Four weeks after the battle of Chickamauga, General Rosecrans sent Garfield on to Washington to report minutely to the War Department and to the President, the position, deeds, resources, etc., of the army at Chattanooga. In the mean time he had received the promotion of major-general "for gallant and meritorious services at the battle of Chickamauga;" and during the year previous, the Nineteenth Congressional District of Ohio had elected him as their representative to the Thirty-Eighth Congress.
Garfield's whole heart and soul were with the army, he would have preferred to serve his country on the field rather than in the halls of state; but when he expressed his desire to President Lincoln, the latter urged him to resign his commission and come to Congress. There were plenty of major-generals, he said, but able statesmen—like angels' visits—were few and far between.
It was universally believed, at this time, that the war was drawing to a close; and still another consideration that influenced Garfield in his decision was the fact that a voice in military legislation might be of great assistance to his comrades in arms. So, on the 5th of December, 1863, after three years of military life, he resigned his army commission with its high emoluments, for the poor pay and arduous work of a Congressman.
It is a little singular that he should have filled in Congress the very seat left vacant by the death of Joshua R. Giddings, his boyhood's hero. Did the mantle of this brave Elijah fall upon him, too, I wonder?
Upon his arrival at Washington, Garfield, with his characteristic energy and perseverance, began a thorough course of study upon all topics with which he might have to deal, giving especial attention to commerce, manufactures, finance, the tariff, taxation, and international law. Every spare moment was turned to the best account; an intimate friend says he was seldom seen without a book in his hand, or in his pocket.
Both by nature and education, Garfield seemed specially endowed for the office of a public speaker. He had a ready flow of language that practice in debating clubs, the teacher's desk, at the bar, and in the pulpit had rendered apt, pointed, and polished. His tall, massive figure, powerful voice, and dignified manner gave additional weight to every word that fell from his lips, while his fine scholarship, extensive reading and wonderful memory furnished an inexhaustible "reserve fund" of illustration and imagery. But above all and through all, was the vital power of a warm, sympathetic, generous heart.
"His moral character," writes President Hinsdale, "was the fit crown to his physical and intellectual nature. No man had a kinder heart or a purer mind. Naturally, and without conscious plan or effort, he drew men to him as the magnet the iron filings."
He had been the youngest man in the Ohio senate, the youngest brigadier-general, and now, at the age of thirty-two, he was found to be the youngest member of the House of Representatives. To make his mark among so many brilliant intellects, so many fine orators, so many old and well-tried statesmen, as graced the legislation halls of the nation at that critical period of our history, required in the young and then almost unknown congressman "a peculiar combination of strong talents and intellectual acuteness."
One secret of his success lay in his "genius for hard work." He was not one to take ideas at second-hand; he was never satisfied until he had sifted the subject in hand to the very bottom, and when once assured of the truth and right of any matter, no power on earth could move him.
"Comparatively few men or women," he said one day to a friend, "take the trouble to think for themselves. Most people frame their opinions from what they read or hear others say. I noticed this in early life, but never saw the evil of it until I went to Congress."