CHAPTER 20
If there be five men on earth, whose voices, united in an appeal to stay strife and to awaken a purpose to calm the troubled and heaving sea may succeed, you are those men.
—SAMUEL LECOMPTE TO MARTIN VAN BUREN
Pierce ~ Van Buren ~ Tyler ~ Fillmore ~ Buchanan ~ Lincoln
Americans have viewed their former presidents almost like a fourth branch of government. These men have a distinct vantage point but, presumably free of political considerations, can provide unvarnished guidance to the country. At this critical hour, the American people had more former presidents to turn to than at any other time before. The American Civil War had begun. It had happened because of a failure of the three official branches of government. Congress had repealed the Missouri Compromise and failed to adopt measures to keep the peace in its place. The Supreme Court had gone far beyond what was needed to resolve a case, attempting to remove the most controversial issues in the country from the political arena, while siding with the most extreme position. Antebellum presidents had too often been inert when action was required. But in this “fourth branch” of government, the people were to be again disappointed. Former presidents, then as in the twenty-first century, tended toward a policy of staying out of politics. Ex-presidents of the nineteenth century would go so far as to stay away from Washington forever. But during the Civil War, this notion of post-presidential neutrality was discarded almost entirely.
In the wake of Sumter, not knowing that Virginia was leaving the Union that very day—April 17—the clerk of the US District Court in Pennsylvania wrote a letter to every former president. The sections are “on the eve of a fearful deadly collision,” he noted. “Can nothing be done to prevent this? The hostile parties have reached a point at which it seems impossible for them to propose or initiate negotiations.
“I propose that all the Ex-Presidents shall meet together at Washington City on the 1st day of May or sooner if possible. Apart from the weight and influence which such a body would carry with it the very novelty of the measures would attract the universal attention of the country and it would cause their countrymen to pause before” embarking on “the unfathomable horrors of a civil war.” The letter proposed a cessation of hostilities for twelve months. “The Ex-Presidents should not shrink at the idea of being a self-constituted body. They would hold their commission from the hearts of all men of reflection and intelligence. The country demands from every man, and especially from her most eminent citizens, their best efforts to save it from destruction.” Little did the writer know that at least one of the former presidents was very much of the same mind. The day before, Franklin Pierce wrote a letter to Martin Van Buren.
“The present unparalleled crisis in the affairs of our country is, I have no doubt filling you, as it is me with the profoundest sorrow,” Pierce began. “Is there any human power which can arrest the conflict of arms now apparently near at hand, between the two sections of the Union? The news tonight would seem to indicate that the central and border states (at least Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee) will, in view of the military movements of the North, cast their lot with the states already seceded.
“There is no time for effective assemblages of the people. No time for conventions or protracted discussion. But it has occurred to me that you may take measures to suspend active military operations, secure opportunity for further reflection in the face of present dangers, and save the most fearful calamity which has ever suspended over a nation. If the five retired presidents of the United States, still living, were to meet at the earliest practicable day, at the city where the Constitution was formed, might not their consultation, if it would result in the concurrence of judgment reach the administration and the country with some degree of power? No man can with propriety summon such a meeting but yourself. I feel that we ought not omit at least an effort.
“Should this suggestion commend itself to your judgment will you communicate with Mr. Tyler, Mr. Fillmore, and Mr. Buchanan and advise me of the result?”
Only four days elapsed between Pierce’s dating the letter and Van Buren posting his response (and during that time, Virginia went out of the Union with Tyler leading the charge). Van Buren chose his words carefully, and a practice copy of the letter can be found in his papers.
“I have received your friendly letter suggesting for my consideration the propriety of summoning a meeting of the Ex Presidents at Philadelphia, to consult on the present alarming condition of public affairs, and adopt such action in the premises as they may think, might be useful, and have given the subject all the consideration to which it is entitled, as well on the ground of its importance, as of the sincere respect I entertain for your opinions. Neither in regard to the extent of the danger, with which the country is menaced, nor to our duty to do all in our power to arrest the present adverse course of things, can there, I am very confident, be any difference in feeling or opinion between us. I regret however, to be obliged to say, that after the most careful consideration of the subject in all its bearings, I have not been able to repress the serious doubts I entertain in regard to the practicability of making a volunteer movement of that description on our party, with such action in the matter as we might think allowable.
