Part 9

About two weeks after the Chicago Convention, the Rev. J. P. Thompson, of New York, called upon the President, in company with the Assistant Secretary of War, Mr. Dana. In the course of conversation, Dr. T. said: “What do you think, Mr. President, is the reason General McClellan does not reply to the letter from the Chicago Convention?” “Oh!” replied Mr. Lincoln, with a characteristic twinkle of the eye, “_he is intrenching_.”

XLV.

One Saturday afternoon, when the lawn in front of the White House was crowded with people listening to the weekly concert of the Marine Band, the President appeared upon the portico. Instantly there was a clapping of hands and clamor for a speech. Bowing his thanks, and excusing himself, he stepped back into the retirement of the circular parlor, remarking to me, with a disappointed air, as he reclined upon the sofa, “I wish they would let me sit out there quietly, and enjoy the music.” I stated to him on this occasion, that I believed no President, since the days of Washington, ever secured the hearts of the people, and carried them with him as he had done. To this he replied that, in such a crisis as the country was then passing through, it was natural that the people should look more earnestly to their leaders than at other periods. He thought their regard for any man in his position who should sincerely have done his best to save the government from destruction, would have been equally as marked and expressive; to which I did not by any means assent.

I do not recall an instance of Mr. Lincoln’s ever referring to any act of his administration with an appearance of complacency or self-satisfaction. I watched him closely during the political excitement previous to the Baltimore Convention, to see if I could discover signs of personal ambition, and I am free to say that, apart from the welfare of the country, there was no evidence to show to my mind that he ever thought of himself. And yet he was very sensitive to the opinions of his friends. A governor of a western State, true and loyal as the best, at a certain juncture conceived himself for some reason aggrieved by Executive action. Having occasion to send in the names of two officers for promotion, he said, in his note to the President, that he hoped whatever feeling he might have against him personally would not prevent his doing justice to the merits of the officers in question. Mr. Lincoln had been utterly unconscious of having given offence, either by lack of appreciation or otherwise, and he seemed greatly touched at the aspersion. He said that, if he had been asked to say which of all the loyal governors had been most active and efficient in raising and equipping troops, if he had made any distinction, where all had done so well, it would have been in favor of the governor in question. At another time, when several conflicting delegations were pressing the claims of different candidates for a position of importance, he said that he had been so troubled about the matter that he had that day refused to see one of the candidates, an old and dear personal friend, lest his judgment should be warped. “If I was less _thin-skinned_ about such things,” he added, “I should get along much better.”

When he had thought profoundly, however, upon certain measures, and felt sure of his ground, criticism, either public or private, did not disturb him. Upon the appearance of what was known as the “Wade and Davis manifesto,” subsequent to his renomination, an intimate friend and supporter, who was very indignant that such a document should have been put forth just previous to the presidential election, took occasion to animadvert very severely upon the course that prompted it. “It is not worth fretting about,” said the President; “it reminds me of an old acquaintance, who, having a son of a scientific turn, bought him a microscope. The boy went around, experimenting with his glass upon everything that came in his way. One day, at the dinner-table, his father took up a piece of cheese. ‘Don’t eat that, father,’ said the boy; ‘it is full of _wrigglers_.’ ‘My son,’ replied the old gentleman, taking, at the same time, a huge bite, ‘let’em _wriggle_; I can stand it if they can.’”

No President ever manifested such a willingness to receive and act upon advice and suggestions from all sources, as Mr. Lincoln. On a certain occasion a leading officer of the government, and the governor of the State he represented, had each a candidate for a high State position. The claims of both were urged with great strength. The President was “in a strait betwixt the two.” A personal friend from the same State, to whom he mentioned the difficulty of deciding the question without giving offence to one or the other of the parties, suggested that he appoint neither of the candidates, but bestow the office upon a certain officer of the army from that State, who had distinguished himself, losing an arm or a leg in the service, but who had not solicited in any way the position. Mr. Lincoln instantly fell in with the idea, saying that it seemed to him “just the right thing to do;” and he immediately made out the nomination.

XLVI.

