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Why We Love Lincoln

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">XIV</h2> To Lincoln the preservation of the Union was of much greater importance than the freedom of the negro race. No one who has ever glanced through his speeches and writings can have any doubt about that. When he signed the Proclamation of Emancipation he did it solely to save the Union. It was his mind, rather than his heart, that inspired the deed; for his inclination was to recognize the constitutional property right in slaves and to secure their emancipation by paying for them. This reverence for the Constitution and defense of all its guarantees and sanctions, even when the argument advantaged those who raised their hands against the government, is not the least of Lincoln’s claim to the love and gratitude of his countrymen.147 Not even the monstrous emotions of a fratricidal war could shake his determination to recognize slavery as a property right confirmed by the nation, so long as the nation itself could survive. Nor could the alternate appeals and abuse of the New England abolitionist fanatics make him forget that the rebel South was defending what it believed to be its legal rights. There is not a single note of bitterness or hatred for the South in all that he said or wrote up to the day when a Southern hand struck down the South’s best friend. The time came, however, when there was no longer any hope that emancipation by compensation would be accepted as a means of restoring peace. Then, and then only, Lincoln considered unconditional emancipation as an act of war in defence of the Union and as a means of peace. Thirty-four years afterwards General Longstreet, one of the most distinguished148 soldiers of the Confederacy, stood before thousands of Union veterans in Atlanta, white-haired and shaking with emotion, and said: “Your loss would have been our loss and your gain has been our gain.” The President had held out as long as possible against what he afterwards considered “the central act of his administration and the greatest event of the nineteenth century.” To members of Congress who urged him to free the negroes and muster them into the army he made a military argument: “Gentlemen, I have put thousands of muskets into the hands of loyal citizens of Tennessee, Kentucky and North Carolina. They have said that they could defend themselves if they had guns. I have given them the guns. Now, these men do not believe in mustering in the negro. If I do it, these thousands of muskets will be turned against us. We should lose more than we should gain.” <div id="if_i_148" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 20em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_148.jpg" width-obs="1220" height-obs="2695" alt="" /> <div class="caption">Autograph copy of Lincoln’s speech at Gettysburg</div> </div> On July 22, 1862, Lincoln called his Cabinet together and read to them a draft of a proposed proclamation freeing all the slaves in the United States. Secretary Seward, however, advised delay, pointing out the fact that the Union arms had sustained repeated defeats, and that a proclamation of emancipation, issued at such a time, might be “viewed as the last measure of an exhausted government.” He advised the President to wait until a victory was won and then “give it to the country supported by military success.” Lincoln consented to wait. How the anti-slavery forces bellowed and threatened! How Wendell Phillips lashed the President! How Greeley scored him in the Tribune! How the abolitionist committees poured into the White House and raged against delay! Poor Lincoln! He who had scoffed and blasphemed in his rough, hard youth in New Salem, turned to God for guidance. There150 is nothing in history more touching than the spectacle of this strong man, struggling between his sense of duty and the pitiless clamor of his country, raising his soul like a child to its father. And while he communed with God he did not fail to use all the resources of his nature to find a safe, sure way for the Republic he loved so well. He drew strength from God, but he continued to observe, compare and analyze conditions. A Chicago delegation went to him and declared that it was God’s will that he should free the slaves. Lincoln drew himself up and said: “I hope it will not be irreverent for me to say that if it is probable that God would reveal His will to others on a point so connected with my duty, it might be supposed He would reveal it directly to me.... These are not, however, the days of miracles, and I suppose it will be granted that I am not to expect a direct revelation. I must study the plain physical facts of the case,151 ascertain what is possible, and learn what appears to be wise and right.” The signal that Lincoln waited for came on September 17, 1862, when McClellan defeated Lee’s army at Antietam, inflicting a loss of more than twenty-five thousand men in killed, wounded and missing. Then came one of the strangest sights in the life of the American government, a spectacle that reveals the profoundly mystic side of Lincoln. The Cabinet was called together again to consider a proclamation of emancipation. There was Stanton, the Secretary of War, short, deep-chested, thick-bearded, dogmatic; Chase, the Secretary of the Treasury, tall, shaven, dignified, learned, able; Seward, the Secretary of State, slim, erect, hawk-eyed, polished, haughty; white-bearded Welles, the Secretary of the Navy; tall, courtly Blair, the Postmaster General; heavy-faced, ponderous