because of the unvarnished energy
with which the border folk made war, it was nevertheless the people of the
border whom Abraham Lincoln had most in mind when he tried to keep the war
limited. They would fight for the Union, he believed, but they would not fight
to suppress slavery, which was where Fremont's proclamation unquestionably
would take them; and on September 2 the President sent the general a firm but
not unfriendly letter.
There
must be (said the President) no shooting of men taken in arms, because the
Confederates could play the same game, with reprisals and counter-reprisals
keeping firing squads busy from the Potomac all the way to Kansas; therefore
the general must order no executions without first getting specific approval
from Washington. In addition, and more importantly, there was the matter of
the emancipation of slaves. This, wrote the President, "will alarm our
Southern Union friends, and turn them against us—perhaps ruin our rather fair
prospect for Kentucky." Fremont therefore was requested to modify that
part of his proclamation, putting it in line with a recent act of Congress
which provided only that slaves actually used in service of the Confederate
armed forces could be taken from their owners, the subsequent status of such
slaves being left most indefinite. 1
General
Fremont would not retreat. He wrote that he had been in a hot spot,
"between the Rebel armies, the Provisional Government, and home
traitors," and his proclamation was "as much a movement in the war as
a battle"; if he modified it of his own accord it would imply that he
felt that he had made a mistake, and he did not feel that way. Consequently, he
would modify it only if the President publicly ordered him to do so. He was
satisfied that "strong and vigorous measures have now become necessary to
the success of our arms," and he hoped that his views would receive the
President's approval. 2 Meanwhile, General Fremont sent Jessie off
to Washington to argue the case with the President in person.
By
this time the general was in far over his depth. What he was saying, in effect,
was that the military problem in his own bailiwick justified him in committing
the entire nation— both the states of the Federal Union, and the Confederate
states which had declared their independence—to an entirely different kind of
war; a remorseless revolutionary struggle which in the end could do nothing
less than redefine the very nature of the American experiment, committing the
American people for the rest of time to a much broader concept of the quality
and meaning of freedom and democracy than anything they had yet embraced. The
war might indeed come to that. Secession was at bottom a violent protest
against change, and extended violence would almost certainly destroy the
delicate unspoken understanding by which the rival governments fought a limited
war. But this was a problem for Washington, not for a general in the field.
Fremont was making a decision that lay beyond his competence, and in his
message to the President there was a proconsular arrogance that American
soldiers are not supposed to display.
President
Lincoln acted promptly. He publicly ordered Fremont to modify the clause about
emancipation, he sent Postmaster General Montgomery Blair to St. Louis to talk
to the general and give the President a fill-in on the situation, and when
Jessie Fremont reached the White House he gave her an exceedingly cold
reception. Jessie's trip in fact did Fremont much harm. Mr. Lincoln said
afterward that "she more than once intimated that if General Fremont
should decide to try conclusions with me, he could set up for himself," 8 and although she denied vehemently that she ever said anything of the kind she
undoubtedly helped to confirm the President's dawning suspicion that Fr6mont,
in a decidedly tough situation, was trying to protect his fences by winning
the support of the abolitionists. At one point, Jessie explained that only an
edict of
with which the border folk made war, it was nevertheless the people of the
border whom Abraham Lincoln had most in mind when he tried to keep the war
limited. They would fight for the Union, he believed, but they would not fight
to suppress slavery, which was where Fremont's proclamation unquestionably
would take them; and on September 2 the President sent the general a firm but
not unfriendly letter.
There
must be (said the President) no shooting of men taken in arms, because the
Confederates could play the same game, with reprisals and counter-reprisals
keeping firing squads busy from the Potomac all the way to Kansas; therefore
the general must order no executions without first getting specific approval
from Washington. In addition, and more importantly, there was the matter of
the emancipation of slaves. This, wrote the President, "will alarm our
Southern Union friends, and turn them against us—perhaps ruin our rather fair
prospect for Kentucky." Fremont therefore was requested to modify that
part of his proclamation, putting it in line with a recent act of Congress
which provided only that slaves actually used in service of the Confederate
armed forces could be taken from their owners, the subsequent status of such
slaves being left most indefinite. 1
General
Fremont would not retreat. He wrote that he had been in a hot spot,
"between the Rebel armies, the Provisional Government, and home
traitors," and his proclamation was "as much a movement in the war as
a battle"; if he modified it of his own accord it would imply that he
felt that he had made a mistake, and he did not feel that way. Consequently, he
would modify it only if the President publicly ordered him to do so. He was
satisfied that "strong and vigorous measures have now become necessary to
the success of our arms," and he hoped that his views would receive the
President's approval. 2 Meanwhile, General Fremont sent Jessie off
to Washington to argue the case with the President in person.
By
this time the general was in far over his depth. What he was saying, in effect,
was that the military problem in his own bailiwick justified him in committing
the entire nation— both the states of the Federal Union, and the Confederate
states which had declared their independence—to an entirely different kind of
war; a remorseless revolutionary struggle which in the end could do nothing
less than redefine the very nature of the American experiment, committing the
American people for the rest of time to a much broader concept of the quality
and meaning of freedom and democracy than anything they had yet embraced. The
war might indeed come to that. Secession was at bottom a violent protest
against change, and extended violence would almost certainly destroy the
delicate unspoken understanding by which the rival governments fought a limited
war. But this was a problem for Washington, not for a general in the field.
Fremont was making a decision that lay beyond his competence, and in his
message to the President there was a proconsular arrogance that American
soldiers are not supposed to display.
President
Lincoln acted promptly. He publicly ordered Fremont to modify the clause about
emancipation, he sent Postmaster General Montgomery Blair to St. Louis to talk
to the general and give the President a fill-in on the situation, and when
Jessie Fremont reached the White House he gave her an exceedingly cold
reception. Jessie's trip in fact did Fremont much harm. Mr. Lincoln said
afterward that "she more than once intimated that if General Fremont
should decide to try conclusions with me, he could set up for himself," 8 and although she denied vehemently that she ever said anything of the kind she
undoubtedly helped to confirm the President's dawning suspicion that Fr6mont,
in a decidedly tough situation, was trying to protect his fences by winning
the support of the abolitionists. At one point, Jessie explained that only an
edict of
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