Shady Deeds on a Dark street
It was just after dark in Washington D.C. and the streets were mostly deserted. The three men moved with stealth. They must not be recognized. When they reached the house with two lamps in the window, one of them rapped out the signal. Soon the door opened and a wizened face with a mustache, a pointed beard and reading glasses down on the nose, peeked out at him. The crack widened and the man reached out and took his arm, bringing them swiftly in. He led the three men through the dim-lit house and to a study with the blinds drawn. A large lamp gave ample light for them to see. One of them took the little man's hand and gripped it warmly.
"It was good of you to see us, Secretary Seward. We are much obliged." Secretary Seward smiled faintly and motioned the three men into chairs. Secretary Seward tried to sound firm and professional but the emotion and fear in his voice could not be disguised. "I understand that you are commissioners, sent by President Davis with a proposition for the President," he said, his voice cracking a bit. "May I please know what that message is?"
The spokesman for the group shifted uncomfortably. "Our instructions are to only deliver it to the President." Seward sighed and turned up his palms.
"The President will not see you, gentlemen. That is final." There was anger, disappointment and resentment in the voice of the second of the three men who replied. "So, Lincoln does not intend to act in good faith or to do anything to try to resolve this crisis. He thinks to goad President Davis into war by insulting us." Seward, who was a perceptive man, saw the weakness in the position of his visitors and he acted quickly to seize control of the situation.
"No, no, gentlemen," he scolded mildly, "there is no call for that. President Lincoln is an honorable man and I can assure you he does not want war." The visitors were only slightly mollified.
"Why will he not see us, then," the leader asked coldly. Seward leaned his elbows on his desk as he said firmly, "Because he is fearful of giving the stamp of official recognition to every rebelling factor in the South. If that were to happen, there would be no one to speak for the South as a whole and the situation would deteriorate rapidly with no structure in which to channel possible solutions." The spokesman looked surprised. "Then why are we here if it is not to set up a clandestine meeting with the President." Seward smiled an oily smile.
"You are to give the message to me, gentlemen, and I will convey it to the President." The man shook his head doubtfully.
"We understand from Judge Campbell that you have been forbidden to see us officially, and that you have no authority in this matter." Seward had no compunction against twisting the truth so long as he thought he was in control of where things went and that it was in the best interest of all. "That is simply not true, gentlemen. I have the President's complete confidence. And of course I would not be here if he President objected." The men became interested in Seward again.
"Are we to understand, then, that you speak for the President?" Seward tried for a look of false humility.
"You are to understand gentlemen, that I am the professional politician in this Cabinet and I can completely control President Lincoln on these matters. What I tell you has the weight of officialdom at the highest level."
The commissioners look at each other for confirmation. Could this man possibly be lying about anything so important? Surely, no secretary of state would have the face to presume in such matters. Finally the spokesman turned to Seward.
"And what is it that you can assure us of, Mr. Secretary?" Seward grinned broadly. He now had them where he wanted them.
"I can assure you that there will be no further provocation directed toward the south by this Administration or this President." The men conferred briefly in hushed tones.
"Very well Mr. Secretary, our message to the President is this. The South will open the Mississippi to Northern travel and guarantee the safety of its ships if the President will abandon Fort Sumter." Seward expressed both surprise and pleasure.
"I am sure, Gentlemen, that this will only make what I have just told you even more certain."
The men got up and bowed slightly to Seward, them the left with the same silence and stealth by which they had come. Seward watched them go. Then he wagged his head and sighed again. "How simple this would all be," he murmured to himself, "if only Lincoln would stay out of it and let me handle it."
A Bridge to Nowhere
Secretary Seward returned to his office in late after noon from a meeting with the President and his advisors to find Supreme Court Chief Justice John A. Campbell waiting for him. Seward shook his hand warmly. "Good to see you, John," he said.
"It is good of you to see me, Seward," the judge said wearily, "I know how things work in this town and I know you are risking your political neck." Seward enjoyed acting as if he thought major things were but mere trifles. He had the mistaken notion that it added to his mystique as a big man of the world. The truth was, everyone knew it was a pose and most of them thought less of him for it.
"Affairs of state, Judge Campbell," he said casually, "Only my duty as I see it. It is unfortunate we must meet like conspirators." He showed Supreme Court Judge John A. Campbell to an easy chair and took his coat and hat. The judge settled into the chair, leaned back a little and relaxed some of the tension in his back and legs.
