Charles Godfrey Leland

Proclamation of Amnesty—Lincoln’s Benevolence—His Self-reliance—Progress of the Campaign—The Summer of 1864—Lincoln’s Speech at Philadelphia—Suffering in the South—Raids—Sherman’s March—Grant’s Position—Battle of the Wilderness—Siege of Petersburg—Chambersburg—Naval Victories—Confederate Intrigues—Presidential Election—Lincoln Re-elected—Atrocious attempts of the Confederates.

The American political year begins with the meeting of Congress, which in 1863 assembled on Monday, December 7th. On the 9th, President Lincoln sent to both Houses a message, in which he set forth the principal events of the year, as regarded the interests of the American people. The previous day he had issued a proclamation of amnesty to all those engaged in the rebellion, who “should take an oath to support, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States and the union of the states under it, with the Acts of Congress passed during the rebellion, and the proclamations of the President concerning slaves.” From this amnesty those were excepted who held high positions in the civil or military service of the rebels, or who had left similar positions in the Union to join the enemy. It also declared that whenever, in any of the rebel states, a number of persons, not less than one-tenth of the qualified voters, should take this oath and establish a state government which should be republican, it should be recognised as the government of the state. On the 24th March, he issued a proclamation following this, in which he defined more closely the cases in which rebels were to be pardoned. He allowed personal application to himself in all cases. Mr. Lincoln was of so gentle a disposition that he seldom refused to sign a pardon, and a weeping widow or orphan could always induce him to pardon even the worst malefactors. The manner in which he would mingle his humorous fancies, not only with serious business, but with almost tragic incidents, was very peculiar. Once a poor old man from Tennessee called to beg for the life of his son, who was under sentence of death for desertion. He showed his papers, and the President, taking them kindly, said he would examine them, and answer the applicant the next day. The old man, in an agony of anxiety, with tears streaming, cried, “To-morrow may be too late! My son is under sentence of death. It must be done now, or not at all.” The President looked sympathetically into the old man’s face, took him by the hands, and pensively said, “That puts me in mind of a little story. Wait a bit—I’ll tell it.”

“Once General Fisk of Missouri was a Colonel, and he despised swearing. When he raised his regiment in Missouri, he proposed to his men that he should do all the profanity in it. They agreed, and for a long time not a solitary swear was heard among them. But there was an old teamster named John Todd, who, one day when driving his mules over a very bad road, and finding them unusually obstinate, could not restrain himself, and burst into a tremendous display of ground and lofty swearing. This was overheard by the Colonel, who at once brought John to book. ‘Didn’t you promise,’ he said, indignantly, ‘that I was to do all the swearing of the regiment?’ ‘Yes, I did, Colonel,’ he replied; ‘but the truth is, the swearing had to be done then, or not at all—and you weren’t there to do it.’ Well,” concluded Mr. Lincoln, as he took up a pen, “it seems that this pardon has to be done now, or not at all, like Todd’s swearing; and, for fear of a mistake,” he added, with a kindly twinkle in his eye, “I guess we’ll do it at once.” Saying this, he wrote a few lines, which caused the old man to shed more tears when he read them, for the paper held the pardon of his son. Once, and once only, was President Lincoln known to sternly and promptly refuse mercy. This was to a man who had been a slave-trader, and who, after his term of imprisonment had expired, was still kept in jail for a fine of 1000 dollars. He fully acknowledged his guilt, and was very touching in his appeal on paper, but Lincoln was unmoved. “I could forgive the foulest murder for such an appeal,” he said, “for it is my weakness to be too easily moved by appeals for mercy; but the man who could go to Africa, and rob her of her children, and sell them into endless bondage, with no other motive than that of getting dollars and cents, is so much worse than the most depraved murderer, that he can never receive pardon at my hands. No; he may rot in jail before he shall have liberty by any act of mine.” On one occasion, when a foolish young fellow was condemned to death for not joining his regiment, his friends went with a pardon, which they begged the President to sign. They found him before a table, of which every inch was deeply covered with papers. Mr. Lincoln listened to their request, and proceeded to another table, where there was room to write. “Do you know,” he said, as he held the document of life or death in his hand, “that table puts me in mind of a little story of the Patagonians. They open oysters and eat them, and throw the shells out of the window till the pile gets higher than the house, and then”—he said this, writing his signature, and handing them the paper—“they move.”

