President Lincoln was reading the draft of a speech. Edward, the conservative but dignified butler of the White House, was seen struggling with Tad and trying to drag him back from the window from which was waving a Confederate flag, captured in some fight and given to the boy. Edward conquered and Tad, rushing to find his father, met him coming forward to make, as it proved, his last speech.
The speech began with these words, “We meet this evening, not in sorrow, but in gladness of heart.” Having his speech written in loose leaves, and being compelled to hold a candle in the other hand, he would let the loose leaves drop to the floor one by one. “Tad” picked them up as they fell, and impatiently called for more as they fell from his father’s hand.
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{0238}
President Lincoln, while entertaining a few select friends, is said to have related the following anecdote of a man who knew too much:
He was a careful, painstaking fellow, who always wanted to be absolutely exact, and as a result he frequently got the ill-will of his less careful superiors.
During the administration of President Jackson there was a singular young gentleman employed in the Public Postoffice in Washington.
His name was G.; he was from Tennessee, the son of a widow, a neighbor of the President, on which account the old hero had a kind feeling for him, and always got him out of difficulties with some of the higher officials, to whom his singular interference was distasteful.
Among other things, it is said of him that while employed in the General Postoffice, on one occasion he had to copy a letter to Major H., a high official, in answer to an application made by an old gentleman in Virginia or Pennsylvania, for the establishment of a new postoffice.
The writer of the letter said the application could not be granted, in consequence of the applicant’s “proximity” to another office.
When the letter came into G.‘s hand to copy, being a great stickler for plainness, he altered “proximity” to “nearness to.”
Major H. observed it, and asked G. why he altered his letter.
“Why,” replied G., “because I don’t think the man would understand what you mean by proximity.”
“Well,” said Major H., “try him; put in the ‘proximity’ again.”
In a few days a letter was received from the applicant, in which he very indignantly said that his father had fought for liberty in the second war for independence, and he should like to have the name of the scoundrel who brought the charge of proximity or anything else wrong against him.
“There,” said G., “did I not say so?”
G. carried his improvements so far that Mr. Berry, the Postmaster-General, said to him: “I don’t want you any longer; you know too much.”
Poor G. went out, but his old friend got him another place.
This time G.‘s ideas underwent a change. He was one day very busy writing, when a stranger called in and asked him where the Patent Office was.
“I don’t know,” said G.
“Can you tell me where the Treasury Department is?” said the stranger.
“No,” said G.
“Nor the President’s house?”
“No.”
The stranger finally asked him if he knew where the Capitol was.
“No,” replied G.
“Do you live in Washington, sir?”
“Yes, sir,” said G.
“Good Lord! and don’t you know where the Patent Office, Treasury, President’s house and Capitol are?”
“Stranger,” said G., “I was turned out of the postoffice for knowing too much. I don’t mean to offend in that way again.
“I am paid for keeping this book.
“I believe I know that much; but if you find me knowing anything more you may take my head.”
“Good morning,” said the stranger.
“That every man may receive at least a moderate education, and thereby be enabled to read the histories of his own and other countries, by which he may duly appreciate the value of our free institutions, appears to be an object of vital importance; even on this account alone, to say nothing of the advantages and satisfaction to be derived from all being able to read the Scriptures and other works, both of a religious and moral nature, for themselves.
“For my part, I desire to see the time when education, by its means, morality, sobriety, enterprise and integrity, shall become much more general than at present, and should be gratified to have it in my power to contribute something to the advancement of any measure which might have a tendency to accelerate the happy period.”
In a speech at Springfield, Illinois, June 26th, 1857, Lincoln referred to the decision of Chief Justice Roger B. Taney, of the United States Supreme Court, in the Dred Scott case, in this manner:
“The Chief justice does not directly assert, but plainly assumes as a fact, that the public estimate of the black man is more favorable now than it was in the days of the Revolution.
“In those days, by common consent, the spread of the black man’s bondage in the new countries was prohibited; but now Congress decides that it will not continue the prohibition, and the Supreme Court decides that it could not if it would.
