Part 6

“And yet millionaire, slaveholder and aristocrat, in its best sense, that he was, as he lived, so at any time he would have died for the immortal principle put by the Puritans in their charter, adopted in the cabin of the Mayflower, reënacted in the Declaration of Independence, of the equality of all men before the law and of the equal opportunity for all to rise. Lincoln, on the other hand, was born in a cabin, among that class known as poor whites in slaveholding times, who held no position and whose condition was so helpless as to paralyze ambition and effort. His situation so far as his surroundings were concerned had considerable mental but little moral improvement by the removal to Indiana and subsequently to Illinois.

“Anywhere in the Old World a man born amidst such environments and teachings, and possessed of unconquerable energy and ambition and the greatest powers of eloquence and constructive statesmanship, would have been a Socialist and the leader of a social revolt. He might have been an Anarchist. His one ambition would have been to break the crust above him and shatter it to pieces. He would see otherwise no opportunity for himself and his fellows in social or political or professional life. But Lincoln attained from the log cabin of the poor white in the wilderness the same position which Washington reached from his palatial mansion and baronial estate on the Potomac; he made the same fight unselfishly, patriotically, and grandly for the preservation of the republic that Washington had done for its creation and foundation. Widely as they are separated, these two heroes of the two great crises of our national life stand together in representing the solvent powers, the inspiring processes, and the hopeful opportunities of American liberty.”

LINCOLN REMEMBERED HIM.

A stair-carpenter happened to see a picture of the martyred President. Instantly the tones of his voice softened, his eyes grew moist with tears, and the whole expression of his face changed.

Then he told us his “story of Lincoln.” He had been shot through the lungs when on picket in ’63, and was in the hospital at Fortress Monroe.

For weeks he had been lying there, till he had grown dreadfully homesick, and felt as if the only thing that could cure him was to get home to Maryland.

One morning Lincoln visited the hospital, and as he was passing around, pausing before each cot to speak a word of cheer to each wounded soldier, this one made up his mind that if he gave him a chance, he would make known his wants.

At last his turn came.

“You seem very comfortable, my friend,” Lincoln said.

“Not so comfortable as I should be if I could get home to Maryland,” was the reply.

“What is your name?”

“S. Stover, Co. H, 2d Maryland Volunteers,” was promptly answered, and Lincoln passed on.

In just three days came an order from the President to transfer Private Stover, Co. H, 2d Md. Vols., by water to the hospital at Annapolis.

“I was surprised myself,” he said; “for I had watched him as long as he was in sight, and when I saw him go through the door without writing down my name and company, I gave up all hope of seeing my Maryland again.

“And it has always been a mystery to me that a man with so much to think of should keep in mind the name, regiment and company of a private soldier.”

As he turned away to conceal the tears he could not keep back, it was plain how large a place the thoughtful kindness of that great man had won in the heart of the poor, homesick, wounded soldier.

WHY LINCOLN PARDONED THEM.

It was President Lincoln’s intense love for his fellow men that led him to disapprove of the findings of court-martial, whenever there was a possible excuse, particularly in the cases of soldiers charged with desertion, with having fallen asleep at a post of duty, or with other offenses.

Secretary Stanton always insisted upon the strictest discipline in the army and frequently urged that derelict soldiers receive the severest punishment of military law and custom, but Lincoln rarely took any advice on such matters. He had meditated deeply on that subject and consulted his own judgment in disposing of cases of that kind that came before him.

The late Joseph Holt, who recently died at Washington, was judge advocate general of the army during the whole period of the war and it became his duty to report many cases of alleged cowardice of soldiers as well as other offenses. President Lincoln carefully read every line of the charges against such men, and as soon as he saw the slightest chance to excuse the poor fellow, a gleam of satisfaction would pass over his serious face. Then folding the papers together he placed them in a pigeon hole of his desk, and with his big eyes looking into those of the judge advocate standing before him, he would say:

“Holt, we will let those soldiers go. Order them set free.”

It was after the battle of Chancellorsville that charges were brought against several men for failing to march with their regiments into the fight at a time when they were most needed. The charge of desertion was made.

When Secretary Stanton heard of these cases he commanded Judge Holt to present the charges against the men to the President in the strongest possible terms.

“We need stronger discipline in the army,” said the stern secretary of war to the judge advocate. “The time has come when the President must yield to our opinion.”

Judge Holt was himself one of the ablest lawyers of his day, and had won fame as a forensic orator long before the war.

“In presenting these cases,” said he to the writer a few months before his death, “in obedience to the wish of the secretary of war, I used all the legal acumen at my command. One morning, with my papers all ready (and I was deeply in earnest in the matter), I proceeded to the White House; and, as I entered his private office, the President looked up with his long, sad face, saying:

“‘Ah! Holt, what have you there?’

