It is matter of course that a cabinet slate should fail to give general satisfaction; and this one encountered fully the average measure of criticism. The body certainly was somewhat heterogeneous in its composition, yet the same was true of the Republican party which it represented. Nor was it by any means so heterogeneous as Mr. Lincoln had designed to have it, for he had made efforts to place in it a Southern spokesman for Southern views; and he had not desisted from the purpose until its futility was made apparent by the direct refusal of Mr. Gilmer of North Carolina, and by indications of a like unwillingness on the part of one or two other Southerners who were distantly sounded on the subject. Seward, Chase, Bates, and Cameron were the four men who had manifested the greatest popularity, after Lincoln, in the national convention, and the selection of them, therefore, showed that Mr. Lincoln was seeking strength rather than amity in his cabinet; for it was certainly true that each one of them had a following which was far from being wholly in sympathy with the following of any one of the others. The President evidently believed that it was of more importance that each great body of Northern men should feel that its opinions were fairly presented, than that his cabinet officers should always comfortably unite in looking at questions from one and the same point of view. Judge Davis says that Lincoln's original design was to appoint Democrats and Republicans alike to office. He carried this theory so far that the radical Republicans regarded the make-up of the cabinet as a "disgraceful surrender to the South;" while men of less extreme views saw with some alarm that he had called to his advisory council four ex-Democrats and only three ex-Whigs, a criticism which he met by saying that he himself was an "old-line Whig" and should be there to make the parties even. On the other hand, the Republicans of the middle line of States grumbled much at the selection of Bates and Blair as representatives of their section.

The cabinet had not been brought together without some jarring and friction, especially in the case of Cameron. On December 31 Mr. Lincoln intimated to him that he should have either the Treasury or the War Department, but on January 3 requested him to "decline the appointment." Cameron, however, had already mentioned the matter to many friends, without any suggestion that he should not be glad to accept either position, and therefore, even if he were willing to accede to the sudden, strange, and unexplained request of Mr. Lincoln, he would have found it difficult to do so without giving rise to much embarrassing gossip. Accordingly he did not decline, and thereupon ensued much wire-pulling. Pennsylvania protectionists wanted Cameron in the Treasury, and strenuously objected to Chase as an ex-Democrat of free-trade proclivities. On the other hand, Lincoln gradually hardened into the resolution that Chase should have the Treasury. He made the tender, and it was accepted. He then offered consolation to Pennsylvania by giving the War portfolio to Cameron, which was accepted with something of chagrin. How far this Cameron episode was affected by the bargain declared by Lamon to have been made at Chicago cannot be told. Other biographers ignore this story, but I do not see how the direct testimony furnished by Lamon and corroborated by Colonel McClure can justly be treated in this way; neither is the temptation so to treat it apparent, since the evidence entirely absolves Lincoln from any complicity at the time of making the alleged "trade," while he could hardly be blamed if he felt somewhat hampered by it afterward.

Seward also gave trouble which he ought not to have given. On December 8 Lincoln wrote to him that he would nominate him as secretary of state. Mr. Seward assented and the matter remained thus comfortably settled until so late as March 2, 1861, when Seward wrote a brief note asking "leave to withdraw his consent." Apparently the Democratic complexion of the cabinet, and the suggestions of suspicious friends, made him fear that his influence in the ministry would be inferior to that of Chase. Coming at this eleventh hour, which already had its weighty burden of many anxieties, this brief destructive note was both embarrassing and exasperating. It meant the entire reconstruction of the cabinet. Never did Lincoln's tranquil indifference to personal provocation stand him in better stead than in this crisis,—for a crisis it was when Seward, in discontent and distrust, desired to draw aloof from the administration. He held the note of the recalcitrant politician for two days unanswered, then he wrote a few lines: "Your note," he said, "is the subject of the most painful solicitude with me; and I feel constrained to beg that you will countermand the withdrawal. The public interest, I think, demands that you should; and my personal feelings are deeply enlisted in the same direction." These words set Mr. Seward right again; on March 5 he withdrew his letter of March 2, and in a few hours was appointed.

