Bloody Crimes Read online

  The next morning Lincoln went up the James River and then went ashore at Aiken’s Landing. On March 27, he met with Generals Grant and Sherman and Admiral Porter on the River Queen. This conference carried over to the next day.

  Their conversation was free-ranging and off the record, and General Sherman asked Lincoln about his plans for his rebel counterpart, Jefferson Davis. Many in the North had demanded vengeance if Davis was captured, and they wanted him to be hanged. Did Lincoln share that opinion, Sherman wondered, and did he approve of trials and executions not only of Davis, but of the entire Confederate military and political hierarchy?

  “During this interview I inquired of the President if he was all ready for the end of the war,” Sherman remembered.

  What was to be done with the rebel armies when defeated? And what should be done with the political leaders, such as Jefferson Davis…? Should we allow them to escape…? He said he was all ready; all he wanted of us was to defeat the opposing armies, and to get the men composing the Confederate armies back to their homes, at work at their farms and in their shops. As to Jeff. Davis, he was hardly at liberty to speak his mind fully, but intimated that he ought to clear out, “escape the country,” only it would not do for him to say so openly. As usual, he illustrated his meaning by a story: “A man once had taken the totalabstinence pledge. When visiting a friend, he was invited to take a drink, but declined, on the score of his pledge; when his friend suggested lemonade, which was accepted. In preparing the lemonade, the friend pointed to the brandy-bottle, and said the lemonade would be more palatable if he were to pour in a little brandy; when his guest said, if he could do so ‘unbeknown’ to him, he would not object.” From which illustration I inferred that Mr. Lincoln wanted Davis to escape, “unbeknown” to him.

  This was a stunning revelation. Yes, Lincoln had promised “malice toward none” and “charity for all” in his inaugural address, but no one expected him to extend such mercy to the archtraitor and war criminal Jefferson Davis. But Lincoln was not a vengeful man. During the war, his private letters, public papers, and speeches had foreshadowed how he would treat his defeated enemies. “I shall do nothing in malice,” he once said of his plans, “what I deal with is too vast for malicious dealing.”

  Lincoln was still in the field on March 31 when he received a telegram from Edwin Stanton. Some members of the cabinet wanted the president to return to Washington to take care of official business, but Stanton urged him to remain with the army: “I hope you will stay to see it out, or for a few days at least. I have strong faith that your presence will have great influence in inducing exertions that will bring Richmond; compared to that no other duty can weigh a feather. There is…nothing to be done here but petty private ends that you should not be annoyed with. A pause by the army now would do harm; if you are on the ground there will be no pause.”

  At City Point on April 1, Lincoln received reports and sent messages. He haunted the army telegraph office for news of the battles raging in Virginia. He was addicted to this technology. It was an impatient habit he had formed in Washington. He did not like to wait for important news. To his delight, the War Department telegraph office was a short walk from the Executive Mansion. He became a habitué of the office, befriending the men employed there, to whom he often made surprise visits at any time of the day or night. Now he was standing over the telegraph operators at City Point, and as soon as they transcribed the reports as they came off the wire, the president snatched the hurried scribblings from their hands.

  Lee and his army were fighting a series of skirmishes and battles to save Richmond and themselves. Union forces pressed Lee’s lines at multiple points, probing for weaknesses and forcing on Lee a major decision: Would he sacrifice the remnants of his once great and still proud army in a final battle of annihilation before Richmond, or would he abandon the capital in order to save his soldiers to fight again? Telegrams from the front kept Lincoln apprised of Lee’s every move. Mary Lincoln and Secretary of State William H. Seward, who had joined the president in the field, returned to Washington, D.C., that day. The president kept Tad with him. He wanted his little companion to share in the historic days to come. That night he walked the deck of the River Queen, anxious about what the next day might bring.

  When Davis and Lincoln awoke on the morning of Sunday, April 2, 1865, neither man knew this was the day. As Davis dressed for church, he did not know he would have to leave Richmond that night. Yes, he was aware of the danger facing the capital and that he might have to evacuate it soon. But he was not expecting to flee that night. Like the citizens of Richmond, like the entire Confederacy, he expected the impossible of Robert E. Lee.