“Sincerely entertaining such doubts, I have not been able to bring my mind to the execution of the plan for bringing them together, to which you refer. But it does not follow, my Dear Sir, that views of the subject imbibed by one, who, like myself, have been longest out of public life, and more completely excluded from all connection with public affairs than any of his associates, will also prove to be those of the rest of the Ex Presidents, nor would the exercise of the privilege of taking the initiative to bring about such a meeting, be more appropriate in me, than it would be in any one of them. The belief that such is the case, can only have arisen from the erroneous supposition that I was entitled to precedence in such matters, on account of my being the senior Ex President—while in truth, that distinction, as far as it goes, is, according to the opinions of those most conversant in such matters, accorded to the individual of the days, who was the latest incumbent of the principal office. But this is a matter which may, I think, had better be entirely laid out of view, and all the Ex Presidents regarded, in that respect, as standing on the same footing. If then you, who entertain more hopeful expectations upon the point, continue to think the proposed call, free from the embarrassments under which I labor, or either of our associates who entertain similar views to your own, shall deem such a call expedient, and ask my attendance, I will accept the invitation without hesitation, and comply with the request it contains, if it be in my power to do so.” Van Buren had been canny and diplomatic in his response. It was not a refusal. He encouraged Pierce to pursue this course if he really believed in it. He also left himself an out if Pierce somehow managed to wrangle the others. Van Buren approved of the current president’s course; perhaps he knew that Pierce would be disinclined to do so. Therefore, the meeting could only succeed in hamstringing Lincoln at a time when he needed maximum public support, which was likely Pierce’s purpose.
But things did not end there. Former Pennsylvania congressman Charles Jared Ingersoll traveled in person to Kinderhook to try to win Van Buren’s support for a meeting, with Pierce on his way. Ingersoll telegraphed Fillmore, “Pray meet Mr. Pierce and me there immediately.” While there, Ingersoll obtained what he believed to be an agreement to a meeting of the ex-presidents as proposed by Pierce’s letter. Van Buren insisted, however, “that we Ex-Presidents, whilst we held ourselves ready to exert whatever influence our past positions are supposed to have conferred upon us, to promote pacification, should take no important step without communicating our intention to the administration at Washington in advance, and receiving satisfactory assurance of their acquiescence.” Summarizing these views in a subsequent letter to Ingersoll, Van Buren wrote, “The disposition to give [the administration] an earnest and rigorous support in the difficult struggle in which they are engaged, already become general in this state, is even now becoming more and more intense, and those who participate in it, every where would be liable to regard with distrust any steps which might, by possibility, embarrass the government, however differently they were intended.”
Five days later, Ingersoll wrote again to Fillmore, on the eve of a second meeting with Van Buren. “I have come here to meet General Pierce and as I hoped Mr. Van Buren and possibly yourself with a view to a conference among the Ex Presidents. The idea of this conference of Ex Presidents originated in Philadelphia and has been much approved. But it will be nothing without your concurrence and approbation.”
But Fillmore’s sentiments might best be summarized in a response to a similar request from a correspondent in Brooklyn Heights. “No person deprecates, more than I do, the fratricidal war, now commencing between the north and the south. I have done all I could to prevent it, and am willing to do all I can to put an end to it. But unsolicited advice is often deemed officious if not offensive, and therefore is quite as likely to do harm as good.”
On Tuesday, April 30, Ingersoll and Pierce arrived at Lindenhurst, the home of Martin Van Buren. A visitor once wrote that Lindenhurst, surrounded by willow trees, was “a sweet, secluded place, whither the hum of life at the village comes, faintly audible, like the music of a dream.” Van Buren, famous for his hospitality, would have greeted his guests warmly. Which is not to say that they would get what they wanted. Van Buren regretted that he was no longer open to the idea of the ex-presidents meeting. Ingersoll was surprised. Hadn’t their conversation been different just last week? Van Buren assured him that he had “correctly understood and reported his views—but subsequent reflection had satisfied him that the proposed meeting could do no good.” One thing Van Buren and Pierce did agree upon, was that “neither could see anything hopeful or indicating a prospect of an immediate settlement of our national difficulties.”