Immediately after the installation of the new government three commissioners from the Confederacy came to Washington, and requested an official audience. They said that seven States of the American Union had withdrawn therefrom, had reassumed sovereign power, and were now an independent nation in fact and in right; that, in order to adjust upon terms of amity and good-will all questions growing out of this political separation, they were instructed to make overtures for opening negotiations, with the assurance that the Confederate government earnestly desired a peaceful solution and would make no demand not founded in strictest justice, neither do any act to injure their late confederates. From the Confederate point of view these approaches were dignified and conciliatory; from the Northern point of view they were treasonable and insolent. Probably the best fruit which Mr. Davis hoped from them was that Mr. Seward, who was well known to be desirous of finding some peace-assuring middle course, might be led into a discussion of the situation, inevitably provoking divisions in the cabinet, in the Republican party, and in the country. But though Seward's frame of mind about this time was such as to put him in great jeopardy of committing hurtful blunders, he was fortunate enough to escape quite doing so. To the agent of the commissioners he replied that he must "consult the President," and the next day he wrote, in terms of personal civility, that he could not receive them. Nevertheless they remained in Washington a few weeks longer, gathering and forwarding to the Confederate government such information as they could. In this they were aided by Judge Campbell of Alabama, a Secessionist, who still retained his seat upon the bench of the Supreme Court. This gentleman now became a messenger between the commissioners and Mr. Seward, with the purpose of eliciting news and even pledges from the latter for the use of the former. His errands especially related to Fort Sumter, and he gradually drew from Mr. Seward strong expressions of opinion that Sumter would in time be evacuated, even declarations substantially to the effect that this was the arranged policy of the government. Words which fell in so agreeably with the wishes of the judge and the commissioners were received with that warm welcome which often outruns correct construction, and later were construed by them as actual assurances, at least in substance, whereby they conceived themselves to have been "abused and overreached," and they charged the government with "equivocating conduct." In the second week in April, contemporaneously with the Sumter crisis, they addressed to Mr. Seward a high-flown missive of reproach, in which they ostentatiously washed the hands of the South, as it were, and shook from their own departing feet the dust of the obdurate North, where they had not been met "in the conciliatory and peaceful spirit" in which they had come. They invoked "impartial history" to place the responsibility of blood and mourning upon those who had denied the great fundamental doctrine of American liberty; and they declared it "clear that Mr. Lincoln had determined to appeal to the sword to reduce the people of the Confederate States to the will of the section or party whose President he is." In this dust-cloud of glowing rhetoric vanished the last deceit of peaceful settlement.

About the same time, April 13, sundry commissioners from the Virginia convention waited upon Lincoln with the request that he would communicate the policy which he intended to pursue towards the Confederate States. Lincoln replied with a patient civility that cloaked satire: "Having at the beginning of my official term expressed my intended policy as plainly as I was able, it is with deep regret and some mortification I now learn that there is great and injurious uncertainty in the public mind as to what that policy is, and what course I intend to pursue." To this ratification of the plain position taken in his inaugural, he added that he might see fit to repossess himself of the public property, and that possibly he might withdraw the mail service from the seceding States.

The inauguration of Mr. Lincoln was followed by a lull which endured for several weeks. A like repose reigned contemporaneously in the Confederate States. For a while the people in both sections received with content this reaction of quiescence. But as the same laws of human nature were operative equally at the North and at the South, it soon came about that both at the North and at the South there broke forth almost simultaneously strong manifestations of impatience. The genuine President at Washington and the sham President at Montgomery were assailed by the like pressing demand: Why did they not do something to settle this matter? Southern irascibility found the situation exceedingly trying. The imposing and dramatic attitude of the Confederate States had not achieved an appropriate result. They had organized a government and posed as an independent nation, but no power in the civilized world had yet recognized them in this character; on the contrary, Abraham Lincoln, living hard by in the White House, was explicitly denying it, contumaciously alleging himself to be their lawful ruler, and waiting with an exasperating patience to see what they were really going to do in the business which they had undertaken. They must make some move or they would become ridiculous, and their revolution would die and their confederacy would dissolve from sheer inanition. The newspapers told their leaders this plainly; and a prominent gentleman of Alabama said to Mr. Davis: "Sir, unless you sprinkle blood in the face of the people of Alabama, they will be back in the Union in ten days." On the other hand, the people of the North were as energetic as the sons of the South were excitable, and with equal urgency they also demanded a conclusion. If the Union was to be enforced, why did not Mr. Lincoln enforce it? How long did he mean placidly to suffer treason and a rival government to rest undisturbed within the country?

With this state of feeling growing rapidly more intense in both sections, action was inevitable. Yet neither leader wished to act first, even for the important purpose of gratifying the popular will. As where two men are resolved to fight, yet have an uneasy vision of a judge and jury in waiting for them, each seeks to make the other the assailant and himself to be upon his defense, so these two rulers took prudent thought of the tribunal of public sentiment not in America alone but in Europe also, with perhaps a slight forward glance towards posterity. If Mr. Lincoln did not like to "invade" the Southern territory, Mr. Davis was equally reluctant to make the Southern "withdrawal" actively belligerent through operations of military offense. Both men were capable of statesmanlike waiting to score a point that was worth waiting for; Davis had been for years biding the ripeness of time, but Lincoln had the capacity of patience beyond any precedent on record.

