The Gettysburg Address

Without question, The Gettysburg Address is one of the most famous speeches in American history. Children recite in school, or at least they used to, and many of its passages are instantly recognized by many Americans. But, I would venture to say that most people do not truly understand its importance or, more importantly, even begin to sense the magnificence and power of Abraham Lincoln’s 269 word oration. It has inspired much historiography, most notably the recent work of Garry Wills and Gabor Boritt.

Every word, every nuance, has been examined and the speech has even inspired many myths. One myth holds that the speech was allegedly written on the back of an envelope, while another states that the address was considered a failure by the audience, the press, and Lincoln himself. The envelope myth has most certainly been debunked by historians and, in fact, no one is precisely sure what copy was the actual text as spoken on November 19, 1863, given that there are five different written versions. However, only one copy was actually signed by Lincoln and, while it was written down several months after the address, that is the version most of us are familiar with. As for its popularity at the time, most recollections simply state that the audience was surprised by the brevity of the speech and the press primarily divided their opinions along political lines. As for Lincoln himself, most recent scholarship seems to indicate that he felt his point had been delivered.

So, what was Lincoln’s point? While I cannot write a book here and provide the detailed analysis that men like Wills and Boritt already have, I will try to give you my views and do so as simply as possible. To do so, however, it is important to place the speech in context, both in terms of the war and the place it was delivered.

As for the war, in November 1863, the conflict was in the midst of its third full year. The previous summer, Union armies had been victorious both at Gettysburg and Vicksburg. But the fall had brought defeat at Chickamauga, which placed the defeated Union Army of the Cumberland under siege in Chattanooga. However, as Lincoln delivered his address at Gettysburg, the newly assigned Union commander in the West, Ulysses S. Grant, was preparing to break that siege, opening the door to the Deep South.

Still, the coming spring and summer would bring new campaigns, new battles, and ever more casualties. The war had already resulted in death and suffering on a scale the nation had never imagined possible, and Lincoln carried that great burden on his shoulders. His photographs from this time show deep lines on his face and one can sense his own intense suffering. He visited the hospitals in Washington D.C. constantly and saw firsthand the damage the war levied in broken bodies and souls. The nation was becoming war weary and the months ahead would not bring a swift end to the country’s pain. But, while Lincoln felt every bit of that pain, he also was keenly aware of what he called the “awful arithmetic of war.” He had not and would not lose his resolve to see the war through.

As for the place of the address, Gettysburg, of course, had been the site of the monumental three-day battle between the Union Army of the Potomac and Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. Following the battle, it was decided to place a military cemetery on the battlefield where the remains of Unions soldiers killed in the fighting would be interred. The President, along with former Massachusetts senator and noted orator, Edward Everett, were invited to the dedication ceremonies. Everett, however, was to deliver the main dedication oration, while Lincoln was only to provide a “few appropriate remarks.” Everett’s two-hour oration, a length typical for mid-19th century speechmaking, clearly focused on what was likely his and the audience’s vision of the battle as a monumental turning point, a great signal victory. And, while Lincoln certainly said nothing to indicate he felt otherwise, we know that he did not share that view. He was, of course, grateful that General Meade and his army had turned Lee back, but he saw the battle as a lost opportunity to destroy Lee’s army and thus hasten the war’s conclusion. In his mind, Lee and his formidable army were still safe, lying in wait in northern Virginia. Bringing them to bay would require even more bloodshed and sacrifice. I raise this issue solely for one reason: While Gettysburg was the place for this address, on that November day he could have and, likely, would have given the same speech at any battlefield of the war.

That brings us to the purpose and the meaning of his words. Lincoln begins with a simple summation of what he saw as the basis of the war. First, he reminds us that the nation was created as one where all men were to be equal. This is important to note because, here, he is really citing the Declaration of Independence, which he viewed as our “moral manifesto,” as the rock upon which the nation rested. The war, in turn, was testing whether a nation “so conceived and dedicated” could survive against those who challenged its very moral basis. Interestingly, however, Lincoln moves quickly past the idea that the ceremony of which he was part could do anything to commemorate, consecrate, or hallow the ground on which they stood—that had already been done by those who had fought there and sacrificed their lives. Rather, he said, they were there to rededicate themselves and the nation to the “great task remaining.” And what was that great task? Was it victory? Yes, it was certainly that. Was it restoration of the Union? Of course, it was that as well. But, it was also something far more, and it was something that would be, in Lincoln’s mind, the product of both—It was a “new birth of freedom.”

