Lincoln's Dream (Part Three)

(Note:  This is the third and final segment in a series introducing readers to Abraham Lincoln under title of The Price of Fame.  Click here to view the first segment and second segment.)

“Who is dead in the White House?” Lincoln demanded of one of the soldiers...

As the calendar year 1863 unfolded, the clouds started to lift.  That summer Grant and Sherman were victorious through military siege at The Battle of Vicksburg (Mississippi).  During the same fateful “4^th of July weekend,” the North prevailed at the Battle of Gettysburg.  Following their invasion of the North into Pennsylvania, the Confederates had hit their “high water mark.”  From that point forward, the South’s dwindling resources would compel purely defensive military operations.

President Lincoln settled on Grant as the leader of all Union armies, conferring the title of Lieutenant General.  The last namesake of this exalted status had been none other than George Washington.  Grant would come and stay east for the duration of the war, tracking the Confederate General, Robert E. Lee.  He would appoint Sherman head of western operations.  The two would pair to prosecute a harsh, unforgiving “total war.”  This was designed to demonstrate to the Confederacy the resolve of the people of the North to preserve the Union intact by defeating the South decisively in battle on its own turf.

In late September 1864 Sherman would telegraph President Lincoln the fall of Atlanta, which was now ours “and fairly won.”  The news electrified the North, catapulting Lincoln to an upset victory in his 1864 re-election effort.

The year 1864 would end with the news of Sherman’s March to the Sea, with the capture of Savannah, Georgia as a “Christmas present” to the president.  The end of the war could now be seemingly measured in weeks if not days.

All the politicians could agree on the prosecution of the war to the end, the only terms being “unconditional surrender” to lawful Union authority.  From there, President Lincoln faced a difficult path, for when it came to reconstruction of the rebellious states, there was little harmony.  The left favored a lenient peace.  The right, the so called radical reconstructionists within Lincoln’s own party, favored a harsh, unforgiving peace.

Lincoln preferred leniency, proposing lenient terms to ensure, and cement, the idea of Union, to put plows back into the hands of Southern men rather than weapons, and to promote and facilitate the healing process.  His terms would also eliminate the possibility of a longer, protracted period of guerilla warfare (today we appear to be more comfortable calling it “terrorism”), which many in the North had feared should the South refuse to surrender.

But something else began to preoccupy President Lincoln’s mind as the calendar turned to April 1865, even as Richmond fell on April 2 and the happy news of the war’s end with Lee’s surrender to Grant at Appomattox on April 9.  He hadn’t been sleeping well, for he had been having a recurring dream which had gotten the better of him.

He thus confided to his wife, Mary.  He had been in the White House, hearing subdued sobs, as if people were weeping.  He left his bed, wandered downstairs.  The rooms were lit, the objects all familiar.  But the mourners were invisible.  What could be the meaning?  He entered the East Room and was met with a sickening surprise.  Before him was a coffin on which a corpse rested in funeral vestments.  Soldiers were guarding it.

“Who is dead in the White House?” Lincoln demanded of one of the soldiers.  “The President” was the answer; “he was killed by an assassin!”  A loud burst of grief from the crowd followed.

“That is horrid!” Mrs. Lincoln cried out.  “I wish you had not told it.”

“Well,” Lincoln declared calmly, “it is only a dream.  Let us say no more about it.”

On April 14, 1865 President Lincoln’s dream came true.  His war end celebration to enjoy the fruits of victory would be a painfully brief five days following Appomattox.  Called home, Abraham Lincoln’s fame and success, such as he enjoys today, was not achieved until someone had first put a bullet in his head, and then not assured until long after his passing.  Such is the price of fame --- sometimes.

-Michael D’Angelo