In light of the Republicans’ dismal showing at the polls, it was widely speculated that Lincoln might renege on his commitment to issue the Proclamation, but he insisted that he would not. On November 20, he unqualifiedly assured intimate friends that “his views on this important question had in no wise been modified by the result of the recent elections; that he had issued the Proclamation of September after long and thoughtful deliberation, and that he should stand by it up to and on the 1st of January.”32 That same day, he dashed off a heated letter to Kentucky Unionists who complained about Union troops infringing on the rights of slaveholders: “I believe you are acquainted with the American Classics, (if there be such) and probably remember a speech of Patrick Henry, in which he represented a certain character in the revolutionary times, as totally disregarding all questions of country, and ‘hoarsely bawling, beef! Beef!! Beef!!!’ Do you not know that I may as well surrender this contest, directly, as to make any order, the obvious purpose of which would be to return fugitive slaves?” After cooling off, Lincoln decided not to send this missive.33
The next day Lincoln told other Kentucky Unionists “that he would rather die than take back a word of the Proclamation of Freedom.”34 Similarly, he explained why a would-be caller who wished the Proclamation to be withheld could not obtain a White House interview: “I shall not do anything of the kind, and why should he or I waste time or words over the subject?”35 Alluding to the slaves, he said: “My word is out to these people, and I can’t take it back.”36 In mid-December, he informed Border State congressmen and senators lobbying against the Proclamation “that he was an Anti-Slavery man, and considered Slavery to be the right arm of the rebellion, and that it must be lopped off.”37 He feared that “if he should refuse to issue his proclamation there would be a rebellion in the north, and that a dictator would be placed over his head within the week.”38 On Christmas Eve, he “said he would not if he could, and could not if he would, withhold his decree of emancipation.”39 Six days later, he exclaimed to a pair of western politicians: “Gentlemen, I am not a bold man, but I have the knack of sticking to my promises!”40 In late November, he informed T. J. Barnett of the Interior Department “that he should abate no jot of his emancipation policy” and that “the foundations of slavery have been cracked by the war, by the Rebels.” He derided “the notion that servile insurrection is stimulated by his proclamation.”41
Dismissing Dull Augers: Buell and McClellan
In addition to backlash against the Emancipation Proclamation, the lack of military success hurt the Republicans at the polls. Writing from Illinois in October, Horace White told Lincoln: “If we are beaten in this State …, it will be because McClellan & Buell won’t fight.”42 White’s colleague on the Chicago Tribune, Joseph Medill, was especially indignant at McClellan. The Democrats, he said, were “taking advantage of the treachery that keeps the army motionless,” “fomenting public discontent,” and “promising a peace, if brought into power. The future is dark and dismal. Lincoln issued his proclamation and then set down on his d[errier]e contented. But proclamations like faith without works are dead.”43 In Ohio, William M. Dickson warned that “the want of all firmness in dismissing incompetency and punishing criminality,” along with “a facile disposition to reward importunity,” was threatening “to destroy all respect for the President” and placing an “overwhelming weight upon us in the approaching elections.”44 An Iowan bemoaned “the lamentable want of vigor and energy in the conduct of the war” and reported that the “people out here in the North West on whom the burdens of this war have fallen more heavily than on the people of any other section of the loyal portion of the country, are heart-sick at the manner in which the war has been conducted. They are fast losing all heart, and all hope. Within the last year the loyal states have lost hundreds of thousands of their sons and hundreds of millions of their means.”45 A prominent Westerner noted that “many persons are getting tired of a war which seems to them to drag heavily. … they have no confidence in the generals, especially Halleck, McClellan and Buell. So many things look as if … the plan of these men is not to subdue the South, but to wear out the patience of the North.”46 William Cullen Bryant, whose New York Evening Post had been belaboring the administration for its timidity and tardiness, advised Lincoln that the Democrats might well carry the Empire State because of “the inactivity of our armies in putting down the rebellion. I have been pained to hear lately from persons zealously loyal, the expression of a doubt as to whether the administration sincerely desires the speedy annihilation of the rebel forces.” 47 Lincoln’s friend Noah Brooks reported “that the slow conduct of the war had more to do with the result of the elections than anything else. This is the view which the President took of it, and it must be admitted that by adopting, as he did, that hypothesis, he was more deeply chagrined than if he had supposed that his emancipation policy had received a signal rebuke.”48
