# The Life of Abraham Lincoln (Arnold)/Chapter XXV

Chapter XXV. Victory and Death. Conference of Lincoln, Grant, and Sherman.-- Richmond Falls.-- Lee Surrenders.-- Jefferson Davis Captured.-- Lincoln's Visit to Richmond.-- The Last Day of His Life.-- His Assassination.-- Funeral.-- The World's Grief.-- Mrs. Lincoln Distracted.-- Injustice to Her.-- Her Death.
Let us resume the narration of the progress of the Union arms. Fort Fisher, which guards the harbor of Wilmington, North Carolina, was captured by General Terry, on the 15th of January, 1865. Sherman, moving from Savannah, entered Columbia, the capital of South Carolina, on the 17th of February. From thence he moved to Goldsboro, North Carolina, and opened communication with General Schofield, who had, after the destruction of Hood's army at Nashville, been ordered east. The rebels under Hardee abandoned Charleston, and Admiral Dahlgren and General Foster took possession of the capital of South Carolina. General Lee appointed General Joe Johnston to command the forces which were trying to oppose the advance of Sherman, and at Bentonville there was a severe battle, but Johnston was compelled to retire; and now the Union forces were concentrating around Lee, and the end was rapidly approaching.
On the 3d of March, 1865, as is usual on the last night of the sessions of Congress, the Executive with the Cabinet was in the President's room at the Capitol, to receive and act upon the numerous bills which pass during the last hurried hours of the session. Congress continued in session from seven o'clock in the evening to eight o'clock on the morning of the 4th. It was a stormy, snowy night, but within all was bright, cheerful, and full of hope. While the President was thus waiting, and receiving the congratulations of senators, members of Congress, and other friends, a telegram came from General Grant to the Secretary of War, informing him that Lee had at last sought an interview, with the purpose of seeing whether any terms of peace could be agreed upon. The despatch was handed to the President. Reflecting a few moments, he wrote the following reply, which was then submitted to the Cabinet and sent:
   "Washington, March 3, 1865, 12 P. M.
   "Lieutenant General Grant:--The President directs me to say to you that he wishes you to have no conference with General Lee, unless it be for the capitulation of General Lee's army, or on some other minor and purely military matter. He instructs me to say that you are not to decide, discuss, or confer upon any political question. Such questions the President holds in his own hands, and will submit them to no military conferences or conventions. Meanwhile you are to press to the utmost your military advantages.
   "EDWIN M. STANTON,
   "Secretary of War."
On the 27th of March, the President, by appointment, met Generals Grant and Sherman in the cabin of the steamer "Ocean Queen," lying in the James River, and not far from the headquarters of General Grant. This meeting has been appropriately made the subject of a great historical painting called "The Peace Makers," and the artist has very felicitously represented the prophetic rainbow spanning the boat, and shining in at the windows, where these remarkable men held their last conference.
The perfect harmony, earnest and cordial cooperation, and brotherly friendship between the great military leaders, Grant and Sherman, Sheridan and Meade, and their subordinates, was in striking contrast with the jealousy and quarrels of some of the President's earlier generals. He could not but recall the days of McClellan and others, when such quarrels were among the heaviest burdens he had to bear. It would be difficult to find in history three men more unlike physically and mentally, and yet of greater historic interest or more distinguished ability, than the statesman President, and Grant and Sherman. And, although so entirely unlike one another, each was a type of American character, and all had peculiarities not only distinctively American, but Western. Lincoln's towering form had been given dignity and repose by the great deeds and great thoughts to which he had given such eloquent expression. His rugged and strongly marked features, lately so deeply furrowed with care, anxiety, over-work, and responsibility, were now full of hope and confidence. He met the two great soldiers with the most grateful cordiality. With clear intelligence, he grasped the military situation, and listened with the most eager and profound attention to the details of the final moves which it was hoped would end the terrible game of war.
Contrasting with the tall, towering form of Lincoln, was the short, sturdy, firm figure of the hero of Vicksburg, every feature and every movement expressing inflexible will and resolute determination. Also strikingly in contrast with these was Sherman, with his intellectual head, his keen restless eye, his nervous energy, his sharply outlined features, bronzed by that magnificent campaign from Chattanooga to Savannah, and now fresh from the conquest of North and South Carolina. "Hold Lee," he said to Grant, "in his fortified lines for two weeks; our wagons will be loaded, and we will start for Burksville. If Lee will remain in Richmond until I can reach Burksville, we will have him between our thumb and fingers."
Sherman, with his army of eighty thousand men, as hardy and as brave as Cæsar's Gallic Legion, once in close communication with Grant, Lee would be "shut up in Richmond with no possibility of obtaining supplies, and would have to surrender." Lincoln, when told that "one more bloody battle was likely to occur before the close of the war," with characteristic humanity exclaimed: "Must more blood be shed? Cannot this bloody battle be avoided?" And even while they were consulting, Sheridan, the embodiment of energy and rapidity of movement, was marching with the utmost celerity far to Grant's left, to seize and cut off the only available route for Lee's escape. Ten days of incessant marching and fighting, with Sheridan in the lead and Grant closely following, finished the campaign. The line of intrenchments around Richmond and Petersburg extended some forty miles. Grant had resolved to interpose Sheridan between Lee and retreat. On the 29th, he wrote to Sheridan: "I now feel like ending the matter, if it be possible, before going back... Push round the enemy, and get on his right rear; we will act as one army here, until it is seen what can be done with the enemy."