Holland tells us that, in a letter to him, a personal friend of the President said, “I called on him one day in the earlier part of the war. He had just written a pardon for a young man who had been sentenced to be shot for sleeping at his post as sentinel. He remarked, as he read it to me, “I could not think of going into eternity with the blood of that poor young man on my skirts.” Then he added, “It is not to be wondered at that a boy raised on a farm, probably in the habit of going to bed at dark, should, when required to watch, fall asleep; and I cannot consent to shoot him for such an act.” This story has a touching continuation in the fact that the dead body of this youth was found among the slain on the field of Fredericksburg, wearing next his heart a photograph of the great President, beneath which was written, God bless President Lincoln. Once, when a General went to Washington to urge the execution of twenty-four deserters, believing that the army was in danger from the frequency of desertion, President Lincoln replied, “General, there are already too many weeping widows in the United States. For God’s sake, don’t ask me to add to the number, for I won’t do it.”

It is certain that every man who knew anything of the inner workings of American politics, or of Cabinet secrets, during the war, will testify that no President ever did so much himself, and relied as little on others, as Lincoln. The most important matters were decided by him alone. He would listen to his Cabinet, or to anybody, and shrewdly avail himself of information or of ideas, but no human being ever had the slightest personal influence on him. Others might look up the decisions and precedents, or suggest the legal axioms for him, but he invariably managed the case, though with all courtesy and deference to his diplomatic junior counsel. He was brought every day into serious argument with the wisest, shrewdest, and most experienced men, both foreign and American, but his own intelligence invariably gave him the advantage. And it is not remarkable that the man who had been too much for Judge Douglas should hold his own with any one. While he was President, his wonderful powers of readily acquiring the details of any subject were thoroughly tested, and as President, he perfected the art of dealing with men. One of his French biographers, amazed at the constantly occurring proofs of his personal influence, assures his readers that, “during the war, Lincoln showed himself an organiser of the first class. A new Carnot, he created armies by land and navies by sea, raised militia, appointed generals, directed public affairs, defended them by law, and overthrew the art of maritime war by building and launching his terrible monitors. He showed himself a finished diplomatist, and protected the interests of every one. His success attested the mutual confidence of people and President in their common patriotism. The emancipation of the slaves crowned his grand policy.” If some of these details appear slightly exaggerated, it must be borne in mind that all this and more appears to be literally true to any foreigner who, in studying Lincoln’s life, learns what a prodigious amount of work was executed by him, and to what a degree he impressed his own mind on everything. He either made a shrewd remark or told a story with every signature to any remarkable paper, and from that day the document, the deed, and the story were all remembered in common.

On the 1st February, 1864, the President issued an order for a draft for 500,000 men, to serve for three years or during the war, and (March 14th) again for 200,000 men for service in the army and navy. On the 26th February, 1864, General Grant, in the words of the President, received “the expression of the nation’s approbation for what he had done, and its reliance on him for what remained to do in the existing great struggle,” by being appointed Lieutenant-General of the army of the United States.28 It was owing to Mr. Lincoln that General Grant received the full direction of military affairs, limited by no annoying conditions. He at once entered on a vigorous course of action. “The armies of Eastern Tennessee and Virginia,” says Brockett, “were heavily increased by new levies, and by an effective system of concentration; and from the Pacific to the Mississippi it soon became evident that, under the inspiration of a great controlling mind, everything was being placed in condition for dealing a last effective blow at the already tottering Confederacy.” The plan was that Sherman should take Atlanta, Georgia, and then, in succession, Savannah, Columbia, Charleston, Wilmington, and then join Grant. Thomas was to remain in the South-West to engage with Hood and Johnston, while Grant, with his Lieutenants, Meade, Sheridan, and Hancock, were to subdue General Lee and capture Richmond, the rebel capital.

Lincoln visiting the Army.