“In those days, our Declaration of Independence was held sacred by all, and thought to include all; but now, to aid in making the bondage of the negro universal and eternal, it is assailed and sneered at, and constructed and hawked at, and torn, till, if its framers could rise from their graves, they could not at all recognize it.
“All the powers of earth seem combining against the slave; Mammon is after him, ambition follows, philosophy follows, and the theology of the day is fast joining the cry.”
Abraham Lincoln made many notable addresses and speeches during his career previous to the time of his election to the Presidency.
However, beautiful in thought and expression as they were, they were not appreciated by those who heard and read them until after the people of the United States and the world had come to understand the man who delivered them.
Lincoln had the rare and valuable faculty of putting the most sublime feeling into his speeches; and he never found it necessary to incumber his wisest, wittiest and most famous sayings with a weakening mass of words.
He put his thoughts into the simplest language, so that all might comprehend, and he never said anything which was not full of the deepest meaning.
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Mr. Roland Diller, who was one of Mr. Lincoln’s neighbors in Springfield, tells the following:
“I was called to the door one day by the cries of children in the street, and there was Mr. Lincoln, striding by with two of his boys, both of whom were wailing aloud. ‘Why, Mr. Lincoln, what’s the matter with the boys?’ I asked.
“‘Just what’s the matter with the whole world,’ Lincoln replied. ‘I’ve got three walnuts, and each wants two.’”
One of the prettiest incidents in the closing days of the Civil War occurred when the troops, ‘marching home again,’ passed in grand form, if with well-worn uniforms and tattered bunting, before the White House.
Naturally, an immense crowd had assembled on the streets, the lawns, porches, balconies, and windows, even those of the executive mansion itself being crowded to excess. A central figure was that of the President, Abraham Lincoln, who, with bared head, unfurled and waved our Nation’s flag in the midst of lusty cheers.
But suddenly there was an unexpected sight.
A small boy leaned forward and sent streaming to the air the banner of the boys in gray. It was an old flag which had been captured from the Confederates, and which the urchin, the President’s second son, Tad, had obtained possession of and considered an additional triumph to unfurl on this all-important day.
Vainly did the servant who had followed him to the window plead with him to desist. No, Master Tad, Pet of the White House, was not to be prevented from adding to the loyal demonstration of the hour.
To his surprise, however, the crowd viewed it differently. Had it floated from any other window in the capital that day, no doubt it would have been the target of contempt and abuse; but when the President, understanding what had happened, turned, with a smile on his grand, plain face, and showed his approval by a gesture and expression, cheer after cheer rent the air.
President Lincoln attended a Ladies’ Fair for the benefit of the Union soldiers, at Washington, March 16th, 1864.
In his remarks he said:
“I appear to say but a word.
“This extraordinary war in which we are engaged falls heavily upon all classes of people, but the most heavily upon the soldiers. For it has been said, ‘All that a man hath will he give for his life,’ and, while all contribute of their substance, the soldier puts his life at stake, and often yields it up in his country’s cause.
“The highest merit, then, is due the soldiers.
“In this extraordinary war extraordinary developments have manifested themselves such as have not been seen in former wars; and among these manifestations nothing has been more remarkable than these fairs for the relief of suffering soldiers and their families, and the chief agents in these fairs are the women of America!
“I am not accustomed to the use of language of eulogy; I have never studied the art of paying compliments to women; but I must say that if all that has been said by orators and poets since the creation of the world in praise of women were applied to the women of America, it would not do them justice for their conduct during the war.
“I will close by saying, God bless the women of America!”
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After the United States had enlisted former negro slaves as soldiers to fight alongside the Northern troops for the maintenance of the integrity of the Union, so great was the indignation of the Confederate Government that President Davis declared he would not recognize blacks captured in battle and in uniform as prisoners of war. This meant that he would have them returned to their previous owners, have them flogged and fined for running away from their masters, or even shot if he felt like it. This attitude of the President of the Confederate States of America led to the promulgation of President Lincoln’s famous “Order No. 252,” which, in effect, was a notification to the commanding officers of the Southern forces that if negro prisoners of war were not treated as such, the Union commanders would retaliate. “Harper’s Weekly” of August 15th, 1863, contained a clever cartoon, which we reproduce, representing President Lincoln holding the South by the collar, while “Old Abe” shouts the following words of warning to Jeff Davis, who, cat-o’-nine-tails in hand, is in pursuit of a terrified little negro boy:
MR. LINCOLN: “Look here, Jeff Davis! If you lay a finger on that boy, to hurt him, I’ll lick this ugly cub of yours within an inch of his life!”
