Free Upon the Altar of the Nation by Harry S. Stout Page A

North Carolina against Butler’s threatened invasion from the South. While no large battles had taken place since the fall of 1863, the pieces were falling neatly into place for destruction of military and civilian lives and property on an unprecedented scale. A shaken writer for the Richmond Daily Whig recognized that “upon the eve of a momentous campaign, within the period of which lie undisclosed events, inscrutable to the most earnest gaze, affecting the destiny—the very existence perhaps—of our people as a free people.” 18
    In his classic treatise On War, Carl von Clausewitz defined war as “politics by other means,” and so it had begun with the Civil War. But by 1864, as battles resumed, war was becoming its own end. Richmond’s papers could print little else than news of the war—and with it stories of the generals who dueled like industrial knights commanding engines and explosives alongside horses and sabers. Headlines fed the public lust for new conquests. Civilian anticipation for massive battles would not wait long to be satisfied. If Antietam stands as the military and political “crossroads” of the war, 1864 would stand as the moral crossroads of a war pursued with unprecedented violence on soldier and civilian alike. By 1864 even Lincoln was through with efforts at compromise and conciliation. With black soldiers under arms, there would be no further talk from Lincoln of colonization or compensated emancipation. Instead, it was all-out war.

PART VII DISCRIMINATION
    A CIVILIAN WAR
    AUGUST 1864 TO FEBRUARY 1865

PART VIII RECONCILIATION
    MAKING AN END TO BUILD A FUTURE

CHAPTER 43
    “LET US STRIVE ON TO FINISH THE WORK WE ARE IN”
    I nauguration Day, March 4, 1865, did not begin well. For several days, Washington had been deluged with rain, and the expectant crowd was soon drenched. Worse was yet to come, for first on the agenda was the inauguration of Andrew Johnson as vice president. Suffering the aftereffects of a bout with typhoid fever, Johnson asked for some whiskey to calm his nerves and proceeded to get rip-roaring drunk. After a rambling speech that Lincoln and his administration could barely endure, he was shown to his seat. A mortified Lincoln leaned over to the parade marshal and instructed him: “Do not let Johnson speak outside.”
    Then came Lincoln’s turn. The applause was ecstatic—the applause of winners. Flags appeared everywhere. Everyone in attendance knew that the defeat of the Confederacy was assured and the time for celebration at hand. In fact, it was a time to gloat. Beyond gloating, the crowd looked forward to words of revenge to punish the demonic South for all the pain and suffering it had imposed on a righteous Union.
    The audience would be surprised. Lincoln would offer no lengthy denunciations of the enemy. He would offer no length at all on any theme. In a mere 703 words Lincoln brought together the mystical and fatalistic themes that would later render his speech America’s Sermon on the Mount. The address consisted of a series of propositions in response to the unasked questions that were lodged in the back of every Northern American’s mind. More meditation than pep talk, the speech led ultimately to a unique jeremiad, unlike any heard in the pulpits, newspapers, or arts. Throughout, Lincoln assumed no personal glory in the effort, but instead spoke in the third person.
    How was the war going? Lincoln began with the most important question. Elections, political campaigns, the prospect of reconstruction were all secondary to the great all-encompassing question of war. Happily the signs were good. “The progress of our arms ... is as well known to the public as to myself.” Did this mean that victory was so certain that no further cause for concern existed? Not really. “With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured.” So much for the celebration.
    Who caused the war? The North surely had its faults, to which he would return