  Like Davis and Robert E. Lee, Lincoln spent part of April 2 reading and sending telegrams. Lincoln guessed that this was the Army of Northern Virginia’s last act. Although he did not know that Richmond would be evacuated that night, he knew the citadel of the Confederacy must fall soon. The Union had too many men, too many cannons, too many guns, and limitless supplies. The Confederacy, starving and outnumbered, could not repel a Union advance. Today Lincoln would send six important telegrams, two to Mary Todd Lincoln, three to Edwin Stanton, and one to Ulysses Grant.

  At 11:00 A.M., around the time Jefferson Davis sat in St. Paul’s Church reading the fateful telegram from General Lee, Lincoln telegraphed Stanton in Washington. A flurry of messages had come in from the front to City Point, and after Lincoln read them all, he summarized their contents.

  City Point, Va.

  April 2, 1865—11:00 a.m.

  Hon. Edwin M. Stanton,

  Secretary of War:

  Dispatches frequently coming in. All going finely. Parke, Wright, and Ord, extending from the Appomattox to Hatcher’s Run, have all broken through the enemy’s intrenched lines, taking some forts, guns, and prisoners. Sheridan, with his own cavalry, Fifth Corps, and part of the Second, is coming in from the west on the enemy’s flank, and Wright is already tearing up the South Side Railroad.

  A. Lincoln

  In Richmond, the doomsday clock ticked past the noon hour. Like a convict on death row awaiting his midnight execution, Confederate Richmond knew it had fewer than twelve hours to live. Between 2:00 P.M. and 3:00 P.M., a formal announcement was made to the public that the government would evacuate that evening. But the people already knew. Piles of burning documents in the street said it all. Captain Clement Sulivane remembered the scene: “All that Sabbath day the trains came and went, wagons, vehicles, and horsemen rumbled and dashed to and fro…”

  In the midst of this frenzy, people had to decide whether to stay or to flee. The occupant of one house had no choice. She was an invalid and could not leave Richmond. President Davis sent over his most comfortable chair for Mrs. Robert E. Lee.

  In midafternoon, Lee telegraphed another warning to Richmond.

  Hd. Qrs Petersburg

  3. P.M. 2nd. April 1865

  MR. PRESIDENT

  …I do not see how I can possibly help withdrawing from the city to the north side of the Appomattox to night. There is no bridge over the Appomattox above this point nearer than Goode’s & Bevill’s over which the troops above mentioned could cross to the north side & be made available to us—Otherwise I might hold this position for a day or two longer, but would have to evacuate it eventually & I think it better for us to abandon the whole line on James river tonight if practicable—I have sent preparatory orders to all the officers & will be able to tell by night whether or not we can remain here another day; but I think every hour now adds to our difficulties—I regret to be obliged to write such a hurried letter to your Excellency, but I am in the presence of the enemy endeavoring to resist his advance—I am most respy & truly yours

  R.E. Lee

  Gnl.

  There was no denying it now. Lee’s telegram could not have been clearer and he’d written it while in battle. If he failed to move his army by that night, it faced destruction. In either case, the Union army would take Richmond sometime the ne
xt day, Monday, April 3. Davis replied, seeming to underestimate the danger.

  Richmond, Va.,

  April 2, 1865

  General R.E. Lee, Petersburg, Va.:

  To move to night will involve the loss of many valuables, both for the want of time to pack and of transportation. Arrangements are progressing, and unless you otherwise advise the start will be made.

  Jeff’n Davis

  This was not the answer Lee expected. At this moment, his men were fighting and dying to save Richmond, while President Davis was fretting about the loss of valuables. Davis’s telegram exasperated Lee. After he read it, he crumpled it into a ball, tossed it to the ground, and complained to his staff: “I am sure I gave him sufficient notice.” Lee replied at 3:30 P.M. “Your telegram recd. I think it will be necessary to move tonight. I shall camp the troops here north of the Appomattox the Enemy is so strong that they will cross above us to close us in between the James & Appomattox Rivers—if we remain.”

