Part 7

“A couple of aged, plain country people, poorly clad, but with frank open countenances, now came forward. ‘Now is your time, dear,’ said the husband, as the President dismissed the one preceding them. The lady stepped forward, made a low courtesy, and said, ‘Mr. President.’

“Mr. Lincoln, looking over his spectacles, fixed those gray, piercing, yet mild eyes upon her, then lifting his head and extending his hand, he said, in the kindest tones: ‘Well, good lady, what can I do for you?’

“‘Mr. President,’ she resumed, ‘I feel so embarrassed I can hardly speak. I never spoke to a President before; but I am a good Union woman down in Maryland, and my son is wounded badly, and in the hospital, and I have been trying to get him out, but somehow couldn’t, and they said I had better come right to you. When the war first broke out I gave my son first to God, and then told him he might go fight the Rebels; and now if you will let me take him home I will nurse him up, and just as soon as he gets well enough he shall go right back and help put down the rebellion. He is a good boy, and don’t want to shirk the service.’

“I was looking full in Mr. Lincoln’s face. I saw the tears gathering in his eyes, and his lips quivered as he replied:

“‘Yes, yes, God bless you! you shall have your son. What hospital did you say?’ It seemed a relief to him to turn aside and write a few words, which he handed to the woman, saying: ‘There, give that to ----; and you will get your son, if he is able to go home with you.’

“‘God bless you, Mr. President!’ said the father, the only words he had uttered; and the mother, making a low courtesy, fairly sobbed: ‘O sir, we are so much obliged to you.’ ‘Yes, yes; all right; and you will find that _that_ will bring him,’ was spoken in tones so kindly and tender, that they have often since thrilled my memory.”

XXXVII.

In the year 1855 or ’56, George B. Lincoln, Esq., of Brooklyn, was travelling through the West in connection with a large New York dry-goods establishment. He found himself one night in an insignificant town on the Illinois River, by the name of Naples. The only tavern of the place had evidently been constructed with reference to business on the smallest possible scale. Poor as the prospect seemed, Mr. Lincoln had no alternative but to put up at the place. The supper-room was also used as a lodging-room. After a tolerable supper and a comfortable hour before the fire, Mr. L. told his host that he thought he would “go to bed.” “Bed!” echoed the landlord; “there is no bed for you in this house, unless you sleep with that man yonder. He has the only one we have to spare.” “Well,” returned Mr. Lincoln, “the gentleman has possession, and perhaps would not like a bedfellow.” Upon this, a grizzly head appeared out of the pillows, and said, “What is your name?” “They call me Lincoln at home,” was the reply. “Lincoln!” repeated the stranger; “any connection of our Illinois Abraham?” “No,” replied Mr. L., “I fear not.” “Well,” said the old man, “I will let any man by the name of ‘Lincoln’ sleep with me, just for the sake of the name. You have heard of Abe?” he inquired. “Oh yes, very often,” replied Mr. Lincoln. “No man could travel far in this State without hearing of _him_, and I would be very glad to claim connection, if I could do so honestly.” “Well,” said the old gentleman, “my name is Simmons. ‘Abe’ and I used to live and work together when we were young men. Many a job of wood-cutting and rail-splitting have I done up with him. Abe Lincoln,” said he with emphasis, “was the _likeliest_ boy in God’s world. He would work all day as hard as any of us--and study by firelight in the log-house half the night; and in this way he made himself a thorough practical surveyor. Once, during those days, I was in the upper part of the State, and I met General Ewing, whom President Jackson had sent to the Northwest to make surveys. I told him about Abe Lincoln, what a student he was, and that I wanted he should give him a job; He looked over his memoranda, and, pulling out a paper, said: ‘There is ---- county must be surveyed; if your friend can do the work properly, I shall be glad to have him undertake it--the compensation will be six hundred dollars!’ Pleased as I could be, I hastened to Abe, after I got home, with an account of what I had secured for him. He was sitting before the fire in the log-cabin when I told him; and what do you think was his answer? When I finished, he looked up very quietly, and said, ‘Mr. Simmons, I thank you very sincerely for your kindness, but I don’t think I will undertake the job.’ ‘In the name of wonder,’ said I, ‘why? Six hundred dollars does not grow upon every bush out here in Illinois.’ ‘I know that,’ said Abe, ‘and I need the money bad enough, Simmons, as you know; but I never have been under obligation to a Democratic administration, and I never intend to be so long as I can get my living another way. General Ewing must find another man to do his work.’”