But, notwithstanding the confidence of the country in General Grant, and the degree to which the Confederacy had been compressed by the victories of 1863, the summer of 1864 was the gloomiest period of the war since the dark days of 1862. In spite of all that had been done, it seemed as if the war would never end. The Croakers, whether Union-men or Copperheads,29 made the world miserable by their complaints. And it is certain that, in the words of General Badeau, “the political and the military situation of affairs were equally grave. The rebellion had assumed proportions that transcend comparison. The Southern people seemed all swept into the current, and whatever dissent had originally existed among them, was long since, to outside apprehension, swallowed up in the maelstrom of events. The Southern snake, if scotched, was not killed, and seemed to have lost none of its vitality. In the Eastern theatre of war, no real progress had been made during three disastrous years. Gettysburg had saved Philadelphia and Washington, but even this victory had not resulted in the destruction of Lee; for in the succeeding January, the rebel chief, with undiminished legions and audacity, still lay closer to the national capital than to Richmond, and Washington was in nearly as great danger as before the first Bull Run.” General Grant’s first steps, though not failures, did little to encourage the North. It is true that, advancing on the 3rd of May, and fighting terribly every step from the Rapidan to the James, he “had indeed flanked Lee’s army from one position after another, until he found himself, by the 1st June, before Richmond—but he had lost 100,000 men! Here the enemy stood fast at bay.” The country promptly made up his immense losses; but by this time there was a vacant chair in almost every household, and the weary of waiting exclaimed every hour, “How long, O Lord! how long?”

Two things, however, were contributing at this time to cheer the North. The lavish and extravagant manner in which the Government gave out contracts to support its immense army, and the liberality with which it was fed, clothed, and paid, though utterly reprehensible from an economical point of view, had at least the good effect of stimulating manufactures and industry. In the gloomiest days of 1861-2, when landlords were glad to induce respectable tenants to occupy their houses rent-free, and poverty stared us all in the face, the writer had predicted, in the “Knickerbocker” and “Continental” Magazines, that, in a short time, the war would bring to the manufacturing North such a period of prosperity as it had never experienced, while in the South there would be a corresponding wretchedness. The prediction, which was laughed at, was fulfilled to the letter. Before the end of the war, there was a blue army coat not only on every soldier, but on almost every other man in America, for the rebels clad themselves from our battle-fields, and, in some mysterious manner, immense quantities of army stores found their way into civilian hands. All over the country there was heard not only the busy hum of factories, but the sound of the hammer, as new buildings were added to them. Paper-money was abundant, and speculation ran riot. All this made a grievous debt; but it is certain that the country got its money’s worth in confidence and prosperity. When, however, despite this, people began to be downcast, certain clergymen, with all the women, organised on an immense scale a Sanitary Commission, the object of which was to contribute comforts to the soldiers in the field. To aid this benevolent scheme, enormous “Sanitary Fairs” were held in the large cities, and these were carried out in such a way that everybody was induced to contribute money or personal exertions in their aid. These fairs, in mere magnitude, were almost like the colossal Expositions with which the world has become familiar, but were more varied as regards entertainment. That of Philadelphia was the Great Central Sanitary Fair, where Mr. Lincoln and his wife were present, on the 16th of June, 1864. Here I saw Mr. Lincoln for the first time. The impression which he made on me was that of an American who is reverting to the Red Indian type—a very common thing, indeed, in the South-West among pure-blooded whites. His brown complexion and high cheek-bones were very Indian. And, like the Indian chiefs, he soon proved that he had the gift of oratory when he addressed the multitude in these words—

“I suppose that this toast is intended to open the way for me to say something. War at the best is terrible, and this of ours, in its magnitude and duration, is one of the most terrible the world has ever known. It has destroyed property, destroyed life, and ruined homes. It has produced a national debt and a taxation unprecedented in the history of the country. It has caused mourning among us until the heavens may almost be said to be hung in black. And yet it continues. It has had accompaniments not before known in the history of the world—I mean the Sanitary and Christian Commissions with their labours for the relief of the soldiers, and these fairs, first begun at Chicago, and next held in Boston, Cincinnati, and other cities. The motives and objects that lie at the bottom of them are worthy of the most that we can do for the soldier who goes to fight the battles of his country. From the tender hand of woman, very much is done for the soldier, continually reminding him of the care and thought for him at home. The knowledge that he is not forgotten is grateful to his heart. Another view of these institutions is worthy of thought. They are voluntary contributions, giving proof that the national resources are not at all exhausted, and that the national patriotism will sustain us through all. It is a pertinent question, When is this war to end? I do not wish to name a day when it will end, lest the end should not come at any given time. We accepted this war, and did not begin it. We accepted it for an object, and when that object is accomplished, the war will end; and I hope to God that it never will end until that object is accomplished. Speaking of the present campaign, General Grant is reported to have said, ‘I am going to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer.’ This war has taken three years; it was begun, or accepted, upon the line of restoring the national authority over the whole national domain; and for the American people, as far as my knowledge enables me to speak, I say we are going through on this line if it takes three years more. I have not been in the habit of making predictions in regard to the war, but now I am almost tempted to hazard one. I will. It is that Grant is this evening in a position, with Meade, and Hancock of Pennsylvania, whence he can never be dislodged by the enemy until Richmond is taken. If I shall discover that General Grant may be greatly facilitated in the capture of Richmond by briefly pouring to him a large number of armed men at the briefest notice, will you go? (Cries of “Yes.”) Will you march on with him? (Cries of “Yes, yes.”) Then I shall call upon you when it is necessary. Stand ready, for I am waiting for the chance.”