"Lincoln would take it hard of you, Seward, if he knew about this." Seward looked at the ceiling as sighed. "Lincoln! Ah yes, poor, bumbling, ignorant, overmatched President Lincoln. But you know, John I think he is a good man who means well." Judge Campbell shook his head negatively in a pensive manner.
"Do you, Seward? Well, Davis doesn't and, I am afraid, neither do I. What is he going to do about Sumter, Secretary Seward? There will be war if an effort is made to re-supply." Seward had been looking at the ceiling. Now he put his elbows on his knees and began nervously smacking one of his fists in the other hand. It was the evening of March 15, 1961.
"The President called a meeting today about you and the Sumter situation, you know." Judge Campbell straightened up and leaned toward Seward.
"Yes, I do know," he said bitterly. "What was decided? Am I to be removed?" Seward became evasive, which was one of the things he was very good at.
"If Jefferson Davis had known the state of things here, he would never have sent those commissioners." Judge Campbell was encouraged.
"You have positive developments to report, then." Seward sighed in a frustrated manner as if the admission were embarrassing to him.
"Nothing official John." Judge Campbell's disappointment turned to anxiety.
"I came here believing you had news for me and now I learn that there is nothing encouraging to know." Seward saw the crisis coming and moved to head it off.
"No, no, no, John. I did not say that. I said nothing 'official.' I cannot put words in Lincoln's mouth, John. That simply will not work. But in fact I believe I have some positive news for you to take to President Davis. You must understand, John, that Davis is not going to get all he wants from Lincoln, or from me and the others. The evacuation of Sumter is about as much as this administration can or will bear at this time."
Judge Campbell nearly jumped out of his chair. This was the main concession Davis wanted and the commissioners had come seeking. Now here was secretary of State Seward guaranteeing that it would be done. He tried to conceal the excitement in his voice. "And what may I tell President Davis specifically about Sumter? Seward looked pleased. He answered very articulately.
"You may say that before the letter reaches him-how far is Montgomery from here."
"Three days."
"You may say that before the letter reaches him, the telegraph will have informed him that Sumter will have been evacuated."
Judge Campbell left with a light heart. On the street, he tapped with his cane and began to whistle. Seward watched him from the office window. "Yes, indeed," he said aloud. "It would all be so simple if I were president."
A High Risk Game
John Lamon, a law partner from Lincoln's old firm, was shown into the White House and led to the President's office. Lincoln looked up smiling and extended his hand.
"Ah Lamon! Good of you to come." Lamon was relieved. Lincoln was not a devious man and his good humor was evident.
"The honor is mine, Mr. President. How can I be of service to you and my country?" Lincoln chuckled. "You are ahead of me, as usual, Lamon; that is what I want to talk to you about. Your sentiments are with the South, you are southern born and you are known to believe that I have made all the wrong moves and that reconciliation is possible. Lamon, I want you to go down to Charleston and explore matters as thoroughly as you can. If you think the situation warrants, you may say you are on an official mission for me. Bring me back a useful report at you earliest convenience." Lamon was embarrassed and began to grope.
"Mr. President, I... I hope you don't think..." Lincoln held up his hand while looking down at papers on his desk and not looking Lamon in the face.
"It's all right, John; it's all right. This is America. Criticism of the President is allowed here. I have called you here because of those disagreements and my confidence in your integrity and our friendship. I need the information you can get me, Lamon. Now quit worrying and get going."
Lincoln walked to the door with his arm around Lamon. He watched Lamon out of sight. Was this a mistake? Would Lamon convey weakness and indecisiveness? He would soon know. He went in, sat down at his desk and mused a bit.
The Gathering Storm
Lincoln had scarcely taken office when the swirling vapors began to subside and the roiling waters warned that a boiling pot was only moments away. The situation was utterly unsettled. On the Southern side, Davis was issuing esoteric statements. "Our people are united by one purpose of high resolve." But Davis, as indeed the mind and soul of the South, was impatient at a time when patience was needed the most. He sighed and told of his "weary heart," and spoke in poetic but minor tones of "troubles and thorns innumerable." In the North, there was confusion on every hand. New Jersey was considering secession.
California and Oregon were talking about pulling out of the Union and forming a new pacific nation. New York, which was Southern in sentiment, saw much to gain by forming its own nation. Moderates were giving Lincoln volumes of unwanted advice. "Let the erring sisters depart in peace." Extremists were pushing for a division: "No Union with slaveholders! Away with this foul thing!... The Union was not formed by force, nor can it be maintained by force." The business community was not in favor of a North-South split. Without strong, protective tariffs the manufacturers would lose southern markets to England. Those in the North and west of the Mississippi were strongly pro-Union, not wanting to lose access to the Mississippi and the foreign ships at the Gulf.