Under the Buchanan régime the purpose of the United States government had been less plain than it became after Mr. Lincoln's accession; for Buchanan had not the courage either to order a surrender, or to provoke real warfare by reinforcing the place. In vain did the unfortunate Major Anderson seek distinct instructions; the replies which he received were contradictory and more obscure than Delphic oracles. This unfair, vacillating, and contemptible conduct indicated the desire to lay upon him alone the whole responsibility of the situation, with a politic and selfish reservation to the government of the advantage of disavowing and discrediting him, whatever he might do. On January 9 a futile effort at communication was made by the steamer Star of the West; it failed, and left matters worse rather than better. On March 3, 1861, the Confederate government put General Beauregard in command at Charleston, thereby emphasizing the resolution to have Sumter ere long. Such was the situation on March 4, when Mr. Lincoln came into control and declared a policy which bound him to "hold, occupy, and possess" Sumter. On the same day there came a letter from Major Anderson, describing his position. There were shut up in the fort together a certain number of men and a certain quantity of biscuit and of pork; when the men should have eaten the biscuit and the pork, which they would probably do in about four weeks, they would have to go away. The problem thus became direct, simple, and urgent.

Lincoln sought an opinion from Scott, and was told that "evacuation seems almost inevitable." He requested a more thorough investigation, and a reply to specific questions: "To what point of time can Anderson maintain his position in Sumter? Can you, with present means, relieve him in that time? What additional means would enable you to do so?" The general answered that four months would be necessary to prepare the naval force, and an even longer time to get together the 5000 regular troops and 20,000 volunteers that would be needed, to say nothing of obtaining proper legislation from Congress. Equally discouraging were the opinions of the cabinet officers. On March 15 Lincoln put to them the question: "Assuming it to be possible to now provision Fort Sumter, under all the circumstances is it wise to attempt it?" Only Chase and Blair replied that it would be wise; Seward, Cameron, Wells, Smith, and Bates were against it.

The form of this question indicated that Lincoln contemplated a possibility of being compelled to recede from the policy expressed in his inaugural. Yet it was not his temperament to abandon a purpose deliberately matured and definitely announced, except under absolute necessity. To determine now this question of necessity he sent an emissary to Sumter and another to Charleston, and meantime stayed offensive action on the part of the Confederates by authorizing Seward to give assurance through Judge Campbell that no provisioning or reinforcement should be attempted without warning. Thus he secured, or continued, a sort of truce, irregular and informal, but practical. Meantime he was encouraged by the earnest propositions of Mr. G.V. Fox, until lately an officer of the navy, who was ready to undertake the relief of the fort. Eager discussions ensued, wherein naval men backed the project of Mr. Fox, and army men condemned it. Such difference of expert opinion was trying, for the problem was of a kind which Mr. Lincoln's previous experience in life did not make it easy for him to solve with any confidence in the correctness of his own judgment.

Was it courtesy or curiosity that induced the President to sit and listen to this warm debate between his chosen advisers? They would have been angry had they known that they were bringing their counsel to a chief who had already made his decision. They did not yet know that upon every occasion of great importance Lincoln would make up his mind for and by himself, yet would not announce his decision, or save his counselors the trouble of counseling, until such time as he should see fit to act. So in this instance he had already, the day before the meeting of the cabinet, directed Fox to draw up an order for such ships, men, and supplies as he would require, and when the meeting broke up he at once issued formal orders to the secretaries of the navy and of war to enter upon the necessary preparation.

On April 6 Captain Mercer, on board the Powhatan as his flagship, and on the very point of weighing anchor to sail in command of the Sumter reinforcement, under orders from Secretary Welles, was astounded to find himself dispossessed and superseded by Lieutenant Porter, who suddenly came upon the deck bringing an order signed by the President himself. A few hours later, at Washington, a telegram startled Mr. Welles with the news. Utterly confounded, he hastened, in the early night-time, to the White House, and obtained an audience of the President. Then Mr. Lincoln learned what a disastrous blunder he had made; greatly mortified, he requested Mr. Seward to telegraph with all haste to New York that the Powhatan must be immediately restored to Mercer for Sumter. Lieutenant Porter was already far down the bay, when he was overtaken by a swift tug bringing this message. But unfortunately Mr. Seward had so phrased the dispatch that it did not purport to convey an order either from the President or the secretary of the navy, and he had signed his own name: "Give up the Powhatan to Mercer. SEWARD." To Porter, hurriedly considering this unintelligible occurrence, it seemed better to go forward under the President's order than to obey the order of an official who had no apparent authority to command him. So he steamed on for Pensacola.

On April 8, discharging the obligation of warning, Mr. Lincoln notified General Beauregard that an attempt would be made to put provisions into Sumter, but not at present to put in men, arms, or ammunition, unless the fort should be attacked. Thereupon Beauregard, at two o'clock P.M. on April 11, sent to Anderson a request for a surrender. Anderson refused, remarking incidentally that he should be starved out in a few days. At 3.20 A.M., on April 12, Beauregard notified Anderson that he should open fire in one hour. That morning the occupants of Sumter, 9 commissioned officers, 68 non-commissioned officers and privates, 8 musicians, and 43 laborers, breakfasted on pork and water, the last rations in the fort. Before daybreak the Confederate batteries were pouring shot and shell against the walls. Response was made from as many guns as the small body of defenders could handle. But the fort was more easily damaged than were the works on the mainland, and on the morning of the 13th, the officers' quarters having caught fire, and the magazine being so imperiled that it had to be closed and covered with earth, the fort became untenable. Early in the evening terms of capitulation were agreed upon.