The hint given in this speech was better understood when, during the next month, a call was made for 500,000 more men. These Sanitary Fairs, and the presence of Mr. Lincoln, greatly revived the spirits of the Union party. They had learned by this time that their leader was not the vulgar Boor, Ape, or Gorilla which the Southern and Democratic press persisted to the last in calling him, but a great, kind-hearted man, whose sympathy for their sorrows was only surpassed by the genius with which he led them out of their troubles. The writer once observed of Dr. George M‘Clellan, father of the General, that while no surgeon in America equalled him in coolness and daring in performing the most dangerous operations, no woman could show more pity or feeling than he would in binding up a child’s cut finger; and, in like manner, Abraham Lincoln, while calmly dealing at one time with the ghastly wounds of his country, never failed to tenderly aid and pity the lesser wounds of individuals.

But if the North was at this season in sorrow, those in the South had much greater cause to be so, and they all deserved great credit for the unflinching manner in which they endured their privations. From the very beginning, they had wanted many comforts; they were soon without the necessaries of civilised life. They manufactured almost nothing, and for such goods as came in by blockade-running enormous prices were paid. The upper class, who had made the war, were dependent on their servants to a degree which is seldom equalled in Europe; and, like those ants which require ant-slaves to feed them, and to which their Richmond “sociologists” had pointed as a natural example, they began to starve as their sable attendants took unto themselves the wings of Freedom and flew away. In their army, desertion and straggling were so common, that the rebel Secretary of War reported that the effective force was not more than half the men whose names appeared on the rolls. Their paper-money depreciated to one-twentieth its nominal value. There were great failures of crops in the South; the Government made constant seizures of provisions and cattle; and as the war had been confined to their own territory, the population were harried by both friend and foe.

Events were now in progress which were destined to utterly ruin the Confederacy. These were the gigantic Northern incursions, which, whether successful or not in their strategic aims, exhausted the country, and set the slaves free by thousands. Early in February, General Gillmore’s attempt to establish Union government in Florida had failed. So, too, did Sherman, proceeding from Vicksburg, and Smith, leaving Memphis, fail in their plan of effecting a junction, although the destruction which they caused in the enemy’s country was enormous. In the same month, Kilpatrick made a raid upon Richmond, which was eminently successful as regarded destroying railways and canals. In March, General Banks undertook an expedition to the Red River, of which it may be briefly said that he inflicted much damage, but received more. In April, Fort Pillow, on the Mississippi, held by the Union General Boyd, was treacherously captured by the rebel General Forrest, by means of a flag of truce. After the garrison of 300 white men and 350 black soldiers, with many women and children, had formally surrendered and given up their arms, a horrible scene of indiscriminate murder ensued. A committee of investigation, ordered by Congress, reported that “men, women, and little children were deliberately shot down and hacked to pieces with sabres. Officers and men seemed to vie with each other in the devilish work. They entered the hospitals and butchered the sick. Men were nailed by their hands to the floors and sides of buildings, and then the buildings set on fire.” Some negroes escaped by feigning death, and by digging out from the thin covering of earth thrown over them for burial. The rebel press exulted over these barbarities, pleading the terrible irritation which the South felt at finding her own slaves armed against her. Investigation proved that this horrible massacre was in pursuance of a pre-conceived policy, which had been deliberately adopted in the hope of frightening out of the Union service not only negroes, but loyal white Southerners. From the beginning of the war, the rebels were strangely persuaded that they had the privilege of inflicting severities which should not be retaliated upon them. Thus at Charleston, in order to check the destructive fire of the Union guns, they placed Northern officers in chains within reach of the shells, and complacently notified our forces that they had done so. Of course an equal number of rebel officers of equal rank were at once exposed to the Confederate fire, and this step, which resulted in stopping such an inhuman means of defence, was regarded with great indignation by the South. But it was no unusual thing with rebels to kill helpless captives. A horrible instance occurred (April 20th, 1864) at the capture of Fort Plymouth, N. C., where white and black troops were murdered in cold blood after surrendering. These deeds filled the country with horror, and Mr. Lincoln, who was “deeply touched,” publicly avowed retaliation, which he never inflicted.