Smith, the Secretary of the Interior; and silent, shrewd,152 studious Bates, the snowy-headed Attorney General. When this group of hard-headed and experienced politicians was solemnly gathered around the table in the Cabinet room, Lincoln opened a humorous book by Artemus Ward and began to read a chapter in his shrill, singsongy voice, pausing now and then to join the chuckling of his hearers. Stanton alone sat with thunder in his eyes and a frown on his brow. The tendency of the President to relieve a strain on the nerves, or clear the mind by a good laugh, exasperated him to the point of fury. Suddenly the laughter vanished from Lincoln’s voice and there came into his strong face the look that he is remembered by in his greatest moods. Then he poured out his mind and soul. In a few words he announced that he had decided to emancipate the slaves by proclamation, and explained his reasons. Looking earnestly into the faces of his advisers, he153 informed them that he had left the decision to God, that he had made a promise to God, and that he would keep that promise. Think of President Roosevelt making such a statement to Secretary Root, Secretary Cortelyou, Secretary Wright, Attorney General Bonaparte and the other members of his Cabinet! There was no self-consciousness in Lincoln’s manner as he made this extraordinary avowal. He spoke simply and with an air of intense conviction. His soul was in his eyes. There was peace in his face. “He remarked,” wrote Secretary Welles that night, “that he had made a vow—a covenant—that if God gave us the victory in the approaching battle [Antietam] he would consider it an indication of Divine will, and that it was duty to move forward in the cause of emancipation. It might be thought strange, he said, that he had in this way submitted the disposal of matters when the way was not clear to his mind what he should do.154 God had decided this question in favor of the slaves. He was satisfied it was right—was confirmed and strengthened in his action by the vow and the results. His mind was fixed, his decision made, but he wished his paper announcing his course as correct in terms as it could be made without any change in his determination.” What a scene!—the master politician of his times, the ugly rail-splitter and country politician, whose very appearance excited smiles, surrounded by shrewd, calculating, learned, world-hardened men, and telling them gravely that he had left to the decision of God the question of banishing slavery from American soil. <div id="if_i_154" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 25em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_154.jpg" width-obs="1554" height-obs="2453" alt="" /> <div class="caption">Lincoln statue, E. Capitol and Thirteenth Street, Washington</div> </div> It was so impressive, so extraordinary, that even Secretary Chase wrote it all down as soon as he got home. Here is his statement of Lincoln’s words: “When the rebel army was at Frederick, I determined, as soon as it should be driven out of Maryland, to issue a proclamation of155 emancipation, such as I thought most likely to be useful. I said nothing to any one, but I made the promise to myself, and (hesitating a little) to my Maker. The rebel army is now driven out, and I am going to fulfill that promise. I have got you together to hear what I have written down. I do not wish your advice about the main matter, for that I have determined for myself. This I say without intending anything but respect for any one of you.... There is no way in which I can have any other man put where I am. I am here; I must do the best I can, and bear the responsibility of taking the course which I feel I ought to take.” There was nothing Oriental about Lincoln. He made much of human wisdom. He listened reverently to the voice of the people. He bowed to the Constitution, in spite of the sanctions it gave to slavery, because it represented the deliberate will of the majority. But that incomparable hour in the White156 House proves that in the stress of contending human passions, almost crushed by the weight of his office, with heart and mind overwhelmed, Lincoln turned from earth to Heaven, and, like Elijah on Mount Carmel among the priests of Baal, cried to God for a sign. “The God that answereth by fire, let him be God.” As Secretary Seward put the Proclamation of Emancipation in his pocket and the members of the Cabinet withdrew from the most thrilling council ever known in that place, Lincoln’s countenance was calmer than it had been for many weeks. The proclamation freeing all slaves in rebellious States, together with a plan for emancipation by compensation, was submitted to Congress. To the very last Lincoln hoped that the South might accept his plan to abolish slavery by paying for the slaves. His appeal to Congress was notable: “The fiery trial through which we pass will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to157 the latest generation. We say we are for the Union. The world will not forget that we say this. We know how to save the Union. The world knows that we do know how to save it. We—even we here—hold the power and bear the responsibility. In giving freedom to the slave, we assure freedom to the free—honorable in what we give and what we preserve. We shall nobly save or meanly lose the last, best hope of earth.” On January 1, 1863, Lincoln issued the proclamation that ended slavery forever under the American flag. <hr /> 158 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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