When President Lincoln, confronted by the infirmities and incapacity of General Scott and the jealousy and rivalry of the younger officers of the army, was compelled to assume the direction of the conduct of the war, he was entirely ignorant of military affairs, except for the experience he had gained in his youth during the Black Hawk War, which, however, was more of a frontier frolic than a serious campaign. His own account of it is found in the autobiography he furnished to the press after his nomination to the Presidency:

"Abraham joined a volunteer company, and to his own surprise was elected captain of it. He says he has not since had any success in life which gave him so much satisfaction. He went into the campaign, served nearly three months, met the ordinary hardships of such an expedition, but was in no battle."

We know from others that Lincoln was one of the first to enlist, and that it was something besides ambition which led him to seek the captaincy of his company. During his first year in Illinois he worked for a time in a saw-mill run by a man named Kirkpatrick, who promised to buy him a cant-hook with which to move heavy logs. Lincoln offered to move the logs with his own common handspike, provided Kirkpatrick would give him in cash the two dollars which a cant-hook would cost. Kirkpatrick agreed to do so, but never did, and Lincoln always bore him a grudge. When the volunteers from Sangamon County assembled on the green to elect their officers, Lincoln discovered that Kirkpatrick was the only candidate for captain, and remarked to his friend and neighbor, Green,— "Bill, I believe I can make Kirkpatrick pay me that two dollars he owes me on the cant-hook or I'll run against him for captain."

So he and Green began immediately to "hustle" for votes, and when the order was given for the men to assemble at the side of their favorite candidate for captain, three-fourths of them came to Lincoln, and he led them over the prairies and through the wilderness to the rendezvous. He had no knowledge of military tactics and did not even know the order to give. He used to describe his blunders with great amusement, and one that he enjoyed particularly was a device to get his men through a gate-way into an enclosure. They were marching across a field four abreast, and Lincoln could not remember the proper command for changing them into single file, "or getting the company through the gate endwise," as he described it. "So, as we came near the gate, I shouted, 'The company is dismissed for two minutes, when it will fall in again on the other side of the gate.'"

This ingenuity did not save him from disgrace on other occasions, and once he was severely punished by being deprived of his sword on account of a violation of discipline. But these punishments did not seem to diminish the respect in which he was held by his company. They were proud of his wit, his strength, and his learning, and throughout their lives they remained devotedly attached to him because of his personal qualities. One day an Indian fugitive took refuge in the camp, and the soldier frontiersmen, with more or less experience of the treachery and cruelty of the savage, saw no reason why they should not put him out of the way at once, especially as they had come out to kill Indians; but Lincoln's humanity and sense of justice revolted at the murder of a helpless savage, and, at the risk of his life, he defied the entire camp and saved the Indian. At the end of their term of service his company was mustered out, and most of the volunteers, seeing no prospect of glory or profit, started towards home; but Captain Lincoln re-enlisted the same day as a private, and often spoke of the satisfaction he felt when relieved of the responsibility of command. He served through the campaign. He was the strongest man in the army and the best wrestler, with the exception of a man named Thompson, who once threw him on the turf.

Black Hawk was captured through the treachery of his allies. Lincoln's battalion was mustered out at Whitewater, Wisconsin, by Lieutenant Robert Anderson, who, twenty-nine years later, was to stand with him as the most interesting figure upon the national stage. A story that Lincoln was mustered into the service by Jefferson Davis has been widely published. It was a natural mistake, however, because Davis, then a lieutenant in the army, was stationed at a fort near Rock Island, but during the summer of the Black Hawk War he was on leave of absence and did not join his regiment until long after the Sangamon County volunteers had returned to their homes. However, Lincoln was to see and meet several interesting characters, including Colonel Zachary Taylor, whom he afterwards supported for President, General Winfield Scott, another Whig candidate for the Presidency and the commander of the army at the beginning of his administration, Lieutenant Albert Sidney Johnston, afterwards a Confederate general, and others of fame.

Lincoln never permitted any one to call him "captain," and when in Congress in 1848 he made a political speech in which he ridiculed the efforts of the friends of General Cass to obtain some political advantage from that eminent gentleman's services in a similar capacity. He said,—

"If General Cass went in advance of me picking whortleberries, I guess I surpassed him in charges on the wild onions. If he saw any live, fighting Indians, it was more than I did, but I had a good many bloody struggles with the mosquitoes; and although I never fainted from loss of blood, I can truly say I was often very hungry. If ever I should conclude to doff whatever our Democratic friends may suppose there is of black-cockade Federalism about me, and thereupon they shall take me up as their candidate for the Presidency, I protest that they shall not make fun of me, as they have of General Cass, by attempting to write me into a military hero."

