The Last Weeks of Abraham Lincoln

by David Alan Johnson

  A rumor began to circulate that General Grant asked General Lee to have a meeting with President Lincoln instead of Jefferson Davis. According to this story, General Lee refused to confer with Lincoln, explaining that he would have to confirm any such meeting with President Davis. But Colonel Horace Porter asked about this story when General Grant was on his death bed, and wrote that “his recollection was distinct that he had made no suggestion.”24 Grant did not suggest that General Lee have any sort of conference with Abraham Lincoln. Colonel Porter is of the opinion that when word first began to circulate that General Lee was asked to see the “president,” it was generally assumed that the president in question was Abraham Lincoln, not Jefferson Davis. The rumor has persisted over the years, in spite of Colonel Porter's recollection.

  The two generals continued to speak with one another for a little more than half an hour. At the end of the conversation, “The two commanders lifted their hats and bade each other good-bye.”25 Lee rode back to his camp, and Grant returned to his headquarters.

  At the White House, President Lincoln continued to write and polish the speech he was preparing for the following evening.

  The president spent much of his day preparing for the speech he was to deliver that evening. Elizabeth Keckley came to the White House to help Mary Lincoln get ready for the event. On her way to Mrs. Lincoln's room, Lizzy decided to open the door to the president's office and take a look inside, just out of curiosity. What she saw was President Lincoln sitting at his desk, engrossed in his work, not even looking up, going over the text of his speech.

  At around nine o'clock, the president met with General Benjamin F. Butler. According to General Butler's account, the two of them discussed the possibility of sending freed slaves to dig a canal across the Isthmus of Panama (General Butler referred to it as the “Isthmus of Darien”), as a well as an idea of establishing a black colony there. There are many who doubt General Butler's story. Washington's Daily National Republican mentions the meeting but gives no details, only noting, “Major General Butler had an interview with the President to-day.”1

  President Lincoln also issued a proclamation that closed more than thirty ports in Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas “until they shall have again been opened by order of the President.”2 He also issued a second proclamation, which barred warships of any foreign country that had refused “privileges and immunities” to American warships. This proclamation ends by declaring, “the United States, whatever claim or pretense may have existed heretofore, are now, at least, entitled to claim and concede an entire and friendly equality of rights and hospitalities with all maritime nations.”

  The president's point was that the American fleet had expanded and had become more powerful during the war, and that the United States was now a bona fide naval power. The US Navy was now the equal of any other naval country, including Britain. Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles agreed fully, stating, “we shall now assent our rights and, I hope, maintain them”—including against “the insolence of the petty officials of John Bull.”3

  President Lincoln's main activity for the day was his much-anticipated speech, which he delivered that evening. The Marquis de Chambrun received his invitation to attend the speech on Tuesday, when “a tall colored man” appeared at his door with a bouquet of flowers and a note, both of which were from Mary Lincoln.4 The note informed the marquis that the president would be delivering a speech from a window in the White House, and asked if he would like to listen to his address with Mrs. Lincoln from an adjacent window. He accepted at once and spent most of the day as the guest of Mrs. Lincoln at the White House.

  The city began celebrating long before the president spoke a word—the address was a true media event. Candles and lamps lit up all the public buildings in town—people commented that the Capitol dome could be seen for miles. The windows of the White House had rows of makeshift candle holders nailed in place for the occasion. Even Robert E. Lee's former home in Arlington, on the other side of the Potomac, was illuminated. The entire city was brilliantly lighted—this in an era long before electric lighting.

  In spite of an “unpleasant drizzle” that continued all throughout the evening, thousands of people made their way along Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House, which was the city's only paved street at the time.5 The president's appearance “drew an immense throng to the White House, which not only filled up the grounds immediately in front of the mansion, but obstructed the sidewalks of the avenue from 15th to 17th streets.”6 As soon as the president came to one of the windows, the crowd erupted with cheers and applause. From another window, Mary Lincoln was also cheered and applauded.

  Very shortly after he arrived at the window, without very much in the way of preliminaries, President Lincoln began reading from his text. “We meet this evening not in sorrow, but in gladness of heart,” he began. “The evacuation of Petersburg and Richmond, and the surrender of the principal insurgent army, give hope of a righteous and speedy peace whose joyous expression can not be restrained.”7 The lighting was not very good, and the president was doing his best to read by the light of a candle, which he held in one hand, while he held the pages of his speech in the other hand. This very quickly proved to be a very awkward arrangement. He gestured to newspaper correspondent Noah Brooks, who was standing close by, to come to his assistance. Noah Brooks took the candle from Lincoln, which allowed the president to use both hands for his address. As he finished each page, he allowed it to fall to the floor. His son Tad picked up each page as it fell. Tad was having so much fun that he asked his father to let the pages fall faster.

  The very beginning of the speech was positive and optimistic. After mentioning Petersburg and Appomattox, the president said that “a national thanksgiving” was being prepared, and followed by praising General Grant, “his skillful officers, and brave men,” as well as by a tribute to “the gallant Navy.” But following this uplifting start, President Lincoln shifted his focus to the more formal subject of reconstruction—a subject “fraught with great difficulty.”