For Lincoln, that was the true goal—the creation of a nation free from the tyranny of human slavery, where all were free to reap the fruits of their labor, where all had value simply for who they were as human beings, where all had the opportunity to make a better life for themselves, no matter their race, their religion, or their ethnicity. And, I believe that, while Lincoln spoke in the sense of the more near term, he knew in his heart that a long road was ahead to truly achieve that kind of freedom in any complete sense. But first, to bring about the birth, victory must come and that would hopefully ensure the preservation of government by, of, and for the people.

So, in that sense, I believe that the true majesty of Lincoln’s words come from seeing them as a challenge to us all, to the generations that would follow, to continue the struggle, to not let those who died at Gettysburg, or hundreds of other places in the all other wars that followed, to have died in vain. In that sense, Lincoln, perhaps, said far more than he realized, and I believe the challenge he laid down that November day is as viable today as it was 147 years ago. As the great narrative historian, Bruce Catton, would write, our republic, our nation, “will survive only if it lives up to the promise that was inherent in its genesis. The fulfillment of that promise is in our keeping.” And that is why I cherish The Gettysburg Address so dearly.

Command Profile: “Fighting Joe” Hooker

If ever there was man who lived down to the opinions of his critics, it was “Fighting Joe” Hooker. Joseph Hooker’s record as a commander during the Civil War is punctuated by sound planning and aggressive leadership under fire as well as complete incompetence and total failure at critical moments. He also seems to have been unscrupulous and conniving, a man distrusted by almost all the other professional soldiers who served with him. This low opinion was best expressed by none other than Ulysses S. Grant who wrote in his memoirs that he “regarded him [Hooker] as a dangerous man. He was not subordinate to his superiors. He was ambitious to the extent of caring nothing for the rights of others.” Even the mild-mannered Ambrose Burnside, a man who clearly knew his own limitations as a commander, despised Hooker. When President Lincoln wanted to sack George McClellan and replace him with Burnside, the modest, humble Burnside rebuffed all proposals from the president for him to assume command of the Army of the Potomac. Then, only when he was told the job would go to Hooker if he did not accept, did he finally agree to take command—despite his misgivings about his own abilities, he could not allow “Fighting Joe” to command the army.

Not surprisingly, at the same time, Hooker had a very high opinion of himself and seemed at times to be conducting a nonstop, lifelong campaign of self-aggrandizement, even at the price of others. After serving with distinction in Mexico, young Hooker went to serve as adjutant general of the Pacific Division. However, he damaged his career by testifying on behalf of General Gideon Pillow and against General Winfield Scott at Pillow’s court martial. As a result, he resigned his commission and tried to find success in civilian life. Remaining in California, he failed as a farmer, land developer, and politician, primarily because of his tendency to drink and gamble to excess. In 1858, having failed in all his business and political ventures, he wrote the Secretary of War requesting to be returned to active service as a lieutenant colonel. The request was rejected because no one trusted him. Worse, even when the Civil War broke out in 1861 and the Union was desperate for officers with experience, his initial pleas for active service were ignored by the War Department.

Finally, after the disaster at First Manassas, Hooker was granted a commission as a Brigadier General of Volunteers and given command of a brigade in the defenses of Washington. However, when the Army of the Potomac moved to the Virginia Peninsula, Hooker would prove his worth as a commander in the field. He took care of his men and was a sound, aggressive leader in battle. He distinguished himself so much that he quickly rose to the rank of major general and was given command of the army’s I Corps, which he ably led at Antietam, he where was wounded. At Fredericksburg, Burnside gave Hooker command of both I and III Corps as a part of the former’s “Grand Division” concept. Hooker would again lead his men well, but nothing could compensate for Burnside’s disastrous orders for a frontal assault on Marye’s heights.

Up to this point in his wartime career, Hooker had established himself as a commander who looked after both the welfare and morale of his soldiers, while, at the same time, instilling good discipline and order. Further, he clearly possessed a unique ability to lead those soldiers in battle, and he always aggressively sought the enemy’s weak points and did his best to exploit them. Having seen what McClellan’s passive style of fighting and Burnside’s inept leadership had brought him, Lincoln decided to give Hooker a chance as commander of the Army of the Potomac, appointing him to that position in January 1863. Just prior to the appointment, Hooker was quoted in the New York Times as saying, “Nothing would go right until we had a dictator, and the sooner the better.” Lincoln noted this quote in a letter to Hooker, commenting, “I have heard, in such 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 success can set up dictators. What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship.”

Hooker took up his new assignment with a vigor not previously seen in the army up to that point. He added to his reputation as a good administrator and military manager by, first, actively working to restore the army’s morale, which had been badly damaged by the slaughter at Fredericksburg. He improved the food supplies, cleaned up the camps, overhauled the quartermaster system, reformed the hospitals, and instituted a new furlough system that allowed men to take turns by company in getting 10 days of leave at home. Then, he added new rigor to military discipline and conduct, added more and better drilling, and began more intense training for his volunteer officers.

