CHAPTER XIII

Lee Surrenders to GrantLee Surrenders to Grant

"This will have a happy effect upon my army."

He went on to say that many of the privates in the Confederate cavalry and artillery owned their own horses; could they retain them? Grant did not change the written terms, but he said his officers would be instructed to let every Confederate private who claimed to own a horse or mule take the animal home with him. "It was doubtful," writes Grant, "whether they would be able to put in a crop to carry themselves and their families through the next winter without the aid of the horses they were then riding." Again Lee remarked that this would have a happy effect. He then wrote and signed an acceptance of the proposed terms of surrender. The war was over. The first act of peace was our issuing 25,000 rations to the army we had captured. For some days it had lived on parched corn.

GEN. U. S. GRANTGEN. U. S. GRANT

The news of the surrender flashed along the waiting lines like wildfire and the Union forces began firing a salute of a hundred guns in honor of the victory. "I at once sent word," says Grant, "to have it stopped. The Confederates were now our prisoners and we did not want to exult over their downfall." This was the spirit of a great man and of a great nation. It was not the soldiers who fought the war who kept its rancors alive after peace had come, It wasthe politicians, who tore open the old wounds and kept the country bleeding for a dozen years after the Lost Cause was lost.

On the morning of Tuesday, April 10, 1865, Grant and Lee again met between the lines and sitting on horseback talked for half an hour. Then Grant began his journey to Washington. His staff, including Tom, went with him. When they reached their goal, Second-Lieutenant Strong found he was that no longer. For General Wright had done what he had told Tom he meant to do. The recommendation had been heeded. Lincoln himself handed the boy his new commission as a brevet-captain.

"I was glad to sign that, Tom," the President told him, "and even Stanton didn't kick this time."

"You don't know how glad I am to get it, Mr. President," was the reply. "Now I'm a boy-captain, as my great-grandfather was before me."

"I'm not much on pedigrees and ancestry and genealogical trees, my boy," answered Lincoln."Out West we think more of trees that grow out of the ground than we do of trees that grow on parchment. But you're right to be proud of an ancestry of service to your country. When family pride is based on money or land or social standing, it is one of the most foolish things God Almighty ever laughed at, but when it is based on service, real service, to your country, to your fellowmen, to the world, why, then, Tom, it's one of the biggest and best things in God's kingdom. But remember this, son,"—Lincoln's eyes flashed in their deep sockets—"if a boy has an ancestor who has done big things, the way to be proud of him is to do big things yourself. Living on the glory of what somebody else has done before you is a mighty poor kind of living. I never knew but one man that was perfect and I'd never have known he was if he hadn't told me so. Nobody else ever found it out. But if we can't be perfect, we can grow less imperfect by trying every day to serve our fellowmen. Remember that, Tom."

The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln

On the evening of Good Friday, April 14, 1865, Laura Keene, an English actress of great repute in America, was to playOur American Cousinat Ford's Theater, the chief place of amusement for war-time Washington.

That afternoon, Assistant-Secretary-of-War Dana was notified by wire that Jacob Thompson of Mississippi, once Secretary of the Interior under our poor old wavering President, Buchanan, afterwards a leading Secessionist, would take a steamship for England that evening at Portland, Maine.

"What shall I do?" Dana asked Stanton.

"Arrest him! No, wait; better go over and see the President."

So Dana went to the White House. Office-hours were over. He found Lincoln washing his hands.

"Halloo, Dana!" was Lincoln's greeting. "What's up?"

The telegram was read aloud.

"What does Stanton say?"

"He says to arrest him, but that I should refer the question to you."

"Well, no, I rather think not. When you have got an elephant by the hind legs and he's trying to run away; it's best to let him run."

Dana reported this to Stanton.

"Oh, stuff!" said Stanton.

But Thompson was not arrested, so that the last recorded act of Lincoln as President was one of mercy.

In the upper stage-box, to the right of the audience, that evening, sat Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, Mrs. Lincoln, a friend, Miss Harris, and an officer, Major Henry R. Rathbone. The cares of State seemed to have slipped for the moment from Lincoln's shoulders. He had bowed smilingly from the box in response to the cheers of the packed audiencein the body of the house. He had followed intently the action of the amusing play, constantly smiling, often applauding. The eyes of the little party of four were bent upon the stage, about ten o'clock, when the door of the box was jerked violently open behind them. As they turned at the noise, Death stalked in upon them.

