RETURN OF PEACE; LINCOLN SHOT; HIS BURIAL AT SPRINGFIELD.
“Pres-i-dent Lin-coln in Rich-mond,” af-ter the “Con-fed-er-a-cy”
fell to pie-ces, made a scene such as was ne’er be-fore known in all
his-to-ry. There was none of the pomp and show such as a great chief
in oth-er lands would have had who put down a brave foe and gained a
great cause.
Lin-coln was at the “head-quar-ters” of Gen. Grant at Cit-y Point on
a small steam-er, “The Riv-er Queen,” when he heard of the fall of
Rich-mond, and that a great fire had laid low much of that place. He
went up the riv-er and land-ed at a wharf near Lib-by Pris-on. There
he found a black man to act as guide and show him the way through
the cit-y. Soon a great crowd drew near the Pres-i-dent. The Un-ion
sol-diers greet-ed him, so did those who had once been bought and sold
like beasts. Cries of thanks rent the air from the race he had made
free. They felt God had sent him.
[Illustration: UNION TROOPS MARCHING INTO RICHMOND.]
The crowd was so dense that Ad-mir-al Por-ter had to call sail-ors
from his boat to march in front and be-hind the Pres-i-dent, so that a
track might be cleared for him through the town. Lin-coln did not seem
to think of fear, and no one raised a hand a-gainst him or spoke an
un-kind word.
The Pres-i-dent went to the house then used by Gen. Weit-zel, who
was in charge of the Un-ion troops there――the same house in which
Jef-fer-son Dav-is had lived for months, and which he had just left in
great haste.
Lib-by Pris-on was in that town, and there hordes of some of the
brav-est and best of the men of the North had starved and died. Here,
too, was a pris-on where black slaves were kept. It was the “Rich-mond
Mart” with its cells and grates of i-ron. The end had come for the
pris-on, the whip, the shac-kles, the auc-tion-block and dri-ver.
In the ear-ly morn of the day on which the foe’s troops had marched out
of Rich-mond, the or-der was giv-en to burn the bridge o-ver which they
passed. At the same time, flames burst from win-dows and roofs of tall
build-ings, and in a few hours 800 of them were on fire.
The poor folks of the town had their arms full of house-hold goods, and
stacks of beds, ta-bles, and chairs were piled up in o-pen pla-ces.
Groups of peo-ple stood still in their fright, for their hou-ses were
in ash-es and they had no food or clothes.
A great hush, at last, fell on all, as the Pres-i-dent’s coach was
driv-en to a stand in the “Square.” Then Lin-coln rose, faced the great
throng, and spread out his hands as a min-is-ter would when giv-ing
a bless-ing. Not a sound was heard for more than a min-ute. Then the
hor-ses went on and Lin-coln was gone.
One more vis-it was made by the Pres-i-dent to Rich-mond. He then had
his wife and his son “Tad” with him. At that time he talked with Judge
Camp-bell a-bout the terms he would make with the foe. The Judge had
his own i-de-a of what he would like. Mr. Lin-coln was not of the same
mind, but said, “I will give you in black and white my on-ly terms.”
[Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN AND HIS SON “TAD.”]
These were plain and sim-ple. Lin-coln was kind but he was firm.
Af-ter that the Lin-colns went to For-tress Mon-roe. There, though the
Pres-i-dent was wea-ry and full of care, he spent hours with the sick
and those in pain. He talked of the grand news, of the Un-ion saved by
the brave “Boys in Blue,” and of their homes and dear ones they would
soon see.
But when the Un-ion troops were on their way North, a few weeks lat-er,
May 23, 1865, and 65,000 of them in full strength and health marched
in di-vis-ions, in close lines, round the cap-i-tol at Wash-ing-ton,
A-bra-ham Lin-coln, the “well be-loved,” was not there to see them. His
work was done. He had gone to his Re-ward.
[Illustration: THE MARCH OF UNION TROOPS IN WASHINGTON.]
