ittee.
So staggering was the shock of horror that even moderate Republicans
were swept away in a new whirlpool of doubt.

But even thus it was scarcely wise, the Abolitionists being still
fearful over the emancipation policy, to attack the President direct.
Nevertheless, the resourceful Jacobins found a way to begin their new
campaign. Seward, the symbol of moderation, the unforgivable enemy of
the Jacobins, had recently earned anew the hatred of the Abolitionists.
Letters of his to Charles Francis Adams had appeared in print. Some of
their expressions had roused a storm. For example: "extreme advocates of
African slavery and its most vehement exponents are acting in concert
together to precipitate a servile war."(8) To be sure, the date of
this letter was long since, before he and Lincoln had changed ground on
emancipation, but that did not matter. He had spoken evil of the cause;
he should suffer. All along, the large number that were incapable of
appreciating his lack of malice had wished him out of the Cabinet. As
Lincoln put it: "While they seemed to believe in my honesty, they also
appeared to think that when I had in me any good purpose or intention,
Seward contrived to suck it out of me unperceived."(9)

The Jacobins were skilful politicians. A caucus of Republican
Senators was stampeded by the cry that Seward was the master of the
Administration, the chief explanation of failure. It was Seward who had
brought them to the verge of despair. A committee was named to demand
the reorganization of the Cabinet Thereupon, Seward, informed of this
action, resigned. The Committee of the Senators called upon Lincoln. He
listened; did not commit himself; asked them to call again; and turned
into his own thoughts for a mode of saving the day.

During twenty months, since their clash in April, 1861, Seward and
Lincoln had become friends; not merely official associates, but genuine
comrades. Seward's earlier condescension had wholly disappeared. Perhaps
his new respect for Lincoln grew out of the President's silence after
Sumter. A few words revealing the strange meddling of the Secretary
of State would have turned upon Seward the full fury of suspicion that
destroyed McClellan. But Lincoln never spoke those words. Whatever blame
there was for the failure of the Sumter expedition, he quietly accepted
as his own. Seward, whatever his faults, was too large a nature, too
genuinely a lover of courage, of the nonvindictive tempe