Five minutes before, Tom Strong had been idly strolling along Tenth Street and had paused at the theater door to read the play-bills posted there. A small group of belated play-goers was at the ticket-booth. A man shoved roughly through them. A woman's "Oh!" of surprise and protest drew Tom's attention to the man. He had seen him but thrice before, yet the man's face was engraved upon his memory. Once, at Charlestown, Virginia, Wilkes Booth had stood in the ranks of the militia, eagerly awaiting the execution of John Brown. Once, upon a railroad train north of Baltimore, Wilkes Booth had drugged the boy and left him, as the scoundrelthought, to die. Once, upon a railroad platform at Kingston, Alabama, Wilkes Booth had recognized him and had again sought his death. Whose death did he seek to compass now? What was the Confederate spy doing here? Tom had scarcely glimpsed the hawk-like features, the pallid face, the flowing black hair of his foe, when Booth disappeared from his sight in the crowded lobby of the theater.

Instantly Tom pursued him. But he was delayed by the little group through whom Booth had elbowed his rough way. And when he reached the ticket-window, he found no money in his pocket with which to buy admittance. He had put on civilian clothes that evening and had left his scanty store of currency in his uniform. The wary ticket-seller, used to all sorts of dodges by people who wanted to get in without paying, laughed at his story and refused to give him a ticket on trust. Tom's claim that he was an officer caused especial amusement.

"That won't go down, bub," said the ticket-seller. "Try to think up a better lie next time.And clear out now. Don't block up the passageway."

"Imustget in," said Tom.

"You shan't," snarled the man, sure that he was being imposed upon.

The doorkeeper, attracted by the little row, had come towards the ticket-window. He swung his right arm with a threatening gesture. As Tom started towards him he struck the threatened blow, but his clenched fist hit nothing. The boy had ducked under his arm and had fled into the theater. The doorkeeper pursued him. But Tom was now making his way like a weasel through the crowd. He had caught sight of Wilkes Booth nearly at the top of the right-hand staircase that led to the aisle from which the upper right-hand box was reached. Without any actual premonition of the coming tragedy which was to echo around the world upon the morrow, he still felt that Booth had in mind some evil deed and that it was his duty to prevent him. As he struggled toward the foot of the stairway, Booth sawhim, recognized him and smiled at him, a smile of triumphant hideous evil. Tom yelled:

"Spy! Confederate spy! Stop him! Let me follow!"

Upon the startled crowd there fell a sudden stillness. Nobody laid hand upon Booth, but everybody made way for the frantic boy who rushed up the stairway as the scoundrel he chased ran down the corridor. He clutched the newel post at the head of the stairway just as Booth flung open the door of the box. Tom ran towards him.

The door of the box was violently jerked open. Wilkes Booth sprang across the threshold. He put his pistol close to the head of the unarmed man he meant to murder. He fired. The greatest American sank forward into his wife's arms. High above her shrieks rose the actor's trained voice. He leaped upon the balustrade of the box, shouted "Sic semper tyrannis!" and jumped down to the stage. He was booted and spurred for his escape. Hishorse was held for him near the stage-door. One of his spurs caught upon the curtain of the box, so that he stumbled and fell heavily. But he had played his part upon that stage many a time before. He knew every nook and cranny of the mysterious labyrinth behind the footlights. He rose to his feet, disregarding a twisted ankle, and rushed to safety—for a few hours. He reached his horse and galloped into the calm night of God, profaned forever by this hideous crime of a besotted fanatic.

The martyred President was taken to a neighboring house, No. 453 Tenth Street. In a back hall bedroom, upon the first floor, that that was still Abraham Lincoln, but was soon to cease to be so, was laid upon a narrow bed. Tom had helped to carry him there. Wife and son, John Hay, Secretary-of-War Stanton, and a few others crowded into the tiny room. Doctors worked feverishly over the dying man. Their skill was in vain. The slow and regular breathing grew fainter. The automatic moaningceased. A look of unspeakable peace came to the face the world now knows so well. In a solemn hush, at twenty-two minutes after seven in the morning of Saturday, April 15, 1865, the great soul of Abraham Lincoln went back to the God Who had given him to America and to the world. A moment later Stanton spoke:

"Now he belongs to the ages."