Much to the surprise of the Confederates, the negro soldiers fought valiantly; they were fearless when well led, obeyed orders without hesitation, were amenable to discipline, and were eager and anxious, at all times, to do their duty. In battle they were formidable opponents, and in using the bayonet were the equal of the best trained troops. The Southerners hated them beyond power of expression.
The President walked through the streets of Richmond—without a guard except a few seamen—in company with his son “Tad,” and Admiral Porter, on April 4th, 1865, the day following the evacuation of the city.
Colored people gathered about him on every side, eager to see and thank their liberator. Mr. Lincoln addressed the following remarks to one of these gatherings:
“My poor friends, you are free—free as air. You can cast off the name of slave and trample upon it; it will come to you no more.
“Liberty is your birthright. God gave it to you as He gave it to others, and it is a sin that you have been deprived of it for so many years.
“But you must try to deserve this priceless boon. Let the world see that you merit it, and are able to maintain it by your good work.
“Don’t let your joy carry you into excesses; learn the laws, and obey them. Obey God’s commandments, and thank Him for giving you liberty, for to Him you owe all things.
“There, now, let me pass on; I have but little time to spare.
“I want to see the Capitol, and must return at once to Washington to secure to you that liberty which you seem to prize so highly.”
Lincoln fell in love with Miss Mary S. Owens about 1833 or so, and, while she was attracted toward him she was not passionately fond of him.
Lincoln’s letter of proposal of marriage, sent by him to Miss Owens, while singular, unique, and decidedly unconventional, was certainly not very ardent. He, after the fashion of the lawyer, presented the matter very cautiously, and pleaded his own cause; then presented her side of the case, advised her not “to do it,” and agreed to abide by her decision.
Miss Owens respected Lincoln, but promptly rejected him—really very much to “Abe’s” relief.
Not far from New Salem, Illinois, at a place called Clary’s Grove, a gang of frontier ruffians had established headquarters, and the champion wrestler of “The Grove” was “Jack” Armstrong, a bully of the worst type.
Learning that Abraham was something of a wrestler himself, “Jack” sent him a challenge. At that time and in that community a refusal would have resulted in social and business ostracism, not to mention the stigma of cowardice which would attach.
It was a great day for New Salem and “The Grove” when Lincoln and Armstrong met. Settlers within a radius of fifty miles flocked to the scene, and the wagers laid were heavy and many. Armstrong proved a weakling in the hands of the powerful Kentuckian, and “Jack’s” adherents were about to mob Lincoln when the latter’s friends saved him from probable death by rushing to the rescue.
The President was once speaking about an attack made on him by the Congressional Committee on the Conduct of the War for a certain alleged blunder in the Southwest—the matter involved being one which had fallen directly under the observation of the army officer to whom he was talking, who possessed official evidence completely upsetting all the conclusions of the Committee.
“Might it not be well for me,” queried the officer, “to set this matter right in a letter to some paper, stating the facts as they actually transpired?”
“Oh, no,” replied the President, “at least, not now. If I were to try to read, much less answer, all the attacks made on me, this shop might as well be closed for any other business. I do the very best I know how the very best I can; and I mean to keep doing so until the end. If the end brings me out all right, what is said against me won’t amount to anything. If the end brings me out wrong, ten thousand angels swearing I was right would make no difference.”
Ward Hill Lamon was President Lincoln’s Cerberus, his watch dog, guardian, friend, companion and confidant. Some days before Lincoln’s departure for Washington to be inaugurated, he wrote to Lamon at Bloomington, that he desired to see him at once. He went to Springfield, and Lincoln said:
“Hill, on the 11th I go to Washington, and I want you to go along with me. Our friends have already asked me to send you as Consul to Paris. You know I would cheerfully give you anything for which our friends may ask or which you may desire, but it looks as if we might have war.