Meantime three transports of the relief expedition were lying outside the bar. The first arrived shortly before the bombardment began, the other two came only a trifle later. All day long these vessels lay to, wondering why the Powhatan did not appear. Had she been there upon the critical night of the 12th, the needed supplies could have been thrown into the fort, for the weather was so dark that the rebel patrol was useless, and it was actually believed in Charleston that the relief had been accomplished. But the Powhatan was far away steaming at full speed for Pensacola. For this sad blunder Lincoln generously, but fairly enough, took the blame to himself. The only excuse which has ever been advanced in behalf of Mr. Lincoln is that he allowed himself to be led blindfold through this important business by Mr. Seward, and that he signed such papers as the secretary of state presented to him without learning their purport and bearing. But such an excuse, even if it can be believed, seems fully as bad as the blunder which it is designed to palliate.

Other blame also has been laid upon Lincoln on the ground that he was dilatory in reaching the determination to relieve the fort. That the decision should have been reached and the expedition dispatched more promptly is entirely evident; but whether or not Lincoln was in fault is quite another question. Three facts are to be considered: 1. The highest military authority in the country advised him, a civilian, that evacuation was a necessity. 2. Most of his ministers were at first against reinforcement, and they never unanimously recommended it; especially his secretary of state condemned it as bad policy. 3. The almost universal feeling of the people of the North, so far as it could then be divined, was compromising, conciliatory, and thoroughly opposed to any act of war. Under such circumstances it was rather an exhibition of independence and courage that Lincoln reached the conclusion of relieving the fort at all, than it was a cause of fault-finding that he did not come to the conclusion sooner. He could not know in March how the people were going to feel after the 13th of April; in fact, if they had fancied that he was provoking hostilities, their feeling might not even then have developed as it did. Finally, he gained his point in forcing the Confederacy into the position of assailant, and there is every reason to believe that he bought that point cheaply at the price of the fortress.

The news of the capture of Sumter had an instant and tremendous effect. The States which had seceded were thrown into a pleasurable ferment of triumph; the Northern States arose in fierce wrath; the Middle States, still balancing dubiously between the two parties, were rent with passionate discussion. For the moment the North seemed a unit; there had been Southern sympathizers before, and Southern sympathizers appeared in considerable numbers later, but for a little while just now they were very scarce. Douglas at once called upon the President, and the telegraph carried to his numerous followers throughout the land the news that he had pledged himself "to sustain the President in the exercise of all his constitutional functions to preserve the Union, and maintain the government, and defend the Federal capital." By this prompt and generous action he warded off the peril of a divided North. Douglas is not in quite such good repute with posterity as he deserves to be; his attitude towards slavery was bad, but his attitude towards the country was that of a zealous patriot. His veins were full of fighting blood, and he was really much more ready to go to war for the Union than were great numbers of Republicans whose names survive in the strong odor of patriotism. During the presidential campaign he had been speaking out with defiant courage regardless of personal considerations, and in this present juncture he did not hesitate an instant to bring to his successful rival an aid which at the time and under the circumstances was invaluable.

In every town and village there were now mass meetings, ardent speeches, patriotic resolutions, a confusing stir and tumult of words that would become deeds as fast as definite plans could furnish opportunity. The difficulty lay in utilizing this abundant, this exuberant zeal. Historians say rhetorically that the North sprang to arms; and it really would have done so if there had been any arms to spring to; but muskets were scarce, and that there were any at all was chiefly due to the fact that antiquated and unserviceable weapons had been allowed to accumulate undestroyed. Moreover, no one knew even the manual of arms; and there were no uniforms, or accoutrements, or camp equipment of any sort. There was, however, the will which makes the way. Simultaneously with the story of Sumter came also the President's proclamation of April 15. He called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to serve for three months,—an insignificant body of men, as it now seems, and a period of time not sufficient to change them from civilians into soldiers. Yet for the work immediately visible the demand seemed adequate. Moreover, as the law stood, a much longer term could not have been named,^[133] and an apparently disproportionate requisition in point of numbers might have been of injurious effect; for nearly every one was cheerfully saying that the war would be no such very great affair after all. In his own mind the President may or may not have forecast the future more accurately than most others were doing; but his idea plainly was to ask no more than was necessary for the visible occasion. He stated that the troops would be used to "repossess the forts, places, and property which had been seized from the Union," and that great care would be taken not to disturb peaceful citizens. Amid all the prophesying and theorizing, and the fanciful comparisons of the respective fighting qualities of the Northern and Southern populations, a sensible remark is attributed to Lincoln: "We must not forget that the people of the seceded States, like those of the loyal States, are American citizens with essentially the same characteristics and powers. Exceptional advantages on one side are counterbalanced by exceptional advantages on the other. We must make up our minds that man for man the soldier from the South will be a match for the soldier from the North, and vice versa." This was good common sense, seasonably offsetting the prevalent but foolish notion that the Southerners were naturally a better fighting race than the Northerners. Facts ultimately sustained Lincoln's just estimate of equality; for though the North employed far greater numbers than did the South, it was because the North had the burdens of attack and conquest upon exterior lines of great extent, because it had to detail large bodies of troops for mere garrison and quasi-police duty, and because during the latter part of the war it took miserable throngs of bounty-bought foreigners into its ranks. Man for man, as Lincoln said at the outset, the war proved that Northern Americans and Southern Americans were closely matched.^[134]