Tom Hunts Wilkes Booth—The End of the Murderer—Andrew Johnson, President of the United States—Tom and Towser Go Home.

The assassination of Lincoln was not the only crime that stained that memorable night. Secretary-of-State Seward was stabbed in his sick-bed by one of Booth's co-conspirators. Attempts were made upon the lives of other Cabinet ministers. Many arbitrary arrests had been made during the war by Secretary Stanton. It had been said that whenever Stanton's little bell rang, somebody went to prison. That little bell had little rest this Saturday. Wholesale arrests were made of suspected Southern sympathizers who might have known something of the hideous conspiracy of murder. Stanton put all the grim energy of him into the pursuit ofthe leading criminals. He was said never to forget anything. One of the things he had not forgotten was that Tom Strong knew Wilkes Booth by sight. He sent him from Lincoln's bedside, hours before Lincoln died, to join a troop of cavalry that was to pursue Booth. The road by which the murderer had left Washington was known. Hard upon his heels rode the avengers of crime. Wherever there was a light in one of the few houses along the lonely road, often where there was no light, the occupants were seized, questioned, sometimes sent to Washington under guard, sometimes released and sternly bidden to say nothing of the midnight ride. Piecing together scraps of information gathered here and there, studying every crossroad for possible hoof-marks of flight, the silent commander of the cavalrymen at last convinced himself that he was on the trail of the quarry. The troops broke into full gallop. A few minutes before dawn they reached a small village on the bank of the Potomac, where the fires of a smithy gleamed. They pulled up shortas the startled blacksmith came out of his sooty shed.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the captain.

"I've been—I've been—putting on a horseshoe, sir."

"For what kind of a looking man?"

"He said his name was Barnard."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Tom from his saddle, "but Barnard was the name Wilkes Booth once gave me for his own." At the beginning of the ride, Tom had described Booth's appearance to the captain.

"Was the man pale? Did he have long black hair?"

"Long black hair," answered the blacksmith, "but his cheeks were red. He seemed excited. While I was replacing the shoe his horse had cast, he kept drinking brandy from a bottle he carried. He never gave me none of it," the man added with an injured air.

"Did he say anything?"

"Yes, sir. He said I'd hear great news latertoday, that the Southerners had won their greatest victory. I asked him where and he swore at me and told me to shut up. But he gave me a silver dollar. Perhaps it's bad. Is it?"

The blacksmith pulled out of his grimy pocket a dollar and showed it to the captain.

"Do you know who that man was?" was the stern command.

"No, sir, o' course I don't. I s'pose he was Mr. Barnard."

"He was Judas. He has murdered Abraham Lincoln. And he has given you one of the forty pieces of silver."

With wild-eyed horror, the smith started back. He flung the accursed dollar far into the Potomac.

"God's curse go with it," he cried. "Captain, the man went straight down the river road. He gave his horse a cut with his whip 'n he yelled 'Carry me back to ole Virginny!' and he went off lickety-split. He ain't half-an-hour ahead of you."

No need to command full speed now. Every man was riding hard. Every horse was putting his last ounce of strength into his stride. Within an hour, the hounds saw the slinking fox they chased. Booth, abandoning his exhausted steed, took refuge in a tumble-down barn. A cordon was thrown about it and he was called on to surrender. The reply was a shot. Tom heard the whiz of the bullet as it tore by him. The cavalry pumped lead into the barn. Once, twice, thrice they fired. At the first volley, the trapped murderer had again fired. There was no answer to the second and third. With reloaded carbines, the troopers charged, burst open the barred door, and rushed into the rickety shed. A man lay on the earthen floor, breath and blood struggling together in his gaping mouth. As they gathered about him, the Captain asked:

"Do you know this man, Captain Strong?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who is he?"

"Wilkes Booth, sir."

The sound of his own name half recalled Booth to life. He looked up at the boy who stood beside him and recognized him. Ferocious hate filled the glazing eyes. Then Wilkes Booth went to his eternal doom, hating to the end.

