And while he communed with God he did not fail to use all the resources of his nature to find a safe, sure way for the Republic he loved so well. He drew strength from God, but he continued to observe, compare and analyze conditions. A Chicago delegation went to him and declared that it was God’s will that he should free the slaves. Lincoln drew himself up and said:
“I hope it will not be irreverent for me to say that if it is probable that God would reveal His will to others on a point so connected with my duty, it might be supposed He would reveal it directly to me.... These are not, however, the days of miracles, and I suppose it will be granted that I am not to expect a direct revelation. I must study the plain physical facts of the case, ascertain what is possible, and learn what appears to be wise and right.”
The signal that Lincoln waited for came on September 17, 1862, when McClellan defeated Lee’s army at Antietam, inflicting a loss of more than twenty-five thousand men in killed, wounded and missing.
Then came one of the strangest sights in the life of the American government, a spectacle that reveals the profoundly mystic side of Lincoln.
The Cabinet was called together again to consider a proclamation of emancipation.
There was Stanton, the Secretary of War, short, deep-chested, thick-bearded, dogmatic; Chase, the Secretary of the Treasury, tall, shaven, dignified, learned, able; Seward, the Secretary of State, slim, erect, hawk-eyed, polished, haughty; white-bearded Welles, the Secretary of the Navy; tall, courtly Blair, the Postmaster General; heavy-faced, ponderous Smith, the Secretary of the Interior; and silent, shrewd, studious Bates, the snowy-headed Attorney General.
When this group of hard-headed and experienced politicians was solemnly gathered around the table in the Cabinet room, Lincoln opened a humorous book by Artemus Ward and began to read a chapter in his shrill, singsongy voice, pausing now and then to join the chuckling of his hearers.
Stanton alone sat with thunder in his eyes and a frown on his brow. The tendency of the President to relieve a strain on the nerves, or clear the mind by a good laugh, exasperated him to the point of fury.
Suddenly the laughter vanished from Lincoln’s voice and there came into his strong face the look that he is remembered by in his greatest moods.
Then he poured out his mind and soul. In a few words he announced that he had decided to emancipate the slaves by proclamation, and explained his reasons. Looking earnestly into the faces of his advisers, he informed them that he had left the decision to God, that he had made a promise to God, and that he would keep that promise.