The advance of Sherman towards the sea was not exactly what Jefferson Davis predicted (September 22nd, 1864) it would be. Sherman’s force, he said, “would meet the fate of the army of the French Empire in the retreat from Moscow. Our cavalry will destroy his army ... and the Yankee General will escape with only a body-guard.” The events of this march are thus summed up by Holland. Sherman was opposed by Johnston, who, with a smaller army, had the advantage of very strong positions and a knowledge of the country, he moving towards supplies, while Sherman left his behind him. The Federal General flanked Johnston out of his works at Buzzard’s Roost; and then, fighting and flanking from day to day, he drove him from Dalton to Atlanta. To do this he had to force “a difficult path through mountain defiles and across great rivers, overcoming or turning formidable entrenched positions, defended by a veteran army commanded by a cautious and skilful leader.” At Atlanta, Johnston was superseded by Hood, and Hood assumed the offensive with little luck, since in three days he lost half his army, and then got behind the defences of Atlanta. Here he remained, surrounded by the toils which Sherman was weaving round him with consummate skill, and which, as Sherman admits in his admirably written report,30 were patiently and skilfully eluded. But on the 2nd September, Atlanta fell into Sherman’s hands. The aggregate loss of the Union army from Chattanooga to Atlanta was in all more than 30,000—that of the rebels above 40,000. Then Sherman proposed to destroy Atlanta and its roads, and, sending back his wounded, to move through Georgia, “smashing things to the sea.” And this he did most effectually. Hood retreated to Nashville, where he was soon destined to be conquered by Thomas.

On the 12th November, Sherman began his march. The writer has heard soldiers who were in it call it a picnic. In a month he passed through to Savannah, which was held by 15,000 men; by the 20th it was taken; and on the 21st General Sherman sent to President Lincoln this despatch, “I beg to present to you as a Christmas gift the city of Savannah, with 150 guns, plenty of ammunition, and about 25,000 bales of cotton.” In this march he carried away more than 10,000 horses and mules, and set free a vast number of slaves. Then, turning towards the North, the grand North-Western army co-operated with Grant, “crushing the fragments of the rebellion between the opposing forces.”

Meanwhile, Hood, subdued by Sherman, had, with an army of nearly 60,000 men, advanced to the North, where he was followed by General Thomas. On November 20th, Hood, engaging with Schofield, who was under Thomas, was defeated in a fierce and bloody battle at Franklin, in which he lost 6000 men. On the 15th December, the battle of Nashville took place, and lasted two days, the rebels being utterly defeated, though they fought with desperate courage. They lost more than 4000 prisoners, fifty-three pieces of artillery, and thousands of small arms.

The close of December, 1864, found the Union armies in this position—“Sheridan had defeated Early in the Shenandoah Valley; Sherman was at Savannah, organising further raids up the coast; Hood was crushed; Early’s army was destroyed; Price had been routed in Missouri; Cawley was operating for the capture of Mobile; and Grant, with the grip of a bull-dog, held Lee in Richmond.” The Union cause was greatly advanced, while over all the South a darkness was gathering as of despair. And yet, with indomitable pluck, they held out for many a month afterwards. And “there was discord in the councils of the rebels. They began to talk of using the negroes as soldiers. The commanding General demanded this measure; but it was too late. Lee was tied, and Sherman was turning his steps towards him, and, among the leaders of the rebellion, there was a fearful looking-out for fatal disasters.” Yet, with the inevitable end full in view, the Copperhead party, now openly led by M‘Clellan, continued to cry for “peace at any price,” and clamour that the South should be allowed to go its way, and rule the country.