Some Radicals consoled themselves with the belief that the administration would now be forced to abandon its temporizing policy. “I can scarcely mourn over the elections in the West, and in New York,” said Lydia Maria Child, “for they have driven ‘old Abe’ to the wall. Now, the Republican party must ‘do or die.’ ” She thanked God “for putting them in that fix! At last, I really believe ‘old Abe’ has got his back up. … I think we shall now go ahead in earnest; and, having tried everything else without success, we shall at last rely upon principle.”49
After Antietam, McClellan, fearing that the Confederates would attack and that the Union army was too disorganized to move, dawdled in his usual fashion, allowing the enemy to escape across the Potomac. When he boasted that he had achieved a great victory by driving Lee from Union soil, the “hearts of 10 million people sank within them,” according to Lincoln.50 Bitterly, Interior Secretary Caleb B. Smith remarked that “darkness and doubts rest upon the future while the best blood of the country has been poured out like water and sorrow and mourning has been brought to almost every hearthstone, and we are left to enjoy the consolation afforded by Gen McClellan in his pompous announcement that ‘Pa. and Md. are safe.’ I wonder that he did not add and so is New England.”51
No one’s heart sank deeper than Lincoln’s. In early October, over the objections of the cabinet, he visited the Army of the Potomac hoping to goad it into action. He told Ozias Hatch that in addition he wanted “to satisfy himself personally without the intervention of anybody, of the purposes intentions and fidelity of McClellan, his officers, and the army.”52
The administration reportedly had “a dread of the army” and feared “revolution in the North.”53 This anxiety was not irrational. Lincoln’s Cincinnati friend, William M. Dickson, concluded in late September that “[i]f McClellan had been defeated in Md. there would have been a revolution. … wise and good men are & have been considering the propriety of revolution, of a provisional government. The atmosphere was murky with treason after Pope’s defeats, a vain, weak man, put in power by a weak President.”54 Pope reported that officers in the Army of the Potomac “talk openly of Lincoln’s weakness and the necessity of replacing him by some stronger man.”55 The adjutant general of the Army of the Potomac, Thomas M. Key, recalled that “the ‘traitor’ element near McClellan had constantly grown bolder” and that “they daily talked of overthrowing the Government and making McClellan dictator.” After the Preliminary Emancipation Proclamation was announced, “this element felt that McClellan would not long remain in command: that then was the time to move or never—that an appeal could be made to the army setting forth that this proclamation was a usurpation, the conversion of the war for the Union into a John Brown Abolition raid and thus was a subversion of the Constitution absolving the army from its allegiance: that a movement should be made upon Washington to restore the Constitution.”56
During his three days with the army in Maryland, Lincoln visited hospitals, including one that housed some Confederates. To them he remarked “that if they had no objection he would be
pleased to take them by the hand” and that “the solemn obligations which we owe to our country and posterity compel the prosecution of this war, and it followed that many were our enemies through uncontrollable circumstances, and he bore them no malice, and could take them by the hand with sympathy and good feeling.” The Confederates, after a brief silence, stepped up and wordlessly, warmly shook his hand. He then approached those too seriously wounded to stand, bade them to be cheerful, and pledged that everything that could be done to help them would be done. There was not a dry eye in that hospital.57
