There was scarcely a day when there were not several delegations of this kind to visit him, and a great deal of the President's valuable time was employed in this unimportant manner. One day he was asked by one of these self-const.i.tuted mentors, how many men the rebels had in the field? Mr. Lincoln promptly but seriously answered, "Twelve hundred thousand, according to the best authority." His listeners looked aghast.

"Good heavens!" they exclaimed in astonishment. "Yes, sir; twelve hundred thousand, no doubt of it. You see, all of our generals when they get whipped say the enemy outnumbers them from three or five to one, and I must believe them. We have four hundred thousand men in the field, and three times four make twelve,--don't you see it? It is as plain to be seen as the nose on a man's face; and at the rate things are now going, with the great amount of speculation and the small crop of fighting, it will take a long time to overcome twelve hundred thousand rebels in arms. If they can get subsistence they have everything else, except a just cause. Yet it is said that 'thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just.' I am willing, however, to risk our advantage of thrice in justice against their thrice in numbers."

On but one occasion that I can now recall was Mr. Lincoln's habitual good humor visibly overtaxed by these well-meaning but impatient advisers. A committee of clergymen from the West called one day; and the spokesman, fired with uncontrollable zeal, poured forth a lecture which was fault-finding in tone from beginning to end. It was delivered with much energy, and the shortcomings of the Administration were rehea.r.s.ed with painful directness. The reverend orator made some keen thrusts, which evoked hearty applause from other gentlemen of the committee.

Mr. Lincoln's reply was a notable one. With unusual animation, he said: "Gentlemen, suppose all the property you possess were in gold, and you had placed it in the hands of Blondin to carry across the Niagara River on a rope. With slow, cautious, steady step he walks the rope, bearing your all. Would you shake the cable, and keep shouting to him, 'Blondin!

stand up a little straighter! Blondin! stoop a little more; go a little faster; lean more to the south! Now lean a little more to the north!'--would that be your behavior in such an emergency? No; you would hold your breath, every one of you, as well as your tongues. You would keep your hands off until he was safe on the other side. This government, gentlemen, is carrying an immense weight; untold treasures are in its hands. The persons managing the ship of state in this storm are doing the best they can. Don't worry them with needless warnings and complaints. Keep silence, be patient, and we will get you safe across.

Good day, gentlemen. I have other duties pressing upon me that must be attended to."

This incident made Mr. Lincoln a little shy of preachers for a time.

"But the latch-string is out," said he, "and they have the right to come here and preach to me if they will go about it with some gentleness and moderation." He firmly believed that--

"To speak his thoughts is every freeman's right, In peace and war, in council and in fight."

And from this republican idea he would suffer not the slightest departure while he was President.

Soon after the affair just described, a man of remarkable appearance presented himself at the White House and requested an audience with Mr.

Lincoln. He was a large, fleshy man, of a stern but homely countenance, and of a solemn and dignified carriage. He was dressed in a neatly-fitting swallow-tailed coat, ruffled shirt of faultless fabric, white cravat, and orange-colored gloves. An immense fob chain, to which was attached a huge topaz seal, swung from his watch-pocket, and he carried a large gold-headed cane. His whole appearance was that of a man of great intellect, of stern qualities, of strong piety, and of dignified uncomeliness. He looked in every way like a minister of the gospel, whose vigorous mind was bent on G.o.dly themes, and whose present purpose was to discourse to Mr. Lincoln on matters of grave import.

"I am in for it now," thought the President. "This pious man means business. He is no common preacher. Evidently his gloomy mind is big with a scheme of no ordinary kind."

The ceremony of introduction was unusually formal, and the few words of conversation that followed were constrained. The good man spoke with great deliberation, as if feeling his way cautiously; but the evident restraint which his manner imposed upon Mr. Lincoln seemed not to please him. The sequel was amazing.