The rain fell in torrents, the soil was deep mud, and the roads were nearly impassable; but nothing could stop or stay Sheridan. He pushed on over all obstacles to Five Forks. On the morning of March 31st, Lee, struggling to escape, had eighteen thousand men in front of Sheridan's ten thousand. While he fought, Sheridan sent word to Grant: "I will hold Dinwiddie until I am compelled to leave." Grant promptly sent an entire corps to his aid. Fighting and marching, and preventing Lee from making his escape, nothing could exceed the activity and energy of Sheridan. On the morning of the 2d of April, the works in front of Petersburg were carried. Lee fled westward, his object being to reach Burksville Junction, where two roads met, and from thence either to join Johnston, or escape to the mountains. Sheridan captured a telegraphic message, not yet sent, ordering three hundred thousand rations to feed Lee's famishing army. Sheridan forwarded the message, with the hope that the rations would be sent forward and fall into the hands of the Union army. Such was the result. And now Sheridan had seized and occupied the only road by which Lee could obtain supplies. The rebel army was without food, with Sheridan and his cavalry and the Fifth Army Corps in its front, while Grant was behind, at its heels and on its flank, with his eager and victorious troops. Lee made desperate efforts to escape, to cut his way through, but in vain. The remains of the proud and often victorious Army of Northern Virginia struggled and fought gallantly, but were hemmed in, and everywhere met by a force which they could not break through. On Sunday, the 2d of April, Longstreet, who had held the lines north of the James, was ordered to join Lee.
The bells of Richmond tolled the knell of the Confederacy. The drums beat, calling on the citizens and militia to man the lines from which Longstreet was retiring. The rebellion was at its last gasp. At 11 A.M. of that Sunday morning, Lee sent a message to Jefferson Davis, saying that Richmond and Petersburg could no longer be held. Davis hurriedly fled, and on the dawn of Monday, the 3d, General Weitzel sent forward a party of Union cavalry, who hoisted the national flag on the State House, and took possession of the rebel capital. But not for Richmond and Petersburg did the iron will of Grant for one moment turn aside from his determination to "end the matter" then and there, by the destruction of the army of Lee. Pushing on with all possible speed, the army of the James, under General Ord, on one side of the Appomatox, and that of Grant on the other, and Sheridan on his front, there was left no escape possible. The chase was up. On the 9th of April, after one last desperate effort to cut his way through, Lee sent a white flag, asking a suspension of hostilities, pending negotiations for terms of surrender. An interview was held between Grant and Lee, and generous terms of capitulation agreed upon. The arms, artillery, and public property were given up; officers and soldiers were paroled not to take up arms against the United States until properly exchanged, and the officers and men were allowed to return to their homes, not to be disturbed so long as they observed their parole and the laws.
Lee had many qualities which created sympathy, and the scene after the surrender was sadly pathetic. Riding through the ranks of his ragged and half-starved soldiers, he said, in a voice broken with grief: "Men, we have fought through the war together; I have done the best I could for you." It was not in the heart of his generous and victorious foe to exact severe terms, and his misfortunes almost disarmed justice. The meeting of the rank and file, and of the officers of the two armies, was cordial. They had learned to respect each other. The rebels were really starving. The Union soldiers grasped the hands of their late enemies, made them their guests, divided with them their rations, supplied them with clothing, and loaned them money with which to go to their homes.
The surrender of Lee was regarded by the other rebel leaders as fatal. They deemed it useless to prolong the struggle. On the 5th of April, Grant had requested Sherman to push forward against Johnston. "Let us," said he, "see if we cannot finish the job." On the 13th of April, Sherman occupied Raleigh, and on the 14th, intelligence of the surrender of Lee reached him, and a correspondence was opened between him and Johnston for the disbandment of the rebel army, and to propose a basis of peace, subject to the approval of the President. The terms were not approved. On the 24th, General Grant arrived at the headquarters of Sherman, and immediately Sherman notified Johnston that the terms were disapproved, and a demand was made for the surrender of his army. A meeting between Sherman and Johnston was had on the 26th of April, which resulted in the surrender of Johnston and his army, on the same terms substantially as those which Lee had accepted. The surrender of all the organized rebel forces everywhere soon followed. On the 11th of May, Jefferson Davis, fleeing in disguise, was captured in Georgia.
After the meeting of the President with Grant and Sherman, before described, Lincoln, anxious to be near the scene of action, where he could keep in constant communication with Grant, remained at City Point. General Grant telegraphed to him from day to day and hour to hour the progress of the movements, and these despatches were forwarded by Mr. Lincoln to the Secretary of War at Washington, and by him to the exulting people of the loyal states. The brilliant and decisive successes of the army filled the nation with joy and gratitude.
When, on the morning of the 4th of April, the Union troops took possession of Richmond, they found a terrific fire raging, which had been caused by the rebels setting fire to the great tobacco warehouses, ordnance foundries, and other public property, which they had burned to prevent its falling into the bands of the Union army. These were destroyed, and with them, before the fire could be extinguished, fully one-third of the beautiful city.