When compelled to supervise the enlisting and equipment of a great army and plan campaigns that were to determine the destiny and the happiness and prosperity of the people, he was entirely without preparation or technical knowledge of the science of war, and could only rely upon his common sense and apply to military affairs the experience he had gained in politics. His talent developed rapidly, however, until he became recognized as the ablest strategist of the war, not excepting Grant or Sherman. His correspondence with his generals, his memoranda concerning the movements of troops, his instructions to the Secretary of War, the plans he suggested, and the comments and criticisms he made upon those of others indicate the possession of a military genius which in actual service would have given him a high reputation. In times of crisis his generals found him calm and resourceful; in great emergencies he was prompt, cool, and clear-sighted; and under the shock of defeat he was brave, strong, and hopeful.

Soon after his inauguration he began to realize the magnitude of the struggle and the responsibilities which rested upon him. He was convinced that the government was in the right, but determined that there should be no mistake on this point; therefore he gave the South every liberty and indulgence that could possibly be granted. He determined that the "overt act" should be committed by the South, that there should be no excuse to accuse the government of "invasion" or an attempt at "subjugation," and for that reason he delayed the attempt to reinforce and provision Fort Sumter. When the public understood the moral issues involved he gave the order, because he knew that he would be supported by a united North. In his inaugural address he said, "In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors." And that solemn pledge he endeavored to fulfil even at the risk of Northern criticism and the loss of the military posts at Charleston and other points in the South.

It was a disheartening and almost impossible situation for the new administration. President Lincoln and General Scott were left almost entirely dependent upon strangers and men of no experience who had been appointed for political reasons rather than for capacity or knowledge. Nearly all the trained officers of the army resigned as fast as their native States seceded; officers of Northern birth and sympathies had been sent to distant posts so that they could not interfere with the treasonable designs of Secretary Floyd during the Buchanan administration. Confusion, corruption, and complications were unavoidable, and caused the President unutterable anxiety and distress. Ignorance and zeal often provoked more trouble than could be corrected, and jealousy, rivalry, and partisanship made matters worse.

The political problems alone would have been as great a load as mortal man might have been expected to carry, but his perplexities were increased, his time occupied, and his patience sorely tested by such an undignified and unpatriotic clamor for offices as has never been exceeded in the history of our government. The Democratic party had been in power for many years. Every position in the gift of President Buchanan had been filled with a Democrat, many of them Southern sympathizers, and now hordes of hungry Republicans besieged the White House demanding appointments. The situation was described by the President in a single ejaculation. A Senator who noticed an expression of anxiety and dejection upon his face, inquired,—

"Has anything gone wrong, Mr. President? Have you heard bad news from Fort Sumter?"

"No," answered the President, solemnly. "It's the post-office at Jonesville, Missouri."

The area of the country was vast; the seat of war stretched from the Atlantic to the Missouri River, with a strip of States undecided in their purpose which must be carefully handled to prevent them from joining the Confederacy. With inexperienced and incompetent commanders, a divided Cabinet, public clamor dinning in his ears, and his mind harassed by other cares and perplexities, it was difficult to develop a military policy and plan a campaign for the suppression of the rebellion. Even if the situation had been divested of political significance, it would have taxed the genius of a Napoleon. The coast line to be protected was more than three thousand six hundred miles long, the frontier line was nearly eight thousand miles, and the field of operation covered an area larger than the whole of Europe. Furthermore, it was a political war, and everything must be planned with a view to political consequences. It was not a struggle between rival powers, nor for conquest, but for the preservation of the Union, and from the beginning President Lincoln appreciated that the common interests and the general welfare required that the integrity of the country be preserved with as little loss and as little punishment as possible to either side. Whatever damage was done must be repaired at the end by a reunited country; whatever was destroyed was a common loss. The war was a family affair, in which the sufferings and sorrows and material losses must be equally shared. With all these considerations in his mind, he undertook to guide the government in such a way as to prevent the dissolution of the Union and at the same time accomplish the overthrow of the slave power and the removal of that curse from the American people.