As the three were meeting in Kinderhook, Fillmore wrote to Ingersoll, joining his voice with Van Buren’s in rejecting a conference. “Much as I wish to stop the effusion of blood,” he said, “I fear that the time of compromise without it has passed, and that if it is to be prevented, it will be by the north showing as bold and united a front as the south.”
Van Buren had resisted Pierce’s proposal but was not content to remain silent. Writing Ingersoll after their meeting, he said “The disposition to give them an earnest and vigorous support in the difficult struggle in which they are engaged is every hour becoming more and more intense.” A Union meeting was called at Stranahan’s Hotel in Kinderhook, to support the president’s request for troops. Van Buren remembered “a portion of my townsmen, who had been instrumental in making the call, gentlemen who differed from me in their general political views, did me the honor to ask me to advise with them in regards to its proceedings. My opinion and feelings upon the subject to be acted on were freely communicated to them. These were, in substance, that the attack upon our flag and the capture of Fort Sumter by the secessionists could be regarded in no other light than as the commencement of a treasonable attempt to overthrow the Federal Government by military force—that I approved of the call which had been made by the President upon the loyal states for the necessary means to enable him to suppress the Rebellion and rejoiced at the manner in which that call had been responded to, & was in favor of the earnest & vigorous support of the Federal Government in the prosecution of the war for its own maintenance & for the maintenance of the Union and the Constitution which had been forced upon it.” Van Buren had now joined Fillmore in his public support of Lincoln and his war policy.
The meeting resolved: “While deploring the advent of civil war, which the madness of secession has precipitated upon us, we believe that policy and humanity alike demand the most vigorous and energetic measures to crush out treason now & forever; and that we will fully sustain the Government in such policy.”
From Wheatland, James Buchanan became the last of the former presidents to publicly break his silence. In response to an article in the National Intelligencer about military personnel who had joined the Confederates, he wrote, “A military oath has ever been held sacred in all ages and in all countries. Besides the solemn sanctions of religion, there is superadded the highest appeal to personal honor. Each military officer swears that he will bear true allegiance to the United States, and serve them honestly and faithfully against all their enemies and oppressors whatsoever. They do not swear to support the Constitution of any State. Educated by the United States, they belong to the Federal Government in a peculiar sense. Whilst I can imagine why an officer might resign rather than shed the blood of citizens of his native State in war, yet it is difficult to excuse or palliate the next step, which is to go over to the enemy and make war upon the time-honored flag of the country. Maj. Beauregard, when he discharged the first gun against Fort Sumter, lighted a flame which it will require a long time to extinguish. The people of the North at present are enthusiastically unanimous. They never were aroused until that shot was fired. I often warned Southern gentlemen that this would be the inevitable result.” He closed by recording that he enjoyed “good health and as tranquil a spirit as the evils impending over my country will permit.”
Thus Buchanan began a familiar theme through the war years; he would receive a torrent of abuse at every attempt to speak out. “Would it not have been far more apropos for JB to have discoursed upon the nature of a Presidential oath?” asked the Liberator. ThePhiladelphia Inquirer felt it was far too little and late. “For him now to come forward and attempt, with his weak and imbecile utterances, to acquire tolerance for himself by branding the Southern traitors, is a mean and hopeless work . . . the only doubt which exists in the public mind is as to whether he was their abettor or accomplice, or their tool and dupe.” In any event, whatever his opinion, “the commonest of all common sense should teach him to avoid thrusting his name before the people.”
“Those who were in the Federal capitol on that Thursday, April 25, will never, during their lives, forget the event,” remembered Lincoln’s secretaries, Nicolay and Hay. “An indescribable gloom had hung over Washington nearly a week, paralyzing its traffic and crushing out its life.” It all changed when the Seventh New York marched down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House, with other regiments to follow. They had found an alternate route through Annapolis, and quick-thinking General Benjamin Butler had worked fast to repair the railway. Troops would continue to fill the city of Washington.