As the spring of 1863 arrived, Hooker had, indeed, revitalized the army, and decided it was time to take on Lee in a new offensive. He developed a marvelous plan that was both militarily sound and audacious. Hooker’s plan called for General John Sedgwick to confront Lee’s army at Fredericksburg while Federal cavalry swung around the Confederate left and struck their rear. Meanwhile, Hooker would take 70,000 men and execute a turning maneuver to Lee’s left, crossing the Rapidan and Rappahannock Rivers just above Chancellorsville, and moving on Lee’s exposed flank and rear, crushing him between the two wings of his army.

Moving out in late April, Hooker’s plan worked almost to perfection, at first. Seeing what was happening, Lee had no choice but to divide his army in the face of the enemy. He turned part of his army north to face Hooker, and, at first, the Army of the Potomac drove relentlessly forward. However, as the fighting grew in intensity, Hooker displayed what was probably his signature weakness: While he could ably lead a brigade or a corps in a fight that he could physically “see,” he could not fight from a map. As soon as Lee resisted his advance, Hooker froze, paralyzed by fear of what he could not see, and was gripped by intense indecision. Over the protests of his corps commanders, who were advancing smartly against Lee, Hooker ordered a halt, and had his leading corps withdraw to defensive positions near the Chancellor House. While Jackson’s flank attack against XI Corps on May 2 would be the immediate cause of Hooker’s defeat at Chancellorsville, in all truth, he had lost the battle as soon as he lost confidence and surrendered the initiative to Lee.

His shattering defeat also shattered whatever confidence he might have had as an army commander. In his mind, his elegant, dynamic, and innovative plan had failed miserably. Therefore, when Lee began his move north to Pennsylvania a few weeks later, Hooker was totally passive and reactive. He simply could not see what was to be done. When his intelligence indicated movements by the Confederate forces, he was unsure what to make of them. At first, he thought perhaps Stuart was going to attempt another large cavalry raid on the Federal rear. To counter that possibility, he ordered General Pleasanton to take his cavalry, along with some supporting infantry, and attack Stuart’s forces in the Culpeper area. This led to the battle at Brandy Station, which did not break up Stuart’s forces but did demonstrate that the Federal cavalry was gaining on its Southern foe in quality and fighting abilities.

As evidence mounted indicating there was more happening here than a mere cavalry raid, Hooker seemed unable to properly analyze his opponent’s actions and formulate a countermove. Even when he seemingly knew Lee’s army was stretched vulnerably along the Shenandoah Valley, he proposed that he attack Lee’s remaining forces at Fredericksburg and thus threaten the Confederate capitol at Richmond. President Lincoln turned this idea down without hesitation and there ensued a continuous series of harsh, combative communications among Hooker, President Lincoln, Secretary of War Stanton, and General Halleck. Lincoln urged an attack on Lee’s exposed army as it transited the Shenandoah, but it was to no avail. Hooker was more concerned about again being made the fool in Lee’s game than in countering his opponent’s thrust into the North. Hooker was paralyzed by a fear of what Lee might do. He was so concerned that Lee might again do something unconventional, he could apparently do nothing but attempt to shadow his enemy and move roughly parallel to him.

Even in this, Hooker failed. He grossly underestimated Lee’s rate of movement and soon discovered Lee was already across the Potomac and into northern Maryland. To his credit, however, Hooker did react properly to this threat. He hurried the Army of the Potomac northward with grueling forced marches. In addition, he positioned the army well and placed it such that it could react to any potential move by Lee’s army, and still cover both Washington and Baltimore. Finally, Hooker crossed Lincoln in a minor squabble over the fate of the garrison at Harper’s Ferry. Hooker stated that he would resign over the issue and Lincoln immediately accepted the offer.

Hooker would later be reassigned to command the XII Corps when it was sent west to help break the siege of Chattanooga. First Grant and later Sherman would seek his removal, but Hooker again proved his worth as a fighting field commander. His leadership was a key part of the successful seizure of Lookout Mountain and the collapse of the Confederate line at Chattanooga, and he continued to perform ably in that same role under Sherman in the fighting around Atlanta. But, once again, his political backroom maneuvering and ego would cost him dearly. When Sherman appointed Oliver Howard to command the Army of the Tennessee, Hooker protested because he was senior in grade and threatened once more to resign. Just like Lincoln in the days leading up to Gettysburg, Sherman had been looking for way to get rid of Hooker, and gladly accepted the resignation. Hooker would be sent to the rear, never to command in combat again.