General Scott, like General Sherman, had accurately measured the requirements of the situation. Their experience and military instincts taught them that it was to be a long and a tedious struggle, and they urged deliberation and preparation as absolutely necessary to success. But, when General Sherman's opinion was made public, he was called a lunatic, and General Scott's practical plan of military operations was defeated by public ridicule. General Sherman demanded two hundred thousand men before attempting a campaign in the Mississippi Valley. General Scott called for only one hundred thousand men, but said they would be required for three years, and advised that they be distributed among ten or fifteen healthy camps for four months until they could be organized, drilled, and acclimated; then, after the navy had blockaded the harbors of the Southern coast, he proposed to move his army down both banks of the Mississippi River, establishing strong posts at frequent intervals to protect that stream until New Orleans was captured and occupied; he then proposed to move his army gradually eastward from the Mississippi and southward from the Potomac, slowly closing in upon the Confederacy until its military power was paralyzed. Notwithstanding the sorrows and anxieties of the North, the people howled with derision at this thorough, practical plan of the old veteran. The comic papers took it up and published cartoons representing a monster serpent with General Scott's head, coiled around the cotton States, and they called it "Scott's Anaconda." In the same breath they demanded a battle. "On to Richmond," they cried, and President Lincoln yielded to the clamor. The battle of Bull Run was fought, with its disastrous consequences. The lesson was valuable, as it taught the President that public opinion was not a safe guide to follow in military operations.

It must be remembered that in the midst of the most appalling situation in American history Lincoln stood practically alone because of a divided Cabinet and the age and infirmities of General Scott, then seventy-five years old, quite feeble in body and irritable of temper. The President had great respect for him and confidence in his patriotism and military judgment. He had supported Scott for President in 1852, had been in correspondence with him before the inauguration, and had encouraged him in his futile efforts to check the treasonable transactions of Secretary Floyd and other conspirators; but he soon discovered that the venerable warrior was in no condition to perform labor or assume responsibility. Yet he was reluctant to do anything to wound his pride or reflect upon his present ability. This increased the embarrassment and difficulties of the situation. General Scott recognized and appreciated Lincoln's consideration, but refused to resign or retire until finally driven from his post by McClellan.

At the White House, shortly after the battle of Bull Run, the old veteran, after listening to criticisms directed at the President for permitting the Union army to suffer defeat, broke out in his wrath,—

"Sir, I am the greatest coward in America. I will prove it. I fought this battle, sir, against my judgment; I think the President of the United States ought to remove me to-day for doing it. As God is my judge, after my superiors had determined to fight it, I did all in my power to make the army efficient. I deserve removal because I did not stand up when my army was not in a condition for fighting and resist to the last."

"Your conversation seems to imply that I forced you to fight this battle," suggested the President.

"I have never served a President who has been kinder to me than you have been," replied the general, avoiding the question.

The battle of Bull Run was fought to gratify the politicians. It was the only time the President yielded to public clamor, and he always regretted it. It was a political movement. When he assembled a council of war five days previous, the commanders declared that they had force enough to overcome the enemy; but General Scott was positive that such a victory could not be decisive, and advised a postponement of active hostilities for a few months until the army could be placed in a better condition. The Cabinet and the military committees of Congress feared that public sentiment in the North would not consent to the delay, and that the Confederate leaders would make such good use of it that the results of an offensive movement would be more doubtful then than now, hence an order for the advance was given. The President did not rebuke General Scott for his indignant outbreak, because he felt that his words were true.

The President suffered great anxiety during that eventful Sunday, but exhibited his usual self-control, and attended church with Mrs. Lincoln. After his noon dinner he walked over to the head-quarters of the army, where he found General Scott taking a nap, and woke him up to ask his opinion. The old gentleman was not only hopeful but confident, for one of his aides had arrived with a report that General McDowell was driving everything before him. The President's mind was relieved and about four o'clock he went out to drive. At six o'clock Secretary Seward staggered over the threshold of the White House and nervously asked for the President. When told that he was driving, he whispered to the private secretary,—

"Tell no one, but the battle is lost; McDowell is in full retreat, and calls on General Scott to save the capital." When the President drove up to the portico a few minutes later he listened in silence to the message, but his head hung low as he crossed the White House grounds to head-quarters. There the disaster was confirmed, and he conferred long and anxiously with General Scott and Secretary Cameron as to the next duty. Towards midnight he returned to the White House and heard the accounts of members of Congress and others who had gone out to witness the battle. His long frame lay listlessly upon a couch, but his mind was active, his calmness and resolution had not been disturbed, and before he slept that night he had planned the reorganization of the army, and from that time undertook the direction of military as well as civil and diplomatic affairs; consulting freely with Senators and Representatives and officers of the army as he did with his constitutional advisers, but relying upon his own judgment more and more.

A gleam of hope arose in his mind that he might be relieved of much detail by George B. McClellan, a brilliant young officer, who had been called to Washington and appointed a major-general.

