Strategy, war, everything was, for the moment forgotten by the President, whose wan face a.s.sumed an expression of unusual pleasure, while he gathered up his great, weary length from different parts of the room as he had half lain, sprawling about, across and around his chair and the great table.

"That's Tad," he exclaimed, "I wonder what that boy wants now." On his way to open the door, Mr. Lincoln explained that those knocks had just been adopted by the boy and himself, as part of the telegraph system, and that he was obliged to let the lad in--"for it wouldn't do to go back on the code now," he added, half in apology for permitting such a sudden break in their deliberations.

When the door was opened, Tad, with flushed face and sparkling eyes, sprang in and threw his arms around his father's neck. The President straightened up and embraced the boy with an expression of happiness never seen on his face except while playing with his little son.

Mr. Lincoln turned, with the boy still in his arms, to explain that he and Tad had agreed upon this telegraphic code to prevent the lad from bursting in upon them without warning. The members of the cabinet looked puzzled or disgusted, as though they failed to see that several startling raps could be any better than having Tad break in with a whoop or a wail, as had been the boy's custom.

ISSUING THE EXECUTIVE ORDER ON PETER FOR PIE

The boy raised a question of right. He had besieged Peter, the colored steward, demanding that a dinner be served to several urchins he had picked up outside--two of whom were sons of soldiers. Peter had protested that he "had other fish to fry" just then.

The President recognized at once that this was a case for diplomacy.

Turning to various members of the cabinet, he called on each to contribute from his store of wisdom, what would be best to do in a case of such vast importance. Tad looked on in wonder as his father set the great machinery of government in motion to make out a commissary order on black Peter, which would force that astonished servant to deliver certain pieces of pie and other desired eatables to Tad, for himself and his boy friends.

At last an "order" was prepared by the Chief Executive of the United States directing "The Commissary Department of the Presidential Residence to issue rations to Lieutenant Tad Lincoln and his five a.s.sociates, two of whom are the sons of soldiers in the Army of the Potomac."

With an expression of deep gravity and a solemn flourish, the President tendered this Commissary Order to the lieutenant, his son, saying as he presented the doc.u.ment:

"I reckon Peter will _have_ to come to time now."

CHAPTER XXI

LIEUTENANT TAD LINCOLN, PATRIOT

There was no more st.u.r.dy little patriot in the whole country than Lieutenant Tad Lincoln, "the child of the nation," nor had the President of the United States a more devoted admirer and follower than his own small son. A word from his father would melt the lad to tears and submission, or bring him out of a nervous tantrum with his small round face wreathed with smiles, and a chuckling in his throat of "Papa-day, my papa-day!" No one knew exactly what the boy meant by papa-day. It was his pet name for the dearest man on earth, and it was his only way of expressing the greatest pleasure his boyish heart was able to hold. It was the "sweetest word ever heard" by the war-burdened, crushed and sorrowing soul of the broken-hearted President of the United States.

Mr. Lincoln took his youngest son with him everywhere--on his great mission to Fortress Monroe, and they--"the long and the short of it,"

the soldiers said--marched hand in hand through the streets of fallen Richmond. The understanding between the man and the boy was so complete and sacred, that some acts which seemed to outsiders absurd and ill-fitting, became perfectly right and proper when certain unknown facts were taken into account.

WAVING THE "STARS AND BARS" OUT OF A WHITE HOUSE WINDOW

For instance, one night, during an enthusiastic serenade at the White House, after a great victory of the northern armies, when the President had been out and made a happy speech in response to the congratulations he had received, everybody was horrified to see the Confederate "Stars and Bars" waving frantically from an upper window with shouts followed by shrieks as old Edward, the faithful colored servant, pulled in the flag and the boy who was guilty of the mischief.

"That was little Tad!" exclaimed some one in the crowd. Many laughed, but some spectators thought the boy ought to be punished for such a treasonable outbreak on the part of a President's boy in a soldier's uniform.

"If he don't know any better than that," said one man, "he should be taught better. It's an insult to the North and the President ought to stop it and apologize, too."

"BOYS IN BLUE" AND "BOYS IN GRAY"

But little Tad understood his father's spirit better than the crowd did.

He knew that the President's love was not confined to "the Boys in Blue," but that his heart went out also to "the Boys in Gray." The soldiers were all "boys" to him. They knew he loved them. They said among themselves: "He cares for us. He takes our part. We will fight for him; yes, we will die for him."