Joe Hooker was his own worst enemy. He had military talents, but those talents had very distinct boundaries. Unfortunately, his ego had no such boundaries nor did his lack of personal integrity. He may have been loved by his soldiers, those who had to serve with him in command disliked, distrusted, and even hated him. They never felt they could depend upon him because, in the end, the only thing Joe Hooker that seemingly motivated Joe Hooker to lead and to fight was his own ambition.

Command Profile: George B. McClellan

I will begin this blog entry with a warning to readers: I despise George Brinton McClellan more than any other historical figure of the Civil War era. He represents everything I detest in people, in general, but even more so in a military professional. McClellan was an imperious, obstinate, arrogant, pseudo-intellectual patrician who saw almost everyone as his inferior. He trusted no one, could not delegate authority, had a massive ego, and a messianic complex that allowed him to see himself as the sole savior of the republic. He was also a class-conscious prig, who considered his commander-in-chief, Abraham Lincoln, as his social and intellectual inferior, and clearly unqualified for any national leadership role. He identified with the Southern aristocracy that led the rebellion against the government and, as a result, wanted a war that was limited, that respected property, including slaves, and that sought merely to restore the Union without inflicting emancipation, which he considered equal to inciting servile insurrection. Therefore, if you are seeking an objective opinion of the man, you would be wise to go elsewhere.

From that description, one might think McClellan would make an excellent subject for psychological analysis, and, indeed, he probably would. McClellan had issues with authority figures from childhood through adolescence and into adulthood. He clashed with teachers, his West Point instructors, commanding officers, and even his bosses while working in the railroad business. He saw enemies everywhere, and anyone who disagreed with his wisdom was instantly labeled as evil, as a foe to be vanquished. However, McClellan was not without incredible professional talents. He had remarkable energy and focus, and could organize and train an army like no other general during the Civil War.  But, of course, that was not enough to achieve military success.

He also possessed a remarkable and powerful intellect, but it was one that was purely linear. As a result, he tended to make snap judgments and refused to adapt when events changed conditions or proved his initial decisions to be erroneous. This characteristic also led him to see dangers everywhere, to become timid in battle, and always overestimate the strength of the enemy. This latter aspect dominated his command of the Army of the Potomac and caused him to be overly cautious, passive, and defensive. Lincoln once characterized McClellan as having a case of the “slows” and that was being kind. This malady was a product of McClellan’s constant obsessive belief in the strength of the Confederate army before him. He would overestimate their numbers by orders of magnitude and insist he could not move forward without more troops and resources. But, what he was actually doing was setting the stage for either a brilliant victory or a defeat that was someone else’s fault.

This can be clearly seen in his reports on the Seven Days Battles in 1862. Before the beginning of the first battle at Fair Oaks, he insisted that his army of 130,000 men was outnumbered almost two to one, when, in fact, he faced only about 50,000 of the enemy. Following a successful battle, he overstated the brilliance of the victory and claimed results that were, frankly, utterly dishonest. However, when the newly appointed Southern commander, Robert E. Lee, counterattacked and took the offensive, McClellan began to blame the Lincoln administration for his defeats—defeats that were only losses because he withdrew in the face of inferior numbers. Worse, as the fighting continued, McClellan withdrew from command as well, letting his subordinates attempt to coordinate the army’s actions on the field. Meanwhile, he focused on making a successful retreat and upon shifting his line of supply from the York to the James River, an act he would later proclaim as one of the most brilliant in the annals of military history. Meanwhile, he failed to defeat the enemy. However, in his mind, that was the result of poor support and a numerically superior enemy.

McClellan also fought a near constant battle with Abraham Lincoln, whom he told his wife, Ellen, was “the original Gorilla.” McClellan considered Lincoln to be a fool, a man ill-suited to lead. His arrogance did not allow him to see that, while his own mind worked on a basis of linear thinking, Lincoln possessed an incredibly multidimensional intellect. As a result, McClellan thought he would always be able to outthink and outmaneuver his commander-in-chief. Instead, Lincoln quickly surpassed him in terms of both strategic thinking and political prowess. Still, as McClellan sat on the banks of the James River, cowering before Lee and his army, he wrote a policy paper on the conduct of the war, which he placed in the President’s hand during a visit by Lincoln to the Army of the Potomac.

McClellan’s policy proposal, which he assured his wife would “save the nation,” called for a polite war, a restricted war, one only intended to defeat the Confederate armies in the field and make the Southern leadership see the errors of their way. There was to be no subjugation of the Southern people, no confiscation of property, and, above all, no emancipation of the slaves. McClellan was particularly pointed on the latter, stating, “A declaration of radical views, especially upon slavery, will rapidly disintegrate our present armies.” In saying this, McClellan was not only demonstrating his sympathies for the Southern aristocracy, he also was showing that he did not recognize the rapidly changing dynamics of the conflict.