Astride the horse of General E. V. Sumner’s son, Lincoln inspected the troops, reviewing twelve divisions and riding 40 miles. When warned that the steed was rather frisky, the president laughingly replied: “That makes it the more interesting. I’ll try him.” Skillfully he mounted and took the reins so that the horse realized immediately who was in charge.58 As he passed the crimson-clad Fifth New York Zouaves, which had suffered heavy losses, he stopped and remarked to General George Sykes: “And these are the red legged devils. I know from the reports that there has been no such thing as beating them, even round a stump.” Turning to the troops, he said: “Boys, your thinned ranks and shattered flags tell the story of your bravery. The people thank you and so do I.” At General Brooks Morell’s division he paused again. “Those flags are more tattered now than when I saw them at Harrison’s Landing,” he told the general; “the regiments have reason to be proud of such flags, and you of such men.”59 He was dismayed to see how small some regiments had become since he last visited the army. “I thought they were merely a corporal’s guard,” he remarked in astonishment.60
The soldiers were pleased to have Lincoln in their midst. One observed that as he reviewed the ranks on October 3, the president’s “kindly smile … touched the hearts of the bronzed, rough-looking men more than one can express. It was like an electric shock. It flew from elbow to elbow; and, with one loud cheer which made the air ring, the suppressed feeling gave vent, conveying to the good President that his smile had gone home, and found a ready response.”61 A sergeant from Massachusetts reported that he “could easily perceive why and how he was called ‘Honest Abe.’ … I think his coming down, or up, to see us done us all good.” Another soldier wrote: “We marched proudly away, for we all felt proud to know that we had been permitted to see and salute him.”62
The army’s conservative Democrats were less enthusiastic. One of them, Colonel Charles S. Wainwright, described Lincoln unflatteringly: “Republican simplicity is well enough, but I should have preferred to see the President of the United States travelling with a little more regard to appearances than can be afforded by a common ambulance, with his long legs doubled up so that his knees almost struck his chin, and grinning out of the windows like a baboon.” The chief executive, Wainwright recorded in his journal, “not only is the ugliest man I ever saw, but the most uncouth and gawky in his manners and appearance.”63 A Hoosier told his parents that “Old Abe looked decidedly hard.”64 Several troops noted that he also appeared “careworn and sorrowful.”65 One thought the president was “much more careworn” than his pictures, so much so that it seemed as if “one of his feet is in the grave.”66
One evening Lincoln visited the battlefield strewn with hundreds of dead horses and the clothing of slain and wounded troops. He also noticed innumerable graves, among them one with a grim inscription: “Here lies the bodies of sixty rebels. The wages of sin is death!” Over another mass grave a sign read: “Here lies the body of General Anderson and eighty other rebels.”67
During his stay at Sharpsburg, Lincoln spoke often with McClellan, who reported that the president “was very kind personally—told me he was convinced I was the best general in the country etc etc. He was very affable & I really think he does feel very kindly towards me personally.”68 Though pleasant in manner, Lincoln was stern in substance, asking tough questions and offering blunt criticism. He was puzzled to see most of the new recruits in Frederick, 20 miles from the veteran army units. “Why was this? Why were not green troops and veterans mixed together?” he asked McClellan.
“We have not tent equipage and cannot well move up the new levies!” came the reply.
“Why are the troops any worse off at Sharpsburg without tents than at Frederick without tents?” the president asked. No satisfactory answer was offered.69
Lincoln frankly told the general “that he w[oul]d be a ruined man if he did not move forward, move rapidly & effectively.”70 According to the New York journalist George Wilkes, Lincoln also said to McClellan: “I wish to call your attention to a fault in your character—a fault which is the sum of my observations of you, in connection with this war. You merely get yourself ready to do a good thing—no man can do that better—you make all the necessary sacrifices of blood and time, and treasure, to secure a victory, but whether from timidity, self-distrust, or some other motive inexplicable to me, you always stop short just on this side of results.”71 He instructed McClellan to advance within two weeks. Unmoved by Lincoln’s criticism, the general scornfully wrote his wife about the presidential entourage: “These people don’t know what an army requires & therefore act stupidly.”72
If McClellan was disgusted with Lincoln, the feeling was mutual. One evening, the president asked his friend Ozias M. Hatch, as they stood on a hill and surveyed the vast encampment: “Hatch, what do you suppose all these people are?”