By the same instrument the President summoned Congress to assemble in extra session on July 4. It seemed a distant date; and many thought that the Executive Department ought not to endeavor to handle alone all the possible novel developments of so long a period. But Mr. Lincoln had his purposes. By July 4 he and circumstances, together, would have wrought out definite conditions, which certainly did not exist at present; perhaps also, like most men who find themselves face to face with difficult practical affairs, he dreaded the conclaves of the law-makers; but especially he wished to give Kentucky a chance to hold a special election for choosing members of this Congress, because the moral and political value of Kentucky could hardly be overestimated, and the most tactful manoeuvring was necessary to control her.

The Confederate cabinet was said to have greeted Mr. Lincoln's proclamation with "bursts of laughter." The governors of Kentucky, North Carolina, Arkansas, Tennessee, and Missouri telegraphed that no troops would be furnished by their respective States, using language clearly designed to be offensive and menacing. The Northern States, however, responded promptly and enthusiastically. Men thronged to enlist. Hundreds of thousands offered themselves where only 75,000 could be accepted. Of the human raw material there was excess; but discipline and equipment could not be created by any measure of mere willingness. Yet there was great need of dispatch. Both geographically and politically Washington lay as an advanced outpost in immediate peril. General Scott had been collecting the few companies within reach; but all, he said on April 8, "may be too late for this place." By April 15, however, he believed himself able to hold the city till reinforcements should arrive. The total nominal strength of the United States army, officers and men, was only 17,113, of whom not two thirds could be counted upon the Union side, and even these were scattered over a vast expanse of country, playing police for Indians, and garrisoning distant posts. Rumors of Southern schemes to attack Washington caused widespread alarm; the government had no more definite information than the people, and all alike feared that there was to be a race for the capital, and that the South, being near and prepared, would get there first. As matter of fact, the Southern leaders had laid no military plan for this enterprise, and the danger was exaggerated. The Northerners, however, did not know this, and made desperate haste.

The first men to arrive came from Philadelphia, 460 troops, as they were called, though they came "almost entirely without arms." In Massachusetts, Governor Andrew, an anti-slavery leader, enthusiastic, energetic, and of great executive ability, had been for many months preparing the militia for precisely this crisis, weeding out the holiday soldiers and thoroughly equipping his regiments for service in the field. For this he had been merrily ridiculed by the aristocracy of Boston during the winter; but inexorable facts now declared for him and against the local aristocrats. On April 15 he received the call from Washington, and immediately sent forth his own summons through the State. All day on the 16th, amid a fierce northeasterly storm, the troops poured into Boston, and by six o'clock on that day three full regiments were ready to start.^[135] Three days before this the governor had asked Secretary Cameron for 2000 rifled muskets from the national armory at Springfield, in the State. The secretary refused, and the governor managed to supply his regiment with the most improved arms^[136] without aid from the national government. On the forenoon of the 17th, the Sixth Regiment started for Washington. Steamers were ready to take it to Annapolis; but the secretary of war, with astonishing ignorance of facts easily to be known, ordered it to come through Baltimore. Accordingly the regiment reached Baltimore on the 19th, the anniversary of the battle of Lexington. Seven companies were transported in horse-cars from the northern to the southern station without serious hindrance; but then the tracks of the street railway were torn up, and the remaining four companies had to leave the cars and march. A furious mob of "Plug Uglies" and Secessionists assailed them with paving-stones, brickbats, and pistol-shots. The mayor and the marshal of the police force performed fairly their official duty, but were far from quelling the riot. The troops, therefore, thrown on their own resources, justifiably fired upon their assailants. The result of the conflict was that 4 soldiers were killed and 36 were wounded, and of the rioters 12 were killed, and the number of wounded could not be ascertained. The troops reached Washington at five o'clock in the afternoon, the first armed rescuers of the capital; their presence brought a comforting sense of relief, and they were quartered in the senate chamber itself.