Among the numerous visitors on one of the President’s reception days, were a party of Congressmen, among whom was the Hon. Thomas Shannon, of California. Soon after the customary greeting, Mr. Shannon said:--

“Mr. President, I met an old friend of yours in California last summer, Thompson Campbell, who had a good deal to say of your Springfield life.” “Ah!” returned Mr. Lincoln, “I am glad to hear of him. Campbell used to be a dry fellow,” he continued. “For a time he was Secretary of State. One day, during the legislative vacation, a meek, cadaverous-looking man, with a white neck-cloth, introduced himself to him at his office, and, stating that he had been informed that Mr. C. had the letting of the Assembly Chamber, said that he wished to secure it, if possible, for a course of lectures he desired to deliver in Springfield. ‘May I ask,’ said the Secretary, ‘what is to be the subject of your lectures?’ ‘Certainly,’ was the reply, with a very solemn expression of countenance. ‘The course I wish to deliver, is on the Second Coming of our Lord.’ ‘It is of no use,’ said C. ‘If you will take my advice, you will not waste your time in this city. It is my private opinion that if the Lord has been in Springfield _once_, He will not come the second time!’”

Representative Shannon, previous to the war, had been an “Old Hunker” Democrat. Converted by the Rebellion, he had gone to the other extreme, and was one of the radical Abolitionists of the Thirty-Eighth Congress. The last Sunday in May, the Rev. Dr. Cheever, of New York, delivered one of his most pungent, denunciatory anti-slavery discourses, in the Hall of the House of Representatives. Among the numerous auditors attracted by the name of the preacher, I noticed Mr. Shannon, whose face was not often seen in church. On the way to my hotel, we fell in together. “Well, S.,” said I, “what think you of that style of preaching?” “It was the first ‘_Gospel_’ sermon I ever heard in my life!” was the emphatic rejoinder.

One of Mr. Shannon’s California colleagues, the Hon. Mr. Higby, told me that having special business one evening, which called him to the White House, the President came into the office, dressed for a state dinner. In the conversation which followed, holding up his hands, encased in white gloves, he remarked, with a laugh, that one of his Illinois friends never could see his hands in that “predicament,” without being reminded of “_canvassed hams_!”

Mr. Lincoln was always ready to join in a laugh at the expense of his person, concerning which he was very indifferent. Many of his friends will recognize the following story,--the incident having actually occurred,--which he used to tell with great glee:--

“In the days when I used to be ‘on the circuit,’ I was once accosted in the cars by a stranger, who said, ‘Excuse me, sir, but I have an article in my possession which belongs to you.’ ‘How is that?’ I asked, considerably astonished. The stranger took a jack-knife from his pocket. ‘This knife,’ said he, ‘was placed in my hands some years ago, with the injunction that I was to keep it until I found a man _uglier_ than myself. I have carried it from that time to this. Allow me _now_ to say, sir, that I think _you_ are fairly entitled to the property.’”

XLVII.

I had been engaged in the official chamber until quite late one evening, upon some pencil studies of accessories, necessary to introduce in my picture. The President, Mrs. Lincoln, and the Private Secretaries had gone to the opera, and for the time being I had undisturbed possession. Towards twelve o’clock I heard some persons enter the sleeping apartment occupied by Mr. Nicolay and Major Hay, which was directly opposite the room where I was sitting; and shortly afterward the hearty laugh of Mr. Lincoln broke the stillness, proceeding from the same quarter. Throwing aside my work, I went across the hall to see what had occasioned this outbreak of merriment. The Secretaries had come in and Hay had retired; Mr. Nicolay sat by the table with his boots off, and the President was leaning over the “footboard” of the bed, laughing and talking with the hilarity of a schoolboy. It seemed that Hay, or “John,” as the President called him, had met with a singular adventure, which was the subject of the amusement. Glancing through the half-open door, Mr. Lincoln caught sight of me, and the story had to be repeated for my benefit. The incident was trifling in itself, but the President’s enjoyment of it was very exhilarating. I never saw him in so frolicsome a mood as on this occasion.