On the day of its capture, the President, leading his youngest son Thomas (Tad) by the hand, and accompanied by Admiral Porter and a few others, visited Richmond. Leading his son--then twelve years old--he walked from the wharf near Libby prison to the headquarters of General Weitzel, which had been the residence of Jefferson Davis, and from which he had so lately fled. The coming of the President had been unannounced, but the news of his presence spread through the city, and immediately the exulting negroes came running from every direction to see their deliverer. They danced, shouted, and cried for joy; for their enthusiasm was uncontrollable. He held a brief reception in the room lately occupied by the rebel President, took a drive about the town, saw that the fire was being subdued, and returned the same evening to City Point.
On the Thursday following, with Mrs. Lincoln, the Vice-President, and several senators and friends, he again visited Richmond. On this occasion he was called upon by several prominent citizens of Virginia, anxious to learn what the policy of the government towards them would be. Without committing himself to specific details, he satisfied them that his policy would be magnanimous, forgiving, and generous. He told these Virginians they must learn loyalty and devotion to the nation. They need not love Virginia less, but they must love the republic more.
On the 9th of April, the President returned to Washington, and he had scarcely settled at the White House before the news of Lee's surrender reached him. Robert T. Lincoln, his oldest son, was on the staff of General Grant, and in the field at the front. When the intelligence of Lee's surrender reached the President, no language can express the joy and gratitude to Almighty God which filled his heart and that of the people.
On the evening of the 11th, a great crowd, exultant and happy, went to the White House to congratulate him, and with him rejoice over the triumph. Again his tall form stood at the window of the Executive Mansion, and looked out on the happy multitude. How often during the past four years had he stood there. In times of disaster and of danger, when all was dark and uncertain, how often had he cheered and encouraged his hearers with words of hope and confidence; how often had he cheered the soldiers marching to the field. Now the great work was done. The rebellion was crushed, and throughout the republic there was not a slave. To him, more than to any other; to him more than to all others; to him under God were these grand results due. But there was no selfish exultation. Modest, just, and grateful to others, he said: "We meet this evening in gladness of heart. The surrender of the insurgent army gives hopes of a righteous and speedy peace... In the midst of this, He from whom all blessings flow must not be forgotten... I was near the front, ...but no part of the honor for plan or execution is mine. To General Grant, his skillful officers and brave men, all belongs."
From the 11th to the 14th were eventful, memorable days. The surrender of all the rebel armies followed in rapid succession. The whole country, every city, town, village, and neighborhood, was intoxicated with joy. All the houses, even the houses of mourning, were bright with Union flags. Every window in every home was illuminated. Bells were rung and salutes fired. Bands of music played, patriotic songs were sung, and the voice of praise and thanksgiving to Almighty God went up from every house of worship, and from every home and fireside. No one was more joyous and happy than Mr. Lincoln. The dark clouds had disappeared. Full of hope and happiness, with the consciousness of great difficulties overcome, of great duties well and successfully performed, his heart was filled, and now visions of days of peace and happiness were rising before him. He was considering plans of reconciliation; how he could best bind up and heal the wounds of the whole country, and how obliterate the scars of war and restore good feeling and friendship to every section. There was in his heart no bitterness, no desire for revenge. He wished to frighten the leading rebels out of the country, that there might be no executions.
On the morning of the 14th, his son Robert, just returned from the front, where he had witnessed the surrender of Lee, breakfasted with his father. The family passed a happy hour together, Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln listening to the details of the events witnessed by Robert. After breakfast, the President spent an hour with Mr. Speaker Colfax. Then followed a happy meeting and exchange of congratulations with a party of Illinois friends: At 12 M. there was a meeting of the Cabinet, at which General Grant was present, and all remarked the hopeful, happy spirits of the President, and his kindly disposition towards those lately in arms against him. While waiting for the Secretary of War, Mr. Lincoln was observed to look very grave, and said: "Gentlemen, something serious is going to happen. I have had a strange dream, and have a presentiment such as I have had several times before, and always just before some important event. But," he added abruptly as Mr. Stanton came in, "let us proceed to business."
After the Cabinet meeting he went to drive with Mrs. Lincoln, expressing a wish that no one should accompany them, and evidently desiring to converse alone with her. "Mary," said he, "we have had a hard time of it since we came to Washington, but the war is over, and with God's blessing we may hope for four years of peace and happiness, and then we will go back to Illinois and pass the rest of our lives in quiet." He spoke of his old Springfield home, and recollections of his early days, his little brown cottage, the law office, the court room, the green bag for his briefs and law papers, his adventures when riding the circuit, came thronging back to him. The tension under which he had for so long been kept was removed, and he was like a boy out of school. "We have laid by," said he to his wife, "some money, and during this term we will try and save up more, but shall not have enough to support us. We will go back to Illinois, and I will open a law-office at Springfield or Chicago, and practice law, and at least do enough to help give us a livelihood." Such were the dreams, the day-dreams of Lincoln, the last day of his life. In imagination he was again in his prairie home, among his law books, and in the courts with his old friends. A picture of a prairie farm on the banks of the Sangamon or the Rock River rose before him, and once more the plough and the axe were to become as familiar to his hands as in the days of his youth.
In the early evening he had another interview with Mr. Colfax, and with George Ashmun, the president of the convention at Chicago which had nominated him for the Presidency. It had been announced by the newspapers that he and General Grant would attend Ford's theatre that evening. General Grant was prevented by some other engagement from attending, and Mr. Lincoln, though for some reason reluctant to go that night, was persuaded to attend, that the people might not be disappointed. Mr. Colfax walked from the parlor to the door with him, and there bade him good-bye, declining an invitation to accompany him to the play. On the steps of the White House, just as he was stepping into his carriage, the author met him, and he said: "Excuse me now. I am going to the theatre. Come and see me in the morning."