"Is he dead?" said the Captain, turning to a major of the medical service, who had galloped beside Tom on that fierce ride of the avengers. A big, bearded man knelt beside the body of Wilkes Booth, put his finger where the pulse had been and laid his hand where the heart had once beat.

"He is dead," answered Major Hans Rolf.

His body was thrust somewhere into the earth he had disgraced or else was flung, weighted with stones, into the river, all the flood tides of which could not wash away the black guilt of him. No man knows where the body of Wilkes Booth was buried.

"The king is dead! Long live the king!"

When Tom rode sadly up Pennsylvania Avenue,with a crape-laden flag at half-mast over the Capitol, glad for the stern justice that had been dealt out to the murderer he loathed, but bowed down with grief for the murdered President he had loved, Abraham Lincoln was no longer President of the United States. In his stead, our uncrowned king was Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, a Southern Unionist who had been elected Vice President when the people chose Lincoln a second time for their ruler. Johnson had been born to grinding poverty in a rough community where "skule-l'arnin'" was not to be had. He was a grown man, earning a scanty livelihood as a village tailor, when his wife taught him to read and write. He worked his hard way up in life, became a man of prominence in his village, in his county, in his State, until he was chosen for Lincoln's running-mate as a representative Southern Unionist. He was of course a man of native force, but he sometimes drowned his mind in liquor. That fatal habit pulled him down. He was a failure as a President, though thereafter he served hisState and his country well as a United States Senator from Tennessee.

The White House was changed under its new ruler. John Hay, full of cheer and wit, was abroad as a secretary of legation. Nicolay, his superior officer, was a consul in Europe. The Lincoln family had gone West through a sorrowing country, bearing the body of the martyr-President to its burial-place in Springfield, Illinois. For a while some familiar faces were left. At first, the same Cabinet ministers served the new President. For some time, Uncle Moses had to learn no new names as he carried about the summons to the Cabinet meetings. But the visitors to the White House had changed mightily. Rough men from Tennessee and the other Border States, some of them diamonds in the rough, swarmed there. Lincoln had never used tobacco. The new-comers both smoked and chewed. Clouds of smoke filled the lower story and giant spittoons lined the corridors and invaded the public rooms. Gradually the Republican leaders ceased to wait upon the President.

Among the people who left the White House soon after Lincoln left it was Tom Strong. On a bright May morning he walked across the portico, where Towser was eagerly awaiting him and where Uncle Moses followed him. Unk' Mose lifted his withered black hands and called down blessings on the boy who had been his angel of freedom and had led him out of bondage.

"De good Lawd bress you, Mas'r Tom. And de good Lawd bress dat dar wufless ol' houn' dawg Towser, too. 'Kase Towser, he lubs you, Mas'r Tom,—and so duz I," Uncle Moses shyly added.

The venerable old negro and the white boy shook hands in a long farewell upon the steps of the White House. Then Tom turned away from the historic roof that had so long sheltered him and walked to the railroad station, to take the train for New York. Towser trotted stiffly by his side, trying at every step to lick his master's hand.

Tom Strong studied hard at home and thenwent to Yale, as his father had done before him.

Towser could not go with him. The laws of Yale forbade it. That is one of the chief disadvantages of being a dog. Soon after Tom went to New Haven, Towser went to heaven. At least, let us hope he did. He deserved to do so. One of the human things about Martin Luther, the stern founder of Protestantism in Germany in the Sixteenth Century, was that he once said to a tiny girl, weeping over the death of her tiny dog: "Do not cry, little maid; for you will find your dog in heaven and he will have a golden tail."

THE END

TOWSER

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Illustrated. $1.30 net.

Tom Strong and a sturdy old trapper take part in such stirring events following the Revolution as the Indian raid with Crawford and a flat-boat voyage from Pittsburgh to New Orleans, etc.

TOM STRONG, JUNIOR

Illustrated. $1.30 net.

The story of the son of Tom Strong in the young United States. Tom sees the duel between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr; is in Washington during the presidency of Jefferson; is on board of the "Clermont" on its first trip, and serves in the United States Navy during the War of 1812.