“Why, I suppose it to be a part of the grand army.”
Lincoln sarcastically corrected him: “No, you are mistaken.”
“What are they then?”
“That is General McClellan’s body guard.”73
Although Lincoln “expressed himself eminently satisfied with the discipline and appearance of the troops,” he was dismayed to learn that they numbered only 93,000, though 180,000 were on the muster rolls.74 He cited similar figures to Samuel F. Du Pont as he bemoaned the “melting away” of the army. “These are the facts,” he told the admiral; “how they are to be cured I don’t know.” In part, Lincoln seemed to blame the U.S. Sanitary Commission, which he called “the sentimental department of the army.” He evidently shared Halleck’s view that commission members encouraged the discharge of many soldiers who were not seriously sick or wounded.75 (In August, Lincoln had lamented to Benjamin Brown French that “although the army consisted nominally of 600,000 men, from the best information that he could get there were not, at that moment, over 362,000 available fighting men in our army.”)76 Some of the officers who should have been in the field were availing themselves of Washington’s brothels and saloons. “These fellows and the Congressmen do vex me sorely!” Lincoln exclaimed.77
One solution to the absentee problem was to crack down on deserters and bounty jumpers. In late November, when asked to offer encouragement to the ladies of the Sanitary Commission, he balked, explaining that the army had far fewer men reporting for duty than were officially enrolled. “Order the army to march any place! Why it’s jes’ like shovellin’ fleas.” To the suggestion that he shoot stragglers, he replied: “Oh, I ca-an’t do that, you know.”78 After Halleck and Stanton showed the president long lists of absentees, however, he reportedly pledged “to pursue the most rigorous policy with these offenders, and that by executions, dismissals, ball-and-chain labor for the whole term of their enlistment, and other of the severest penalties, he is resolved to deprive the rebels of the great advantage they have heretofore enjoyed over us in the means necessary to preserve discipline, and prevent the crimes of straggling, absenteeism and desertion.”79 In November, 1,000 officers absent without leave were dismissed. But the total number of soldiers executed for desertion was, according to surviving records, only 147.
Shortly after his return to Washington on October 4, Lincoln had Halleck order McClellan to “cross the Potomac and give battle to the enemy or drive him south. Your army must move now while the roads are good.”80 But to no avail. Three days later, the general-in-chief lamented that “I cannot persua
de him to advance an inch.”81 For the next month, McClellan deluged Washington with justifications for staying put. Among other things, he complained that his men lacked shoes, clothing, and horses. In response to McClellan’s explanation that his horses were exhausted, Lincoln sent a tart reply through Halleck: “The President has read your telegram, and directs me to suggest that, if the enemy had more occupation south of the river, his cavalry would not be so likely to make raids north of it.”82 Shortly thereafter, Lincoln wired McClellan more pointedly: “I have just read your despatch about sore tongued and fatiegued horses. Will you pardon me for asking what the horses of your army have done since the battle of Antietam that fatigue anything?”83 Indignant at this message, which he considered a “dirty little fling,” McClellan sent a lengthy report on his cavalry but failed to deal with Lincoln’s larger point—that the army’s inactivity threatened the war effort.84 The president tried to soothe the general’s hurt feelings: “Most certainly I intend no injustice to any; and if I have done any, I deeply regret it. To be told after more than five weeks total inaction of the Army, and during which period we had sent to that Army every fresh horse we possibly could, amounting in the whole to 7918 that the cavalry horses were too much fatiegued to move, presented a very cheerless, almost hopeless, prospect for the future; and it may have forced something of impatience into my despatches. If not recruited, and rested then, when could they ever be?”85
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