From the time of his election to his death, many threats had been made to assassinate him. He had received many letters warning him against assassination. An attempt to murder him at Baltimore, in 1861, would undoubtedly have been made, but for the discovery of the plot, and his passing through that city without the knowledge of and before the time expected by the conspirators. Lincoln was constitutionally brave, and assassination is a crime so entirely foreign and abhorrent to the American character, that he regarded all these threats as idle words, and his friends could never induce him to take precautions. He walked unguarded and unconscious of danger through the streets of Richmond on the day of its capture.
The President, Mrs. Lincoln, and their party, reached the theatre at nine o'clock. On his entry, he was received with acclamation. As he reached the door of the box reserved for him, he turned, smiled, and bowed his acknowledgment of the greeting which welcomed him, and then followed Mrs. Lincoln into the box. This was at the right of the stage, and not many feet from the floor. In the corner nearest the stage sat Miss Harris, a daughter of Senator Harris, of New York; next her was Mrs. Lincoln, Major Rathbone being seated on a sofa behind the ladies, and the President nearest the door. The box was draped and festooned with the national colors. The play was the "American Cousin."
It is painful to have to mention the name of the man who had attained some distinction in the representation of the mimic tragedies of the drama; the name of one henceforth to be more infamous than any of the villains whose parts he had assumed, and which the genius of Shakspeare had conceived. John Wilkes Booth, the assassin, visited the theatre behind the scenes and saw the President sitting in the box. He had a fleet horse in the alley behind the building, all saddled and ready to aid him in his escape, and saw that the door to this alley was open. The arrangements for the murder being completed, at 10:30 P.M. a pistol shot, startling and sharp, was heard, and a man holding a dagger dripping with blood leaped from the President's box to the stage, exclaiming: "Sic semper tyrannis; the South is avenged." As the assassin struck the floor of the stage he fell on his knee, breaking a bone, the spur on his boot having caught in the folds of the flag as he leaped. Instantly rising, he brandished his bloody dagger, darted across the stage through the door he had left open, sprung upon his horse, and galloped away. Major Rathbone, at the sound of the pistol, and as the assassin rushed towards the stage, had attempted to seize him, and received a severe cut in the arm. The audience and actors, startled and stupefied with horror, were for a few seconds spell-bound. Some one then cried out, "John Wilkes Booth!" and the audience realized that the well-known actor had been the author of the deed. Booth had passed around to the front of the theatre, entered, passed to the President's box, gone in at the open and unguarded door, and, stealing noiselessly up behind the President, who was intent upon the play, had placed his pistol close to the back of the head of Mr. Lincoln at the base of the brain, and fired. The ball penetrated the brain, the President fell forward unconscious and mortally wounded.
No words can describe the horror and the anguish of Mrs. Lincoln. Her heart was broken, and her mind so shattered by the shock that she was never quite herself thereafter. When told that her husband must die, she prayed for death herself. The insensible body was moved across the street to the house of Mr. Peterson. Robert T. Lincoln, personal friends, and members of the Cabinet, soon arrived and filled the rooms. The strong constitution of the President struggled with death until twenty-two minutes past seven of the next morning, when his heart ceased to beat. It would be idle to attempt to describe the agony of that fearful night. The manly efforts of the son to control his own suffering, that he might soothe and comfort his mother, can never be forgotten. At the rising of the sun on the morning of the 15th, the remains of the President were borne back to the White House. The assassin was pursued, overtaken, and, on the 21st of April, refusing to surrender, he was shot by a soldier named Boston Corbett.
On the same night of the murder of the President, accomplices of Booth attempted to kill the Secretary of State, Mr. Seward. He had been confined to his house by severe injuries received from being thrown from his carriage. He was fearfully wounded, and his life was saved by the heroic efforts of his sons and daughter, and a nurse named Robinson. Frederick Seward, his son, in attempting to prevent the entrance of the ruffian into his father's room, was struck on the head with a pistol, and his skull fractured. Some of the accomplices of Booth, including Mrs. Surratt, were arrested, convicted, and hung, but whether they were the tools and instruments of more guilty instigators, has never been clearly proved.
Andrew Johnson, Vice-President, was immediately, on the morning of Mr. Lincoln's death, sworn into office as President. The terrible intelligence of Mr. Lincoln's death was early on the morning of the 15th borne by telegraph to every part of the republic. Coming in the midst of universal rejoicing over the fall of Richmond and the surrender of Lee, no language can adequately express the horror and grief of the people. A whole nation shouting for joy was in one moment struck dumb with horror, and the next bathed in tears. Persons who had not heard of the event, entering crowded cities, were appalled by the strange aspect of the mourning people. All business, by common impulse, was instantly suspended, and gloom and grief were on every face. The national flag which had been floating in triumph over every roof, every public building, spire, and mast, was lowered to half mast, and before the sun went down, the people, by a common impulse, each family by itself, began to drape their houses in mourning, so that before darkness closed over the land, every house was shrouded in black. If every family in the republic had lost its first born, the emblems of grief could hardly have been more universal. There were none whose grief was more demonstrative than that of the soldiers and freedmen. The vast armies not yet disbanded looked upon and loved Lincoln as a father. They knew that his heart had been with them in all their marches and battles, and in all their sufferings. Grief and vengeance filled all their hearts. But the poor negroes wept and mourned over a loss which they instinctively felt was irreparable. On the Sunday following his death, the people gathered in every place of public worship, and mingled their tears.
