Such comparisons, advanced with positiveness by the highest authority, puzzled Mr. Lincoln. They seemed very strange, yet he could not disprove them, and was therefore obliged to face the perplexing choice which was mercilessly set before him: "either to go into winter quarters, or to assume the offensive with forces greatly inferior in
number" to what was "desirable and necessary." "If political considerations render the first course unadvisable, the second alone remains." The general's most cheering admission was that, by stripping all other armies down to the lowest numbers absolutely necessary for a strict defensive, and by concentrating all the forces of the nation and all the attention of the government upon "the vital point" in Virginia, it might yet be possible for this "main army, whose destiny it [was] to decide the controversy,... to move with a reasonable prospect of success before the winter is fairly upon us." A direct assertion of impossibility, provocative of denial or discussion, would have been less disheartening.
In passing, it may be remarked that McClellan's prevision that the ultimate arbitrament of the struggle must occur in Virginia was correct. But in another point he was wrong, and unfortunately this was of more immediate consequence, because it corroborated him in his purpose to delay till he could make success a certainty. He hoped that when he moved, he should be able to win one or two overwhelming victories, to capture Richmond, and to crush the rebellion in a few weeks. It was a brilliant and captivating programme,[[153]]
but impracticable and undesirable. Even had the Southerners been quelled by so great a disaster,—which was not likely,—they would not have been thoroughly conquered, nor would slavery have been disposed of, and both these events were indispensable to a definitive peace between the two sections. Whether the President shared this notion of his general is not evident. Apparently he was not putting his mind upon theories reaching into the future so much as he was devoting his whole thought to dealing with the urgent problems of the present. If this was the case, he was pursuing the wise and sound course. In the situation, it was more desirable to fight a great battle at the earliest possible moment than to await a great victory many months hence.
It is commonplace wisdom that it is foolish for a civilian to undertake the direction of a war. Yet our Constitution ordains that "the President shall be commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the United States, and of the militia of the several States, when called into the actual service of the United States." It is not supposable that the delegates who suggested this function, or the people who ordained it, anticipated that presidents generally would be men skilled in military science. Therefore Mr. Lincoln could not escape the obligation on the ground of unfitness for the duty which was imperatively placed upon him. It might be true that to set him in charge of military operations was like ordering a merchant to paint a picture
or a jockey to sail a ship, but it was also true that he was so set in charge. He could not shirk it, nor did he try to shirk it. In consequence hostile critics have dealt mercilessly with his actions, and the history of this winter and spring of 1861-62 is a painful and confusing story of bitter controversy and crimination. Further it is to be remembered that, apart from the obligation imposed on the President by the Constitution, it was true that if civilians could not make rapid progress in the military art, the war might as well be abandoned. They were already supposed to be doing so; General Banks, a politician, and General Butler, a lawyer, were already conducting important movements. Still it remains undeniable that finally it was only the professional soldiers who, undergoing successfully the severe test of time, composed the illustrious front rank of strategists when the close of the war left every man in his established place. In discussing this perplexing period, extremists upon one side attribute the miscarriages and failure of McClellan's campaign to ceaseless, thwarting interference by the President, the secretary of war, and other civil officials. Extremists upon the other side allege the marvel that a sudden development of unerring judgment upon every question involving the practical application of military science took place on Mr. Lincoln's part.[[154]] Perhaps the truth lies between the disputants,
but it is not likely ever to be definitely agreed upon so long as the controversy excites interest; for the discussion bristles with ifs, and where this is the case no advocate can be irremediably vanquished.
It seems right, at this place, to note one fact concerning Mr. Lincoln which ought not to be overlooked and which cannot be denied. This is his entire political unselfishness, the rarest moral quality among men in public life. In those days of trouble and distrust slanders were rife in a degree which can hardly be appreciated by men whose experience has been only with quieter times. Sometimes purposes and sometimes methods were assailed; and those prominent in civil life, and a few also in military life, were believed to be artfully and darkly seeking to interlace their personal political fortunes in the web of public affairs, naturally subordinating the latter fabric. Alliances, enmities, intrigues, schemes, and every form of putting the interest of self before that of the nation, were insinuated with a bitter malevolence unknown except amid such abnormal conditions. The few who escaped charges of this kind were believed to cherish their own peculiar fanaticisms, desires, and purposes concerning the object and results of the struggle, which they were resolved to satisfy at almost any cost and by almost any means. While posterity is endeavoring very wisely to discredit and to forget a great part of these painful criminations, it is cheering to find
that no effort has to be made to forget anything about the President. In his case injurious gossip has long since died away and been buried. Whatever may be said of him in other respects, at least the purity and the singleness of his patriotism shine brilliant and luminous through all this cloud-dust of derogation. By his position he had more at stake, both in his lifetime and before the tribunal of the future, than any other person in the country. But there was only one idea in his mind, and that was,—not that he should save the country, but that the country should be saved. Not the faintest shadow of self ever fell for an instant across this simple purpose. He was intent to play his part out faithfully, with all the ability he could bring to it; but any one else, who could, might win and wear the title of savior. He chiefly cared that the saving should be done. Never once did he manipulate any covert magnet to draw toward himself the credit or the glory of a measure or a move. To his own future he seemed to give no thought. It would be unjust to allow the dread of appearing to utter eulogy rather than historic truth to betray a biographer into overlooking this genuine magnanimity.