Quitting his chair, the portly visitor extended his hand to Mr. Lincoln, saying as the latter rose and confronted him: "Well, Mr. President, I have no business with you, none whatever. I was at the Chicago convention as a friend of Mr. Seward. I have watched you narrowly ever since your inauguration, and I called merely to pay my respects. What I want to say is this: I think you are doing everything for the good of the country that is in the power of man to do. You are on the right track. As one of your const.i.tuents I now say to you, do in future as you d.a.m.n please, and I will support you!" This was spoken with tremendous effect.

"Why," said Mr. Lincoln in great astonishment, "I took you to be a preacher. I thought you had come here to tell me how to take Richmond,"

and he again grasped the hand of his strange visitor. Accurate and penetrating as Mr. Lincoln's judgment was concerning men, for once he had been wholly mistaken. The scene was comical in the extreme. The two men stood gazing at each other. A smile broke from the lips of the solemn wag and rippled over the wide expanse of his homely face like sunlight overspreading a continent, and Mr. Lincoln was convulsed with laughter.

"Sit down, my friend," said the President; "sit down. I am delighted to see you. Lunch with us to-day. Yes, you must stay and lunch with us, my friend, for I have not seen enough of you yet."

The stranger did lunch with Mr. Lincoln that day. He was a man of rare and racy humor,--and the good cheer, the fun, the wit, the anecdotes and sparkling conversation that enlivened the scene was the work of two of the most original characters ever seen in the White House.

Shortly after the election of Mr. Lincoln, I talked with him earnestly about the habits, manners, customs, and style of the people with whom he had now to a.s.sociate, and the difference between his present surroundings and those of his Illinois life, and wherein his plain, practical, common-sense actions differed from the polite, graceful, and elegant bearing of the cultivated diplomat and cultured gentlemen of polite society. Thanks to his confidence in my friendship and his affectionate forbearance with me, he would listen to me with the most attentive interest, always evincing the strongest desire to correct anything in which he failed to be and appear like the people with whom he acted; for it was one of the cardinal traits of his character to be like, of, and for the people, whether in exalted or humble life.

A New Hampshire lady having presented to him a soft felt hat of her own manufacture, he was at a loss what to do on his arrival in Washington, as the felt hat seemed unbecoming for a President-elect. He therefore said to me: "Hill, this hat of mine won't do. It is a felt one, and I have been uncomfortable in it ever since we left Harrisburg. Give me that plug of yours, until you can go out in the city and buy one either for yourself or for me. I think your hat is about the style. I may have to do some trotting around soon, and if I can't feel natural with a different hat, I may at least look respectable in it."

I went to a store near by and purchased a hat, and by the ironing process soon had it shaped to my satisfaction; and I must say that when Mr. Lincoln put it on, he looked more presentable and more like a President than I had ever seen him. He had very defective taste in the choice of hats, the item of dress that does more than any other for the improvement of one's personal appearance.

After the hat reform, I think Mr. Lincoln still suffered much annoyance from the tyranny of fashion in the matter of gloves. His hat for years served the double purpose of an ornamental head-gear and a kind of office or receptacle for his private papers and memoranda. But the necessity to wear gloves he regarded as an affliction, a violation of the statute against "cruelty to animals." Many amusing stories could be told of Mr. Lincoln and his gloves. At about the time of his third reception he had on a tight-fitting pair of white kids, which he had with difficulty got on. He saw approaching in the distance an old Illinois friend named Simpson, whom he welcomed with a genuine Sangamon County shake, which resulted in bursting his white-kid glove with an audible sound. Then raising his brawny hand up before him, looking at it with an indescribable expression, he said,--while the whole procession was checked, witnessing this scene,--"Well, my old friend, this is a general bustification. You and I were never intended to wear these things. If they were stronger they might do well enough to keep out the cold, but they are a failure to shake hands with between old friends like us. Stand aside, Captain, and I'll see you shortly." The procession then advanced. Simpson stood aside, and after the unwelcome pageantry was terminated, he rejoined his old Illinois friend in familiar intercourse.