  The rest of Lincoln's speech was all about the future and “the re-inauguration of the national authority,” as he called reconstruction. His main focus was the recently established state government of Louisiana, which the president defended. Since 1862, Lincoln had been looking for a way to bring Louisiana back into the Union. The state had a good many pro-Unionists among its population; some Unionists insisted that they made up the majority. Now he was asking if the state government should be accepted as it existed, or should be rejected. “Can Louisiana be brought into proper practical relation with the Union sooner by sustaining,” he asked, “or by discarding her new State Government?”

  He admitted that the Louisiana government may not have been ideal, but pointed out that its new constitution abolished slavery, and that its legislature voted to ratify the Constitutional amendment abolishing slavery throughout the country. The president added that about twelve thousand voters in Louisiana gave “the benefit of public schools equally to black and white,” and also authorized the state legislature “to confer the elective franchise upon the colored man.” He also stated that “if we reject Louisiana, we also reject one vote in favor of the proposed amendment to the national Constitution”—namely the Thirteenth Amendment, which abolished slavery. (The Thirteenth amendment was ratified in December 1865.)

  From a second story window in the White House, Elizabeth Keckley watched the president as he spoke. She was impressed by the sight of President Lincoln and Tad standing close together, and thought that the two of them presented “a striking tableau.”8 But the thought also occurred to her that the president made an excellent target as he stood there, illuminated “boldly in the darkness.” It would have been a very simple matter to kill Lincoln as he stood in the window. “He could be shot from the crowd,” she reflected, “and no one be able to tell who fired the shot.”

  Among the hundreds of p
eople who stood watching the president were John Wilkes Booth and two friends. Booth had been angry and depressed ever since he had heard the news of Appomattox, and he had nothing but contempt for Abraham Lincoln. When he heard what Lincoln had to say in favor of giving the vote to “the colored man,” Booth turned and said to one of his companions, “That means nigger citizenship,” and promised that this would be the last speech that Lincoln would ever make: “Now, by God, I'll put him through.”9

  The president ended his speech by explaining, “What has been said of Louisiana will apply generally to other States”—he hoped to use Louisiana as a model for other seceded states as they rejoined the Union. He concluded with, “In the present ‘situation’ as the phrase goes, it may be my duty to make some new announcement to the people of the South,” without giving any details. “I am considering, and shall not fail to act, when satisfied that action will be proper.”10

  The audience cheered and applauded as the president read the main body of his speech, but not with the noise and enthusiasm they showed at the very beginning of the address. Most had been expecting a rousing victory speech. Instead, they were regaled with a long dissertation on the Louisiana legislature and reconstruction. Noah Brooks told the president that it was a fair speech, which was his way of saying that it said what the president wanted it to say but was not outstanding. The Marquis de Chambrun wrote, “It was a great event and a remarkable discourse.”11 William Crook also heard the address, and commented on its “two great principles.”12 The first was that “the mass of the Southern people shall be restored to their citizenship as soon as they desired it.” The second principle: “punishment, if punishment there be, should fall upon those who had been to be chiefly instrumental in leading the south into rebellion.” He did not even mention what the president had to say regarding giving the vote to former slaves.

  The speech was printed in newspapers throughout the country, or at least throughout the North. Sometimes it was printed in its entirety, sometimes in an edited form. Nearly every report mentioned the illuminated buildings and the cheering crowds, but not every paper had a favorable opinion of what President Lincoln had to say. The New-York Tribune complained that Lincoln's address “caused great disappointment and left a painful impression.”13 The Washington Evening Star noted that the speech had been “prepared with this deliberation, evidently in order that there should be no chance for misconception,” which was a valid observation—the president worked very hard and spent a great deal of time in phrasing and polishing his address.14

  After he finished delivering his speech and the crowd went home, President Lincoln tried his best to relax. Mary Lincoln and the Marquis de Chambrun walked through the White House to the president's room; Mrs. Lincoln opened the door without knocking. “There was Mr. Lincoln, stretched at full length, resting on a large sofa from his oratorical efforts.”15

  As soon as Mrs. Lincoln and Chambrun entered the room, President Lincoln “rose impulsively” and shook the marquis by the hand, “which he held in his own a long time as though better to show his pleasure and affection at seeing me again,” the marquis recalled.16 The two of them talked about the speech and the “extremely moderate ideas” that Lincoln had expressed. The president also spoke about the problems that lay ahead of him because of these ideas—Radical Republicans in Congress objected to any form of leniency that might be shown toward the Confederacy, and would oppose any measures for leniency that Lincoln might propose—but still declared “his firm resolution to stand firm for clemency against all opposition.”

  Chambrun and Mrs. Lincoln left the president after this conversation, and went downstairs to the parlor. A Miss Harris, described as the “daughter of one of the New York Senators,” was waiting for them.17 The three of them proceeded to have a very pleasant conversation, talking at length on a variety of subjects. “Mrs. Lincoln, full of the triumphs of the last few days, spoke with great confidence of the future and showed great satisfaction and pride in her husband's success.”