In general, after Lincoln's inaugural address, there was a conviction that separation would not bring a solution of the underlying problems and would invite unwanted and dangerous foreign intervention. Walking away from the problem by peaceful division was a mirage that would soon evaporate once such a separation became a reality. In April of 1861 the New York Times ran an article stating the situation as most people saw it: "If the two sections can no longer live together, they can no longer live apart in quiet till it is determined which is master. No two civilizations ever did, or can, come into contact as the North and the South threaten to do, without a trial of strength, in which the weaker goes to the wall... We must remain master of the occasion and the dominant power of this continent."
But Lincoln had made up his mind. "The Union is unbroken," he said. He knew that the best way to put an end to the confusion in the North and unite all parties was to simply wait for the South to act. He knew Davis from his years in the congress and he knew that they would do so and soon. He had good reason to believe that he would not have long to wait. The reason was sitting out in Charleston bay and it was called Fort Sumter. Most of his advisers were against rearming and re-supplying Fort Sumter, choosing rather to abandon it. They voted five to two to abandon. "Assuming it to be possible to now provision Fort Sumter, under all the circumstances is it wise to attempt it?" The army too, had advised that Sumter be abandoned. They estimated that it would take 20,000 troops to make it secure and that was far beyond the ability of the Army at present. The Navy alone seemed to favor keeping the Fort and supplying it. Although Lincoln had said in his inaugural speech that he would "hold, occupy and possess the property and places belonging to the government," he was having a hard time making up his mind about Sumter.
Three southerners were in Washington to discuss the matter. Though the President had refused to see them, he knew what their message was. Seward had found out somehow. He denied having met with them but Lincoln was not sure he believed him. He had heard that Seward had met with them and told them he could control the President and get a concession of Sumter. Lincoln thought about confronting Seward, but decided on a different plan. He would not abandon Sumter if here were any hope of saving the fort and re-supplying it. This would take care of Secretary Seward.
The message was that the Confederate congress had voted to open the Mississippi to Northern shipping. By this concession and act of friendship, they hoped to encourage the government to abandon Fort Sumter which they viewed as a real threat but more of a symbolic issue. It was a Union bastion in the midst of southern territory. It was a big card in Lincoln's hand. With it, he could prevent war, or assure that the South would start it. Many people felt that war should be averted at all cost, but Lincoln was not so sure. War might be the only resolution to the problem.
Betrayal at the Highest Level
John Lamon got off the train in Charleston and went directly to the office of Governor Pickens. The Governor got up and hurried to John as he entered the massive door.
"John Lamon--attorney John Lamon now, id'n it? My, am I glad to see you home, son. Are you here to stay, I presume?" John was flattered.
"No, Governor Pickens, to tell the truth I am here on a mission for the President. The Governor's delightful laugh almost masked his alarm.
"And what would Mr. Lincoln be wantin' you to find out from me, son?" John decided to play it straight. "He wants to know how serious the situation is and what the chances are of avoiding war." The Governor looked, listened, and pondered for the set up but did to discern one.
"Well, John, my boy, the answer is very simple. Tell the President to forget about re-supplyin' Sumter and abandon it. That will take the tension off and give us a bit of time to work some of the things out." John acted out of desire, instinct, and the cheek that makes one a good lawyer.
"Governor Pickens, let me assure you, that the President has no intention of re-supplying Sumter." The Governor did not laugh, as was his custom, or react in any way. He just sat there staring at John Lamon. Finally he spoke.
"Mr. Lamon, is this some sort of a joke? Surely you do not have the authority to speak for President Lincoln." John suddenly realized what he had done and he caught his breath. He could not back out now if he wanted to.
"Governor Pickens, the President sent me down here to bring him back a report. I have his confidence and his support. I am telling you that the President has no intentions of re-supplying Sumter. No, that is not official. But you have my word, the word of a southern gentleman, that what I tell you is true."
The Governor sat long in quiet meditation. Finally he got up and beckoned for John to rise. He put his arm around him and gave him a big hug.
"John, my boy, the Governor is going to take you over to the Palace and buy you the best steak and anything you want to drink. You have turned a wretched time in my life into happiness. I want to introduce you around." John Lamon's mind was racing. Surely he was safe until leaving town. Lincoln would not have time to know what he had done and get out a denial for at least several days.