Mr. Lincoln was always delighted to see his Western friends, and always gave them a cordial welcome; and when the proprieties justified it, he met them on the old familiar footing, entertaining them with anecdotes in unrestrained, free-and-easy conversation. He never spoke of himself as President,--always referred to his office as "this place;" would often say to an old friend, "Call me Lincoln: 'Mr. President' is entirely too formal for us." Shortly after the first inauguration, an old and respected friend accompanied by his wife visited Washington, and as a matter of course paid their respects to the President and his family, having been on intimate social terms with them for many years.

It was proposed that at a certain time Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln should call at the hotel where they were stopping and take them out for a ride in the Presidential carriage,--a gorgeous and grandly caparisoned coach, the like of which the visitors had seldom seen before that time. As close as the intimacy was, the two men had never seen each other with gloves on in their lives, except as a protection from the cold. Both gentlemen, realizing the propriety of their use in the changed condition of things, discussed the matter with their respective wives, who decided that gloves were the proper things. Mr. Lincoln reluctantly yielded to this decree, and placed his in his pocket, to be used or not according to circ.u.mstances. On arriving at the hotel he found his friend, who doubtless had yielded to his wife's persuasion, gloved in the most approved style. The friend, taking in the situation, was hardly seated in the carriage when he began to take off the clinging kids; and at the same time Mr. Lincoln began to draw his on,--seeing which they both burst into a hearty laugh, when Mr. Lincoln exclaimed, "Oh, why should the spirit of mortals be proud?" Then he added, "I suppose it is polite to wear these things, but it is positively uncomfortable for me to do so. Let us put them in our pockets; that is the best place for them, and we shall be able to act more like folks in our bare hands." After this the ride was as enjoyable as any one they had ever taken in early days in a lumber wagon over the prairies of Illinois.

An instance showing that the deserving low-born commanded Mr. Lincoln's respect and consideration as well as the high-born and distinguished, may be found in what he said on one occasion to an Austrian count during the rebellion. The Austrian minister to this government introduced to the President a count, subject of the Austrian government, who was desirous of obtaining a position in the American army. Being introduced by the accredited minister of Austria, he required no further recommendation to secure the appointment; but fearing that his importance might not be fully appreciated by the republican President, the count was particular in impressing the fact upon him that he bore that t.i.tle, and that his family was ancient and highly respectable. Mr.

Lincoln listened with attention, until this unnecessary commendation was mentioned; then, with a merry twinkle in his eye, he tapped the aristocratic sprig of hereditary n.o.bility on the shoulder in the most fatherly way, as if the gentleman had made a confession of some unfortunate circ.u.mstance connected with his lineage, for which he was in no way responsible, saying, "Never mind, you shall be treated with just as much consideration for all that. I will see to it that your bearing a t.i.tle sha'n't hurt you."

CHAPTER VI.

HIS TENDERNESS.

Mr. Lincoln was one of the bravest men that ever lived, and one of the gentlest. The instances in his earlier career in which he put his life in peril to prevent injury to another are very numerous. I have often thought that his interposition in behalf of the friendless Indian who wandered into camp during the Black Hawk war and was about to be murdered by the troops, was an act of chivalry unsurpa.s.sed in the whole story of knighthood. So in the rough days of Gentryville and New Salem, he was always on the side of the weak and the undefended; always daring against the bully; always brave and tender; always invoking peace and good-will, except where they could be had only by dishonor. He could not endure to witness the needless suffering even of a brute. When riding once with a company of young ladies and gentlemen, dressed up in his best, he sprang from his horse and released a pig which was fast in a fence and squealing in pain, because, as he said in his homely way, the misery of the poor pig was more than he could bear.

Hon. I. N. Arnold tells of an incident in the early days of Mr.

Lincoln's practice at the Springfield bar. He was coming home from a neighboring county seat, with a party of lawyers, riding two by two along a country lane. Lincoln and a comrade brought up the rear, and when the others stopped to water their horses his comrade came up alone.

"Where is Lincoln?" was the inquiry. "Oh," replied the friend, "when I saw him last he had caught two young birds which the wind had blown out of their nest, and was hunting up the nest to put them back into it."