I related this story to the President one day, and asked him if it was true. “Pollard Simmons!” said he: “well do I remember him. It is correct about our working together; but the old man must have stretched the facts somewhat about the survey of the county. I think I should have been very glad of the job at that time, no matter what administration was in power.” Notwithstanding this, however, I am inclined to believe Mr. Simmons was not far out of the way. His statement seems very characteristic of what Abraham Lincoln may be supposed to have been at twenty-three or twenty-five years of age.

Mr. G. B. Lincoln also told me of an amusing circumstance which took place at Springfield soon after Mr. Lincoln’s nomination in 1860. A hatter in Brooklyn secretly obtained the size of the future President’s head, and made for him a very elegant hat, which he sent by his townsman, Lincoln, to Springfield. About the time it was presented, various other testimonials of a similar character had come in from different sections. Mr. Lincoln took the hat, and after admiring its texture and workmanship, put it on his head and walked up to a looking-glass. Glancing from the reflection to Mrs. Lincoln, he said, with his peculiar twinkle of the eye, “Well, wife, there is one thing likely to come out of this scrape, any how. We are going to have some _new clothes_!”

One afternoon during the summer of 1862, the President accompanied several gentlemen to the Washington Navy-yard, to witness some experiments with a newly-invented gun. Subsequently the party went aboard of one of the steamers lying at the wharf. A discussion was going on as to the merits of the invention, in the midst of which Mr. Lincoln caught sight of some _axes_ hanging up outside of the cabin. Leaving the group, he quietly went forward, and taking one down, returned with it, and said: “Gentlemen, you may talk about your ‘Raphael repeaters’ and ‘eleven-inch Dahlgrens;’ but _here_ is an institution which I guess I understand better than either of you.” With that he held the axe out at arm’s length by the end of the handle, or “helve,” as the wood-cutters call it--a feat not another person of the party could perform, though all made the attempt. In such acts as this, showing that he neither forgot nor was ashamed of his humble origin, the late President exhibited his true nobility of character. He was a perfect illustration of his favorite poet’s words:--

“The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, The man’s the gold, for a’ that!”

XXXVIII.

In March, 1864, Edwin Forrest came to Washington to fulfil an engagement at Ford’s Theatre. It was announced one day that he was to appear that evening in “Richelieu.” I was with the President, when Senator Harris of New York came in. After he had finished his business, which was to secure the remittance of the sentence of one of his constituents, who had been imprisoned on what seemed insufficient grounds, I told the President that Forrest was to play _Richelieu_ that evening, and, knowing his tastes, I said it was a play which I thought he would enjoy, for Forrest’s representation of it was the most life-like of anything I had ever seen upon the stage. “Who wrote the play?” said he. “Bulwer,” I replied. “Ah!” he rejoined; “well, I knew Bulwer wrote novels, but I did not know he was a play-writer also. It may seem somewhat strange to say,” he continued, “but I never read an entire novel in my life!” Said Judge Harris, “Is it possible?” “Yes,” returned the President, “it is a fact. I once commenced ‘Ivanhoe,’ but never finished it.” This statement, in this age of the world, seems almost incredible--but I give the circumstance as it occurred.

However it may have been with regard to novels, it is very certain--as I have already illustrated--that he found time to read Shakspeare; and that he was also fond of certain kinds of poetry. N. P. Willis once told me, that he was taken quite by surprise, on a certain occasion when he was riding with the President and Mrs. Lincoln, by Mr. Lincoln, of his own accord, referring to, and quoting several lines from his poem entitled “Parrhasius.”