We have seen how Grant, now at the head of the entire national army of 700,000 men, had planned in council with Sherman the great Western campaign, and its result. After this arrangement, he returned to Virginia, to conduct in person a campaign against Lee. A letter which he received at this time from President Lincoln, and his answer, are equally honourable to both. That from Lincoln was as follows:—

“Executive Mansion, Washington,
“April 30th, 1864.

“Not expecting to see you before the spring campaign opens, I wish to express in this way my entire satisfaction with what you have done up to this time, so far as I understand it. The particulars of your plans I neither know nor seek to know. You are vigilant and self-reliant; and, pleased with this, I wish not to obtrude any restraints or constraints upon you.... If there be anything wanting which it is in my power to give, do not fail to let me know it. And now, with a brave army and a just cause, may God sustain you.

“A. Lincoln.”

General Grant, in his reply, expressed in the most candid manner his gratitude that, from his first entrance into the service till the day on which he wrote, he had never had cause for complaint against the Administration or Secretary of War for embarrassing him in any way; that, on the contrary, he had been astonished at the readiness with which everything had been granted; and that, should he be unsuccessful, the fault would not be with the President. The manliness, honesty, and simple gratitude manifest in Grant’s letter, render it one of the most interesting ever written. While M‘Clellan was in command, Mr. Lincoln found it necessary to supervise; after Grant led the army, he felt that no direction was necessary, and that an iron wheel must have a smooth way. To some one inquiring curiously what General Grant intended to do, Mr. Lincoln replied, “When M‘Clellan was in the hole, I used to go up the ladder and look in after him, and see what he was about; but, now this new man, Grant, has pulled up the ladder and hauled the hole in after him, I can’t tell what he is doing.”

On May 2nd, 1864, Grant marched forward, and on the next night crossed the Rapidan river. On May 5th began that terrible series of engagements known as the Battle of the Wilderness, which lasted for five days. During this conflict the Union General Wadsworth and the brave Sedgwick, the true hero of Gettysburg, were killed. Fifty-four thousand five hundred and fifty-one men were reported as killed, wounded, or missing on the Union side, from May 3rd to June 15th; Lee’s losses being about 32,000. There was no decisive victory, but General Lee was obliged to gradually yield day by day, while Grant, with determined energy, flanked him until he took refuge in Richmond. At this time there was fearful excitement in the North, great hope, and greater grief, but more resolve than ever. President Lincoln was in great sorrow for such loss of life. When he saw the lines of ambulances miles in length coming towards Washington, full of wounded men, he would drive with Mrs. Lincoln along the sad procession, speaking kind words to the sufferers, and endeavouring in many ways to aid them. One day he said, “This sacrifice of life is dreadful; but the Almighty has not forsaken me nor the country, and we shall surely succeed.”

Though the inflexible Grant had no idea of failure, and though his losses were promptly supplied, he was in a very critical position, where a false move would have imperilled the success of the whole war. On the 12th June, finding that nothing could be gained by directly attacking Lee, he resolved to assail his southern lines of communications. He soon reached the James river, and settled down to the siege of Petersburg.

Sherman had opened his Atlanta campaign as soon as Grant had telegraphed to him that he had crossed the Rapidan. At the same time, he had ordered Sigel to advance through the Shenandoah towards Stanton (Va.), and Crook to come up the Kanawha Valley towards Richmond, but both were defeated, while Butler, though he inflicted great damage on the enemy, instead of capturing Petersburg, was himself “sealed up,” as Grant said. “All these flanking movements having failed, and Lee being neither defeated in the open field nor cut off from Richmond, the great problem of the war instantly narrowed itself down to the siege of Petersburg, which Grant began, and which, as it will be seen, long outlasted the year. Meanwhile, terrible injury was daily inflicted on the rebels in Virginia, by the numerous raiding and flanking parties which, whether conquering or conquered, destroyed everything, sweeping away villages and forests alike for firewood, as I well know, having seen miles of fences burned.

“On May 18th, just after the bloody struggle at Spottsylvania, a spurious proclamation, announcing that Grant’s campaign was closed, appointing a day of fasting and humiliation, and ordering a new draft for 400,000 men, appeared in the New York ‘World’ and ‘Journal of Commerce,’ newspapers avowedly hostile to the Administration. The other journals, knowing that this was a forgery, refused to publish it. By order of the President, the offices of these two publications were closed; and, this action being denounced as an outrage on the liberty of the press, Governor Seymour attempted to have General Dix and others indicted for it.” The real authors of the forgery were two men named Howard and Mallison, their object being stock-jobbing purposes.