  On the morning following the president's address on reconstruction, life at the White House went back to its normal routine. The usual stream of callers showed up—office seekers, well-wishers, casual visitors, people offering their congratulations for Appomattox. Washington may still have been celebrating, but it was an ordinary working Wednesday for President Lincoln and his staff. Among the items that Lincoln dealt with was a pardon for Private George Maynard of the Forty-Sixth New York Volunteers, who had been sentenced to death for desertion. The president's communiqué read simply, “Let the Prisoner be pardoned and returned to his Regiment.”1 Lincoln also asked Secretary of War Stanton to recommend Isaac G. Wilson of Illinois for an appointment to West Point.

  President Lincoln also sent two telegrams to General Godfrey Weitzel in Richmond. His first telegraph concerned a reprimand that General Weitzel had received from Secretary Stanton. General Weitzel had not ordered prayers to be said for the president in churches throughout Richmond. Secretary Stanton telegraphed that he was extremely upset because General Weitzel had waived the requirement for clergymen to perform services without including “the usual prayer” for the president of the United States.2 “If such has been your action it is strongly condemned by this Department,” Stanton rebuked. If the clergy in Richmond could pray for “the rebel chief,” Jefferson Davis, then they should be required to pray for President Lincoln as well.

  President Lincoln had seen Secretary Stanton's dispatches, and sent his own response to General Weitzel on this small but niggling matter. “I do not remember hearing prayers spoken of while I was in Richmond,” he said, “but I have no doubt you have acted in what appeared to you to be the spirit and temper manifested by me while there.”3 In other words, General Weitzel acted in the spirit of Lincoln's outlook of leniency toward the South, even if the general did not go along with Secretary Stanton's wishes. The president was of the opinion that Weitzel acted properly.

  President Lincoln's second telegram to General Weitzel concerned John A. Campbell and “the gentlemen who have acted as the Legislature of Virginia.”4 The president was having second thoughts about allowing the Virginia legislature to meet. He had originally been of the opinion that having an assembly made up of prominent and influential Virginians would help to make Virginia's transition back into the Union smoother and more amiable. But Gideon Welles and Edwin M. Stanton did not agree with him. Secretary Welles objected to the convening of what he still considered to be a rebel governing body. “It was a recognition of them,” he protested, and was afraid that if the “so-called legislature” met, they might “conspire against us” and make unreasonable demands.5

  On April 7, John A. Campbell had sent General Weitzel a letter that made President Lincoln agree with Secretary Welles and change his mind about the Virginia Legislature. In his letter, Campbell stated, “The legislature of Virginia [will or should] be immediately convened.”6 (Brackets are in original.) He went on to state, “The spirit of the people is not broken and the resources of the country allow of a prolonged and embarrassing resistance,” and made several other defiant comments that seemed to confirm Secretary Welles's misgivings that Campbell and the Virginia Legislature might very well “conspire against us” if they were permitted to meet.

  President Lincoln was not happy with “Judge Campbell,” as he called him, with the tone of Judge Campbell's letter, or with any of Campbell's pointed views regarding the Virginia legislature. On April 12, the same day he read the letter, the president telegraphed General Weitzel that he did not call “the insurgent Legislature of Virginia together, as the rightful Legislature of the State, to settle all differences with the United States.”7 He instructed General Weitzel, “Do not now allow them to assemble; but if any have come, allow them safe-return to their homes.” Lincoln was determined to show Virginia and all the seceded states every possible consideration, but was not about to allow Judge Campbell or anyone else to show any form of insolence or disrespect toward the government
of the United States.

  On the same Wednesday morning, Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia formally surrendered to Union forces. Neither General Lee nor General Grant were present at the ceremony. General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain accepted the Confederate flags and arms from General John B. Gordon, who represented General Lee.

  General Chamberlain received orders to have his lines formed for the surrender ceremony at sunrise. His men watched as the Confederate forces, “on the opposite slopes,” took down their tents for the last time and slowly formed their own ranks. After forming up, the gray lines slowly began moving forward—“The dusky swarms forge forward into gray columns of march,” General Chamberlain later wrote.8 The regimental battle flags were crowded so closely together, and the men of the regiments had been so thinned out by the fighting, that there seemed to be more flags than men, and “the whole column seemed crowned with red.”

  In the spirit of reconciliation shown by both General Grant and President Lincoln, General Chamberlain ordered his men to salute the surrendering Confederates, which he described as “a salute of arms.”9 Prompted by the bugler's call, the entire Union line gave “the soldier's salutation” of “carry arms,” the marching salute. General Gordon was riding at the head of the Confederate column, depressed and with a downcast face. But as soon as he heard the snap of the muskets, he returned the salute by wheeling his horse toward the Union lines and touching the point of his sword to the toe of his boot. General Gordon also instructed his own men to salute the Union ranks as they passed by—“honor answering honor.”

  Each individual Confederate division then came forward to lay down its arms—the men fixed bayonets, stacked their muskets, removed their cartridge boxes and set them on the ground. The final part of the ceremony consisted of giving up their regimental battle flags. The flags were brought forward, “reluctantly, with agony of expression,” rolled up, and set down next to the stacked muskets and cartridge boxes.10 Some of the men rushed from the ranks to kneel over the standards and touch them for the last time.