The refusal of Mr. Seward to treat with the rebel government was promptly made the occasion for the act of violence which was to unite the Confederacy. There was, near Charleston, South Carolina, a fort called Sumter, held for the United States by Major Robert Anderson, a brave and loyal man. On the 11th of April, 1861, he was summoned to surrender the fort to the Confederate Government, which he refused to do. As he was, however, without provisions, it was eventually agreed, on the 12th April, that he should leave the fort by noon on the 15th. But the rebels, in their impatience, could not wait, and they informed him that, unless he surrendered within one hour, the fort would be bombarded. This was done, and, after a bombardment of thirty-three hours, bravely borne, the Major and his band of seventy men were obliged to surrender.
It is true that this first firing on the American flag acted like the tap of the drum, calling all the South to arms in a frenzy, and sweeping away all the remnants of attachment to the old Union lingering in it. The utmost hopes of the rebel leaders were for the time fully realised. But the North was, to their amazement, not paralysed or struck down, nor did the Democratic sympathisers with the South arise and crush “Lincoln and his minions.” On the contrary, the news of the fall of Sumter was “a live coal on the heart of the American people;” and such a tempest of rage swept in a day over millions, as had never before been witnessed in America. Those who can recall the day on which the news of the insult to the flag was received, and how it was received, have the memory of the greatest conceivable outburst of patriotic passion. For a time, all party feelings were forgotten; there was no more thought of forgiveness, or suffering secession; the whole people rose up and cried out for war.
Hitherto, the press had railed at Lincoln for wanting a policy; and yet if he had made one step towards suppressing the rebels, “a thousand Northern newspapers would have pounced upon him as one provoking war.” Now, however, his policy was formed, shaped, and made glowing hot by one terrible blow. On April 15th, 1861, he issued a proclamation, announcing that, as the laws of the United States were being opposed, and the execution thereof obstructed in South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Florida, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas, by combinations too powerful to be suppressed by the ordinary course of judicial proceedings, he, the President of the United States, called forth the militia of the several States of the Union, to the aggregate number of 75,000, in order to suppress said combinations, and to cause the laws to be duly executed. In strong contrast to the threats of general slaughter, and conflagration of Northern cities, so freely thrown out by Jefferson Davis, President Lincoln declared that, while the duty of these troops would be to repossess the forts and property taken from the Union, “in every event the utmost care will be observed, consistently with the objects aforesaid, to avoid any devastation, any destruction of or interference with property, or any disturbance of peaceful citizens, in any part of the country.” He also summoned an extraordinary session of Congress to assemble on the 4th of July, 1861.
This proclamation awoke intense enthusiasm, “and from private persons, as well as by the Legislature, men, arms, and money were offered in unstinted profusion in support of the Government. Massachusetts was first in the field; and on the first day after the issue of the proclamation, the 6th Regiment started from Boston for the national capital. Two more regiments departed within forty-eight hours. The 6th Regiment, on its way to Washington, on the 19th April, was attacked by a mob in Baltimore, carrying a secession flag, and several of its members were killed.” This inflamed to a higher point the entire North; and Governor Hicks, of Maryland, and Mayor Brown, of Baltimore, urged it on President Lincoln that, “for prudential reasons,” no more troops should be sent through Baltimore. This Governor Hicks had, during the previous November, written a letter, in which he regretted that his state could not supply the rebel states with arms more rapidly, and expressed the hope that those who were to bear them would be “good men to kill Lincoln and his men.” But by adroitly shifting to the wind, he “became conspicuously loyal before spring, and lived to reap splendid rewards and high honours under the auspices of the Federal Government, as the most patriotic and devoted Union-man in Maryland.” Yet as one renegade is said to be more zealous than ten Turks, it cannot be denied that, after Governor Hicks became a Union-man, he worked bravely, and his efficiency in preserving Maryland from seceding was only inferior to that of the able Henry Winter Davis. This Governor Hicks had suggested to President Lincoln that the controversy between North and South might be referred to Lord Lyons, the British Minister, for arbitration. To these requests the President replied, through Mr. Seward, that as General Scott deemed it advisable, and as the chief object in bringing troops was the defence of Washington, he made no point of bringing them through Baltimore. But he concluded with these words—
“The President cannot but remember that there has been a time in the history of our country when a General of the American Union, with forces destined for the defence of its capital, was not unwelcome anywhere in the State of Maryland.
“If eighty years could have obliterated all the other noble sentiments of that age in Maryland, the President would be hopeful, nevertheless, that there is one that would for ever remain there and everywhere. That sentiment is, that no domestic contention whatever that may arise among the parties of this republic ought in any case to be referred to any foreign arbitrament, least of all to the arbitrament of a European monarchy.”
It is certain that by this humane and wise policy, which many attributed to cowardice, President Lincoln not only prevented much bloodshed and devastation, but also preserved the State of Maryland. In such a crisis harshly aggressive measures in Maryland would have irritated millions on the border, and perhaps have promptly brought the war further north. As it was, peace and order were soon restored in Baltimore, when the regular use of the highway through that city was resumed.
On the 19th April, 1861, the President issued another proclamation, declaring the blockade of the ports of the seceding states. This was virtually an answer to one from Jefferson Davis, offering letters of marque to all persons who might desire to aid the rebel government, and enrich themselves, by depredations upon the rich and extended commerce of the United States. It may be remarked that the first official words of Jefferson Davis were singularly ferocious, threatening fire, brigandage, and piracy, disguised as privateering, in all their terrors; while his last act as President was to run away, disguised as an old woman, in his wife’s waterproof cloak, and carrying a bucket of water—thus typifying in his own person the history of the rebellion from its fierce beginning to its ignominious end.
It may be doubted if there was in those wild days in all North America one man who to such wise forbearance added such firmness and moral courage as President Lincoln manifested. By it he preserved Maryland, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Missouri, and, if moderation could have availed, he might have kept Virginia. Strange as it seems, while the seceding states were threatening officially, and hastening to carry out, all the outrages of war, the Legislature of Virginia resolved that President Lincoln’s mild message announced a policy of tyranny and “coercion;” and, in spite of the gentlest letter of explanation ever written by any ruler who was not a coward, the state marched out of the Union with drums beating and flags flying. “Thenceforth,” says Holland, “Virginia went straight towards desolation. Its ‘sacred soil’ was from that hour devoted to trenches, fortifications, battle-fields, military roads, camps, and graves.” She firmly believed that all the fighting would be done on Northern soil; but in another year, over a large part of her territory, which had been covered with fertile farms and pleasant villages, there were roads five miles wide.
At this time, there occurred an interesting private incident in Lincoln’s life. His old adversary, Judge Douglas, whom he warmly respected as a brave adversary, had passed his life in pandering to slavery, and, as regards the war, had been the political Mephistopheles who had made all the mischief. But when Sumter was fired on, all that was good and manly in his nature was aroused, and he gave all his support to his old enemy. “During the brief remainder of his life, his devotion to the cause of his country was unwearied. He was done with his dreams of power,” but he could yet do good. He was of service in inducing great numbers of Democrats, who still remained pro-slavery men in principle, to fight for the Union.
Four years to an hour after the memorable reconciliation between Judge Douglas and President Lincoln, the latter was killed by the rebel Booth. “Both died,” says Holland, “with a common purpose—one in the threatening morning of the rebellion, the other when its sun had just set in blood; and both sleep in the dust of that magnificent state, almost every rod of which, within a quarter of a century, had echoed to their contending voices, as they expounded their principles to the people.”