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Tom Strong, Junior's son helps his father build the first railroad in the United States and then goes with Kit Carson on the Lewis and Clarke Expedition.

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Illustrated. $1.30 net.

Serving under President Lincoln, the fourth Tom Strong becomes an actor in the most stirring events of the Civil War.

STANDARD CYCLOPÆDIAS FOR YOUNG OR OLDCHAMPLIN'SYoung Folks' CyclopædiasBy JOHN D. CHAMPLINLate Associate Editor of the American CyclopædiaBound in substantial red buckram. Each volume complete in itself and sold separately. 12mo, $3.00 per volume, net.COMMON THINGSNew, Enlarged Edition, 850 pp. Profusely Illustrated"A book which will be of permanent value to any boy or girl to whom it may be given, and which fills a place in the juvenile library, never, so far as I know, supplied before."—Susan Coolidge.PERSONS AND PLACESNew, Up-to-Date Edition, 985 pp. Over 375 Illustrations"We know copies of the work to which their young owners turn instantly for information upon every theme about which they have questions to ask. More than this, we know that some of these copies are read daily, as well as consulted; that their owners turn the leaves as they might those of a fairy book, reading intently articles of which they had not thought before seeing them, and treating the book simply as one capable of furnishing the rarest entertainment in exhaustless quantities.—N. Y. Evening Post.LITERATURE AND ART604 pp. 270 Illustrations"Few poems, plays, novels, pictures, statues, or fictitious characters that children—or most of their parents—of our day are likely to inquire about will be missed here. Mr. Champlin's judgment seems unusually sound."—The Nation.GAMES AND SPORTSByJohn D. ChamplinandArthur BostwickRevised Edition, 784 pp. 900 Illustrations"Should form a part of every juvenile library, whether public or private."—The Independent.NATURAL HISTORYByJohn D. Champlin, assisted byFrederick A. Lucas725 pp. Over 800 Illustrations"Here, in compact and attractive form, is valuable and reliable information on every phase of natural history, on every item of interest to the student. Invaluable to the teacher and school, and should be on every teacher's desk for ready reference, and the children should be taught to go to this volume for information useful and interesting."—Journal of Education.HENRY HOLT AND COMPANYPUBLISHERS NEW YORK

STANDARD CYCLOPÆDIAS FOR YOUNG OR OLD

CHAMPLIN'S

Young Folks' Cyclopædias

By JOHN D. CHAMPLIN

Late Associate Editor of the American Cyclopædia

Bound in substantial red buckram. Each volume complete in itself and sold separately. 12mo, $3.00 per volume, net.

COMMON THINGS

New, Enlarged Edition, 850 pp. Profusely Illustrated

"A book which will be of permanent value to any boy or girl to whom it may be given, and which fills a place in the juvenile library, never, so far as I know, supplied before."—Susan Coolidge.

PERSONS AND PLACES

New, Up-to-Date Edition, 985 pp. Over 375 Illustrations

"We know copies of the work to which their young owners turn instantly for information upon every theme about which they have questions to ask. More than this, we know that some of these copies are read daily, as well as consulted; that their owners turn the leaves as they might those of a fairy book, reading intently articles of which they had not thought before seeing them, and treating the book simply as one capable of furnishing the rarest entertainment in exhaustless quantities.—N. Y. Evening Post.

LITERATURE AND ART

604 pp. 270 Illustrations

"Few poems, plays, novels, pictures, statues, or fictitious characters that children—or most of their parents—of our day are likely to inquire about will be missed here. Mr. Champlin's judgment seems unusually sound."—The Nation.

GAMES AND SPORTS

ByJohn D. ChamplinandArthur Bostwick

Revised Edition, 784 pp. 900 Illustrations

"Should form a part of every juvenile library, whether public or private."—The Independent.

NATURAL HISTORY

ByJohn D. Champlin, assisted byFrederick A. Lucas

725 pp. Over 800 Illustrations

"Here, in compact and attractive form, is valuable and reliable information on every phase of natural history, on every item of interest to the student. Invaluable to the teacher and school, and should be on every teacher's desk for ready reference, and the children should be taught to go to this volume for information useful and interesting."—Journal of Education.

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

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