Following the disaster on the Virginia Peninsula, McClellan would quickly reorganize the Army of the Potomac and lead it forward in pursuit of Lee as the Confederate general invaded Maryland. Many had called for him to be sacked following the Peninsula Campaign but, with the defeat of John Pope’s Union Army of Virginia at Second Manassas, Lincoln could see that, once again, he badly needed McClellan’s administrative and organizational skills to repair the army and return it to fighting condition. So, he would give him one more chance.

McClellan would fail to deliver once more, although not as painfully as he had at the gates of Richmond. At Antietam, he faced a cornered, desperate Confederate army, badly outnumbered by Federal forces. However, once again, McClellan saw a nonexistent host of enemy forces and certain disaster at every turn. He believed Lee to have better than twice his actual strength and, at a crucial moment of the battle when his plan produced a desired situation, he hesitated. Lee’s entire center was open, utterly vulnerable to an attack that would split his battered forces in two. All McClellan had to do was launch an attack with a fresh reserve corps and Lee would be smashed. However, General John Fitz-Porter, a McClellan disciple, whispered to him that to do so would require committing the last remaining corps in the army to battle. McClellan quickly changed his mind, hoping instead that some other success might come without sending in his last reserves. That success did not manifest itself, as Lee was saved by the last minute arrival of A.P. Hill’s division on the field. McClellan would not renew the battle the next day, and Lee would slip across the Potomac into the safety of Virginia.

Lincoln’s attempts to prod McClellan into a pursuit failed, even weeks after the battle. However, ironically, McClellan’s bloody draw at Antietam allowed the president to issue of the Emancipation Proclamation, an action bitterly opposed by McClellan. It was now clear to everyone that McClellan could no longer be allowed to command the army or, in fact, serve anywhere in it. He was relieved on command and returned to civilian life. His last hurrah was his attempt to unseat Lincoln as President of the United Sates in the elections of 1864. Unfortunately for him, his plank calling for a peaceful reconciliation with the Confederacy did not ring true with either the voters of the North or the men serving in the army he once commanded. He was soundly defeated at the polls and disappeared into history.

But, I will end this essay by adding a few positive notes on the career of George McClellan. First, McClellan cared for his men, fed them and equipped them well. As a result, he was dearly loved by the soldiers he led in the Army of the Potomac, who lovingly referred to him as “Little Mac.” However, he cared for his men too much, perhaps, and could not bring himself to employ what Lincoln later called “the awful arithmetic” of war. Still, McClellan did leave us one truly positive legacy: Through his obstinate, arrogant, and insubordinate nature, he forced Abraham Lincoln to turn his considerable intellect toward the study of war. Almost singlehandedly, George McClellan caused Lincoln to see that war must not only be fought with vigor, with tenacity, and that it must have a moral basis in emancipation and “a new birth of freedom.” He also led Lincoln to see the true role of the Commander-in-Chief, which caused the President to eventually find the kind of general he needed to win the war and restore the nation whole.

So, perhaps, we actually owe him a somewhat perverse debt of gratitude.

A. Lincoln: Commander-in-Chief

For any modern American military officer, the position and role of the President of the United States as Commander-in-Chief is as close to an absolute as one might find in the military profession. No matter what party the president may come from, no matter any officer’s personal views, the Commander-in-Chief receives their automatic respect and they execute the policies of the president to the utmost of their ability. This concept is ingrained in every young officer from the first day they take the oath and wear the uniform. In fact, along with the concept of defending the Constitution, the role of Commander-in-Chief acts as, perhaps, the single most important element underlying the foundation of the American military profession.

Naturally, therefore, anyone serving as Commander-in-Chief is expected to play a critical part in developing and executing American military policy, especially in time of war. That they need and require ready access to the latest information on military actions, strategy, and plans is virtually a fact of life. However, it was not always this way. In 1861, as the nation moved irrevocably to civil war, the concept of the president as Commander-in-Chief was fuzzy, obscure, and, frankly, not even considered terribly relevant to the duties of the military in time of war. To be sure, the basic idea was to be found in the Constitution, but it was not clearly defined. Officers of that era would certainly have agreed that they were subordinate to the civilian authority of the government as symbolized by the president and the secretaries of the War and Navy Departments. However, beyond that, the precise role and integration of the Commander-in-Chief and the entire Executive Branch in war strategy and policy was murky at best.