On Monday, the 17th, a meeting of the members of Congress then in Washington was held at the Capitol to arrange for the funeral. A committee of one member from each state and territory, and the entire delegation from Illinois, was appointed to attend the remains to Springfield. The fact was recalled that a vault had been prepared under the dome of the Capitol for the remains of Washington, which had never been used, because the Washington family and Virginia desired that the body of the father of his country should rest at Mount Vernon. It was now suggested that it would be peculiarly appropriate that the body of Lincoln should be placed under the Capitol of the republic he had saved. The family of Lincoln would have consented to this, but the governor of Illinois, her senators, and others, were so urgent that the remains should be taken to his old home, that it was finally decided that this should be done.
A short time before his death, on the visit of the President and Mrs. Lincoln to City Point and Richmond before spoken of, as they were taking a drive on the banks of James River, they came to an old country graveyard. It was a retired place, shaded with trees, and early spring flowers were opening on nearly every grave. It was so quiet and attractive that they stopped the carriage and walked through it. Mr. Lincoln seemed thoughtful and impressed. He said: "Mary, you are younger than I. You will, survive me. When I am gone, lay my remains in some quiet place like this."
The funeral took place on Wednesday, the 19th, and the religious services were held in the east room of the Executive Mansion. This was the third funeral which had taken place at the White House, while occupied by the family of Mr. Lincoln. First, that of Colonel Ellsworth, at whose death the President was deeply grieved; then that of his own son William, whom Mr. Lincoln idolized; and now that of the President. The services were solemn and touching. The new President, the Cabinet, the Chief Justice and his associates, General Grant, Admiral Farragut, senators and members of Congress, the diplomatic corps, a great number of military and naval officers, and citizens from every part of the country attended. After the religious ceremonies, the body was taken to the rotunda of the Capitol, tenderly guarded by sad and sorrowing soldiers. The coffin was kept constantly covered with a profusion of sweet spring flowers, while the placid face was exposed, and thousands came to take a last look before the remains should start for their final resting place on the distant prairies. The features were natural, gentle, and seemed yet to express the Christ-like sentiments which he had uttered from the colonnade of the Capitol in his last inaugural. Non-commissioned officers of the Veteran Reserve Corps were detailed to act as a body-guard, and major generals of the army were directed to attend the train and keep watch, so that at all times during the journey the coffin should be under their special guardianship. It was ordered that the funeral train should take nearly the same route that Mr. Lincoln had taken when he came from Springfield to Washington to enter upon his duties as President.
The train left the capital on Friday the 21st, and was to halt and stay for a short time at Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, Albany, Cleveland, Columbus, Indianapolis, and Chicago, and thence was to proceed to Springfield; thus traversing the states of Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, and Indiana, to Illinois. It was one long pilgrimage of sorrow. The people of every state, city, town, village, and hamlet came with uncovered heads, with streaming eyes, with wreaths of flowers, to witness the passing train. Minute guns, the tolling of bells, mournful music, dirges, draped flags at half mast, with black hanging from every public building and private house, marked this long line of two thousand miles. Nowhere were the manifestations of grief more impressive than at Baltimore, and especially from the negroes. Their coarse, homely features were convulsed with a grief they could not control, and sobs, cries, and tears told how deeply they mourned their deliverer. At Philadelphia, the remains lay in state in old Independence Hall. Four years before, in that same hall, when on his way to the capital, he had declared he would sooner be assassinated than give up the principles of the Declaration of Independence. He had been assassinated because of his fidelity to those principles. The old historic bell, which had rung out the peal announcing the adoption of the Declaration of Independence, and on which had been engraved the words: "Proclaim liberty throughout the land to all the inhabitants thereof," stood at the head of the coffin of Lincoln--who had made and maintained that proclamation. The procession reached New York on the 24th, and remained until the 25th. Every house, from pavement to roof, all the way from the Battery to Central Park, was draped in black. Here came the venerable old soldier, General Scott, to take his last look at the President whose inauguration he had helped to secure.
As the train passed up the Hudson towards Albany, near one of the towns lying in the shadow of the mountains, a tableau of picturesque beauty had been arranged. Just as the evening sun was sinking behind the Kaatskills, the train was seen slowly approaching. A great crowd had gathered near the banks of the river. An open space encircled with evergreens was seen, and, as the train came still nearer, sad, slow, melancholy music was heard, and a beautiful woman representing Liberty was discovered kneeling over the grave of Lincoln, with a crown of laurels, and the flag draped in mourning.
And thus the sad procession moved on, reaching Chicago on the first of May. Here everyone had personally known Mr. Lincoln. Here he had made his speeches to courts and juries. Here he had often debated with his great rival, Douglas, and here he had been nominated for President. Here, from all parts of Illinois now thronged his old friends and neighbors. Here, as everywhere, mottoes expressive of the grief of the people were everywhere displayed. On the 3d of May, the funeral train reached Springfield, and his remains were taken to the State House, which had so often echoed with his eloquence. Over the door of the entrance, in allusion to the last words spoken by him when he bade his neighbors good-bye, were the lines:
   "He left us borne up by our prayers; He returns embalmed in our tears."