How instinctively Mr. Lincoln turned from the deliberate, though lawful and necessary, shedding of blood during the war is well known. His Secretaries of War, his Judge-Advocate General, and generals in the field, were often put to their wits' end to maintain the discipline of the army against this constant softness of the President's good heart.

Upward of twenty deserters were sentenced at one time to be shot. The warrants for their execution were sent to Mr. Lincoln for his approval; but he refused to sign them. The commanding general to whose corps the condemned men belonged was indignant. He hurried to Washington. Mr.

Lincoln had listened to moving pet.i.tions for mercy from humane persons who, like himself, were shocked at the idea of the cold-blooded execution of more than a score of misguided men. His resolution was fixed, but his rule was to see every man who had business with him. The irate commander, therefore, was admitted into Mr. Lincoln's private office. With soldierly bluntness he told the President that mercy to the few was cruelty to the many; that Executive clemency in such a case would be a blow at military discipline; and that unless the condemned men were made examples of, the army itself would be in danger.

"General," said Mr. Lincoln, "there are too many weeping widows in the United States now. For G.o.d's sake don't ask me to add to the number; for, I tell you plainly, _I won't do it_!" He believed that kind words were better for the poor fellows than cold lead; and the sequel showed that he was right.

Death warrants: execution of unfortunate soldiers,--how he dreaded and detested them, and longed to restore every unfortunate man under sentence to life and honor in his country's service! I had personally an almost unlimited experience with him in this cla.s.s of cases, and could fill volumes with anecdotes exhibiting this trait in the most touching light, though the names of the persons concerned--disgraced soldiers, prisoners of war, civilian spies--would hardly be recognized by the readers of this generation.

But it was the havoc of the war, the sacrifice of patriotic lives, the flow of human blood, the mangling of precious limbs in the great Union host that shocked him most,--indeed, on some occasions shocked him almost beyond his capacity to control either his judgment or his feelings. This was especially the case when the n.o.ble victims were of his own acquaintance, or of the narrower circle of his familiar friends; and then he seemed for the moment possessed of a sense of personal responsibility for their individual fate, which was at once most unreasonable and most pitiful. Of this latter cla.s.s were many of the most gallant men of Illinois and Indiana, who fell dead or cruelly wounded in the early battles of the Southwest.

The "Black boys" were notable among the mult.i.tude of eager youths who rushed to the field at the first call to arms. Their mother, the widow of a learned Presbyterian minister, had married Dr. Fithian, of Danville, Ill.; and the relations between Dr. Fithian and his stepsons were of the tenderest paternal nature. His pride in them and his devotion to them was the theme of the country side. Mr. Lincoln knew them well. In his frequent visits to Danville on the circuit he seldom failed to be the guest of their mother and the excellent Dr. Fithian.

They were studious and industrious boys, earning with their own hands at least a part of the money required for their education. When Sumter was fired upon they were at Wabash College, Crawfordsville, Ind., and immediately enlisted as privates in the Crawfordsville Guards. Their career in the field needs no recital here. Mr. Lincoln watched it with intense interest. At the battle of Pea Ridge, having reached high rank,--each promotion for some special act of gallantry,--they both fell desperately wounded within five minutes of each other, and only thirty yards apart. Dr. Fithian hastened to them with a father's solicitude, and nursed them back to life, through fearful vicissitudes. They had scarcely returned to the army when the elder, John Charles Black, again fell, terribly mangled, at Prairie Grove. He was hopelessly shattered; yet he remained in the service and at the front until the last gun was fired, and is now among the badly wounded survivors of the war. I shall never forget the scene, when I took to Mr. Lincoln a letter written by Dr. Fithian to me, describing the condition of the "Black boys," and expressing his fears that they could not live. Mr. Lincoln read it, and broke into tears: "Here, now," he cried, "are these dear, brave boys killed in this cursed war! My G.o.d, my G.o.d! It is too bad! They worked hard to earn money enough to educate themselves, and this is the end! I loved them as if they were my own." I took his directions about my reply to Dr. Fithian, and left him in one of the saddest moods in which I ever saw him, burdened with an unreasonable sense of personal responsibility for the lives of these gallant men.