Within weeks of entering office, Abraham Lincoln found himself and the nation going to war, and going to war with itself. In many ways, based simply on prior experience and education, no man could have been more ill-equipped to act as a wartime Commander-in-Chief. Lincoln’s sole experience in the military was a few weeks in the militia during the Blackhawk War, an episode he often liked to tell humorous stories about. So, how exactly would this man take on the role of Commander-in-Chief? He certainly was not going to don a uniform and lead the army as President Washington had done during the Whiskey Rebellion. He was, however, going to approach it with the same common sense and analytical style he used on hundreds of legal and political issues. He wanted to be informed, to be involved, and, most of all, to learn. As a result, he would play a critical role in developing the strategy that eventually defeated the South, evolve into the role of Commander-in-Chief and, in doing so, he would define it, forever altering the American system of command and the American military culture.

Given the magnitude of this accomplishment and its long-standing impact, it is somewhat surprising that it has received so little study and attention. The first historian to examine Lincoln as Commander-in-Chief was the venerable T. Harry Williams, a professor of history at LSU. In 1952, he authored a ground-breaking book, “Lincoln and His Generals,” which, among other things, would alter the very face of Civil War historiography. For the first time, a historian was not examining a battle, a campaign, or even a general. Rather, he was dissecting the civil-military relationship as it evolved during the Civil War, and demonstrating how much it changed under Lincoln’s leadership. While Williams may have given Lincoln too much credit as a “natural strategist,” his book laid the foundation for what should have been a major area of study related to both Lincoln and the war. However, while Civil War historians have examined this aspect of the war within the community itself, there have been few published works on this subject, and, in fact, it is only in the last two years that there has been any significant work in this area. Perhaps fueled by the approach of the Lincoln Bicentennial and renewed interest in Lincoln, there have been two noteworthy books published on this subject: Geoffrey Perret’s “Lincoln’s War: The Untold Story of America’s Greatest President as Commander-in-Chief” and James McPherson’s masterful study, “Tried By War: Abraham Lincoln as Commander-in-Chief.”

Now, let me get back on point and discuss how Lincoln evolved into the nation’s first true Commander-in-Chief. Importantly, this evolution was not one Lincoln set out to achieve. Rather, it was a natural part of his drive to obtain victory over the Confederacy and restore the Union. Therefore, the evolutionary process was certainly neither formal nor precise. In fact, it can be fairly stated that Lincoln groped, sometimes blindly, in the search for a path to victory and restoration of the Union. he studied military matters with the intensity he had always employed when learning about anything he saw as important, whether it was law, politics, or Euclidian geometry. As he learned, he anxiously sought a strategy, a winning approach that would quickly bring victory, and, perhaps more so, a commander who could execute that strategy. As a part of that process and the process of finding the right commander, he also was seeking to establish an effective command relationship with the military.

At first, this was, indeed, a difficult proposition. When the war began, Lincoln requested current military information, regular briefings, immediate access to telegraph reports from the field, and updates on plans and strategies. While we might view that as normal and expected, it was viewed by Lincoln’s military officers as entirely intrusive. To be fair to the officers and the military culture of the time, this view was largely the product of military geography, practicality, and technology. The officers who made up the U.S. Army in the early 1860s were used to conducting their operations in relative obscurity, mostly on the frontier, far from the political leadership in Washington. For them, military operations were planned and executed based upon broad policies and directives from Washington, which were received via written dispatches that often took weeks or months to arrive. Further, many of those in command had fought a war in Mexico as young officers in which their commanding generals, Winfield Scott and Zachary Taylor, conducted major military operations without regular, timely communications from Washington. They planned and developed strategies and defeated another nation’s army with little guidance and almost no direct contact with the civilian leadership of the Polk administration. Therefore, Lincoln’s requests and the relationship he was trying to create seemed entirely unreasonable.

However, unlike the Mexican War or the conflicts with Native American tribes and nations, this war was not being fought two thousand miles away, or even on the distant frontier. It was being fought within miles of Washington D.C. and within days of other American cities and towns, all of which had political officials and members of Congress who wanted to know what the military was doing. Further, the advent of the telegraph and its highly effective use by the U.S. Army, made the information that Lincoln and the political leadership desired readily available. Under these circumstances, it was inevitable that the military would have to deal with direct involvement by the civilian leadership in the conduct of the war.

As Lincoln tried to find the right commander, he was learning much about war and about being Commander-in-Chief. His most unpleasant, trying, but valuable experience came as a result of his relationship with General George B. McClellan. It is no accident that T. Harry Williams devoted six chapters of his book to Lincoln’s troubled relationship with the general called “Little Mac” by the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac. McClellan exemplified the worst of the American military culture of the times. He was arrogant, effete, and patrician. Like others, he saw war as the exclusive domain of the military, to include its politics.