The whole world hastened to express sympathy with the American people. From Windsor Castle and from the cottage of the humblest day-laborer, came the voice of sorrow. England's widowed queen, under her own hand, expressed the deepest sympathy with the widow at the White House. The English speaking race, from every part of its magnificent empire, from Parliament and Westminster Abbey, and from India, and Australia, Canada, and the Islands of the Sea, everywhere came forward with the expression of its profound regret. Indeed, all nations and all peoples vied with each other in the expression of their sorrow. These utterances were communicated to our State department. Mr. Seward felicitously called them "The Tribute of the Nations to Abraham Lincoln." They were printed, and constitute a quarto volume of nearly a thousand pages, unique in its character, and a tribute never before in any age paid to any man.
His body was taken to Oak Ridge Cemetery, and there, surrounded by his old friends and neighbors, his clients and constituents, among whom was here and there an old Clary Grove companion--there, with the nation and the world for his mourners--he was buried.
He left, as has been stated, a heart-broken widow, a woman whose intellect was shattered by a shock so awful as scarcely to have had a parallel in history. For a time she was beside herself with grief. She so far lost the control of her mind that she dwelt constantly on the incidents of the last day of her husband's life, and she lost the ability, by any effort of her will, to think of other and less painful things.
As time passed she partly recovered, and her friends hoped that change of scene and new faces would bring her back to a more sound and healthful mental condition. But the death of her son Thomas, to whom she was fondly attached, made her still worse. He died at Chicago, July 15th, 1871, and after this bereavement she became still more morbid, and from that time, Mrs. Lincoln, in the judgment of her most intimate friends, was never entirely responsible for her conduct. She was peculiar and eccentric, and had various hallucinations. These at one time assumed such a form, that her devoted son and her family friends thought it safer and more wise that she should be under treatment for her physical and mental maladies. She was removed to the quiet of the country, where she received every possible kindness and attention, and in a few months so far improved that her elder sister, Mrs. Ninian Edwards, took her to her pleasant home in Springfield, where she lingered until her death, which took place on July 16th, 1882.
Mrs. Lincoln has been treated harshly--nay, most cruelly abused and misrepresented by a portion of the press. That love of scandal and of personality, unfortunately too general, induced reporters to hang around her doors, to dog her steps, to chronicle and exaggerate her impulsive words, her indiscretions, and her eccentricities. There is nothing in American history so unmanly, so devoid of every chivalric impulse, as the treatment of this poor, broken hearted woman, whose reason was shattered by the great tragedy of her life. One would have supposed it to be sufficient to secure the forbearance, the charitable construction, or the silence of the press, to remember that she was the widow of Abraham Lincoln. When the Duke of Burgundy was uttering his coarse and idle jests concerning Margaret of Anjou, the Earl of Oxford rebuked and silenced him by saying: "My Lord, whatever may have been the defects of my mistress, she is in distress, and almost in desolation."
The abuse which a portion of the American press so pitilessly poured upon the head of Mary Lincoln, recalls that splendid outburst of eloquence on the part of Burke, when, speaking of the Queen of France, he said: "Little did I dream that I should live to see such disasters fall upon her in a nation of gallant men; a nation of men of honor, cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry has gone." Charles Sumner was true to the widow of his friend to the last. Largely through his influence, Congress passed a law giving to Mrs. Lincoln a pension, and conferring upon her the franking privilege for life.

## Footnotes

* ↑ This painting by Healy was made for E.B. McCagg, Esq., of Chicago, and now hangs on the walls of the Calumet Club of that city.
* ↑ The following most interesting letter from General Sherman to the author gives the details of this interview: "Washington D.C., November 28th, 1872. "Thanksgiving Day. "Hon. I.N. Arnold, Chicago, Ill. "My dear sir: I have just received your letter of November 26th, and it so happens that it comes to me on an official holiday, when I am at leisure, and at my house, where I keep the books of letters written by me during and since the Civil War. My records during the war are quite complete, but since the war I have only retained copies of letters on purely official business, and I find no copy of the one you describe as having been lost in the great fire of Chicago last year. I regret this extremely, as in my official records I find but a bare allusion to the interview with Mr. Lincoln at City Point, in March, 1865, an account of which was contained in my former letter, and which you now desire me to repeat. I must do so entirely from memory, and you must make all allowances, for nearly eight eventful years have intervened. "On the 21st of March, 1865, the army which I commanded reached Goldsboro, North Carolina, and there made junction with the forces of Generals Schofield and Terry, which had come up from the coast at Newbern and Wilmington. "My army was hard up for food and clothing, which could only reach us from the coast, and my chief attention was given to the reconstruction of the two railroads which meet at Goldsboro, from Newbern and Wilmington, so as to re-clothe the men, and get provisions enough with which to continue our march to Burksville, Virginia, where we would come into communications with General Grant's army, then investing Richmond and Petersburg. I had written to General Grant several times, and had received letters from him, but it seemed to me all important that I should have a personal interview. Accordingly, on the 25th of March, leaving General Schofield in command, I took the first locomotive which had come over the repaired railroad, back to Newbern and Morehead City, where I got the small steamer 'Russia' to convey me to City Point. We arrived during the afternoon of March 27th, and I found General Grant and staff occupying a neat set of log huts, on a bluff overlooking the James River. The General's family was with him. We had