In the spring of 1862, the President spent several days at Fortress Monroe, awaiting military operations upon the Peninsula. As a portion of the Cabinet were with him, that was temporarily the seat of government, and he bore with him constantly the burden of public affairs. His favorite diversion was reading Shakspeare. One day (it chanced to be the day before the capture of Norfolk) as he sat reading alone, he called to his aide[4] in the adjoining room,--“You have been writing long enough, Colonel; come in here; I want to read you a passage in ‘Hamlet.’” He read the discussion on ambition between Hamlet and his courtiers, and the soliloquy, in which conscience debates of a future state. This was followed by passages from “Macbeth.” Then opening to “King John,” he read from the third act the passage in which Constance bewails her imprisoned, lost boy.

Closing the book, and recalling the words,--

“And, father cardinal, I have heard you say That we shall see and know our friends in heaven: If that be true, I shall see my boy again,”--

Mr. Lincoln said: “Colonel, did you ever dream of a lost friend, and feel that you were holding sweet communion with that friend, and yet have a sad consciousness that it was not a reality?--just so I dream of my boy Willie.” Overcome with emotion, he dropped his head on the table, and sobbed aloud.

XXXIX.

William Wallace Lincoln, I never knew. He died Thursday, February 20th, 1862, nearly two years before my intercourse with the President commenced. He had just entered upon his twelfth year, and has been described to me as of an unusually serious and thoughtful disposition. His death was the most crushing affliction Mr. Lincoln had ever been called upon to pass through.

After the funeral, the President resumed his official duties, but mechanically, and with a terrible weight at his heart. The following Thursday he gave way to his feelings, and shut himself from all society. The second Thursday it was the same; he would see no one, and seemed a prey to the deepest melancholy. About this time the Rev. Francis Vinton, of Trinity Church, New York, had occasion to spend a few days in Washington. An acquaintance of Mrs. Lincoln and of her sister, Mrs. Edwards, of Springfield, he was requested by them to come up and see the President. The setting apart of Thursday for the indulgence of his grief had gone on for several weeks, and Mrs. Lincoln began to be seriously alarmed for the health of her husband, of which fact Dr. Vinton was apprised. Mr. Lincoln received him in the parlor, and an opportunity was soon embraced by the clergyman to chide him for showing so rebellious a disposition to the decrees of Providence. He told him plainly that the indulgence of such feelings, though natural, was sinful. It was unworthy one who believed in the Christian religion. He had duties to the living, greater than those of any other man, as the chosen father, and leader of the people, and he was unfitting himself for his responsibilities by thus giving way to his grief. To mourn the departed as _lost_ belonged to heathenism--not to Christianity. “Your son,” said Dr. Vinton, “is _alive_, in Paradise. Do you remember that passage in the Gospels: ‘God is not the God of the _dead_ but of the living, for _all_ live unto him’?” The President had listened as one in a stupor, until his ear caught the words, “Your son is alive.” Starting from the sofa, he exclaimed, “Alive! _alive!_ Surely you mock me.” “No, sir, believe me,” replied Dr. Vinton; “it is a most comforting doctrine of the church, founded upon the words of Christ himself.” Mr. Lincoln looked at him a moment, and then, stepping forward, he threw his arm around the clergyman’s neck, and, laying his head upon his breast, sobbed aloud. “_Alive? alive?_” he repeated. “My dear sir,” said Dr. Vinton, greatly moved, as he twined his own arm around the weeping father, “believe this, for it is God’s most precious truth. Seek not your son among the dead; he is not there; he lives to-day in Paradise! Think of the full import of the words I have quoted. The Sadducees, when they questioned Jesus, had no other conception than that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were dead and buried. Mark the reply: ‘Now that the dead are raised, even Moses showed at the bush when he called the Lord the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. For he is not the God of the dead, but of the living, _for all live unto him_!’ Did not the aged patriarch mourn his sons as dead?--‘Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin also.’ But Joseph and Simeon were both living, though he believed it not. Indeed, Joseph being taken from him, was the eventual means of the preservation of the whole family. And so God has called your son into his upper kingdom--a kingdom and an existence as real, more real, than your own. It may be that he too, like Joseph, has gone, in God’s good providence, to be the salvation of _his_ father’s household. It is a part of the Lord’s plan for the ultimate happiness of you and yours. Doubt it not. I have a sermon,” continued Dr. Vinton, “upon this subject, which I think might interest you.” Mr. Lincoln begged him to send it at an early day--thanking him repeatedly for his cheering and hopeful words. The sermon was sent, and read over and over by the President, who caused a copy to be made for his own private use before it was returned. Through a member of the family, I have been informed that Mr. Lincoln’s views in relation to spiritual things seemed changed from that hour. Certain it is, that thenceforth he ceased the observance of the day of the week upon which his son died, and gradually resumed his accustomed cheerfulness.

