e seen how Lincoln reasoned
in such a connection when he drew up the memorandum for Jaquess and
Gilmore. His present problem involved nothing of this sort. What he
was thinking out was how best to induce the committee to accept his own
attitude; to become for the moment believers in destiny; to nail their
colors; turn their backs as he was doing on these devices of diplomacy;
and as to the rest-permit to heaven.

Whatever his managers might think, the serious matter in Lincoln's mind,
that twenty-third of August, was the draft. And back of the draft, a
tremendous matter which probably none of them at the time appreciated.
Assuming that they were right in their political forecast, assuming that
he was not to be reelected, what did it signify? For him, there was but
one answer: that he had only five months in which to end the war. And
with the tide running strong against him, what could he do? But one
thing: use the war powers while they remained in his hands in every
conceivable way that might force a conclusion on the field of battle.
He recorded his determination. A Cabinet meeting was held on the
twenty-third. Lincoln handed his Ministers a folded paper and asked
them to write their initials on the back. At the time he gave them no
intimation what the paper contained. It was the following memorandum:
"This morning, as for some days past, it seems exceedingly probable that
this Administration will not be reelected. Then it will be my duty to
so cooperate with the President elect as to save the Union between the
election and the inauguration, as he will have secured his election on
such ground that he can not possibly save it afterward."(12)

He took into his confidence "the stronger half of the Cabinet, Seward,
Stanton and Fessenden," and together they assaulted the Committee.(13)
It was a reception amazingly different from what had been expected.
Instead of terrified party diplomats shaking in their shoes, trying to
face all points at once, morbid over possible political defeats in every
quarter, they found what may have seemed to them a man in a dream;
one who was intensely sad, but who gave no suggestion of panic, no
solicitude about his own fate, no doubt of his ultimate victory. Their
practical astuteness was disarmed by that higher astuteness attained
only by peculiar minds which can discern through some sure interior test
the rare moment when it is the part of wisdom not to be astute at all.

Backed by those s