When General Sigel was defeated, he was relieved by General Hunter, who, at first successful, was at last obliged to retreat before the rebel Early, with very great loss. This placed Hunter in such a position that he could not protect Washington. Early, finding himself unopposed, crossed Maryland, plundered largely, fought several battles with the militia, burned private houses, destroyed the trains on the Washington and Baltimore railroads, and threatened both cities. Then there was great anxiety in the North, for just at that time Grant was in the worst of his great struggle. But when Early was within two miles of Baltimore, he was confronted by the 6th Corps from the Potomac, the 19th from Louisiana, and large forces from Pennsylvania, and driven back. During this retreat, he committed a great outrage. Having entered Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, a peaceful, unfortified town, he demanded 100,000 dollars in gold, to be paid within an hour, and as the money could not be obtained, he burned the place. Meanwhile, Sheridan had made his famous raid round Lee’s lines, making great havoc with rebel stores and lines of transit, but in no manner infringing on the rules of honourable warfare.

During July, 1864, Admiral Farragut, of the Union navy, with a combination of land and sea forces, attacked Mobile. A terrible conflict ensued, resulting in the destruction of a rebel fleet, the capture of the famous armour-ship Tennessee, four forts, and many guns and prisoners. This victory was, however, the only one of any importance gained during this battle-summer. It effectually closed one more port. But the feeling of depression was now so great in the North, owing to the great number of deaths in so many families, that President Lincoln, by special request of the Congress—which adjourned July 4th, 1864—issued a proclamation, appointing a day of fasting and prayer. But two days after, public sorrow was “much alleviated,” says Raymond, “by the news of the sinking of the pirate Alabama” (June 19th) by the Kearsage, commanded by Winslow. Yet for all the grief and gloom which existed, the Union-men of America were never so obstinately determined to resist. The temper of the time was perfectly shown in a pamphlet by Dr. C. J. Stille of Philadelphia, entitled, “How a Free People conduct a long War,” which had an immense circulation, and which pointed out in a masterly manner that all wars waged by a free people for a great principle have progressed slowly and involved untiring vigour. And President Lincoln, when asked what we should do if the war should last for years, replied, “We’ll keep pegging away.” In short, the whole temper of the North was now that of the Duke of Wellington, when he said at Waterloo, “Hard pounding this, gentlemen; but we’ll see who can pound the longest.”

During the summer of 1864, two self-styled agents of the Confederate Government appeared at Clifton, Canada, in company with W. Cornell Jewett, whom Raymond terms an irresponsible and half-insane adventurer, and George Sanders, described as a political vagabond. Arnold states that expeditions to rob and plunder banks over the border, and to fire Northern cities, were subsequently clearly traced to them; “and that there is evidence tending to connect them with crimes of a still graver and darker character.” These men were employed by the Confederate Government, to be acknowledged or repudiated according to the success of their efforts. They induced Horace Greeley to aid them in negotiating for peace, and he wrote to President Lincoln as follows—“I venture to remind you that our bleeding, bankrupt, almost dying country, also longs for peace; shudders at the prospect of fresh conscriptions, of further wholesale devastations, and of new rivers of human blood. I fear, Mr. President, you do not realise how intensely the people desire any peace, consistent with the national integrity and honour.”

To Mr. Lincoln, who firmly believed that the best means of attaining peace was to conquer it, such language seemed out of place. Neither did he believe that these agents had any direct authority, as proved to be the case. After an embarrassing correspondence, the President sent to these “commissioners” a message, to the effect that any proposition embracing the restoration of peace, the integrity of the whole Union, and the abandonment of slavery, would be received by the Government of the United States if coming from an authority that can control the armies now at war with the United States. In answer to this, the agents declared, through Mr. Greeley, that it precluded negotiation, and revealed in the end that the purpose of their proceedings had been to influence the Presidential election. As it was, many were induced to believe that Mr. Lincoln, having had a chance to conclude an honourable peace, had neglected it.