XL.

Among my visitors in the early part of May was the Hon. Mr. Alley, of Massachusetts, who gave me a deeply interesting inside glimpse of the Chicago Republican Convention in 1860. The popular current had, at first, set very strongly in favor of Mr. Seward, who, many supposed, would be nominated almost by acclamation. The evening before the balloting the excitement was at the highest pitch. Mr. Lincoln was telegraphed at Springfield, that his chances with the Convention depended upon obtaining the votes of two delegations which were named in the despatch; and that, to secure this support, he must pledge himself, if elected, to give places in his Cabinet to the respective heads of those delegations. A reply was immediately returned over the wires, characteristic of the man. It was to this effect:--

“_I authorize no bargains, and will be bound by none._

A. LINCOLN.”

It is unquestionable that the country was not prepared for the final action of this Convention. In various sections of the Eastern and Middle States, the antecedents and even the name of Mr. Lincoln were entirely unknown. The newspapers announced the nominee as the “Illinois Rail-splitter;” and however popular this title may have been with the masses, it is not to be denied that it seemed to many people a very extraordinary qualification for the Presidency. An acquaintance of mine, who happened to be in Boston on the evening of the day the Convention adjourned, formed one of a large group at his hotel, eagerly discussing the result. Only one or two of the party knew anything whatever of the first name on the “ticket,” and what they knew was soon told. Considerable disappointment could be seen in the faces of those composing the circle. One rough-looking sovereign, from Cape Cod, or Nantucket, had listened attentively, but taken no part in the conversation. Turning away at length, with an expression of deep disgust, he muttered: “A set of consummate fools! Nominate a man for the Presidency who has never smelt salt water!”

Some of Mr. Lincoln’s immediate neighbors were taken as completely by surprise as those in distant States. An old resident of Springfield told me that there lived within a block or two of his house, in that city, an Englishman, who of course still cherished to some extent the ideas and prejudices of his native land. Upon hearing of the choice at Chicago he could not contain his astonishment.

“What!” said he, “_Abe Lincoln_ nominated for President of the United States? Can it be possible! A man that buys a ten-cent beefsteak for his breakfast, and carries it home himself.”

A correspondent of the “Portland Press” has given to the public the following account of Mr. Lincoln’s reception of the nomination:--

“In June, 1860, a Massachusetts gentleman was induced to take the opportunity, in company with several delegates and others interested in the objects of the Convention, to go to Chicago and spend a few days in visiting that section of our country. In a very few minutes after the final balloting, when Mr. Lincoln was nominated, it happened that a train of cars started upon the Central Railroad, passing through Springfield, and Mr. R. took passage in the same. Arriving at Springfield, he put up at a public house, and, loitering upon the front door-steps, had the curiosity to inquire of the landlord where Mr. Lincoln lived. While giving the necessary directions, the landlord suddenly remarked, ‘There is Mr. Lincoln now, coming down the sidewalk; that tall, crooked man, loosely walking this way. If you wish to see him, you will have an opportunity by putting yourself in his track.’

“In a few moments the object of his curiosity reached the point the gentleman occupied, who, advancing, ventured to accost him thus: ‘Is this Mr. Lincoln?’ ‘That, sir, is my name,’ was the courteous reply. ‘My name is R., from Plymouth County, Massachusetts,’ returned the gentleman, and learning that you have to-day been made the public property of the United States, I have ventured to introduce myself, with a view to a brief acquaintance, hoping you will pardon such a patriotic curiosity in a stranger.’ Mr. Lincoln received his salutations with cordiality, told him no apology was necessary for his introduction, and asked him to accompany him to his residence. He had just come from the telegraph office, where he had learned the fact of his nomination; and was on his return home, when Mr. R. met and accompanied him thither.