“In that case I want you with me. In fact, I must have you. So get yourself ready and come along. It will be handy to have you around. If there is to be a fight, I want you to help me to do my share of it, as you have done in times past. You must go, and go to stay.”
This is Lamon’s version of it.
To a party who wished to be empowered to negotiate reward for promises of influence in the Chicago Convention, 1860, Mr. Lincoln replied:
“No, gentlemen; I have not asked the nomination, and I will not now buy it with pledges.
“If I am nominated and elected, I shall not go into the Presidency as the tool of this man or that man, or as the property of any factor or clique.”
After some very bad news had come in from the army in the field, Lincoln remarked to Schuyler Colfax:
“How willingly would I exchange places to-day with the soldier who sleeps on the ground in the Army of the Potomac!”
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In the campaign of 1852, Lincoln, in reply to Douglas’ speech, wherein he spoke of confidence in Providence, replied: “Let us stand by our candidate (General Scott) as faithfully as he has always stood by our country, and I much doubt if we do not perceive a slight abatement of Judge Douglas’ confidence in Providence as well as the people. I suspect that confidence is not more firmly fixed with the judge than it was with the old woman whose horse ran away with her in a buggy. She said she ‘trusted in Providence till the britchen broke,’ and then she ‘didn’t know what in airth to do.’”
Lincoln’s great generosity to his leaders was shown when, in January, 1863, he assigned “Fighting Joe” Hooker to the command of the Army of the Potomac. Hooker had believed in a military dictatorship, and it was an open secret that McClellan might have become such had he possessed the nerve. Lincoln, however, was not bothered by this prattle, as he did not think enough of it to relieve McClellan of his command. The President said to Hooker:
“I have heard, in such a way as to believe it, of your recently saying that both the army and the Government needed a dictator. Of course, it was not for this, but in spite of it, that I have given you the command. Only those generals who gain success can be dictators.
“What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship.”
Lincoln also believed Hooker had not given cordial support to General Burnside when he was in command of the army. In Lincoln’s own peculiarly plain language, he told Hooker that he had done “a great wrong to the country and to a most meritorious and honorable brother officer.”
At one time the President had the appointment of a large additional number of brigadier and major generals. Among the immense number of applications, Mr. Lincoln came upon one wherein the claims of a certain worthy (not in the service at all), “for a generalship” were glowingly set forth. But the applicant didn’t specify whether he wanted to be brigadier or major general.
The President observed this difficulty, and solved it by a lucid indorsement. The clerk, on receiving the paper again, found written across its back, “Major General, I reckon. A. Lincoln.”
Judge Herndon, Lincoln’s law partner, said that he never saw Lincoln more cheerful than on the day previous to his departure from Springfield for Washington, and Judge Gillespie, who visited him a few days earlier, found him in excellent spirits.
“I told him that I believed it would do him good to get down to Washington,” said Herndon.
“I know it will,” Lincoln replied. “I only wish I could have got there to lock the door before the horse was stolen. But when I get to the spot, I can find the tracks.”
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If all the days Lincoln attended school were added together, they would not make a single year’s time, and he never studied grammar or geography or any of the higher branches. His first teacher in Indiana was Hazel Dorsey, who opened a school in a log schoolhouse a mile and a half from the Lincoln cabin. The building had holes for windows, which were covered over with greased paper to admit light. The roof was just high enough for a man to stand erect. It did not take long to demonstrate that “Abe” was superior to any scholar in his class. His next teacher was Andrew Crawford, who taught in the winter of 1822-3, in the same little schoolhouse. “Abe” was an excellent speller, and it is said that he liked to show off his knowledge, especially if he could help out his less fortunate schoolmates. One day the teacher gave out the word “defied.” A large class was on the floor, but it seemed that no one would be able to spell it. The teacher declared he would keep the whole class in all day and night if “defied” was not spelled correctly.