To “encourage a martial spirit,” Millard Fillmore agreed to serve as commander of the Buffalo Union Continentals, a group of prominent citizens who, because of age, could not participate in combat. They did however “stir up enthusiasm” for the Union effort and escorted troops headed to the war. The Continentals took their responsibility seriously, drilling in the Buffalo arsenal on Saturday nights, and taking in the occasional target practice. To make sure they were properly trained, Fillmore requested “two or three copies of the General Regulations for the Militia of the State.” All over forty-five years old, they were described by one observer as “large portly grandfathers with gray beards.” On May 3, Fillmore led the Continentals in escorting four companies of young men to the train station, the first to depart from Buffalo. “The venerable and honored commander, ex-President Fillmore, marched stately and erect, at the head of the column, wearing a sword and plume, and looking like an emperor,” wrote one reporter. An admirer would later write that he wished to come observe Fillmore and his men in action, saying “I would specially like to see you in your military costume, which seems to fit you no less than the civic robes which you have worn with much eminent dignity and renown.” At the station, Fillmore raised his stately hat, stood erect, and commanded “Old Guard, attention! Three cheers for the Buffalo Volunteers!” Everyone lifted their hats and raised their arms, shouting “hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!” The few departing soldiers who did not respond in kind were attending to their goodbyes, to girlfriends, wives, family, and friends, the things familiar to them, so many of whom knew nothing of the world outside of Buffalo, now filled with anxiety on their way to the war. The Union Continentals had a somber corollary duty, which they would perform before long, to accompany some of these soldiers back from the train station, on their way to be buried.
As feared, Virginia’s departure breathed new life into a moribund secession movement. On May 6, both Arkansas and Tennessee left the Union.
The governor of Tennessee, Nicolay and Hay recorded, “may almost be said” to have “carried the state into rebellion single-handed.” On February 9, Tennessee voters had gone to the polls to consider two questions: whether to have a secession convention, and if so, who would serve as its delegates. By a majority of 11,875, the voters declined to have a convention; and the pro-Union delegates—though now unnecessary—crushed their secessionist opponents by 65,114. But Tennessee, like other border and southern states, began the war with an elected government determined to drag the state out of the Union regardless of public sentiment. On May 1, the legislature empowered the governor to appoint “commissioners to enter into a military league with the authorities of the Confederate states,” a task he wasted little time in carrying into effect. By the time voters were asked to revisit the issue, secession was already accomplished.
North Carolina seceded on May 21. Two days later was Virginia’s referendum on secession. Twenty-three citizens of Alexandria wrote John Tyler for his advice on how to vote. “It is a fallacy to suppose that the question to be voted on is Union or no Union,” Tyler wrote, acknowledging that a popular vote held a month after the ordinance had already been passed, after the state had raised armed forces and signed a treaty joining the Confederacy, was a sham. “The union is gone forever, and the Constitution which ordained the Union has been torn up and trampled in the dust, and the real question is, shall we form another Union in which our liberties and our rights will be respected and secured, or shall we tamely submit to arbitrary power?” In light of the fait accompli, and the secession fever that permeated the state, it is a testament to the conviction of Virginia’s Unionists, who mustered roughly 25 percent of the vote, losing 128,884–32,134.
Lincoln wrote, “The people of Virginia have thus allowed this giant insurrection to make its nest within her borders; and this government has no choice left but to deal with it where it finds it.” At 2:00 a.m. on May 24, their movements lit by a bright moon, Union forces crossed into Virginia from the capital, seizing possession of the bridges leading into the city.
The Confederate States of America were now twice the size of any nation in Europe (Russia excepted), made up of nine million people, including three and a half million slaves. As General Beauregard put it, “No people ever warred for independence with more relative advantages than the Confederates,” citing the well-organized central government, existing state governments, mountains, rivers, and other natural defenses. The administration’s task would be a difficult one; the question now became whether events would make it an impossible one.