One of the most prominent citizens of the United States at the time of the civil war was Horace Greeley. He was a man of ardent convictions, of unimpeachable honesty, and an editorial writer of the first rank. He did a vast amount of good. He also did a vast amount of mischief which may be considered to offset a part of the good he accomplished.
His intellectual ability made it impossible for him to be anywhere a nonentity. He was always prominent. His paper, the New York Tribune, was in many respects the ablest newspaper of the day. Large numbers of intelligent republicans took the utterances of the Tribune as gospel truth.
It is not safe for any man to have an excess of influence. It is not surprising that the wide influence which Greeley acquired made him egotistic. He apparently came to believe that he had a mortgage on the republican party, and through that upon the country. His editorial became dictatorial. He looked upon Lincoln as a protege of his own who required direction. This he was willing to give,—mildly but firmly. All this was true of many other good men and good republicans. But it was emphatically true of Greeley.
If there is anything worse than a military man who plumes himself upon his statesmanship, it is the civilian who affects to understand military matters better than the generals, the war department, and the commander-in-chief. This was Greeley. He placed his military policy in the form of a war-cry,—"On to Richmond!"—at the head of his editorial page, and with a pen of marvelous power rung the changes on it.
This is but one sample of the man's proneness to interfere in other matters. With all the infallibility of an editor he was ever ready to tell what the President ought to do as a sensible and patriotic man. He would have saved the country by electing Douglas, by permitting peaceable secession, by persuading the French ambassador to intervene, by conference and argument with the Confederate emissaries, and by assuming personal control of the administration. At a later date he went so far as to propose to force Lincoln's resignation. He did not seem to realize that Lincoln could be most effective if allowed to do his work in his own way. He did not grasp the truth that he could be of the highest value to the administration only as he helped and encouraged, and that his obstructions operated only to diminish the efficiency of the government. If Greeley had put the same degree of force into encouraging the administration that he put into hindering its work, he would have merited the gratitude of his generation.
He was singularly lacking in the willingness to do this, or in the ability to recognize its importance. Like hundreds of others he persisted in expounding the duties of the executive, but his patronizing advice was more harmful in proportion to the incisiveness of his literary ability. This impertinence of Greeley's criticism reached its climax in an open letter to Lincoln. This letter is, in part, quoted here. It shows something of the unspeakable annoyances that were thrust upon the already overburdened President, from those who ought to have delighted in holding up his hands, those of whom better things might have been expected. The reply shows the patience with which Lincoln received these criticisms. It further shows the skill with which he could meet the famous editor on his own ground; for he also could wield a trenchant pen.
Greeley's letter is very long and it is not necessary to give it in full. But the headings, which are given below, are quite sufficient to show that the brilliant editor dipped his pen in gall in order that he might add bitterness to the man whose life was already filled to the brim with the bitter sorrows, trials, and disappointments of a distracted nation. The letter is published on the editorial page of the New York Tribune of August 20, 1862.
"THE PRAYER OF TWENTY MILLIONS:
"To ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States:
"DEAR SIR: I do not intrude to tell you—for you must know already— that a great proportion of those who triumphed in your election, and of all who desire the unqualified suppression of the Rebellion now desolating our country, are sorely disappointed and deeply pained by the policy you seem to be pursuing with regard to the slaves of the Rebels. I write only to set succinctly and unmistakably before you what we require, what we think we have a right to expect, and of what we complain.