John was wined, dined, toasted, and praised as never before in his life. The Governor left him off in the wee hours saying that he would send for him in the early afternoon and would have an itinerary for him that he would be pleased with. Reluctantly John had adamantly refused the overnight company of one of the Governor's beautiful chaperons for celebrated guests. As soon as the Governor's carriage was out of sight, John Lamon went out the back door of his hotel room and got on the first train to Washington. As he rode along in the rocking car he mused about his journey. It had sounded and felt much different it in his mind than it did once he said it and repeated it as practically and oath. But surely, Lincoln would not re-supply Sumter. Still, Lamon was aware that he did not know that for certain and he had heard the rumors that this was what Lincoln would do. How could someone of his position and training be such a fool? He tried not to think about it, but it was hard.
A Small Boat over Troubled Waters
The lantern light from the fort flickered across the choppy waters of the bay and made a wrinkled path for the dory to follow. The night air was cold and had that wonderful smell of salt and sea weed. Two non-commissioned naval volunteers pulled at the oars as the Commander sat on a 2"x12" wooden bench in the back of the boat. Robert Collier of Vermont, the coxswain, shivered from cold wind blowing softly across from the ocean. As they drew toward the pier at the fort, a sentry called out.
"Who goes there?" The Commander reached forward and clamped a hand on Collier's shoulder.
"Let me take it from here, sailor," he said quietly. Then he called out to the fort. "I am Commander Robinson on a mission from President Lincoln. I come to consult with Major Anderson." Silence followed; then after while a command.
"Bring her on in.
Major Anderson was the officer in charge at the Fort. He and the Commander shook hands. The Commander explained.
"Lincoln wants an evaluation of the feasibility of re-supplying and maintaining the fort. Off the record, the President does not feel he can trust either Lamon or Seward. I was chosen to do the report and I think coming here, conversing face to face with you and seeing the situation first hand is the most singularly important aspect of making it." Major Anderson and Commander Robinson conversed for several hours that night and most of the following morning. The two officers walked out to the pier. A mist still hung to the water and hid Charleston from the fort. Anderson broke the silence.
"Commander Robinson, there is no doubt in my mind, as I have said, that we can re-supply this fort and hold out for a long time unless war breaks out and we are attacked by heavy guns. But why does Lincoln want to re-supply? This fort is the source of the trouble. There is a possibility that war could be avoided." The Commander looked off across the water and did not answer for some minutes. Finally he turned to the Major and spoke.
"Major Anderson, as officers in service of our country we do as we are told and we do not make policy. But we are still entitled to our opinion. For what it is worth, I think the President wants to use this fort to goad Davis into starting war. His attorney friend Lamon is probably over here right now in Charleston telling the Governor what he wants to hear--what Lamon doesn't think Lincoln wants him to tell the governor and what Lincoln, who is smarter than the whole pack of them, knows very well that he will tell him. The President does not have the support to take the initiative and Davis and the South will back a lot of water before firing the first shot. But this fort is a different matter. It is in their back yard and it is a threat to them, politically if not militarily. They cannot leave it here." Major Anderson nodded.
"I wish I hadn't asked," he said sadly. "It's tough enough for an old southern boy like me as it is."
Commander Robinson seemed concerned and a bit guilty.
"Now Anderson, that is just my idea. I could well be wrong you know." Anderson sighed.
"Yea, Commander, only you are not the first person to develop that line of reasoning. Others have thought along those lines, including me." Robinson thought long while again, staring at the gray waters of the harbor.
Then he turned to Anderson with a weak smile.
"Well, time for me to be heading back, Major. Thank you for everything." Major Anderson took his hand warmly.
A Fateful Decision
It was now the 6th of April and Lincoln had made up his mind. He had waited some days after his last meeting with Commander Robinson to contact the Military Department. He now signed orders to proceed with the re-supply and defense of Fort Sumter.
On the 8th, an envoy of the government appeared before Governor Pickens and read him this message: "I am directed by the President of the United States to notify you to expect an attempt will be made to supply Fort Sumter with provisions only, and that if such an attempt be not resisted, no effort to throw in men, arms, or ammunition will be made without further notice, or in case of an attack upon the Fort." Pickens forwarded the message on to Montgomery. Davis immediately went into session with his cabinet. As in the North, the reaction to Lincoln's message to Governor Pickens was varied. Robert Toombs was his candid and loud self: "The firing on that fort will inaugurate a civil war greater than any the world has yet seen and I do not feel competent to advise you." He then began to pace the floor. "Mr. President, at this time it is suicide, murder, and you will lose us every friend in the North. You will wantonly strike a hornet's nest that extends from the mountains to the ocean. Legions now quiet will swarm our state and sting us to death. It is unnecessary. It puts us in the wrong. It is fatal." But Davis did not agree.