It has been well said by a critic of Shakspeare, that “the spirit which held the woe of ‘Lear,’ and the tragedy of ‘Hamlet,’ would have broken, had it not also had the humor of the ‘Merry Wives of Windsor,’ and the merriment of ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream.’” With equal justice can this profound truth be applied to the late President. The world has had no better illustration of it since the immortal plays were written.

Mr. Lincoln’s “laugh” stood by itself. The “neigh” of a wild horse on his native prairie is not more undisguised and hearty. A group of gentlemen, among whom was his old Springfield friend and associate, Hon. Isaac N. Arnold, were one day conversing in the passage near his office, while waiting admission. A congressional delegation had preceded them, and presently an unmistakable voice was heard through the partition, in a burst of mirth. Mr. Arnold remarked, as the sound died away: “That laugh has been the President’s life-preserver!”

In a corner of his desk he kept a copy of the latest humorous work; and it was his habit when greatly fatigued, annoyed, or depressed, to take this up and read a chapter, frequently with great relief.

Among the callers in the course of an evening which I well remember, was a party composed of two senators, a representative, an ex-lieutenant-governor of a western State, and several private citizens. They had business of great importance, involving the necessity of the President’s examination of voluminous documents. He was at this time, from an unusual pressure of office-seekers, in addition to his other cares, literally worn out. Pushing everything aside, he said to one of the party: “Have you seen the ‘Nasby Papers’?” “No, I have not,” was the answer; “who is ‘Nasby?’” “There is a chap out in Ohio,” returned the President, “who has been writing a series of letters in the newspapers over the signature of ‘Petroleum V. Nasby.’ Some one sent me a pamphlet collection of them the other day. I am going to write to ‘Petroleum’ to come down here, and I intend to tell him if he will communicate his talent to me, I will ‘_swap_’ places with him.” Thereupon he arose, went to a drawer in his desk, and, taking out the “Letters,” sat down and read one to the company finding in their enjoyment of it the temporary excitement and relief which another man would have found in a glass of wine. The instant he ceased, the book was thrown aside, his countenance relapsed into its habitual serious expression, and the business before him was entered upon with the utmost earnestness.

During the dark days of ’62, the Hon. Mr. Ashley, of Ohio, had occasion to call at the White House early one morning, just after news of a disaster. Mr. Lincoln commenced some trifling narration, to which the impulsive congressman was in no mood to listen. He rose to his feet and said: “Mr. President, I did not come here this morning to hear stories; it is too serious a time.” Instantly the smile faded from Mr. Lincoln’s face. “Ashley,” said he, “sit down! I respect you as an earnest, sincere man. You cannot be more anxious than I have been constantly since the beginning of the war; and I say to you now, that were it not for this occasional _vent_, I should die.”

XLVIII.

About the first of June I received a call from the Hon. Horace Greeley, who was temporarily in Washington. Very near-sighted, his comments upon my work, then about half completed, were not particularly gratifying. He thought the steel likenesses in his book, “The American Conflict,” were much better. I called his attention, among other points, to a newspaper introduced in the foreground of the picture, “symbolizing,” I said, “the agency of the ‘Press’ in bringing about _Emancipation_;”--stating, at the same time, that this accessory was studied from a copy of the “Tribune.” Upon this his face relaxed;--“I would not object,” said he, “to your putting in my letter to the President on that subject.”

Knowing that he had not been friendly to the renomination of Mr. Lincoln, it occurred to me, in my simplicity, that if I could bring them together, an interview might result in clearing up what was, perhaps, a mutual misunderstanding of relative positions,--though I had never known Mr. Lincoln to mention the name of the editor of the “Tribune,” otherwise than with profound respect. Leaving my visitor in front of the picture, I went to the President’s office to inform him of the presence of Mr. G. in the house, thinking that he might deem it best, under the circumstances, to receive him below stairs. In this, however, I “reckoned without my host.” He looked up quickly, as I mentioned the name, but recovering himself, said, with unusual blandness: “Please say to Mr. Greeley that I shall be _very_ happy to see him, _at his leisure_.”

