recognizable man in the world. But nothing prepared Russell for the man in the flesh. Once again, in his diary, the correspondent invoked his virtuosic skill at description. What stood out for him was Lincoln’s face. “The mouth is absolutely prodigious; the lips, straggling and extending almost from one line of black beard to the other, are only kept in order by two deep furrows from the nostril to the chin; the nose itself—a prominent organ—stands out from the face, with an inquiring anxious air, as though it were sniffing for some good thing in the wind; the eyes dark, full, and deeply set, are penetrating, but full of an expression which almost amounts to tenderness.”

First Seward introduced Bertinatti, but what he most wanted was for Lincoln to meet the English reporter. Lincoln held out his hand. “Mr. Russell, I am very glad to make your acquaintance, and to see you in this country. The London Times is one of the greatest powers in the world—in fact, I don’t know anything which has much more power—except the Mississippi. I am glad to know you as its minister.”

They chatted briefly; Lincoln offered up “two or three peculiar little sallies” and Russell departed, feeling “agreeably impressed with his shrewdness, humor, and natural sagacity.”

That night Russell again dined with Seward, this time in company with Henry Sanford, the new minister to Belgium. The subject of relieving Fort Sumter came up—“the great object of public curiosity”—but Seward would only say, “with a pleasant twinkle of the eye,” that the government’s policy had been set out in Lincoln’s inaugural and would not be altered. Upon reading the inaugural, however, Russell found no particular guidance. To him, it seemed as if they were waiting for events to unfold rather than acting upon “any definite principle designed to control or direct the future.”

SEWARD’S SECRET MARCH 15 memorandum explaining why the U.S. government could not recognize the Confederate commissioners still lay unread in the State Department’s archive. Gustavus Fox, Stephen Hurlbut, and Ward Lamon all returned to Washington. Lincoln continued to struggle with the ever-mounting crush of patronage seekers.

He also prepared for the first official state dinner of his administration, to take place on Thursday, March 28. Mary Lincoln anticipated a glorious night of conversation and dancing. Lincoln invited the Times’ William Russell.

Shortly before the dinner began, Lincoln received a disturbing recommendation from Gen. Winfield Scott that infuriated him and led indirectly to the final extinguishment of all hesitation and doubt as to what to do about the crisis in Charleston Harbor.