"Nonsense, Mr. Toomes. It is not I who launch this war. Lincoln has pressed the situation all along. It is Lincoln, not me, who has forced the issue and the world will see it that way. They will also take note of the deception the President has used in manipulating me into this corner." Davis stopped to let his invective against Lincoln sink in before continuing. "I have reached my decision, gentlemen. Today I am ordering the Secretary of War to send the following message to General Beauregard who is in command of the defenses at Charleston harbor:
If you have no doubt as to the authorized character of the agent who communicated to you the intention of the Washington government to supply Fort Sumter by force, you will at once demand its evacuation, and, if this is refused, proceed in such a manner as you may determine to reduce it.
Beauregard immediately contacted Montgomery and Davis.
"Maybe we should wait those few days, Mr. President." Davis shook his head emphatically.
"No, General. In those 'few days' a naval expedition will arrive with its ship mounted guns. Beside that General, the men in South Carolina are at fevered pitch and ready to take it upon themselves to start firing at any time." He sighed deeply and sadly. "But we will wait, Sir, until you can get from your old friend Anderson a definite time for surrender. Otherwise, General Beauregard, you are to reduce the Fort." Beauregard passed the message to Anderson who replied that he would evacuate the Fort by noon on the 15th unless he received "controlling instructions from my government, or additional supplies."
The Cavalry man dismounted, climbed the hill to the west of the Fort and looked out into the blue waters of the Atlantic. What he saw made him catch his breath. A fleet of a dozen ships were riding at anchor out of the sight of Charleston and just outside Charleston harbor. The Cavalryman ran to his horse and was in a race to town when he saw a gathering at the boat landing. He jerked his horse to a stop and ran to General Beauregard. The General was dictating a message:
"Major Anderson, we are disposed to wait until noon, the fifteenth of this month, upon your word that you will leave if you are not re-supplied. We..." The cavalry man tried to break in.
"General, Sir, I think..." The General snapped at him.
"Just you wait, soldier. I am engaged in the gravest of business here."
"But Sir, I must speak with you." Beauregard was becoming agitated with the cavalry man.
"Soldier, if you have any word for me, give it to your commander. We go through command in this army." The cavalry man started to turn away, and then seemed to reach a desperate decision.
"I am sorry, Sir, and if you bring me up for courts martial, I can't help it, but you have to listen to me." The urgency of the moment got through to the General.
"All right, soldier, but this had better be important, or..."
"Sir, there is a fleet of twelve Union Ships anchored just west of the harbor." General Beauregard's eyes began to dilate as the words of the cavalry man began to take effect.
"Where? How many? You say you saw them? When?"
"Just now Sir. I have just come from there, only moments ago." Beauregard eyed the Cavalry man narrowly as if this had to be some sort of rouse.
"Can you take me there, soldier? How long will it take."
"Yes, Sir, it will not take long."
"Can I get there in my rig?" The soldier first said yes but then changed his mind.
"No, Sir. I don't believe so after all, Sir. You will have to be mounted." Beauregard commandeered a horse and a detail and they went to the top of the hill to view the fleet. When they returned, the General was much changed.
"You will be recommended for this, soldier; excellent work; yes indeed."
The men returned to Cummings point and Beauregard gave the order to fire. One of the four was a man named Roger Prior from Virginia. Only two days before he had made a fiery speech in which he urged his fellow southerners to "Strike a blow!" The man in charge spoke up.
"Here, Roger, you get the honor of firing the first shot." Prior, though a feisty man and very angry and excited about the conflict, was stunned. In a voice choked with emotion he declared, "I could not fire the first gun of the war." But old, white-haired Edmund Ruffin, a news paper editor and hard line secessionist, also from Virginia, had no such sentimental hang-ups. He had been writing editorials about Lincoln, the Union and the diminished of states and individual rights for years. All he had gotten for it was condemnation and the reputation for being an agitator. For him, this was exoneration. Other than Revolutionary War, he considered this one of the most important turn of events in the history of the young nation.
"By God, I can," he said with anger and emotion. "Give me that strap!" With great determination, grim conviction, and a certain amount of vengeful satisfaction, he pulled the lanyard that launched the Civil War.