Meanwhile, Mr. Lincoln had the cares of a Presidential campaign on his hands. Such an election, in the midst of a civil war which aroused everywhere the most intense and violent passions, was, as Arnold wrote, a fearful ordeal through which the country must pass. At a time when, of all others, confidence in their great leader was most required, all the slander of a maddened party was let loose upon him. General M‘Clellan, protesting that personally he was in favour of war, became the candidate of those whose watchword was “Peace at any price,” and who embraced all those who sympathised with the South and with slavery. Their “platform” was simply a treasonable libel on the Government, declaring that, “under the pretence of the military necessity of a war-power higher than the Constitution, the Constitution itself has been disregarded in every part, and public liberty and private rights alike trodden down, and the material prosperity of the country essentially impaired; and that justice, humanity, liberty, and the public welfare demand that immediate efforts be made for a cessation of hostilities.”

It was, therefore, distinctly understood that the question at stake in this election was, whether the war should be continued. The ultra-Abolition adherents of General Fremont were willing to see a pro-slavery President elected rather than Mr. Lincoln, so great was their hatred of him and of Emancipation, and they therefore nominated their favourite, knowing that he could not be elected, but trusting to divide and ruin the Lincoln party. But this movement came to an inglorious end. A portion of the Republican party offered the nomination for the Presidency to General Grant, which that honourable soldier promptly declined in the most straightforward manner. As the election drew on, threats and rumours of revolution in the North were rife, and desperate efforts were made by Southern emissaries to create alarm and discontent. But such thorough precautions were taken by the Government, that the election was the quietest ever known, though a very heavy vote was polled. On the popular vote, Lincoln received 2,223,035; M‘Clellan, 1,811,754. The latter carried only three states—New Jersey, Delaware, and Kentucky, while all the others which held an election went to Lincoln. The total number admitted and counted of electoral votes was 233, of which Lincoln and Johnson (Vice-President) had 212, and M‘Clellan and Pendleton 21.

Of this election, the President said, in a speech (November 10th, 1864)—

“So long as I have been here, I have not willingly planted a thorn in any man’s bosom. While I am duly sensible to the high compliment of a re-election, and duly grateful, as I trust, to Almighty God for having directed my countrymen to a right conclusion, as I think, for their good, it adds nothing to my satisfaction that any other man may be disappointed by the result. May I ask those who have not differed with me to join with me in this spirit towards those who have?”

Those who yet believe that the rebels were in the main chivalric and honourable foes, may be asked what would they have thought of the French, if, during the German war, they had sent chests of linen, surcharged with small-pox venom, into Berlin, under charge of agents officially recognised by Government? What would they have thought of Germany, if official agents from that country had stolen into Paris and attempted to burn the city. Yet both of these things were attempted by the agents of the Confederate Government—not by unauthorised individuals. On one night, fires were placed in thirteen of the principal hotels of New York, while, as regards incendiarism, plots were hatched from the beginning in the South to treacherously set fire to Northern cities, to murder their public men, and otherwise make dishonourable warfare, the proof of all this being in the avowals and threats of the Southern newspapers. Immediately after the taking of Nashville by Thomas, the writer, with a friend, occupied a house in that town which had belonged to a rebel clergyman, among whose papers were found abundant proof that this reverend incendiary had been concerned in a plot to set fire to Cincinnati.

In connection with these chivalric deeds of introducing small-pox and burning hotels, must be mentioned other acts of the rebel agents, sent by their Government on “detached service.” On the 19th October, a party of these “agents” made a raid into St. Albans, Vermont, where they robbed the banks, and then retreated into Canada. These men were, however, discharged by the Canadian Government; the money which they had stolen was given up to them, as Raymond states, “under circumstances which cast great suspicion upon prominent members of the Canadian Government.” The indignation which this conduct excited in the United States is indescribable, and the Canadian Government, recognising their mistake, re-arrested such of the raiders as had not made their escape. But the American Government, finding that they had few friends beyond the frontier, properly established a strict system of passports for all immigrants from Canada.

The year 1864 closed under happy auspices. “The whole country had come to regard the strength of the rebellion as substantially broken.” There were constant rumours of peace and reconciliation. The rebels, in their exhaustion, were presenting the most pitiable spectre of a sham government. The whole North was crowded with thousands of rebel families which would have starved at home. They were not molested; but, as I remember, they seemed to work the harder for that to injure the Government and Northern people among whom and upon whom they lived, being in this like the teredo worms, which destroy the trunk which shelters and feeds them.