“No,” he replied, “not directly, perhaps.”
I asked if he slept well, and he said he never was a good sleeper,
and, of course, slept less now than ever before. He said the people
did not yet appreciate the magnitude of this rebellion, and that it
would be a long time before the end.
I began to feel I was occupying time valuable to him and belonging to
him. As I arose to take leave, I said, “Have you decided upon your
answer to the object of my visit?”
He replied, “No. Come tomorrow morning. No, it is [cabinet] meeting
tomorrow--yes, come tomorrow at twelve o’clock, there is not much for
the cabinet to do tomorrow.” He arose and bade me a cordial
goodmorning.
The next morning I arose with a terribly depressed feeling that
perhaps I was to fail in the object for which I came. I found myself
constantly looking at my watch and wondering if twelve o’clock would
ever come. At last I ascended the steps of the White House as all
visitors were being dismissed, because the President would receive no
one on that day. I asked the messenger if that meant me, and he said,
“No. The President desires you to wait for the cabinet will soon
adjourn.” I waited, and waited, and waited, three long hours and more,
during which time the President sent out twice, saying the cabinet
would soon adjourn, that I was to wait. I was fully prepared for
defeat, and every word of my reply was chosen and carefully placed. I
walked the rooms and studied an immense map that covered one side of
the reception room. I listened, and at last heard many footsteps--the
cabinet had adjourned. Mr. Lincoln did not wait to send for me but
came directly into the room where I was. It was the first time I had
noticed him standing. He was very tall and moved with a shuffling,
awkward motion.
He came forward, rubbing his hands, and saying, “My dear Madam, I am
very sorry to have kept you waiting. We have but this moment
adjourned.”
I replied, “My waiting is no matter, but you must be very tired, and
we will not talk tonight.”
He said, “No. Sit down,” and placed himself in a chair beside me, and
said, “Mrs. Harvey, I only wish to tell you that an order equivalent
to granting a hospital in your state has been issued nearly
twenty-four hours.”
I could not speak, I was so entirely unprepared for it. I wept for
joy, I could not help it. When I could speak I said, “God bless you. I
thank you in the name of thousands who will bless you for the act.”
Then, remembering how many orders had been issued and countermanded, I
said, “Do you mean, really and truly, that we are going to have a
hospital now?”
With a look full of humanity and benevolence, he said, “I do most
certainly hope so.” He spoke very emphatically, and no reference was
made to any previous opposition. He said he wished me to come and see
him in the morning and he would give me a copy of the order.
I was so much agitated I could not talk with him. He noticed it and
commenced talking upon other subjects. He asked me to look at the map
before referred to, which, he said, gave a very correct idea of the
locality of the principal battle grounds of Europe. “It is a fine
map,” he said, pointing out Waterloo and the different battle fields
of the Crimea, then, smiling, said, “I am afraid you will not like it
as well when I tell you whose work it is.”
I replied, “It is well done, whosever it may be. Who did it, Mr.
Lincoln?”
“McClellan, and he certainly did do this well. He did it while he was
at West Point.” There was nothing said for awhile. Perhaps he was
balancing in his own mind the two words which were then agitating the
heart of the American people, words which have ever throbbed the great
heart of nations, words whose power every individual has
recognized--“success,” and “failure.”
I left shortly after with the promise to call next morning, as he
desired me to do, at nine o’clock. I suppose the excitement caused the
intense suffering of that night. I was very ill and it was ten o’clock
the next morning before I was able to send for a carriage to keep my
appointment with the President. It was past the hour; more than fifty
persons were in the waiting room. I did not expect an audience, but
sent in my name and said I would call again. The messenger said, “Do
not go, I think the President will see you now.”
I had been but a moment among anxious, expectant, waiting faces, when
the door opened and the voice said, “Mrs. Harvey, the President will
see you now.” I arose, not a little embarrassed to be gazed at so
curiously by so many with a look that said as plainly as words could,
“Who are you?” As I passed the crowd, one person said, “She has been
here every day, and what is more, she is going to win.”
I entered the presence of Mr. Lincoln for the last time. He smiled
very graciously and drew a chair near him, and said, “Come here and
sit down.” He had a paper in his hand which he said was for me to
keep. It was a copy of the order just issued. I thanked him, not only
for the order but for the manner and spirit in which it had been
given, then said I must apologize for not having been there at nine
o’clock as he desired me to be, but that I had been sick all night.
He looked up with, “Did joy make you sick?”
I said, “I don’t know, very likely it was the relaxation of nerve
after intense excitement.”
Still looking at me he said, “I suppose you would have been mad if I
had said no?”
I replied, “No, Mr. Lincoln, I should have been neither angry nor
sick.”
“What would you have done?” he asked curiously. “I should have been
here at nine o’clock, Mr. President.”
“Well,” he laughingly said, “I think I acted wisely, then,” and
suddenly looking up, “Don’t you ever get angry?” he asked, “I know a
little woman not very unlike you who gets mad sometimes.”
I replied, “I never get angry when I have an object to gain of the
importance of the one under consideration; to get angry, you know,
would only weaken my cause, and destroy my influence.”
“That is true, that is true,” he said, decidedly. “This hospital I
shall name for you.”
I said, “No, but if you would not consider the request indelicate, I
would like to have it named for Mr. Harvey.”
“Yes, just as well, it shall be so understood if you prefer it. I
honored your husband, and felt his loss, and now let us have this
matter settled at once.”
He took a card and wrote a few words upon it, requesting the Secretary
of War to name the hospital “Harvey Hospital,” in memory of my
husband, and to gratify me he gave me the card, saying, “Now do you
take that directly to the Secretary of War and have it understood.” I
thanked him, but did not take it to Mr. Stanton. The hospital was
already named. I expressed a wish that he might never regret his
present action, and said I was sorry to have taken so much of his
time.
“Oh, no, you need not be,” he said kindly.
“You will not wish to see me again, Mr. President.”
“I didn’t say that and shall not.”