quite a long and friendly talk, when he remarked that the President, Mr. Lincoln, was near by in a steamer lying at the dock, and he proposed that we should call at once. We did so, and found Mr. Lincoln on board the 'Ocean Queen.' We had met in the early part of the war, and he recognized me, and received me with a warmth of manner and expression that was most grateful. We then sat some time in the after-cabin, and Mr. Lincoln made many inquiries about the events which attended the march from Savannah to Goldsboro, and seemed to enjoy the humorous stories about 'our bummers,' of which he had heard much. When in lively conversation, his face brightened wonderfully; but if the conversation flagged, his face assumed a sad and sorrowful expression. "General Grant and I explained to him that my next move from Goldsboro would bring my army, increased to eighty thousand men by Schofield's and Terry's reinforcements, in close communication with General Grant's army, then investing Lee in Richmond, and that unless Lee could effect his escape, and make junction with Johnston in North Carolina, he would soon be shut up in Richmond with no possibility of supplies, and would have to surrender. Mr. Lincoln was extremely interested in this view of the case, and when we explained that Lee's only choice was to escape, join Johnston, and, being then between me in North Carolina and Grant in Virginia, could choose which to fight. Mr. Lincoln seemed unusually impressed with this, but General Grant explained that at the very moment of our conversation, General Sheridan was passing his cavalry across James River from the north to the south, that he would, with this cavalry, so extend his left below Petersburg as to meet the South Shore Road, and that if Lee should 'let go' his fortified lines, he (Grant) would follow him so close that he could not possibly fall on me alone in North Carolina. I, in like manner, expressed the fullest confidence that my army in North Carolina was willing to cope with Lee and Johnston combined, till Grant could come up. But we both agreed that one more bloody battle was likely to occur before the close of the war. "Mr. Lincoln repeatedly inquired as to General Schofield's ability, in my absence, and seemed anxious that I should return to North Carolina, and more than once exclaimed: 'Must more blood be shed? Cannot this last bloody battle be avoided?' We explained that we had to presume that General Lee was a real general; that he must see that Johnston alone was no barrier to my progress, and that if my army of eighty thousand veterans should reach Burksville, he was lost in Richmond, and that we were forced to believe he would not await that inevitable conclusion, but make one more desperate effort. "I think we were with Mr. Lincoln an hour or more, and then returned to General Grant's quarters, where Mrs. Grant had prepared us some coffee, or tea. During this meal, Mrs. Grant inquired if we had seen Mrs. Lincoln. I answered: 'No, I did not know she was on board.' 'Now,' said Mrs. Grant, 'you are a pretty pair,' and we on to explain that we had been guilty of a piece of unpardonable rudeness; but the General said, 'Never mind. We will repeat the visit to-morrow, and can then see Mrs. Lincoln.' "The next morning a good many officers called to see me, among them Generals Meade and Ord, also Admiral Porter. The latter inquired as to the 'Russia,' in which I had come up from Morehead City, and explained that she was a slow tub, and he would send me back in the steamer 'Bat,' Captain Barnes, U.S. Navy, because she was very fleet, and could make seventeen knots an hour. Of course I did not object, and fixed that afternoon to start back. "Meantime we had to repeat our call on Mr. Lincoln on board the 'Ocean Queen,' then anchored out in the stream at some distance from the wharf. Admiral Porter went along, and we took a tug at the wharf, which conveyed us off to the 'Ocean Queen.' Mr. Lincoln met us all in the same hearty manner as the previous occasion, and this time we did not forget Mrs. Lincoln. General Grant inquired for her, and the President explained that she was not well, but he stepped to her state-room and returned to us asking to excuse her. We all took seats in the after-cabin, and the conversation became general. I explained to Mr. Lincoln that Admiral Porter had given me the 'Bat,' a very fleet vessel, to carry me back to Newbern, and that I was ready to start back then. It seemed to relieve him, as he was afraid that something might go wrong at Goldsboro in my absence. I had no such fears, and the most perfect confidence in General Schofield, and doubt not I said as much. "I ought not, and must not, attempt to recall the words of that conversation. Of course none of us then foresaw the tragic end of the principal figure of that group so near at hand; ane none of us saw the exact manner in which the war was to close; but I knew that I felt, and I believe the others did, that the end of the war was near. "The imminent danger was, that Lee, seeing the meshes closing surely around him, would not remain passive, but would make one more desperate effort; and General Grant was providing for it, by getting General Sheridan's cavalry well to his left flank, so as to watch the first symptoms, and to bring the rebel army to bay till the infantry could come up. Meantime I only asked two weeks delay, the status quo, when we would have our wagons loaded, and would start from Goldsboro for Burksville, via Raleigh. Though I cannot attempt to recall the words spoken by any one of the persons present on that occasion, I know we talked generally about what was to be done when Lee's and Johnston's armies were beaten and dispersed. On this point Mr. Lincoln was very full. He said that he had long thought of it, that he hoped this end could be reached without more bloodshed, but in any event he wanted us to get the deluded men of the rebel armies disarmed and back to their homes; that he contemplated no revenge; no harsh measures, but quite the contrary, and that their suffering and hardships during the war would make them the more submissive to law. I cannot say that Mr. Lincoln, or any body else, used this language; but I know that I left his presence with the conviction that he had in his mind, or that his Cabinet had, some plan of settlement ready for application, the moment Lee and Johnston were defeated. "In Chicago, about June or July of that year, when all the facts were fresh in my mind, I told them to Geo. P.A. Healy, the artist, who was casting about for a subject for a historical painting, and he adopted this interview. Mr. Lincoln