I have been repeatedly asked to what extent Mr. Lincoln read the newspapers. It might have dampened the patriotic ardor of many ambitious editors, could they have known that their elaborate disquisitions, sent in such numbers to the White House, were usually appropriated by the servants, and rarely, or never, reached the one they were preëminently intended to enlighten as to his duty and policy. I recollect of but a single instance of newspaper reading on the part of the President, during the entire period of my intercourse with him. One evening, having occasion to go to the Private Secretary’s office, supposing the rooms to be vacant, I came upon Mr. Lincoln, seated quietly by himself, for once engaged in looking over the contents of a journal, which he had casually taken up.

The Washington dailies,--the “Chronicle,” “Republican,” and “Star,”--were usually laid upon his table, and I think he was in the habit of glancing at the telegraphic reports of these; but rarely beyond this. All war news of importance, of course, reached him previous to its publication. He had, therefore, little occasion to consult newspapers on this account. The Private Secretaries, however, usually kept him informed of the principal subjects discussed editorially in the leading organs of the country.

The journals I became most familiar with, in the Secretaries’ quarters, besides those mentioned, were the Philadelphia “Press” and “North American;” the Baltimore “American” and “Sun;” the New York “Tribune,” “Evening Post,” “Independent,” “Times,” “Herald,” and “World;” the Albany “Evening Journal;” the Boston “Advertiser,” “Journal,” and “Transcript;” the Chicago “Tribune” and “Journal,” (the latter valued chiefly for the letters of its war correspondent, B. F. Taylor); the St. Louis “Republican” and “Democrat;” and the Cincinnati “Gazette” and “Commercial.”

Violent criticism, attacks, and denunciations, coming either from radicals or conservatives, rarely ruffled the President, if they reached his ears. It must have been in connection with something of this kind, that he once told me this story. “Some years ago,” said he, “a couple of ‘emigrants,’ fresh from the ‘Emerald Isle,’ seeking labor, were making their way toward the West. Coming suddenly, one evening, upon a pond of water, they were greeted with a grand chorus of bull-frogs,--a kind of music they had never before heard. ‘B-a-u-m!’--‘B-a-u-m!’ Overcome with terror, they clutched their ‘shillelahs,’ and crept cautiously forward, straining their eyes in every direction, to catch a glimpse of the enemy; but he was not to be found! At last a happy idea seized the foremost one,--he sprang to his companion and exclaimed, ‘And sure, Jamie! it is my opinion it’s nothing but a “_noise_!”’”

On a certain occasion, the President was induced by a committee of gentlemen to examine a newly invented “repeating” gun; the peculiarity of which was, that it prevented the escape of gas. After due inspection, he said: “Well, I believe this really does what it is represented to do. Now have any of you heard of any machine, or invention, for preventing the escape of ‘gas’ from newspaper establishments?”

One afternoon he came into the studio, while Mrs. Secretary Welles and a party of friends were viewing the picture. Mrs. Welles said that she “understood from the newspapers that the work was nearly completed; which appeared to be far from the truth.” In reply, I made the common place remark, that the “papers” were not always “_reliable_.” “That is to say, Mrs. Welles,” broke in the President, “they ‘_lie_,’ and then they ‘_re-lie_!’”

At one of the “levees,” in the winter of 1864, during a lull in the hand-shaking, Mr. Lincoln was addressed by two lady friends, one of whom is the wife of a gentleman subsequently called into the Cabinet. Turning to them with a weary air, he remarked that it was a relief to have now and then those to talk to who had no favors to ask. The lady referred to is a radical,--a New Yorker by birth, but for many years a resident of the West. She replied, playfully, “Mr. President, I _have_ one request to make.” “Ah!” said he, at once looking grave. “Well, what is it?” “That you suppress the infamous ‘Chicago Times,’” was the rejoinder. After a brief pause, Mr. Lincoln asked her if she had ever tried to imagine how she would have felt, in some former administration to which she was opposed, if her favorite newspaper had been seized by the government, and suppressed. The lady replied that it was not a parallel case; that in circumstances like those then existing, when the nation was struggling for its very life, such utterances as were daily put forth in that journal should be suppressed by the strong hand of authority; that the cause of loyalty and good government demanded it. “I fear you do not fully comprehend,” returned the President, “the danger of abridging the _liberties_ of the people. Nothing but the very sternest necessity can ever justify it. A government had better go to the very extreme of toleration, than to do aught that could be construed into an interference with, or to jeopardize in any degree, the common rights of its citizens.”