What would be the effect of the proclamation, of the mustering of troops in the capital, and of the bloodshed at Baltimore upon the slave States which still remained in the Union, was a problem of immeasurable importance. The President, who had been obliged to take the responsibility of precipitating the crisis in these States, appreciated more accurately than any one else the magnitude of the stake involved in their allegiance. He watched them with the deepest anxiety, and brought the utmost care and tact of his nature to the task of influencing them. The geographical position of Maryland, separating the District of Columbia from the loyal North, made it of the first consequence. The situation there, precarious at best, seemed to be rendered actually hopeless by what had occurred. A tempest of uncontrollable rage whirled away the people and prostrated all Union feeling. Mayor Brown admits that "for some days it looked very much as if Baltimore had taken her stand decisively with the South;" and this was putting it mildly, when the Secessionist Marshal Kane was telegraphing: "Streets red with Maryland blood. Send express over the mountains of Maryland and Virginia for the riflemen to come without delay." Governor Hicks was opposed to secession, but he was shaken like a reed by this violent blast. Later on this same April 19, Mayor Brown sent three gentlemen to President Lincoln, bearing a letter from himself, in which he said that it was "not possible for more soldiers to pass through Baltimore unless they fight their way at every step." That night he caused the northward railroad bridges to be burned and disabled; and soon afterward the telegraph wires were cut.

The President met the emergency with coolness and straightforward simplicity, abiding firmly by his main purpose, but conciliatory as to means. He wrote to the governor and the mayor: "For the future troops must be brought here, but I make no point of bringing them through Baltimore;" he would "march them around Baltimore," if, as he hoped, General Scott should find it feasible to do so. In fulfillment of this promise he ordered a detachment, which had arrived at a station near Baltimore, to go all the way back to Philadelphia and come around by water. He only demurred when the protests were extended to include the whole "sacred" soil of Maryland,—for it appeared that the presence of slavery accomplished the consecration of soil! His troops, he said, could neither fly over the State, nor burrow under it; therefore they must cross it, and the Marylanders must learn that "there was no piece of American soil too good to be pressed by the foot of a loyal soldier on his march to the defense of the capital of his country." For a while, however, until conditions in Baltimore changed, Eastern regiments came by way of Annapolis, though with difficulty and delay. Yet, even upon this route, conflict was narrowly avoided.

Soon, however, these embarrassments came to an end, and the President's policy was vindicated by its fruits. It had been strictly his own; he alone ruled the occasion, and he did so in the face of severe pressure to do otherwise, some of which came even from members of his cabinet. Firmness, reasonableness, and patience brought things right; Lincoln spoke sensibly to the Marylanders, and gave them time to consider the situation. Such treatment started a reaction; Unionism revived and Unionists regained courage. Moreover, the sure pressure of material considerations was doing its work. Baltimore, as an isolated secession outpost, found, even in the short space of a week, that business was destroyed and that she was suffering every day financial loss. In a word, by the end of the month, "the tide had turned." Baltimore, if not quite a Union city, at least ceased to be secessionist. On May 9 Northern troops passed unmolested through it. On May 13 General Butler with a body of troops took possession of Federal Hill, which commands the harbor and city, and fortified it. If the Baltimore question was still open at that time, this settled it. Early in the same month the state legislature came together, Mr. Lincoln refusing to accept the suggestion of interfering with it. This body was by no means Unionist, for it "protested against the war as unjust and unconstitutional, announced a determination to take no part in its prosecution, and expressed a desire for the immediate recognition of the Confederate States." Yet practically it put a veto on secession by voting that it was inexpedient to summon a convention; it called on all good citizens "to abstain from violent and unlawful interference with the troops." Thus early in May this brand, though badly scorched, was saved from the conflagration; and its saving was a piece of good fortune of which the importance cannot be exaggerated; for without Maryland Washington could hardly have been held, and with the national capital in the hands of the rebels European recognition probably could not have been prevented. These momentous perils were in the mind of the administration during those anxious days, and great indeed was the relief when the ultimate turn of affairs became assured. For a week officials in Washington were painfully taught what it would mean to have Baltimore a rebel city and Maryland a debatable territory and battle-ground. For a week Mr. Lincoln and his advisers lived almost in a state of siege; they were utterly cut off from communication with the North; they could get no news; they could not learn what was doing for their rescue, nor how serious were the obstructions in the way of such efforts; in place of correct information they heard only the most alarming rumors. In a word, they were governing a country to which they really had no access. The tension of those days was awful; and it was with infinite comfort that they became certain that, whatever other strain might come, this one at least could not be repeated. Henceforth the loyalty of Maryland, so carefully nurtured, gradually grew in strength to the end. Many individuals long remained in their hearts disloyal, and thousands^[137] joined the Confederate ranks; but they had to leave their State in order to get beneath a secessionist standard, for Maryland was distinctly and conclusively in the Union.