“‘I have some important cases for your careful consideration, Mr. President, with documentary evidence sufficient to condemn every man.’

“He took the papers and read them carefully, stopping at times to reflect, then read on until he finished. There was no change in his countenance this time, unless that it grew more sad and his expression more serious. I had covered the cases in question with strong and convincing argument and evidence. He finally raised his eyes from the last paper and gazed intently through the window at some object across the Potomac. Then, rising from his chair, with the papers all folded together, he placed them in a pigeon hole already filled with similar documents. With his tall, gaunt form facing me, he spoke, in deep, sad tones, that would have touched the heart of the sternest officer of the army:

“‘Holt (it was his custom to mention only the last name), you acknowledge those men have a previous record for bravery. It is not the first time they have faced danger; and they shall not be shot for this one offense.’

“I then thought it was my duty as the head of my department of military justice to make further argument. For I knew Stanton would nearly explode with rage when he heard of the President’s decision. I began to speak and Lincoln sat down again, giving me his closest attention. Then, rising from his chair and riveting his eyes upon me, he said:

“‘Holt, were you ever in battle?’

“‘I have never been.’

“‘Did Stanton ever march in the first line, to be shot at by an enemy like those men did?’

“‘I think not, Mr. President.’

“‘Well, I tried it in the Black Hawk war, and I remember one time I grew awful weak in the knees when I heard the bullets whistle around me and saw the enemy in front of me. How my legs carried me forward I cannot now tell, for I thought every minute that I would sink to the ground. The men against whom those charges have been made probably were not able to march into battle. Who knows that they were able? I am opposed to having soldiers shot for not facing danger when it is not known that their legs would carry them into danger. Send this dispatch ordering them to be set free.’ And they were set free that day.”

THE LINCOLN PORTRAITS.

The Lincoln apotheosis is much more satisfactory than the Napoleon apotheosis. Lincoln is not only our own, but a greater, purer, sweeter, really stronger man than Napoleon. It is a good thing to bring out the little-known portraits of Lincoln. What a marvelous face! It is full of strength--with just enough of the big child in it to kindle love and sympathy. Has anyone ever noticed the way in which Lincoln’s face is cast on the lines of the North American Indian? We have never heard that Lincoln had Indian blood in him; but take any of his good, beardless portraits, with front or nearly front view; add to it a shock of straight hair parted in the middle and falling down, either straight or in two braids, on the shoulders; add a feather to it; clothe the body in a blanket and let it take an Indian stoop; and no one would question that the man was an aborigine. The face has the gravity of the Indian countenance, but not the impassiveness that we read about; but Indian faces, after all, are seldom impassive. The face of Lincoln, who was not an Indian, has more of the aborigine in it than of that other great President, Benito Juarez, who was an Indian.

LINCOLN’S FAITH IN PROVIDENCE.

The raid made by the Confederate general, J. E. B. Stuart, in June, 1862, around the Union army commanded by General McClellan, caused great anxiety in Washington. One of its results was the interruption of communication between the capital and the army of the Potomac. What this portended no one could affirm. That it suggested the gravest possibilities was felt by all.

While this feeling was dominating all circles, several gentlemen, myself among them, called on President Lincoln in order to be definitely advised about the condition of affairs as understood by him.

To our question: “Mr. President, have you any news from the army?” he sadly replied: “Not one word; we can get no communication with it. I do not know that we have an army; it may have been destroyed or captured, though I cannot so believe, for it was a splendid army. But the most I can do now is to hope that serious disaster has not befallen it.”

This led to a somewhat protracted conversation relative to the general condition of our affairs. It was useless to talk about the Army of the Potomac; for we knew nothing concerning its condition or position at that moment. The conversation therefore took a wide range and touched upon the subject of slavery, about which much was said.

The President did not participate in this conversation. He was an attentive listener, but gave no sign of approval or disapproval of the views which were expressed. At length one of the active participants remarked:

“Slavery must be stricken down wherever it exists in this country. It is right that it should be. It is a crime against justice and humanity. We have tolerated it too long. It brought war upon us. I believe that Providence is not unmindful of the struggle in which this nation is engaged. If we do not do right I believe God will let us go our own way to our ruin. But, if we do right, I believe He will lead us safely out of this wilderness, crown our arms with victory, and restore our now dissevered Union.”