Lieut.-Colonel William McCullough, of whom a very eminent gentleman said on a most solemn occasion, "He was the most thoroughly courageous man I have ever known," fell leading a hopeless charge in Mississippi. He had entered the service at the age of fifty, with one arm and one eye. He had been clerk of McLean County Circuit Court, Ill., for twenty years, and Mr. Lincoln knew him thoroughly. His death affected the President profoundly, and he wrote to the Colonel's daughter, now Mrs. Frank D.

Orme, the following peculiar letter of condolence:--

EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, Dec. 23, 1862.

DEAR f.a.n.n.y,--It is with deep regret that I learn of the death of your kind and brave father, and especially that it is affecting your young heart beyond what is common in such cases. In this sad world of ours sorrow comes to all, and to the young it comes with bitterer agony because it takes them unawares. The older have learned ever to expect it. I am anxious to afford some alleviation of your present distress. Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You cannot now realize that you will ever feel better.

Is not this so? And yet it is a mistake. You are sure to be happy again. To know this, which is certainly true, will make you some less miserable now. I have had experience enough to know what I say, and you need only to believe it to feel better at once. The memory of your dear father, instead of an agony, will yet be a sad, sweet feeling in your heart, of a purer and holier sort than you have known before.

Please present my kind regards to your afflicted mother.

Your sincere friend, A. LINCOLN.

MISS f.a.n.n.y MCCULLOUGH, Bloomington, Ill.

Gen. W. H. L. Wallace, who fell at Shiloh, was a friend whom Lincoln held in the tenderest regard. He knew his character as a man and his inestimable value as a soldier quite as well as they are now known to the country. Those who have read General Grant's "Memoirs" will understand from that great general's estimate of him what was the loss of the federal service in the untimely death of Wallace. Mr. Lincoln felt it bitterly and deeply. But his was a public and a private grief united, and his lamentations were touching to those who heard them, as I did. The following account of General Wallace's death is taken from an eloquent memorial address, by the Hon. Leonard Swett in the United States Circuit Court, upon our common friend the late Col. T. Lyle d.i.c.key, who was the father-in-law of Wallace:--

"Mrs. Gen. W. H. L. Wallace, who was Judge d.i.c.key's eldest daughter, as the battle of Shiloh approached, became impressed with the sense of impending danger to her husband, then with Grant's army. This impression haunted her until she could stand it no longer; and in one of the most severe storms of the season, at twelve o'clock at night, she started alone for the army where her husband was. At Cairo she was told that no women could be permitted to go up the Tennessee River. But affection has a persistency which will not be denied. Mrs. Wallace finding a party bearing a flag to the Eleventh Infantry from the ladies of Ottawa, to be used instead of their old one, which had been riddled and was battle-worn, got herself subst.i.tuted to carry that flag: and thus with one expedient and another she finally reached Shiloh, six hundred miles from home and three hundred through a hostile country, and through the more hostile guards of our own forces.

"She arrived on Sunday, the 6th of April, 1862, when the great storm-centre of that battle was at its height, and in time to receive her husband as he was borne from the field terribly mangled by a shot in the head, which he had received while endeavoring to stay the retreat of our army as it was falling back to the banks of the river on that memorable Sunday, the first day of that b.l.o.o.d.y battle. She arrived in time to recognize him, and be recognized by him; and a few days afterward, saying, 'We shall meet again in heaven,' he died in the arms of that devoted wife, surrounded by Judge d.i.c.key and his sons and the brothers of General Wallace."

These are but a few cases of death and mutilation in the military service cited to show how completely Mr. Lincoln shared the sufferings of our soldiers. It was with a weight of singular personal responsibility that some of these misfortunes and sorrows seemed to crowd upon his sympathetic heart.

Soon after his election in 1864, when any other man would have been carried away on the tide of triumph and would have had little thought for the sorrows of a stranger, he found time to write the following letter:--