The situation, resources, and prestige of Virginia made her next to Maryland in importance among the doubtful States. Her Unionists were numerically preponderant; and accordingly the convention, which assembled early in January, was opposed to secession by the overwhelming majority of 89 to 45. But the Secessionists here as elsewhere in the South were propagandists, fiery with enthusiasm and energy, and they controlled the community although they were outnumbered by those who held, in a more quiet way, contrary opinions. When the decisive conflict came it was short and sharp and carried with a rush. By intrigue, by menace, by passionate appeals seasonably applied with sudden intensity of effort at the time of the assault upon Sumter, the convention was induced to pass an ordinance of secession. Those who could not bring themselves to vote in the affirmative were told that they might "absent themselves or be hanged." On the other hand, there were almost no lines along which the President could project any influence into the State to encourage the Union sentiment. He sought an interview with a political leader, but the gentleman only sent a substitute, and the colloquy amounted to nothing. He fell in with the scheme of General Scott concerning Robert E. Lee, which might have saved Virginia; but this also miscarried. General Lee has always been kindly spoken of at the North, whether deservedly or not is a matter not to be discussed here. Only a few bare facts and dates can be given: April 17, by a vote of 88 to 55, the dragooned convention passed an "ordinance to repeal the ratification of the Constitution of the United States," but provided that this action should for the present be kept secret, and that it might be annulled by the people at a popular voting, which should be had upon it on the fourth Thursday in May. The injunction of secrecy was immediately broken, and before the polls were to be opened for the balloting Virginia was held by the military forces of the Confederacy, so that the vote was a farce. April 18 Mr. F.P. Blair, Jr., had an interview in Washington with Lee, in which he intimated to Lee that the President and General Scott designed to place him in command of the army which had just been summoned.^[138] Accounts of this conversation, otherwise inconsistent, all agree that Lee expressed himself as opposed to secession,^[139] but as unwilling to occupy the position designed for him, because he "could take no part in an invasion of the Southern States." April 20 he tendered his resignation of his commission in the army, closing with the words, "Save in defense of my native State, I never desire again to draw my sword."^[140] On April 22-23 he was appointed to, and accepted, the command of the state forces. In so accepting he said: "I devote myself to the service of my native State, in whose behalf alone will I ever again draw my sword."^[141] April 24 a military league was formed between Virginia and the Confederate States, and her forces were placed under the command of Jefferson Davis; also an invitation was given, and promptly accepted, to make Richmond the Confederate capital. May 16 Virginia formally entered the Confederacy, and Lee became a general—the third in rank—in the service of the Confederate States, though the secession of his State was still only inchoate and might never become complete, since the day set for the popular vote had not arrived, and it was still a possibility that the Unionists might find courage to go to the polls. Thus a rapid succession of events settled it that the President could save neither Virginia nor Robert E. Lee for the Union. Yet the failure was not entire. The northwestern counties were strongly Union in their proclivities, and soon followed to a good end an evil example; for they in turn seceded from Virginia, established a state government, sought admission into the Union, and became the State of West Virginia.

Next in order of importance came Kentucky. The Secessionists, using here the tactics so successful in other States, endeavored to drive through by rush and whirl a formal act of secession. But the Unionists of Kentucky were of more resolute and belligerent temper than those of Georgia and Virginia, and would not submit to be swept away by a torrent really of less volume than their own.^[142] Yet in spite of the spirited head thus made by the loyalists the condition in the State long remained such as to require the most skillful treatment by the President; during several critical weeks one error of judgment, a single imprudence, upon his part might have proved fatal. For the condition was anomalous and perplexing, and the conflict of opinion in the State had finally led to the evolution of a theory or scheme of so-called "neutrality." A similar notion had been imperfectly developed in Maryland, when her legislature declared that she would take no part in a war. The idea was illogical to the point of absurdity, for by it the "neutral" State would at once stay in the Union and stand aloof from it. Neutrality really signified a refusal to perform those obligations which nevertheless were admitted to be binding, and it made of the State a defensive barrier for the South, not to be traversed by Northern troops on an errand of hostility against Confederate Secessionists. It was practical "non-coercion" under a name of fairer sound, and it involved the inconsequence of declaring that the dissolution of an indissoluble Union should not be prevented; it was the proverbial folly of being "for the law but ag'in the enforcement of it." In the words of a resolution passed by a public meeting in Louisville: it was the "duty" of Kentucky to maintain her "independent position," taking sides neither with the administration nor with the seceding States, "but with the Union against them both."

Nevertheless, though both logic and geography made neutrality impracticable, yet at least the desire to be neutral indicated a wavering condition, and therefore it was Mr. Lincoln's task so to arrange matters that, when the State should at last see that it could by no possibility avoid casting its lot with one side or the other, it should cast it with the North. For many weeks the two Presidents played the game for this invaluable stake with all the tact and skill of which each was master. It proved to be a repetition of the fable of the sun and the wind striving to see which could the better make the traveler take off his cloak, and fortunately the patience of Mr. Lincoln represented the warmth of the sun. He gave the Kentuckians time to learn by observation and the march of events that neutrality was an impossibility, also to determine with which side lay the probable advantages for themselves; also he respected the borders of the State during its sensitive days, though in doing so he had to forego some military advantages of time and position. Deliberation brought a sound conclusion. Kentucky never passed an ordinance of secession, but maintained her representation in Congress and contributed her quota to the armies; and these invaluable results were largely due to this wise policy of the President. Many of her citizens, of course, fought upon the Southern side, as was the case in all these debatable Border States, where friends and even families divided against each other, and each man placed himself according to his own convictions. It may seem, therefore, in view of this individual independence of action, that the ordinance of secession was a formality which would not have greatly affected practical conditions; and many critics of Mr. Lincoln at the time could not appreciate the value of his "border-state policy," and thought that he was making sacrifices and paying prices wholly against wisdom, and out of proportion to anything that could be gained thereby. But he understood the situation and comparative values correctly. Loyalty to the State governed multitudes; preference of the State over the United States cost the nation vast numbers of would-be Unionists in the seceding States, and in fact made secession possible; and the same feeling, erroneous though it was from the Unionist point of view, yet saved for the Unionist party very great numbers in these doubtful States which never in fact seceded. Mr. Davis appreciated this just as much as Mr. Lincoln did; both were shrewd men, and were wasting no foolish efforts when they strove so hard to carry or to prevent formal state action. They appreciated very well that success in passing an ordinance would gain for the South throngs of adherents whose allegiance was, by their peculiar political creed, due to the winner in this local contest.