McClellan refused to share plans or communicate intentions to the President unless directly confronted, but, at the same time, he saw fit to lecture the Commander-in-Chief on the political goals he should be pursuing. On more than one occasion, he openly displayed his lack of respect for Lincoln and for his office. McClellan disliked Lincoln, despised abolitionists, and wanted to execute a polite conflict wherein the South would be brought back to the Union via a series of relative wrist slaps. Because he disagreed with the politics of the administration, he saw no reason to devise a strategy based upon them. Further, he created an atmosphere of conspiracy and distrust with the Lincoln administration in which he constantly blamed a lack of resources and support for his defeats in the field.

McClellan taught Lincoln that his commander must execute a strategy designed to the achieve the nation’s war aims and that he, as Commander-in-Chief, must clearly communicate those aims. Further, Lincoln was learning strategy himself and coming to see what it would take to win the war. He began to realize that merely seizing places would not end the war, and that the enemy’s armies must be the targets of the Union’s military forces. Only their destruction would bring victory and restore the Union. So, he had to find a general who would see that fact as well, would focus on achieving Lincoln’s war aims, and who would fight tirelessly to achieve them. Ulysses S. Grant would be that general.

A seemingly ordinary man who had previously failed in a military career, Grant would prove that he was an officer of great determination who possessed both common sense and a remarkable ability to learn from his military successes and failures. He rose to command in the West, demonstrating he was as tenacious as he was innovative. He developed joint operations tactics with the Navy that led to the fall of Forts Henry and Donelson and, later, positioned Union forces to seize the vital city of Vicksburg. Then, in the final campaign to capture that city, Grant executed one of the most brilliant campaigns in military history, moving his army quickly to cut off the city while abandoning his own lines of communication. His actions baffled his opponents and allowed him to take an army of 30,000 Southern troops out of the war.

But, it was through the hard fighting in the West that Grant also came to see that only a complete defeat of the South would bring victory and that only an uncompromising, total war against all the South’s resources would achieve that end. When Lincoln, who had been carefully watching Grant from afar, elevated Grant to the position of General-in-Chief with the rank of Lieutenant General, the process of command system and strategy would be set in place.

While Lincoln and Grant would never see eye-to-eye, they operated effectively as a team. Each appreciated the other’s talents and they strove to accommodate one another. Unlike some of his predecessors, Grant clearly saw his role as carrying out the aims of the government. He would develop and execute the military strategy, while the president provided political direction and policy--the former would seek to achieve the latter. To facilitate communications between himself and the president, Grant chose to assign the former General-in-Chief, Henry Halleck, as his Chief of Staff. In this seemingly unlikely arrangement, Grant would command from the field with the Army of the Potomac, while Halleck attended to administrative matters in Washington and, importantly, facilitated communications with Lincoln.

The system worked smoothly for the most part and Grant’s instincts were the correct ones. While Lincoln had never been pleased with Halleck’s approach to the job of General-in-Chief, he did admire his mind and Halleck was able to effectively explain military operations to the president. In turn, Halleck could offer explanations of Lincoln’s desires and his policies to Grant, which would help him understand Washington’s views. Plus, Halleck was able to relieve Grant of many administrative duties, freeing him to focus on military operations in the field. The system was groundbreaking and would establish the model for the American command systems of the future. More than that, however, Lincoln’s interaction with Grant would establish once and for all the relationship between the President of the United States and his military commander.

However, Lincoln would also move the position of Commander-in-Chief beyond those facets directly related to interaction with military commanders and strategy and into the realm of policy based upon the “war powers” inherent to the position. In Lincoln's case, he would use those powers to free millions of Americans via the Emancipation Proclamation. From the outset, Lincoln deepest desire was to end the institution of slavery in the United States. He not only considered it a mandate expressed in the Constitution by the Founding Fathers, he also saw it as clearly embodied in what he called the “ancient faith” passed down in the Declaration of Independence. Further, he had long harbored an intense and very personal abhorrence of the practice. But, when the war began and he was urged by abolitionists to simply pick up the pen on his desk and end slavery, Lincoln hesitated.

Alexis de Tocqueville stated that virtually every political question in this nation eventually becomes “a judicial question.” Clearly, as a lawyer, Lincoln was very aware of this fact. As a result, his desire to free the slaves was muted by deep legal concerns. In his first inaugural, he addressed the issue stating that he had no legal grounds to impede or interfere with the South’s peculiar institution, despite his clear and unambiguous record on the issue, which, at that very moment, was tearing the country apart. Lincoln faced a Supreme Court still led by the pro-slavery chief justice, Roger Taney, a southerner who had issued the infamous Dred Scott decision, and the man with whom Lincoln was soon engaged in a legal conflict over the suspension of Habeas Corpus. Lincoln realized that any policy he might issue with regard to emancipation must be capable of withstanding a challenge in the Taney court. However, even early in the war, Lincoln realized there was a potential avenue for emancipation based on the his ability to invoke the Law of War as Commander-in-Chief. At the time of Lincoln's presidency, there was no formal international protocol governing the conduct of warfare, and, thus, the Law of War was a hazy, undefined legal framework based upon nothing more than the concept of the generally accepted behavior of civilized nations. However, in American jurisprudence and policy, the Law of War had solid roots, planted by men like John Quincy Adams, which, on several occasions, had been successfully tested in the Supreme Court, including the court led by Chief Justice Taney. Nevertheless, the Law of War applied only to belligerents and, as the war began, few in the Lincoln administration wished to accord the Confederate States that status, as it might amount to tacit admission that the Southern Confederacy was actually a sovereign state and not a collection of rebellious states who still were legally part of the Union.