XLIX.

A morning or two after the visit of Mr. Greeley, I was called upon by a gentleman, who requested my assistance in securing a brief interview with the President, for the purpose of presenting him with an elaborate pen-and-ink “allegorical, symbolic” representation of the “Emancipation Proclamation;” which, in a massive carved frame, had been purchased at a recent “Sanitary Fair,” in one of the large cities, by a committee of gentlemen, expressly for this object. The composition contained a tree, representing Liberty; a portrait of Mr. Lincoln; soldiers, monitors, broken fetters, etc.; together with the text of the proclamation, all executed with a pen. Artistically speaking, such works have no value,--they are simply interesting, as curiosities. Mr. Lincoln kindly accorded the desired opportunity to make the presentation, which occupied but a few moments, and was in the usual form. He accepted the testimonial, he said, not for himself, but in behalf of “the cause in which all were engaged.” When the group dispersed, I remained with the President. He returned to his desk; while I examined curiously the pen work, which was exceedingly minute in detail. “This is quite wonderful!” I said, at length. Mr. Lincoln looked up from his papers; “Yes,” he rejoined; “it is what I call _ingenious nonsense_!”

The evening following this affair, on entering the President’s office, about eleven o’clock, I found him alone, seated at the long table, with a large pile of military commissions before him, which he was signing one by one. As I sat down beside him, he presently remarked, “I do not, as you see, pretend to read over these documents. I see that Stanton has signed them, so I conclude they are all right.” Pausing here, he read a portion of one, beginning with the name of the individual, “-------- is hereby appointed adjutant-general, with the rank of captain, etc. E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War.” “There,” said he, appending his own signature in the opposite corner; “that fixes _him_ out.” Thus he went on chatting and writing, until he had finished the lot; then, rising from his chair, he stretched himself, and said, “Well, I have got that job _husked out_; now I guess I will go over to the War Department before I go to bed, and see if there is any news.” Walking over with him at his request,--to divert his mind, I repeated a story told me the night previous concerning a ‘contraband’ who had fallen into the hands of some good pious people, and was being taught by them to read and pray. Going off by himself one day, he was overheard to commence a prayer by the introduction of himself as “Jim Williams--a berry good nigga’ to wash windows; ’spec’s you know me now?’”

An amusing illustration of the fact that whatever the nature of an incident related to the President, it never failed to remind him of something similar, followed. After a hearty laugh at what he called this “direct way of putting the case,” he said: “The story that suggests to me, has no resemblance to it save in the ‘washing windows’ part. A lady in Philadelphia had a pet poodle dog, which mysteriously disappeared. Rewards were offered for him, and a great ado made without effect. Some weeks passed, and all hope of the favorite’s return had been given up, when a servant brought him in one day, in the filthiest condition imaginable. The lady was overjoyed to see her pet again, but horrified at his appearance. ‘Where _did_ you find him?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh,’ replied the man, very unconcernedly, ‘a negro down the street had him tied to the end of a pole, _swabbing_ windows.’”

L.

A day or two previous to the meeting of the Republican Convention, the President read me his letter to the “Owen Lovejoy Monument Association,”--lately written, and not then published,--in which he expressed his appreciation of Mr. Lovejoy in nearly the same language I had heard him use on a former occasion. “Throughout my heavy and perplexing responsibilities here,” ran the letter, “to the day of his death, it would scarcely wrong any other to say he was my most generous friend. Let him have the marble monument, along with the well assured and more enduring one in the hearts of those who love liberty unselfishly for all men.” A noble tribute, in fitly chosen words!