he was learning the new task, hesitatingly, with vacillation, with
excessive regard to the advisers whom he treated as experts in action.
It was no slight matter for an extraordinarily sensitive man to take up
a new role at fifty-two.

This first official mistake of Lincoln's was in giving way to the fears
of his retinue for his safety. The time had become hysterical. The
wildest sort of stories filled the air. Even before he left Springfield
there were rumors of plots to assassinate him.(6) On his arrival at
Philadelphia information was submitted to his companions which convinced
them that his life was in danger--an attempt would be made to kill him
as he passed through Baltimore. Seward at Washington had heard the same
story and had sent his son to Philadelphia to advise caution. Lincoln's
friends insisted that he leave his special train and proceed to
Washington with only one companion, on an ordinary night train. Railway
officials were called in. Elaborate precautions were arranged. The
telegraph lines were all to be disconnected for a number of hours so
that even if the conspirators--assuming there were any--should discover
his change of plan, they would be unable to communicate with Baltimore.
The one soldier in the party, Colonel Sumner, vehemently protested
that these changes were all "a damned piece of cowardice." But Lincoln
acquiesced in the views of the majority of his advisers. He passed
through Baltimore virtually in disguise; nothing happened; no certain
evidence of a conspiracy was discovered. And all his enemies took up the
cry of cowardice and rang the changes upon it.(7)

Meanwhile, despite all this semblance of indecision, of feebleness,
there were signs that the real inner Lincoln, however clouded, was still
alive. By way of offset to his fatuous utterances, there might have been
set, had the Country been in a mood to weigh with care, several strong