McClellan was a graduate of West Point, had served with distinction in the Mexican War, had been a member of a military commission to inspect the armies of Europe, had observed the conduct of the Crimean War, had been engaged in various scientific and diplomatic duties, had resigned from the army to become Chief Engineer of the Illinois Central Railroad when only thirty-one years old, was elected its Vice-President at thirty-two, and made President of the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad when he was thirty-four. He had made a brief but dashing campaign in West Virginia, and was credited with saving that State to the Union. His brilliant professional attainments, the executive ability he had displayed in railway management, combined with attractive personal qualities and influential social connections, made him the most conspicuous officer in the Union army and naturally excited the confidence of the President, who gave him a cordial welcome and intrusted him with the most responsible duties, making him second only to General Scott in command.

Unfortunately, however, the honors which were showered upon McClellan turned his head, and the young commander not only failed to comprehend the situation and his relations to the President and General Scott, but very soon developed signs of vanity and insubordination which caused the President great concern. He saw himself followed and flattered by statesmen, politicians, and soldiers of twice his age and experience. The members of the Cabinet and even the President himself came to his residence to ask his advice, and the venerable hero of the Mexican War deferred to his judgment and accepted his suggestions without hesitation. McClellan was the idol of the army and a magnet that attracted all the interest, influence, and ambition that were centred at Washington at that period of the war. His state of mind and weakness of character were exhibited in letters he wrote to his family at this time, which, by a lamentable error of judgment, were afterwards printed in his biography.

On July 27 he wrote his wife, "I find myself in a new and strange position here, President, Cabinet, General Scott and all deferring to me. By some strange operation of magic I seem to have become the power of the land."

A little later he wrote, "They give me my way in everything, full swing and unbounded confidence. Who would have thought when we were married that I should so soon be called upon to save my country?" Ten days after his appointment he declared, "I would cheerfully take the dictatorship and agree to lay down my life when the country is saved."

Very soon, however, the tone of his letters began to change. The President, General Scott, and the Cabinet had evidently begun to detect his weakness and egotism and no longer accepted his own estimate of his ability and importance. To the President's profound disappointment, he realized within a few days that McClellan was not a staff that could be leaned upon, while General Scott's admiration and confidence in his young lieutenant were shaken at their first interview.

With the air of an emperor McClellan began to issue extraordinary demands upon the President, the War Department, and the Treasury. It soon became apparent that he desired and expected to be placed in command of the greatest army of history; that he intended to organize and equip it according to the most advanced scientific theories; and when the President, the Secretary of War, and General Scott objected to the magnitude of his plans, pointed out their impracticability, and urged him to do something to check the alarming movements of the Confederates, he was seized with a delusion which remained with him to the end, that they were endeavoring to thwart and embarrass him. The tone of his letters to his wife was radically changed.

"I am here in a terrible place," he said; "the enemy have from three to four times my force; the President and the old General will not see the true state of affairs."

"I am weary of all this," he said a week later, "and disgusted with this administration,—perfectly sick of it;" and he declared that he remained at the head of affairs only because he had become convinced that he was alone the salvation of the country. He expressed especial contempt for the President, and said, "There are some of the greatest geese in the Cabinet I have ever seen,—enough to tax the patience of Job." The incompetence and stupidity of the President, he wrote, was "sickening in the extreme, and makes me feel heavy at heart when I see the weakness and unfitness of the poor beings who control the destinies of this country." He wrote other friends that his wisdom alone must save the country, that he spent his time "trying to get the government to do its duty, and was thwarted and deceived by these incapables at every turn." He demanded that all recruits be sent to his army and that all supplies be issued to him, as if the armies in the Mississippi Valley could take care of themselves. He demanded that "the whole of the regular army, old and new, be at once ordered to report here," and that the trained officers be assigned to him. "It is the task of the Army of the Potomac to decide the question at issue," he declared. When advice and suggestions were offered him he rejected them contemptuously, and announced that whenever orders were issued to him he exercised his own judgment as to obedience.

General McClellan's vanity and presumption might have been overlooked by General Scott, but his insulting remarks could not be excused. Their relations reached an acute stage in August, 1861, notwithstanding the President's efforts at reconciliation. Again and again he apologized for and explained away the rudeness of the younger officer towards his superior; and General Scott, realizing the President's embarrassment, begged to be relieved from active command because of his age and infirmities. Perhaps it would have been wiser if the wishes of the aged general had been complied with, for he was now practically helpless, fretful, and forgetful, and his sensitiveness made it necessary to consult him upon every proposition and admit him to every conference. Finally, McClellan's contemptuous indifference, persistent disrespect, and continual disobedience provoked General Scott beyond endurance, and on the last day of October he asked that his name be placed on the list of army officers retired from active service.

"For more than three years," he wrote, "I have been unable from a hurt to mount a horse or to walk more than a few paces at a time and that with much pain. Other and new infirmities, dropsy, and vertigo, admonish me that repose of mind and body are necessary to add a little more to a life already protracted much beyond the usual span of man."