  From City Point, Virginia, Lincoln telegraphed his wife.

  City Point, Va.,

  April 2, 1865

  Mrs. Lincoln:

  At 4:30 p.m. to-day General Grant telegraphs that he has Petersburg completely enveloped from river below to river above, and has captured, since he started last Wednesday, about 12,000 prisoners and 50 guns. He suggests that I shall go out and see him in the morning, which I think I will do. Tad and I are both well…

  A. Lincoln

  In Richmond, Davis received yet another urgent telegram from Lee, this one more insistent than his last. The general informed the president that he had ordered an officer to rush to the capital to escort him safely out of the city. This was the end.

  Petersburg,

  April 2, 1865

  His Excellency President Davis, Richmond, Va.:

  I think it absolutely necessary that we should abandon our position tonight. I have given all the necessary orders on the subject to the troops and the operation though difficult I hope may be successful. I have directed Genl Stevens to send an officer to your Excellency to explain the routes to you by which the troops will be moved to Amelia C[ourt] H[ouse] & furnish you with a guide and any assistance that you may require for yourself.

  R. E. Lee

  So there could be no doubt of the imminent peril, Lee dispatched a similar telegram to Secretary of War John C. Breckinridge. If Davis could not appreciate the danger, then perhaps Breckinridge, a major general in the Confederate army, would.

  Petersburg,

  April 2, 1865

  General J. C. Breckinridge:

  It is absolutely necessary that we should abandon our position tonight, or run the risk of being cut off in the morning. I have given all the orders to officers on both sides of the river, & have taken every precaution that I can to make the movement successful. It will be a difficult operation, but I hope not impracticable. Please give all orders that you find necessary in & about Richmond. The troops will all be directed to Amelia Court House.

  R. E. Lee

  At 7:00 P.M. Lee sent a final telegram to Davis and Breckinridge, letting them know he had given the order and was sending the president a rider to inform him of the safest routes west to link up with the Army of Northern Virginia.

  Abraham Lincoln recognized the significance of the day’s developments. If General Grant could crush Lee’s army, or drive it off from Petersburg, then the road to Richmond would lie open. Lincoln relished every new piece of good news. Before he went to bed, he sent a telegram to his commanding general, congratulating him on the successes of this day.

  Head Quarters Armies of the United States

  City-Point,

  April 2. 8/15 P.M. 1865.

  Lieut. General Grant.

  Allow me to tender to you, and all with you, the nations grateful thanks for this additional, and magnificent success. At your kind suggestion, I think I will visit you to-morrow.

  A. Lincoln

  That evening, Davis, unlike Lincoln, could not defer his travel plans until the morning. As Lincoln settled in for the night on the River Queen, Davis prepared to abandon his home. Davis packed some clothes, retrieved important papers and letters from his private office, and saved a few personal effects.

  He sat down and wrote a letter to his housekeeper Mary O’Melia and to the mayor of Richmond, Joseph Mayo. His instructions to O’Melia were: “The furniture in the executive mansion it would be well to pack and store as your discretion may indicate and if any one should dispute your authority this will be your warrant—The Mayor will give you aid and protection.” On another page Davis added a note to Mayo. “His honor the Mayor will find on the previous page that I have referred my house keeper to him, and will I hope allow me to commend her specially to his kind care.”

  With that taken care of, Davis had nothing left to do but wait, and he was joined by members of his inner circle: his old friend Clement Clay, and his aides Frank Lubbock, William Preston Johnston, and John Taylor Wood. It was dark now. Earlier in the day, the train had been scheduled to depart at 8:30 P.M., but the crowds and confusion at the station slowed the preparations. It had taken hours to pack the railroad cars.