I observed President Lincoln closely while this earnest opinion and expression of religious faith was being uttered. I saw that it affected him deeply, and anticipated, from the play of his features and the sparkle of his eyes, that he would not let the occasion pass without making some definite response to it. I was not mistaken. Mr. Lincoln had been sitting in his chair, in a kind of weary and despondent attitude while the conversation progressed. At the conclusion of the remarks I have quoted, he at once arose and stood at his extreme height. Pausing a moment, his right arm outstretched towards the gentleman who had just ceased speaking, his face aglow like the face of a prophet, Mr. Lincoln gave deliberate and emphatic utterance to the religious faith which sustained him in the great trial to which he and the country were subjected. He said: “My faith is greater than yours. I not only believe that Providence is not unmindful of the struggle in which this nation is engaged; that if we do not do right God will let us go our own way to our ruin; and that if we do right He will lead us safely out of this wilderness, crown our arms with victory, and restore our dissevered union, as you have expressed your belief; but I also believe that He will compel us to do right in order that He may do these things, not so much because we desire them as that they accord with His plans of dealing with this nation, in the midst of which He means to establish justice. I think He means that we shall do more than we have yet done in furtherance of His plans, and He will open the way for our doing it. I have felt His hand upon me in great trials and submitted to His guidance, and I trust that as He shall further open the way I will be ready to walk therein, relying on His help and trusting in His goodness and wisdom.”--From “Some Memories of Lincoln,” by ex-Senator James F. Wilson, in North American Review.

LINCOLN’S LAST WORDS.

The very last words Lincoln delivered on the afternoon before the assassination--last of those great utterances that for six or seven years electrified and enlightened half the world--were a message of suggestion and encouragement to the miners of the Rockies. Schuyler Colfax was going thither and was paying his final call at the White House. Lincoln said to him:

“Mr. Colfax, I want you to take a message from me to the miners whom you visit. I have very large ideas of the mineral wealth of our nation. I believe it is practically inexhaustible. It abounds all over the western country, from the Rocky mountains to the Pacific, and its development has scarcely commenced. During the war, when we were adding a couple of million dollars every day to our national debt, I did not care about encouraging the increase in the volume of our precious metals; we had the country to save first. But now that the rebellion is overthrown, and we know pretty nearly the amount of our national debt, the more gold and silver we mine, we make the payment of that debt so much easier. Now, I am going to encourage that in every possible way. We shall have hundreds of thousands of disbanded soldiers, and many have feared that their return home in such great numbers might paralyze industry by furnishing suddenly a greater supply of labor than there will be a demand for. I am going to try to attract them to the hidden wealth of our mountain ranges, where there is room enough for all. Immigration, which even the war has not stopped, will land upon our shores hundreds of thousands more from over-crowded Europe. I intend to point them to the gold and silver that wait for them in the West. Tell the miners for me, that I shall promote their interests to the best of my ability, because their prosperity is the prosperity of the nation; and we shall prove in a few years that we are indeed the treasury of the world.”

A CHICAGOAN WHO SAW LINCOLN SHOT.

Mr. George C. Read, of Chicago, at the time of President Lincoln’s assassination, was a foot orderly under Generals Griffin and Ayers. He was in Washington on the fateful April 14, 1865, and was an eyewitness to the tragedy. He tells of it as follows:

“Some time in the latter part of March, 1865, I was sent to Washington on account of the loss of my voice. I remained there most of the time in barracks on east Capitol Hill. On the afternoon of the fated April 14, 1865, I happened in the saloon next door to Ford’s Theater to see the barkeeper, one Jim Peck. While standing near a stove about the center of the room three men came into the place laughing and talking loudly. They all went to the end of the bar nearest the door and ordered a drink. One was a tall, handsome fellow, dressed in the latest fashionable clothes, if I remember rightly, and the others appeared like workmen of some kind. Both were carelessly dressed, and I think one was in his shirt sleeves. They had their drink, and then the fine-looking man turned toward where I was standing and said, ‘Come up, soldier, and have a drink.’ I declined, for the reason that I had not at that time become addicted to the habit of social drinking. He then approached me and took me by the arm and said, ‘Have something; take a cigar.’ This I did not refuse, and he put his hand in his vest pocket and, pulling out a cigar, handed it to me without any further remarks. He then returned to his companions at the bar. They remained, if I remember correctly, about five minutes after, and then, all laughing at something that Peck said, left the place. As soon as they were gone I asked Peck who the big man was, and he said that he was an actor--one of the Booth family--John Wilkes Booth. I had heard of him before, but paid no further attention to it except to remark that he seemed to be in a happy frame of mind, when Peck stated that he was on a ‘drunk,’ and associated with the stage mechanics in the theater all the time.

“As I was about to depart, little thinking what history would develop in a few short hours, Peck asked me to accept a couple of tickets to the theater for that night. I was glad to get them, having no money to purchase the same, and knowing that the President would be at the play. Later I found a young man, like myself, broke, and invited him to accompany me to the play. We were on hand early, and, having good reserved seats about the center of the house, were elated over our good luck.