Lincoln, however, continued to consult him, and in June, 1862, made a visit to West Point for the purpose of asking his advice upon certain military movements then in contemplation. General Scott outlived him, and was the most distinguished figure at the obsequies of the martyred President at New York City in April, 1865.

After General Scott's retirement McClellan assumed even greater importance in his own eyes, and treated the President in the same contemptuous manner; yet the latter's indulgence was inexhaustible, and he would not even allow personal indignity to himself to interfere with his relations with the commander of his army. He was accustomed to visit army head-quarters and General McClellan's residence in the most informal manner, entering both without notification of his coming, and, if the general was not in, returning to the White House; but one night in November, 1861, he called at General McClellan's residence on a matter so important that he decided to await the latter's return from a wedding. Although informed that the President had been waiting an hour, McClellan went directly by the drawing-room upstairs, and when a servant went to remind him that the President wished to see him, the general sent down word that he was retiring and would like to be excused. Lincoln did not mention the insult. No one could have detected any difference in his treatment of General McClellan thereafter, except that he never entered his house again, and after that date when he wanted to see him sent for him to come to the Executive Mansion. On another occasion when the young general treated him with similar arrogance, Governor Dennison, of Ohio, and General Mitchell remonstrated, but the President replied cheerfully,— "Never mind; I will hold McClellan's horse if he will only bring us success."

But he did not bring success, and the public as well as both Houses of Congress became very impatient about the idleness and delay of the Army of the Potomac. McClellan's "All quiet on the Potomac" became a slang phrase as notorious as General Butler's "contraband." Newspaper artists and cartoonists made him the subject of ridicule, committees of Senators and Representatives waited upon him, Legislatures passed resolutions, but he was no more affected by those promptings than he had been by the entreaties and admonitions of the President. When positive orders were issued, McClellan refused to obey them, or obeyed them in such a manner as to defeat their purpose. A committee of Congress was appointed to make an investigation. The President began to lose his patience, and declared that "if something were not done the bottom would drop out of the whole affair. If McClellan did not want to use the army he would like to borrow it, provided he could see how it could be made to do something." McClellan replied that his forces were insufficient; that he was outnumbered by the enemy. Finally, at a conference with the Cabinet, Secretary Chase, who had been his most enthusiastic admirer, but had lost all confidence in McClellan, asked the general point-blank what he intended to do and when he intended to do it. McClellan refused to answer the question unless the President ordered him to do so. The latter, with his usual consideration, attempted to protect the general, and in a conciliatory way asked whether he had resolved in his own mind when he would be able to make a forward movement. McClellan replied in the affirmative, but would give no further information. The President urged him to do so, but he continued to refuse, whereupon the former remarked,—

"Then I will adjourn the meeting." The President waited a few weeks longer, and, as nothing was done, issued his famous Special War Order No. 1, in which he ordered the celebration of Washington's birthday, 1862, by a general movement of all the land and naval forces of the United States; but even then McClellan reported that he would be obliged to fall back until he could construct a railway.

"What does this mean?" asked the President, when Secretary Stanton read him the despatch.

"It means that it is a damn fizzle!" exclaimed the Secretary of War. "It means that he does not intend to do anything."

The President then issued General War Order No. 2, reorganizing the Army of the Potomac, and followed it with General War Order No. 3, which directed a movement in ten days; but still McClellan blocked the way, and continued to drill his troops, dig entrenchments, and write insolent letters to the President and Secretary of War.

"Had I twenty thousand or even ten thousand fresh troops to use to-morrow I could take Richmond," he telegraphed Secretary Stanton. "If I save this country now I tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you or any other person in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this army."

The Secretary's rage may be imagined, and he would have had McClellan arrested and sent before a court-martial; but Lincoln's patience yet prevailed, and he crossed the Potomac for a personal conference with his insubordinate commander, urging him to make a forward movement. The members of the Cabinet drew up an indignant protest demanding the immediate removal of McClellan from command, but decided not to hand it to the President.

Finally, the Army of the Potomac was compelled to follow Lee northward, and after the battle of Antietam the President telegraphed McClellan: "Please do not let him [the enemy] get off without being hurt." Two weeks later he again visited the camp, and, after reviewing and inspecting the troops, remarked,—

"It is called the Army of the Potomac, but is only McClellan's body-guard."

President Lincoln's warmest defenders cannot excuse his procrastination with McClellan upon any other ground than excessive caution. They know that he acted against his own judgment; that he was convinced of McClellan's unfitness within three months after he had placed him in command, and that the conviction grew upon him daily, but his fear of offending public opinion and wounding McClellan's vanity led him to sacrifice the interests of the government and unnecessarily prolong the war. The same criticism can be made of his treatment of other generals intrusted with the command of the army. Of all his officers, no one ever possessed the full confidence of the President except General Grant.