Therefore, the path to emancipation via the Law of War was initially blocked by the issue of whether the Union was pursuing a war or a countering a criminal conspiracy. In the meantime, Congress passed a series of Confiscation Acts, which allowed the seizure and use of slaves as “contraband” property. However, these laws punished slave owners more than they offered freedom to slaves. Further, Lincoln wanted to do more than merely seize or deny access to “property.” The South’s status would eventually evolve toward belligerent status simply because the practicalities of executing the war demanded it. The best example of this process was the status of Confederate prisoners of war. As soon as the first battles occurred, Union field commanders asked Lincoln and his War Department what they were to do with captive Confederate soldiers. Were they criminals to be turned over to Federal Marshals, or military prisoners of war to be treated according to strict army regulations covering that status? Practicality quickly dictated the latter course, with proactive, enterprising Union officers having already made such moves before official policy was finally issued. Before long, the official system of paroles and exchanges between the Federal authorities and the Confederate government was in place. Combined with a host of other issues, this led to the South’s treatment as a belligerent.

Therefore, with the South’s treatment as a belligerent, Lincoln moved to craft a proclamation emancipating the slaves in a legal context based on the Law of War. Lincoln would create a document that served as a weapon of war employed by the Commander-in-Chief. Lincoln’s basis was that the Constitution “invests its commander-in-chief, with the law of war in time of war,” a principle that even the Chief Justice Taney had previously recognized. As such, Lincoln could invoke all means to prosecute the war, short of those universally recognized as being cruel or inhumane. Therefore, he could emancipate the slaves held in the South, denying his enemy a valuable resource, and also allowing those now freed the opportunity to fight their oppressors, There was no emphasis on the slaves as property, but, rather, there was now a vision of them as an oppressed people for whom the war offered a chance, as Lincoln wrote, to be “forever free.” At the same time, by articulating the proclamation as both a strategic weapon of war and a national war aim, Lincoln was acting well within the boundaries of his constitutional powers as Commander-in-Chief.

It was a visionary tactic with implications that even Lincoln probably did not see, as the eventual product of the proclamation went beyond the Civil War and freedom for only Americans. Once the proclamation was in place, under the leadership of Dr Francis Lieber of Columbia College, the U.S. Army adopted General Order 100 in 1863. This order, in essence, stated it was now the codified Law of War within the U.S. Army that American military force would be used to liberate slaves and place such persons under their protection wherever they might operate. This far-reaching policy would continue as Army guidance on the Law of War well into the twentieth century. As one historian has noted, “Now freedom would follow the flag.” Therefore, Lincoln’s use of war powers as Commander-in-Chief did far more than free Americans in slavery--future tenets of American foreign policy would be built upon its foundation and freeing the oppressed would become a legitimate American policy objective.

There is, however, one more aspect of Lincoln’s performance as Commander-in-Chief  that I believe bears mentioning, and it is one that, perhaps, few of his successors have shared. One has to only look at Lincoln’s wartime portraits, at the deep lines and furrows on his face, to see that he carried the suffering caused by the war on his shoulders, and he probably felt that it was his duty as Commander-in-Chief to do so. He never shielded himself from the pain and tragedy the war produced. Lincoln felt that the nation, as symbolized in the president, owed its soldiers and their families as much as the soldier gave to his country. Therefore, he was constantly visiting the wounded, not only in the many military hospitals operating in Washington DC, but also whenever he journeyed to the field to hold discussions with his commanders. He would offer these men his humor, his quiet reassurances, and his courage. His closest advisors wished that he would spare himself the emotional weight brought on by seeing first-hand the price the war was exacting in mangled limbs and broken spirits. But, what they did not understand about Lincoln was that, first, he saw this as simply the right thing to do and a moral obligation. Second, however, they also could not foresee that, rather than weakening his resolve as Commander-in-Chief, taking on this pain and suffering actually steeled Lincoln to finish the war, and to not only achieve victory and restoration of the Union, but to also find “a new birth of freedom.”