  Then a messenger brought word to Davis that the cabinet had assembled at the station and the train was ready to depart. With memories of all its joys and sorrows, Davis left his White House for the last time, mounted his favorite horse, Kentucky, and rode to the railroad station. He was always an elegant horseman, and during his final ride through the streets of Richmond, sitting in the saddle with ramrod-straight military bearing, he was a sight to behold.

  Frank Lubbock never forgot that ride: “This was the saddest trip I had ever made, for I could feel but grieved—sorely distressed; a sorrow that was ominous of the future.” Tumultuous crowds did not line the streets to cheer their president during his last ride through the capital or to shout best wishes for his journey to save the Confederacy. The citizens of Richmond were too swept up with their own concerns—locking up their homes, hiding their valuables, or fleeing the city before the Yankees arrived—to give their president a proper send-off.

  As Davis readied for the train to leave the city, he knew he had made the right decision. “Richmond would be isolated, and it could not have been defended. Its depots, foundries, workshops, and mills could have contributed nothing to the armies outside, and its possession would no longer have been to us of military importance. Ours being a struggle for existence, the indulgence of sentiment would have been misplaced.”

  Not all of the residents dreaded the fall of the city. Bands of thieves, drunkards, and worse were waiting for the moment when the last Confederate troops would leave Richmond and take with them all vestiges of law and order. Mallory called them “the rabble who stood ready to plunder during the night.” From darkness until Union troops arrived at dawn, the capital would be theirs.

  Among the blacks of Richmond, the mood on the eve of their day of anticipated liberation was electric. At the African church it was a day of jubilee. Worshippers poured into the streets, congratulated each other, and prayed for the coming of the Union army. The next morning they would be slaves no more.

  When Davis got to the station, he declined to board the train. He wanted to delay the departure until the last possible moment. Perhaps the fortunes of war had turned in the Confederacy’s favor that night. Perhaps Lee had confounded the enemy as he had done so many times before and reestablished defensive lines protecting Richmond. At 10:00 P.M. Davis and Breckinridge walked into the office of the Richmond and Danville Railroad and waited for a miracle—a telegram from Robert E. Lee retracting his counsel to evacuate Richmond. For an hour Davis held the loaded and waiting train in the hope of receiving good news from Lee.

  Nothing—no telegram ever came. The Army of Northern Virginia could not save the beleaguered city. It would be imprudent, even dangerous, to tarry any longer. The Yankees could arrive in just six or seven hours, and further delay might allow them to cut the railroad line below Richmo
nd, blocking the only route for Davis’s escape train.

  Dejected, Davis and Breckinridge left the railroad office and the president boarded his car. Captain William Parker, a naval officer on special duty at the train depot that night, observed the scene: “While waiting at the depot I had an opportunity of seeing the President and his Cabinet as they went to the cars. Mr. Davis preserved his usual calm and dignified manner, and General Breckinridge…Who had determined to go out [of Richmond] on horseback, was as cool and gallant as ever—but the others…Had the air (as the French say) of wishing to be off. General Breckinridge stayed with me some time after the President’s train had gone, and I had occasion to admire his bearing under the circumstances.”

  This was not a private, luxurious sleeping car constructed for a head of state. The Confederate railroad system had never equaled the scale, resources, and power of the United States Military Railroad. Jefferson Davis took his seat in a common coach packed with the heads of the cabinet departments, key staff members, and other selected officials. The departure was without ceremony. No honor guard, no well-wishers, and no martial band playing “Dixie” bade the president’s train farewell. Jefferson Davis gave no speech from the station platform, or from the rear of the last car, as Abraham Lincoln had done on February 11, 1861, the morning he left Springfield, Illinois, for his journey to Washington to become president.

  Captain Parker watched the train gather steam and creep out of the station at a slow speed, no more than ten miles per hour. The train groaned down the track. Parker noticed that it was loaded: “Not only inside, but on top, on the platforms, on the engine,—everywhere, in fact, where standing room could be found; and those who could not get that ‘hung on by their eyelids.’” It was a humbling, even ignominious departure of the Confederate president from his capital city.