When the word came around to Katy Roby, she was standing where she could see young “Abe.” She started, “d-e-f,” and while trying to decide whether to spell the word with an “i” or a “y,” she noticed that Abe had his finger on his eye and a smile on his face, and instantly took the hint. She spelled the word correctly and school was dismissed.
At one of the afternoon receptions at the White House a stranger shook hands with him, and, as he did so, remarked casually, that he was elected to Congress about the time Mr. Lincoln’s term as representative expired, which happened many years before.
“Yes,” said the President, “You are from—” (mentioning the State). “I remember reading of your election in a newspaper one morning on a steamboat going down to Mount Vernon.”
At another time a gentleman addressed him, saying, “I presume, Mr. President, you have forgotten me?”
“No,” was the prompt reply; “your name is Flood. I saw you last, twelve years ago, at—” (naming the place and the occasion).
“I am glad to see,” he continued, “that the Flood goes on.”
Subsequent to his re-election a deputation of bankers from various sections were introduced one day by the Secretary of the Treasury.
After a few moments of general conversation, Lincoln turned to one of them and said:
“Your district did not give me so strong a vote at the last election as it did in 1860.”
“I think, sir, that you must be mistaken,” replied the banker. “I have the impression that your majority was considerably increased at the last election.”
“No,” rejoined the President, “you fell off about six hundred votes.”
Then taking down from the bookcase the official canvass of 1860 and 1864, he referred to the vote of the district named, and proved to be quite right in his assertion.
As President Lincoln, arm in arm with ex-President Buchanan, entered the Capitol, and passed into the Senate Chamber, filled to overflowing with Senators, members of the Diplomatic Corps, and visitors, the contrast between the two men struck every observer.
“Mr. Buchanan was so withered and bowed with age,” wrote George W. Julian, of Indiana, who was among the spectators, “that in contrast with the towering form of Mr. Lincoln he seemed little more than half a man.”
As soon as the result of the Presidential election of 1864 was known, General Grant telegraphed from City Point his congratulations, and added that “the election having passed off quietly... is a victory worth more to the country than a battle won.”
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London “Punch” persistently maintained throughout the War for the Union that the question of what to do with the blacks was the most bothersome of all the problems President Lincoln had to solve. “Punch” thought the Rebellion had its origin in an effort to determine whether there should or should not be slavery in the United States, and was fought with this as the main end in view. “Punch” of August 15th, 1863, contained the cartoon reproduced on this page, the title being “Brutus and Caesar.”
President Lincoln was pictured as Brutus, while the ghost of Caesar, which appeared in the tent of the American Brutus during the dark hours of the night, was represented in the shape of a husky and anything but ghost-like African, whose complexion would tend to make the blackest tar look like skimmed milk in comparison. This was the text below the cartoon: (From the American Edition of Shakespeare.) The Tent of Brutus (Lincoln). Night. Enter the Ghost of Caesar.
BRUTUS: “Wall, now! Do tell! Who’s you?”
CAESAR: “I am dy ebil genus, Massa Linking. Dis child am awful impressional!”
“Punch’s” cartoons were decidedly unfriendly in tone toward President Lincoln, some of them being not only objectionable in the display of bad taste, but offensive and vulgar. It is true that after the assassination of the President, “Punch,” in illustrations, paid marked and deserved tribute to the memory of the Great Emancipator, but it had little that was good to say of him while he was among the living and engaged in carrying out the great work for which he was destined to win eternal fame.
President Lincoln, well aware of Stanton’s unfriendliness, was surprised when Secretary of the Treasury Chase told him that Stanton had expressed the opinion that the arrest of the Confederate Commissioners, Mason and Slidell, was legal and justified by international law. The President asked Secretary Chase to invite Stanton to the White House, and Stanton came. Mr. Lincoln thanked him for the opinion he had expressed, and asked him to put it in writing.
Stanton complied, the President read it carefully, and, after putting it away, astounded Stanton by offering him the portfolio of War. Stanton was a Democrat, had been one of the President’s most persistent vilifiers, and could not realize, at first, that Lincoln meant what he said. He managed, however to say:
“I am both surprised and embarrassed, Mr. President, and would ask a couple of days to consider this most important matter.”