And a large part of the common soldier's patriotism was this heart-response of "the boys" to the great "boy" in the White House. That was the meaning of their song as they trooped to the front at his call:

"We are coming, Father Abraham; Three hundred thousand more."

Little Tad saw plenty of evidences of his father's love for the younger soldiers--the real boys of the army. Going always with the President, he had heard his "Papa-day" say of several youths condemned to be shot for sleeping at their post or some like offense:

"That boy is worth more above ground than under;" or, "A live boy can serve his country better than a dead one."

"Give the boys a chance," was Abraham Lincoln's motto. He hadn't had much of a chance himself and he wanted all other boys to have a fair show. His own father had been too hard with him, and he was going to make it up to all the other boys he could reach. This pa.s.sion for doing good to others began in the log cabin when he had no idea he could ever be exercising his loving kindness in the Executive Mansion--the Home of the Nation. "With malice toward none, with charity for all," was the rule of his life in the backwoods as well as in the National Capital.

And "the Boys in Gray" were his "boys," too, but they didn't understand, so they had wandered away--they were a little wayward, but he would win them back. The great chivalrous South has learned, since those bitter, ruinous days, that Abraham Lincoln was the best friend the South then had in the North. Tad had seen his father show great tenderness to all the "boys" he met in the gray uniform, but the President had few opportunities to show his tenderness to the South--though there was a secret pigeonhole in his desk stuffed full of threats of a.s.sa.s.sination.

He was not afraid of death--indeed, he was glad to die if it would do his "boys" and the country any good. But it hurt him deep in his heart to know that some of his beloved children misunderstood him so that they were willing to kill him!

It was no one's bullet which made Abraham Lincoln a martyr. All his life he had shown the spirit of love which was willing to give his very life if it could save or help others.

All these things little Tad could not have explained, but they were inbred into the deep understanding of the big father and the small son who were living in the White House as boys together.

MR. LINCOLN'S LAST SPEECH AND HOW TAD HELPED

A few days after the war ended at Appomattox, a great crowd came to the White House to serenade the President. It was Tuesday evening, April 11, 1865. Mr. Lincoln had written a short address for the occasion. The times were so out of joint and every word was so important that the President could not trust himself to speak off-hand.

A friend stepped out on the northern portico with him to hold the candle by which Mr. Lincoln was to read his speech. Little Tad was with his father, as usual, and when the President had finished reading a page of his ma.n.u.script he let it flutter down, like a leaf, or a big white b.u.t.terfly, for Tad to catch. When the pages came too slowly the boy pulled his father's coat-tail, piping up in a m.u.f.fled, excited tone:

"Give me 'nother paper, Papa-day."

To the few in the front of the crowd who witnessed this little by-play it seemed ridiculous that the President of the United States should allow any child to behave like that and hamper him while delivering a great address which would wield a national, if not world-wide influence.

But little Tad did not trouble his father in the least. It was a part of the little game they were constantly playing together.

The address opened with these words:

"FELLOW-CITIZENS: We meet this evening not in sorrow, but gladness of heart. The evacuation of Petersburg and Richmond, and the surrender of the princ.i.p.al insurgent army (at Appomattox) give hope of a righteous and speedy peace whose joyous expression cannot be restrained. In the midst of this, however, He from whom all blessings flow must not be forgotten. A call for national thanksgiving is being prepared and will be duly promulgated."

"GIVE US 'DIXIE,' BOYS!"

Then he went on outlining a policy of peace and friendship toward the South--showing a spirit far higher and more advanced than that of the listening crowd. On concluding his address and bidding the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude good night, he turned to the serenading band and shouted joyously:

"Give us 'Dixie,' boys; play 'Dixie.' We have a right to that tune now."

There was a moment of silence. Some of the people gasped, as they had done when they saw Tad waving the Confederate flag at the window. But the band, loyal even to a mere whim (as they then thought it) of "Father Abraham," started the long-forbidden tune, and the President, bowing, retired, with little Tad, within the White House. Those words, "Give us 'Dixie,' boys," were President Lincoln's last public utterance.

As Mr. Lincoln came in through the door after speaking to the crowd, Mrs. Lincoln--who had been, with a group of friends, looking on from within--exclaimed to him:

"You must not be so careless. Some one could easily have shot you while you were speaking there--and you know they are threatening your life!"

The President smiled at his wife, through a look of inexpressible pain and sadness, and shrugged his great shoulders, but "still he answered not a word."

THE SEPARATION OF THE TWO "BOYS"