Abraham Lincoln

by William Eleroy Curtis

Nevertheless, it was futile for the President to pretend that Burnside's usefulness as commander of the army was not at an end, and the latter determined to bring about a crisis himself by recommending for dismissal from the army General Joseph Hooker for "unjust and unnecessary criticisms of the actions of his superior officer.... As unfit to hold an important commission during a crisis like the present when so much patience, charity, confidence, consideration, and patriotism are due from every soldier in the field." Burnside also prepared an order dismissing nine other generals, and with his usual frankness took them to Washington and asked the President's approval. As an alternative he tendered his own resignation. Lincoln realized that a commander who had lost the confidence of his army and the country at large could not restore it by punishing his critics, so, in the most kindly manner, he accepted Burnside's resignation and assigned General Hooker to command. The President was fully aware of Hooker's weakness, and that the latter's conduct and language concerning Burnside and himself had been not only indiscreet and insubordinate, but actually insulting. But he was willing to overlook all that and confer honor and responsibility upon him because he believed in his ability and patriotism, and knew that the soldiers held him in higher esteem than any other general in the East. But accompanying Hooker's commission was a letter which no man but Abraham Lincoln could have written without giving offence, and nothing from the pen of the President at that period of his life better indicates the complete self-control and self-confidence which possessed him.

"I have placed you at the head of the Army of the Potomac," he said. "Of course I have done this upon what appears to me sufficient reason, and yet I think it best for you to know that there are some things in regard to which I am not quite satisfied with you. I believe you to be a brave and skilful soldier, which, of course, I like. I also believe you do not mix politics with your profession, in which you are right. You have confidence in yourself, which is a valuable, if not an indispensable quality. You are ambitious, which, within reasonable bounds, does good rather than harm; but I think that during General Burnside's command of the army you have taken counsel of your ambition and thwarted him as much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country and to a most meritorious and honorable brother officer. I have heard, in such a way as to believe it, of your recently saying that both the army and the government needed a dictator. Of course it was not for this, but in spite of it, that I have given you the command. Only those generals who gain successes can set up dictators. What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship. The government will support you to the utmost of its ability, which is neither more nor less than it has done and will do for all commanders. I much fear that the spirit which you have aided to infuse into the army, of criticising their commander and withholding confidence from him, will now turn upon you. I shall assist you as far as I can to put it down. Neither you nor Napoleon, if he were alive again, could get any good out of an army while such a spirit prevails in it; and now beware of rashness. Beware of rashness, but with energy and sleepless vigilance go forward and give us victories."

General Hooker received this rebuke and admonition in the spirit in which it was offered; he recognized its justice, and endeavored to restore himself in the President's estimation; but his first important movement was defeated by the enemy, and, although it was not so great a disaster as that of Burnside at Fredericksburg, the battle of Chancellorsville, in May, 1863, marked the darkest hour in the Civil War and inspired Lee and the Confederate authorities with confidence of the ultimate success of the rebellion. Mr. W. O. Stoddard, an inmate of the White House at that time, has given us the following picture:

"The darkest hour in the Civil War came in the first week of May, 1863, after the bloody battle of Chancellorsville. The country was weary of the long war, with its draining taxes of gold and blood. Discontent prevailed everywhere, and the opponents of the Lincoln administration were savage in their denunciation. More than a third of each day's mail already consisted of measureless denunciation; another large part was made up of piteous appeals for peace.

"There were callers at the White House. Members of the Senate and House came with gloomy faces; the members of the Cabinet came to consult or condole. The house was like a funeral, and those who entered or left it trod softly for fear they might wake the dead.

"That night the last visitors in Lincoln's room were Stanton and Halleck, and the President was left alone. Not another soul except the one secretary busy with the mail in his room across the hall. The ticking of a clock would have been noticeable; but another sound came that was almost as regular and as ceaseless. It was the tread of the President's feet as he strode slowly back and forth across his chamber. That ceaseless march so accustomed the ear to it that when, a little after twelve, there was a break of several minutes, the sudden silence made one put down his letters and listen.

"The President may have been at his table writing, or he may—no man knows or can guess; but at the end of the minutes, long or short, the tramp began again. Two o'clock and he was walking yet, and when, a little after three, the secretary's task was done and he slipped noiselessly out, he turned at the head of the stairs for a moment. It was so—the last sound he heard as he went down was the footfall in Lincoln's room.

"The young man was there again before eight o'clock. The President's room was open. There sat Lincoln eating his breakfast alone. He had not been out of his room; but there was a kind of cheery, hopeful morning light on his face. He had watched all night, but beside his cup of coffee lay his instructions to General Hooker to push forward. There was a decisive battle won that night in that long vigil with disaster and despair. Only a few weeks later the Army of the Potomac fought it over again as desperately—and they won it—at Gettysburg."

From the time when Hooker took command the President kept closer watch than ever upon the movements of the Army of the Potomac, and his directions were given with greater detail than before. He had no confidence in Hooker's ability to plan, although he felt that he was a good fighter.

Early in June, 1863, Hooker reported his opinion that Lee intended to move on Washington, and asked orders to attack the Confederate rear. To this Lincoln answered in quaint satire, "In case you find Lee coming north of the Rappahannock I would by no means cross to the south of it. If he should leave a rear force at Fredericksburg, tempting you to fall upon it, it would fight you in entrenchments and have you at a disadvantage, while his main force would in some way be getting an advantage of you northward. In one word, I would not take any risk of being entangled upon the river, like an ox would jump half over a fence and be liable to be torn by dogs front and rear, without a fair chance to gore one way or kick the other."