Lincoln fully understood what was going on in Stanton’s mind, and then said:
“This is a very critical period in the life of the nation, Mr. Stanton, as you are well aware, and I well know you are as much interested in sustaining the government as myself or any other man. This is no time to consider mere party issues. The life of the nation is in danger. I need the best counsellors around me. I have every confidence in your judgment, and have concluded to ask you to become one of my counsellors. The office of the Secretary of War will soon be vacant, and I am anxious to have you take Mr. Cameron’s place.”
Stanton decided to accept.
“Abe” Lincoln’s father was never at loss for an answer. An old neighbor of Thomas Lincoln—“Abe’s” father—was passing the Lincoln farm one day, when he saw “Abe’s” father grubbing up some hazelnut bushes, and said to him: “Why, Grandpap, I thought you wanted to sell your farm?”
“And so I do,” he replied, “but I ain’t goin’ to let my farm know it.”
“‘Abe’s’ jes’ like his father,” the old ones would say.
One of the most notable of Lincoln’s law cases was that in which he defended William D. Armstrong, charged with murder. The case was one which was watched during its progress with intense interest, and it had a most dramatic ending.
The defendant was the son of Jack and Hannah Armstrong. The father was dead, but Hannah, who had been very motherly and helpful to Lincoln during his life at New Salem, was still living, and asked Lincoln to defend him. Young Armstrong had been a wild lad, and was often in bad company.
The principal witness had sworn that he saw young Armstrong strike the fatal blow, the moon being very bright at the time.
Lincoln brought forward the almanac, which showed that at the time the murder was committed there was no moon at all. In his argument, Lincoln’s speech was so feelingly made that at its close all the men in the jury-box were in tears. It was just half an hour when the jury returned a verdict of acquittal.
Lincoln would accept no fee except the thanks of the anxious mother.
Lincoln’s reading in his early days embraced a wide range. He was particularly fond of all stories containing fun, wit and humor, and every one of these he came across he learned by heart, thus adding to his personal store.
He improved as a reciter and retailer of the stories he had read and heard, and as the reciter of tales of his own invention, and he had ready and eager auditors.
Judge Herndon, in his “Abraham Lincoln,” relates that as a mimic Lincoln was unequalled. An old neighbor said: “His laugh was striking. Such awkward gestures belonged to no other man. They attracted universal attention, from the old and sedate down to the schoolboy. Then, in a few moments, he was as calm and thoughtful as a judge on the bench, and as ready to give advice on the most important matters; fun and gravity grew on him alike.”
During the year Lincoln was in Denton Offutt’s store at New Salem, that gentleman, whose business was somewhat widely and unwisely spread about the country, ceased to prosper in his finances and finally failed. The store was shut up, the mill was closed, and Abraham Lincoln was out of business.
The year had been one of great advance, in many respects. He had made new and valuable acquaintances, read many books, mastered the grammar of his own tongue, won multitudes of friends, and became ready for a step still further in advance.
Those who could appreciate brains respected him, and those whose ideas of a man related to his muscles were devoted to him. It was while he was performing the work of the store that he acquired the sobriquet of “Honest Abe”—a characterization he never dishonored, and an abbreviation that he never outgrew.
He was judge, arbitrator, referee, umpire, authority, in all disputes, games and matches of man-flesh, horse-flesh, a pacificator in all quarrels; everybody’s friend; the best-natured, the most sensible, the best-informed, the most modest and unassuming, the kindest, gentlest, roughest, strongest, best fellow in all New Salem and the region round about.
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Enduring friendship and love of old associations were prominent characteristics of President Lincoln. When about to leave Springfield for Washington, he went to the dingy little law office which had sheltered his saddest hours.
He sat down on the couch, and said to his law partner, Judge Herndon:
“Billy, you and I have been together for more than twenty years, and have never passed a word. Will you let my name stay on the old sign until I come back from Washington?”
The tears started to Herndon’s eyes. He put out his hand. “Mr. Lincoln,” said he, “I never will have any other partner while you live”; and to the day of assassination, all the doings of the firm were in the name of “Lincoln & Herndon.”