“Suffice it to say that the curtain went up and ‘Our American Cousin’ was introduced. I was intently interested and cannot remember positively what act it was that was on, except what is told in history, when I heard a shot, and immediately a man appeared at the front of the President’s box and, without waiting, jumped to the stage beneath. I, as well as all others in the theater, was astonished. He ran to about the center of the stage and raised his left hand and said something I did not catch, and then disappeared behind the wings. As soon as I saw him I recognized the handsome man I had seen in the saloon that afternoon, and turned to my comrade and said: ‘That’s Wilkes Booth, the actor, and I think he is on a drunk.’ Before I had finished even this a cry went up that the President had been shot, ‘Stop that man!’ and many other exclamations I have forgotten. It was all done so quickly that one had hardly time to think. Immediately the audience rose as one person and cries were heard all over the house, ‘Stop that man!’ ‘The President has been assassinated!’ and many others. The people began to crush each other and try to get out of the theater, but they were quieted to a certain extent and the provost guard on duty there fought to make them keep their places. Soon there was a movement on the side aisle running from the President’s box, and from where I was standing on my seat I could see what appeared to be a party of men carrying some one. Later the rest of the party were conducted out of the theater, and when I managed to get outside I saw a crowd looking up at a house opposite. On asking what it meant, I was told that the President had been carried there and was dying. I lost my comrade in the crowd and have never met him since.

“It is unnecessary to go into any more details of what occurred that night. I was excited, as well as every one else in the city, and got little rest. But that is my experience, told as briefly as possible, without any stretch of imagination. If I had to do with the same again I think it would have been better if I had told the officials what I saw that afternoon, but, as it was, all came out right, and the really guilty ones suffered the penalty of their crime. I met Peck the next year in New York City, but have never heard of or seen him since.”

MARTYRED LINCOLN’S BLOOD.

An interesting and valuable relic, which brings vividly to the mind the historic scene in Ford’s Theater, Washington, on the night of April 14, 1865, is owned by Colonel James S. Case, at one time a resident of Philadelphia, but whose home is now in Brooklyn.

It is only a play bill, but upon it is a discoloration made by a tiny drop of President Lincoln’s blood. It was picked up just after the tragedy by John T. Ford, the manager of the theater. He found it on the floor of the box where it had fallen from the President’s hand when the bullet of Assassin Booth pierced his head. It lay beneath the chair in which the citizen-hero received his death wound. There was a tiny spot of blood, still red as it came from the great heart of Lincoln, on the edge.

Mr. Ford carried the precious paper home, and only parted with it at the request of the late A. K. Browne of Washington, who was a warm personal friend of the manager. It came into Mr. Browne’s possession while the nation was still mourning for its idol, and soon after his assassin had met justly merited fate at the hands of Sergeant Boston Corbett.

The play bill is somewhat yellow from age, but otherwise in an excellent state of preservation. The bloodstain is now a dark brown. The program was of “Our American Cousin,” which was being given for the benefit of Laura Keene. The bloodstain is nearly half way down the program, opposite the names of John Dyott, and Harry Hawk, Miss Keene’s leading support.

A STRANGE COINCIDENCE IN THE LIVES OF LINCOLN AND HIS SLAYER.

When President Lincoln was assassinated on the night of April 14, 1865, while witnessing a play at Ford’s Theater in Washington, he was removed to the Peterson house, which was directly opposite the theater.

The late John T. Ford related that he had occasion to visit John Wilkes Booth at the Peterson house once. The Davenport-Wallack combination was playing “Julius Cæsar” at Ford’s theater. Booth had been cast to play Marc Antony and was late in coming to rehearsal. Ford went over to the house to ask him to hurry up. He found Booth lying in bed studying his lines. He little dreamed then that Lincoln would so shortly die in the same house, the same room and on that identical bed, or that Booth would turn out to be his assassin.

WHERE IS THE ORIGINAL EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION?

When Lincoln went to Washington he had a sale of the furniture of the Eighth street home at Springfield. Most of the articles were bought by a well-to-do family named Tilton, who admired the President in such a way as to make what had belonged to him things to be treasured. When the troops passed through Springfield to the front they visited the house “where Uncle Abe had lived,” and the Tiltons used to confer great favor by permitting the boys in blue to sit down in the dining room and have a glass of milk off the table from which Mr. Lincoln had eaten many times. But the Tiltons moved away to Chicago. They carried with them the furniture which had been in the Lincoln house, prizing it more than ever after his death. In 1871 came the Chicago fire, and with it went not only the Lincoln furniture, but the original document, which, if it were in existence now, would be preserved with the zeal that guards the Declaration of Independence--the Proclamation of Emancipation. The draft of the proclamation had been sent to Chicago to be exhibited for some purpose and was burned in that fire.

MR. GRIFFITHS ON LINCOLN.

“No other public man has been subjected to such scrutiny from the time he was born until the end of his tragic career as was Lincoln,” said Mr. Griffiths in a lecture. “He obtained his early education from ‘Æsop’s Fables,’ ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ and a copy of the Indiana statutes. This was before some of our later legislatures had made their records or his education might have been marred instead of made.