While McClellan was in command Lincoln studied the military situation with characteristic thoroughness and penetration, and drew up memoranda in detail as to the movements of the army. He also gave his opinion as to what the enemy would do under the circumstances. These memoranda were rejected by McClellan in a contemptuous manner, but since they have become public they have commanded the respect and admiration of the ablest military critics.

The President's troubles were not confined to the Army of the Potomac, nor were they bounded by the Alleghany Mountains, but extended wherever there were military movements; wherever there were offices to be filled the same conditions existed; the same jealousies, rivalries, and incompetence interfered with the proper administration of the government. And the most popular heroes, the idols of the public, invariably caused the most confusion and showed the most flagrant indiscretion and incompetence. Second only in popularity to McClellan, perhaps even higher in the esteem of the Republican party, was John C. FrÉmont, the first candidate of that party for the Presidency, a man whose adventures as an explorer had excited the admiring interest of every school-boy, and whose activity in making California a state had given him a reputation for romance, gallantry, and patriotism. He was "the Pathfinder," and second only to Daniel Boone as a frontier hero. Seward had pressed him for appointment as Secretary of War; at one time Lincoln put him down on the slate as minister to France, and when the war broke out his name was among the first to suggest itself to the people as that of a savior of the country. He had been in France during the winter, and had sailed for home when Sumter was fired upon.

Upon his arrival in New York he was handed a commission as major-general in the regular army and orders to take command in the Mississippi Valley. It was an opportunity that any soldier might have envied, and the President expected him to proceed at once to his head-quarters at St. Louis, where his presence was imperatively needed; but the ovations he received in the East and the adulation that was paid him everywhere were too gratifying for his self-denial, and it was not until he received peremptory orders, twenty-five days after his appointment, that he proceeded leisurely westward to find his department in a state of the greatest confusion and apprehension. Instead, however, of devoting himself to the task of organization and getting an army into the field to quell disloyal uprisings and exterminate the bushwhackers who were burning towns, plundering farm-houses, tearing up railroads, murdering loyal citizens, and committing other crimes, he remained in St. Louis, taking more interest in political than in military questions, issuing commissions to his friends, and giving contracts with such a lavish hand and in such an irregular way as to provoke protest from the accounting officers of the government. Political intrigue and distrust were so prevalent that FrÉmont was accused of an ambition to lead a new secession movement, separate the Western States from the Union, and establish an empire under his own sovereignty similar to that of which Aaron Burr is supposed to have dreamed.

President Lincoln watched with anxiety and sorrow the dethronement of another popular idol, and defended and protected FrÉmont with the same charity and patience he had shown to McClellan. Instead of removing him from command, as he should have done, he endeavored to shield him from the consequences of his mismanagement, and sent General David Hunter, an old friend and veteran officer in whom he had great confidence, this request:

"General FrÉmont needs assistance which is difficult to give him. He is losing the confidence of men near him, whose support any man in his position must have to be successful.... He needs to have by his side a man of large experience. Will you not for me take that place? Your rank is one grade too high to be ordered to it; but will you not serve your country and oblige me by taking it voluntarily."

With this letter General Hunter went to St. Louis to try and save FrÉmont, but it was too late. FrÉmont's principal political backing came from the Blair family, who were also his warmest personal friends; but, when they endeavored to advise and restrain him, a quarrel broke out and FrÉmont placed General Frank P. Blair under arrest. Blair preferred formal charges against his commander; and his father and brother, the latter being Postmaster-General, demanded FrÉmont's removal on account of incapacity. Then, to increase Lincoln's anxieties and perplexities, Mrs. Jessie Benton FrÉmont, the daughter of Senator Benton and a romantic figure in American history, appeared in Washington to conduct her husband's side of the quarrel, denouncing the Blairs and all other critics with unmeasured contempt and earnestness.

The President confesses that he was exasperated almost beyond endurance. Mrs. FrÉmont, he says, "sought an audience with me at midnight, and attacked me so violently with many things that I had to exercise all the awkward tact I had to avoid quarrelling with her. She more than once intimated that if General FrÉmont should decide to try conclusions with me, he could set up for himself."