“Arriving at Mr. Lincoln’s residence, he was introduced to Mrs. Lincoln and the two boys, and entered into conversation in relation to the Lincoln family of the Old Colony,--the Hingham General Lincoln of the Revolutionary army, and the two Worcester Lincolns, brothers, who were governors of Massachusetts and Maine at one and the same time. In reply to Mr. R.’s inquiry, whether he could trace his ancestry to either of those early families of his own name, Mr. Lincoln, with characteristic facetiousness, replied that he could not say that he ever had an ancestor older than his father; and therefore had it not in his power to trace his genealogy to so patriotic a source as old General Lincoln of the Revolution; though he wished he could. After some further pleasant conversation, chiefly relating to the early history of the Pilgrim Fathers, with which he seemed familiar, Mr. R. desired the privilege of writing a letter to be despatched by the next mail. He was very promptly and kindly provided with the necessary means. As he began to write, Mr. Lincoln approached, and tapping him on the shoulder, expressed the hope that he was not a spy who had come thus early to report his faults to the public. ‘By no means, sir,’ protested Mr. R.; ‘I am writing home to my wife, who, I dare say, will hardly credit the fact that I am writing in your house.’ ‘O, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Lincoln, ‘if your wife doubts your word, I will cheerfully indorse it, if you will give me permission;’ and taking the pen from Mr. R., he wrote the following words in a clear hand upon the blank page of the letter:--

“‘I am happy to say that your husband is at the present time a guest in my house, and in due time I trust you will greet his safe return to the bosom of his family.

A. LINCOLN.’

“This gave Mr. R. an excellent autograph of Mr. Lincoln, besides bearing witness to his hospitable and cheerful spirit.

“Whilst thus engaged in pleasant conversation, the cars arrived that brought from Chicago the committee of the Convention appointed to notify Mr. Lincoln of his nomination. He received them at the door, and conducted them to seats in his parlor. On the reception of this committee, Mr. Lincoln appeared somewhat embarrassed, but soon resumed his wonted tranquillity and cheerfulness. At the proper time, Governor Morgan, of New York, chairman of the committee, arose, and, with becoming dignity, informed Mr. Lincoln that he and his fellows appeared in behalf of the Convention in session at Chicago, to inform him that he had that day been unanimously nominated to the office of President of the United States; and asked his permission to report to that body his acceptance of the nomination. Mr. Lincoln, with becoming modesty, but very handsomely, replied that he felt his insufficiency for the vast responsibilities which must devolve upon that office under the impending circumstances of the times; but if God and his country called for his services in that direction, he should shrink from no duty that might be imposed upon him, and therefore he should not decline the nomination.

“After this ceremony had passed, Mr. Lincoln remarked to the company, that as an appropriate conclusion to an interview so important and interesting as that which had just transpired, he supposed good manners would require that he should treat the committee with something to drink; and opening a door that led into a room in the rear, he called out ‘Mary! Mary!’ A girl responded to the call, to whom Mr. Lincoln spoke a few words in an under-tone, and, closing the door, returned again to converse with his guests. In a few minutes the maiden entered, bearing a large waiter, containing several glass tumblers, and a large pitcher in the midst, and placed it upon the centre-table. Mr. Lincoln arose, and gravely addressing the company, said: ‘Gentlemen, we must pledge our mutual healths in the most healthy beverage which God has given to man--it is the only beverage I have ever used or allowed in my family, and I cannot conscientiously depart from it on the present occasion--it is pure Adam’s ale from the spring;’ and, taking a tumbler, he touched it to his lips, and pledged them his highest respects in a cup of cold water. Of course, all his guests were constrained to admire his consistency, and to join in his example.

“Mr. R., when he went to Chicago, had but little political sympathy with the Republican Convention which nominated Mr. Lincoln; but when he saw, as he did see for himself, his sturdy adherence to a high moral principle, he returned an admirer of the man, and a zealous advocate of his election.”

XLI.