was then dead, but Healy had a portrait which he himself had made at Springfield, some five or six years before. With this portrait, some existent photographs, and the strong resemblance in the form of Mr. Swett, of Chicago, to Mr. Lincoln, he made the picture of Mr. Lincoln seen in this group. For General Grant, Admiral Porter, and myself, he had actual sittings, and I am satisfied the fine portraits in this group of Healy's are the best extant. The original picture, life size, is, I believe, now in Chicago, the property of Mr. McGagg; but Healy afterwards, in Rome, painted ten smaller copies, about 18x24 inches, one of which I now have, and it is now within view. I think the likeness of Mr. Lincoln by far the best of the many I have seen elsewhere, and those of General Grant, Admiral Porter, and myself, equally good and faithful. I think Admiral Porter gave Healy a written description of our relative positions in that interview, also the dimensions, shape, and furniture of the cabin of the 'Ocean Queen,' but the rainbow is Healy's--typical, of course, of the coming peace. In this picture I seem to be talking, the others attentively listening. Whether Healy made this combination from Admiral Porter's letter or not, I cannot say; but I thought that he caught the idea from what I told him had occurred, when saying 'that if Lee would only remain in Richmond until I could reach Burskville, we would have him between our thumb and fingers,' suiting the action to the word. It matters little what Healy meant by his historic group, but it is certain we four sat pretty much as represented, and were engaged in an important conversation, during the forenoon of March 28th, 1865, and that we parted never to meet again. "That afternoon I embarked on the 'Bat,' and we steamed down the coast to Hatteras Inlet, which we entered, and proceeded to Newbern, and from Newbern to Goldsboro by rail, which I reached the night of March 30th. "I hope this letter covers the points of your inquiry. "With great respect, "Yours truly, "W.T. SHERMAN, General." Hon. I.N. Arnold, Chicago, Ill.
* ↑ McPherson's History of the Rebellion, p. 609.
* ↑ I state this conversation from memory, as related by Mrs. Lincoln.--Author.
* ↑ If he had lived and carried out these plans, what would have been his future? Would he have passed, like other Ex-Presidents and great soldiers and statesmen, into comparative obscurity? The proverbial ingratitude of republics is verified by our own, not towards the pensioned private soldier, but to the leaders. In almost every state to-day are living men who have rendered the country inestimable service, earning their living in pursuit of various branches of industry, unknown, unappreciated, and nearly forgotten. How differently great public services are rewarded on the other side of the Atlantic. There, titles and wealth are sure to follow great public service in civil and military life. Blenheim Palace and the Dukedom of Marlborough were very substantial rewards for the victory at Blenheim. Apaley House, and its contents, and the title of Duke of Wellington, were well earned by the conqueror of Waterloo. Would Lincoln, the savior of his country, had he lived, been left to earn his living by the practice of a nisi prius and Supreme Court lawyer, or would the republic have honored him and itself by honors and wealth?
* ↑ The following is the sworn statement of the actor on stage at the moment: "I was playing 'Asa Trenchard' in the 'American Cousin.' The 'old lady' of the theatre had just gone off the stage, and I was answering her exit speech when I heard the shot fired. I turned, looked up at the President's box, heard the man exclaim, ' Sic semper tyrannis,' saw him jump from the box, seize the flag on the staff, and drop to the stage; he slipped when he gained the stage, but he got upon his feet in a moment, brandished a large knife, saying, 'The South shall be free,' turned towards me, and I, seeing the knife, thought I was the one he was after, and ran off the stage and up a flight of stairs. He made his escape out of a door directly in the rear of the theatre, mounted a horse and rode off. The above all occurred in the space of a quarter of a minute, and at the time I did not know the President was shot, although, if I had tried to stop him, he would have stabbed me." Major Rathbone testified: "The distance between the President, and he sat, and the door, was about four or five feet. The door, according to the recollection of this deponent, was not closed during the evening. When the second scene of the third act was being performed, and while the deponent was intently observing the proceedings upon the stage, with his back towards the door, he heard the discharge of a pistol behind him, and looking around saw, through the smoke, a man between the door and the President... This deponent instantly sprung towards him and seized him; he wrested himself from the grasp and made a violent thrust at the breast of deponent with a large knife. Deponent parried the blow by striking it up, and received a wound several inches deep in his left arm, between the elbow and the shoulder. The orifice of the wound is about an inch and a half in length, and extends upwards towards the shoulder several inches. The man rushed to the fron of the box, and deponent endeavored to seize him again, but only caught his clothes as he was leaping over the railing of the box."
* ↑ The author was one of the sad procession which followed the corpse to the Executive Mansion.
* ↑ Mrs. Lincoln told this incident to the author in October, 1874. She was speaking of his grave at Oak Ridge. Some of his Illinois friends had desired that he should be buried near the State House, that his monument should be near the Capitol. She said she preferred Oak Ridge, because it was more retired, and she gave the above incident as expressing his own wishes on the subject.
* ↑ The author called upon her a few days after her husband's death, and she narrated to him the incidents of the last day of Mr. Lincoln's life. The next day, and the next, and every time the author met her, she would go over these painful details, until she would be convulsed with sorrow. When entreated not to speak on such a painful subject, and when an effort was made to divert her to others less sad, she would apparently try to turn her thoughts elsewhere, but directly and unconsciously, she would return to these incidents, forgetful that she had told them to her visitor again and again, and she apparently had lost all power of choice in the subjects of her conversation.
* ↑ Sir Walter Scott's "Anne of Geierstein."