While the weary President was spending sleepless nights planning the reorganization of the Army of the Potomac and an offensive campaign to satisfy public clamor, he endeavored to arbitrate the quarrel between FrÉmont and the Blairs. In the midst of his efforts at conciliation, General FrÉmont startled the country and almost paralyzed the President by issuing an emancipation proclamation and an order that all persons found with arms in their hands should be shot. The President wrote him a gentle but firm remonstrance, "in a spirit of caution and not of censure," he said, and sent it by special messenger to St. Louis, "in order that it may certainly and speedily reach you." Mrs. FrÉmont brought the reply to Washington. It was an apology mixed with defiance. FrÉmont asserted that he had acted from convictions of duty with full deliberation, and proceeded at length to argue the justice and expediency of the step; and he was as much encouraged in his defiance as Lincoln was embarrassed by the radical Republican leaders and newspapers of the North. FrÉmont's proclamation was revoked by order of the President, but it was not so easy to correct the mistakes he had made in administration. Finally, after long deliberation and upon the advice of three experienced officers in whom he had great confidence and who had been with FrÉmont and were familiar with his conduct and the political and military situation, the President relieved him from command.

FrÉmont accepted the inevitable with dignity. He issued a farewell address to his army, was given ovations by radical Republicans in different parts of the country, but was not again intrusted with an independent command.

After he arose from his sleepless bed the morning following the battle of Bull Run, Lincoln devoted every spare moment to the study of the map of the seat of war and to reading military history. A shelf in his private library was filled with books on tactics, the histories of great campaigns, and such military authorities upon the science of warfare as might afford him ideas, valuable information, and suggestions. He undertook the preparation of a plan of campaign precisely as he had been accustomed to prepare for a trial in court, and before many days his quick perceptions, his retentive memory, and his reasoning powers had given him wider knowledge than was possessed by any of his generals. He did not fail to consult every person in whom he had confidence both upon abstract military questions and geographical and political conditions, and before long he developed a plan which he submitted to the military committees of Congress a few days after Congress assembled in December, 1861. Several of the most influential Senators and Representatives who did not belong to the committees were invited to be present. He proposed, first to maintain the military force along the Potomac to menace Richmond; second, to move an army from Cairo southward within easy communication of a flotilla upon the Mississippi; and, third, to send an army from Cincinnati eastward to Cumberland Gap in East Tennessee. Preliminary to the latter movement he proposed the construction of a railway from Cincinnati to Knoxville by way of Lexington, Kentucky, in order to avoid the difficulties and delays of transportation through the mountains, and military authorities now agree that if his advice had been followed the war would have been shortened at least two years. Mr. Nicolay, his private secretary, reports the substance of the President's appeal to Congress, as he stood before a map of Tennessee in the President's room at the Capitol:

"I am thoroughly convinced that the closing struggle of the war will occur somewhere in this mountain country. By our superior numbers and strength we will everywhere drive the rebel armies back from the level districts lying along the coast, from those lying south of the Ohio River, and from those lying east of the Mississippi River. Yielding to our superior force, they will gradually retreat to the more defensible mountain districts, and make their final stand in that part of the South where the seven States of Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee, Kentucky, and West Virginia come together. The population there is overwhelmingly and devotedly loyal to the Union. The despatches from Brigadier-General Thomas of October 28 and November 5 show that, with four additional good regiments, he is willing to undertake the campaign and is confident he can take immediate possession. Once established, the people will rally to his support, and by building a railroad, over which to forward him regular supplies and needed reinforcements from time to time, we can hold it against all attempts to dislodge us, and at the same time menace the enemy in any one of the States I have named."

There was no response to this appeal, except from the Senators and Representatives from East Tennessee, where nearly the entire population were loyal to the Union. One of the motives of the President in planning this campaign was to protect them from the raids of the Confederate cavalry. The Congressmen who heard him, however, were determined to gratify the public demand for an assault upon Richmond. All eyes were upon the Army of the Potomac, and it was popularly believed that if an assault were made and the Confederate capital captured, the rebellion would be promptly crushed. The President then undertook to carry out his plan with the forces at his disposal, but General Buell was too stubborn and too slow, either refusing to carry out his orders or wasting his time and strength in arguments against the practicability of the plan. If the same time, money, and military strength that were expended in his attempted march from Corinth to East Tennessee during the following summer had been devoted to the construction of a railroad, as proposed by the President, the entire situation in the Mississippi Valley would have been changed, and the battles which made Grant, Thomas, and Sherman famous would never have been fought. This is the opinion of the military experts after a quarter of a century of controversy, and the longer the subject is discussed the more firmly established is the verdict in favor of the wisdom and practicability of Lincoln's plan.