In Tennessee the Unionist majority, as indicated early in February, was overwhelming. Out of a total vote of less than 92,000, more than 67,000 opposed a state convention. The mountaineers of the eastern region especially were stalwart loyalists, and later held to their faith through the severe ordeal of a peculiarly cruel invasion. But the political value of these scattered settlements was small; and in the more populous parts the Secessionists pursued their usual aggressive and enterprising tactics with success. Ultimately the governor and the legislature despotically compelled secession. It was not decreed by a popular vote, not even by a convention, but by votes of the legislature cast in secret session, a proceeding clearly ultra vires of that body. Finally, on June 8, when a popular vote was taken, the State was in the military control of the Confederacy.

Missouri had a career peculiar to herself. In St. Louis there was a strong Unionist majority, and especially the numerous German population was thoroughly anti-slavery, and was vigorously led by F.P. Blair, Jr. But away from her riverfront the State had a sparse population preserving the rough propensities of frontiersmen; these men were not unevenly divided between loyalty and secession and they were an independent, fighting set of fellows, each one of whom intended to follow his own fancy. The result was that Missouri for a long while carried on a little war of her own within her own borders, on too large a scale to be called "bushwhacking," and yet with a strong flavor of that irregular style of conflict. The President interested himself a good deal in the early efforts of the loyalists, and amid a puzzling snarl of angry "personal politics" he tried to extend to them aid and countenance, though with imperfect success. It was fortunate that Missouri was away on the outskirts, for she was the most vexatious and perplexing part of the country. Her population had little feeling of state allegiance, or, indeed, of any allegiance at all, but what small amount there was fell upon the side of the Union; for though the governor and a majority of the legislature declared for secession, yet the state convention voted for the Union by a large majority. It is true that a sham convention passed a sham ordinance, but this had no weight with any except those who were already Secessionists.

Thus by the close of May, 1861, President Lincoln looked forth upon a spectacle tolerably definite at last, and certainly as depressing as ever met the eyes of a great ruler. Eleven States, with area, population, and resources abundant for constituting a powerful nation and sustaining an awful war, were organized in rebellion; their people were welded into entire unity of feeling, were enthusiastically resolute, and were believed to be exceptionally good fighters. The population of three Border States was divided between loyalty and disloyalty. The Northern States, teeming with men and money, had absolutely no experience whatsoever to enable them to utilize their vast resources with the promptitude needful in the instant emergency. There was a notion, prevalent even among themselves, that they were by temperament not very well fitted for war; but this fancy Mr. Lincoln quietly set aside, knowing better. He also had confidence in the efficiency of Northern men in practical affairs of any kind whatsoever, and he had not to tax his patience to see this confidence vindicated. His appeal for military support seemed the marvelous word of a magician, and wrought instant transformation throughout the vast loyal territory. One half of the male population began to practice the manual, to drill, and to study the text-books of military science; the remainder put at least equal energy into the preparations for equipment; every manufacturer in the land set the proverbial Yankee enterprise and ingenuity at work in the adaptation of his machinery to the production of munitions of war and all the various outfit for troops. Every foundry, every mill, and every shipyard was at once diverted from its accustomed industries in order to supply military demands; patriotism and profit combined to stimulate sleepless toil and invention. In a hard-working community no one had ever before worked nearly so hard as now. The whole North was in a ferment, and every human being strained his abilities of mind and of body to the utmost in one serviceable direction or another; the wise and the foolish, the men of words and the men of deeds, the projectors of valuable schemes and the venders of ridiculous inventions, the applicants for military commissions and the seekers after the government's contracts, all hustled and crowded each other in feverish eagerness to get at work in the new condition of things. It was going to take time for all this energy to produce results,—yet not a very long time; the President had more patience than would be needed, and the spirit of his people reassured him. If the lukewarm, compromising temper of the past winter had caused him to feel any lurking anxious doubts as to how the crisis would be met, such illusive mists were now cleared away in a moment before the sweeping gale of patriotism.