General McClellan was not the only military commander to annoy and perplex the President by procrastination and argument. The official records of the war at this time are filled with letters and telegrams addressed by Lincoln to Buell and Halleck, appealing to them to obey his orders and move towards the enemy. Buell kept promising to do so, but his delay was exasperating, and, differing in opinion from his superiors, he was, like McClellan, continually guilty of insubordination. Halleck, who was considered one of the ablest and best-equipped officers in the Union army, and was intended to be the successor of General Scott, was equally dilatory, although he had a better excuse, because, when he assumed command at St. Louis, succeeding General FrÉmont, he found the whole department in a deplorable condition, and was working with great energy and ability to organize and equip an army for the field. It is undoubtedly the case that both Buell and Halleck lacked confidence in the President's military capacity and placed a higher value upon their own judgment; but, whether the President realized this or not, he laid out the plan of a campaign and gave orders to both generals to co-operate in a joint land and river expedition up the Tennessee or Cumberland River. Neither made the slightest preparation for it or communicated with each other on the subject,—an act of insubordination that would not have been tolerated in any other country in the world. Then, when the President began to press his generals, Halleck excused himself for refusing to carry out his orders on the ground that it was bad strategy, and Buell made no reply whatever.

The patience of the President seemed inexhaustible. He kept his temper, and finally persuaded General Halleck to make a demonstration, which resulted in the capture of Forts Henry and Donelson and the famous campaign of General Grant in the early spring of 1862. The results of that campaign might have been much more conclusive had General Buell obeyed orders and responded to the appeals of General Halleck for assistance and to the President's orders for him to co-operate. Lincoln watched every step of the march with anxious interest, and his telegrams show that he anticipated Grant's movements with remarkable accuracy. His suggestions show how familiar he was with the country and the location of the Confederate forces. One of his telegrams to Halleck illustrates his knowledge of detail. It reads,—

"You have Fort Donelson safe, unless Grant shall be overwhelmed from outside; to prevent which latter will, I think, require all the vigilance, energy, and skill of yourself and Buell, acting in full co-operation. Columbus will not get at Grant, but the force from Bowling Green will. They hold the railroad from Bowling Green to within a few miles of Fort Donelson, with the bridge at Clarksville undisturbed. It is unsafe to rely that they will not dare to expose Nashville to Buell. A small part of their force can retire slowly towards Nashville, breaking up the railroad as they go, and keep Buell out of that city twenty days. Meantime, Nashville will be abundantly defended by forces from all south and perhaps from here at Manassas. Could not a cavalry force from General Thomas on the upper Cumberland dash across, almost unresisted, and cut the railroad at or near Knoxville, Tennessee? In the midst of a bombardment at Fort Donelson, why could not a gunboat run up and destroy the bridge at Clarksville? Our success or failure at Fort Donelson is vastly important, and I beg you to put your soul in the effort. I send a copy of this to Buell."

Imagine his sensations when he received a reply from General Halleck: "Make Buell, Grant, and Pope major-generals of volunteers and give me command in the West. I ask this in return for Fort Henry and Donelson."

The President realized the situation, made the promotions, consolidated the different departments west of the Blue Ridge Mountains, placed Halleck in command, and directed him to take advantage of "the golden opportunity;" but the latter was too deliberate, and it required only a brief experience to demonstrate that he was unfit to command troops in the field. He was called to Washington, placed at the head-quarters of the army to succeed General McClellan, and Grant was left in command of the army in Tennessee, where he undertook the task of opening the Mississippi in his own way, having the full confidence of the President.

It is quite remarkable that from the beginning Lincoln's confidence in Grant was firm and abiding. This may have been partly due to the strong endorsements he had received from Representative Washburne and other mutual friends, although Grant was not highly regarded at home at that time, and found difficulty in obtaining a commission from the Governor of Illinois. President Lincoln had never seen him until he came East to take command of the army, and had heard evil as well as good reports concerning that silent but stubborn soldier who was working his way down the banks of the Mississippi and closing around Vicksburg. There is no evidence, however, except his own words, that Lincoln's faith in him was ever shaken. He gave Grant no orders, sent him no telegrams or letters such as he had written to Halleck, Buell, Rosecrans, and other commanders in the West, and there must have been some reason for his not doing so. We are left only the inference that his sagacity taught him that Grant was not a man to be interfered with; and although his patience, like that of the rest of the country, was being sorely tried by the lack of tangible results in the West, he waited until the problem was worked out and then wrote Grant the following candid and characteristic letter:

"My dear General: I do not remember that you and I ever met personally. I write this now as a grateful acknowledgment for the almost inestimable service you have done the country. I wish to say a word further. When you first reached the vicinity of Vicksburg, I thought you should do what you finally did—march the troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and thus go below; and I never had any faith, except a general hope that you knew better than I, that the Yazoo Pass expedition and the like could succeed. When you got below and took Port Gibson, Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I thought you should go down the river and join General Banks, and when you turned northward, east of the Big Black, I feared it was a mistake. I now wish to make the personal acknowledgment that you were right and I was wrong."

GENERAL ULYSSES S. GRANT