* * * * *
On Good Fri-day, A-pril 14, 1865, it was four years from the
“Sur-ren-der of Fort Sum-ter.” Ma-jor An-der-son had, then, when the
foe’s guns struck the fort, hauled down the Stars and Stripes, and with
great care, put the dear flag a-way to keep for a glad day which should
come, and a large throng of folks from the North had come down to Port
Roy-al and Charles-ton to raise, with words of praise and pray-er, o’er
the ru-ins of Sum-ter, that same Flag of the Free in all its beau-ty.
Words were read from the Bi-ble, and all there who could sing, joined
in a hymn. Then the Star Span-gled Ban-ner was flung to the breeze by
Gen. Rob-ert An-der-son. The pa-tri-ot, Hen-ry Ward Bee-cher, gave at
that time one of his great o-ra-tions. All hearts were thrilled.
The day was a glad one at the White House. The Pres-i-dent’s son,
Capt. Rob-ert Lin-coln, of Grant’s staff, came home that morn, and told
the tale of the last scene at Ap-po-mat-tox.
The fam-i-ly took break-fast and then the Pres-i-dent spent an hour
with Mr. Col-fax, the Speak-er of the House. Grant came in and all were
glad to see him. At 11 A. M. the Cab-i-net met.
There were man-y themes to speak of at that time, such as how to bring
back the States which had left the Un-ion and what to do with those who
led the re-volt.
In these first mo-ments which came af-ter the long four years of
dark-ness, Lin-coln thought that the way to win the heart of the South
was to be kind, and trust to their hon-or to stand by what the test of
war had done. Of course they had been in the wrong and had lost their
all, but, as broth-ers, the Pres-i-dent felt that it was as much to
the in-ter-est of the North as it was to that of the South to take all
means to heal wounds and lead and help the weak till strength came to
them a-gain.
It was but a few nights be-fore, on A-pril 11, that the Pres-i-dent
said words of this sort to the crowds which stormed the White House. In
all the land, where true hearts beat for the Un-ion, there was joy.
Bells rang, guns roared, and thanks went up to God for the great work
He had done.
Lin-coln stood at the cen-tral win-dow of the White House and made his
last pub-lic speech. It be-gan with these words:
“We meet this e-ven-ing, not in sor-row, but in glad-ness of heart.”
Then he went on to tell the peo-ple what he hoped to do for those
who had lost. He said that his Cab-i-net was a-bout to meet, and the
mem-bers of it would, no doubt, join with him in plans to help the
South and bring a-bout a spir-it of true peace in the land.
There were some folks in the South at that time, on-ly a small knot of
them no doubt, who thought Pres-i-dent Lin-coln was their arch foe.
They bound them-selves to-geth-er to do him and some of his best men
all the harm they could.
It was on the night of A-pril 14, 1865, af-ter the meet-ing of the
Cab-i-net in the morn-ing, that the Pres-i-dent, with his wife and two
young friends, went to see a play. Mr. Lin-coln felt wea-ry and would
have liked to stay at home. He had been out to drive that af-ter-noon
with his wife, and to the throngs of folks who saw and greet-ed him
then he had bowed, smiled, and, here and there, said a kind word.
[Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN AS HE LOOKED IN 1865.]
But it was not for him to rest at home that night. He had giv-en his
word that he would go to Ford’s The-a-tre. Gen. and Mrs. Grant hoped to
join the Lin-colns in their box, but at the last mo-ment they had to
leave town.
The thought of see-ing two men so great as Lin-coln and Grant
to-geth-er on that night drew a vast throng to Ford’s. Cheer af-ter
cheer went up as all rose when the Pres-i-dent came in. The band played
“Hail to the Chief,” and all hearts were glad. The Pres-i-dent bowed
and took his seat, smil-ing as the first pleas-ing act was played.
Then, just as the cur-tain rose on the sec-ond scene of the last act,
the sound of a pis-tol’s re-port fell on the air. At first it was
thought to have been part of the play; then a man was seen to leap from
the Pres-i-dent’s box and fall down up-on the stage, with a knife in
his hand, call-ing out the Lat-in words “Sic sem-per ty-ran-nis,” which
mean “Thus al-ways to ty-rants.”
Some one shout-ed “He has shot the Pres-i-dent――!” Friends flew to the
box and three ar-my sur-geons made their way through the crowd and
helped take the great and good man, who now was near his end, out to a
small house a-cross the street.
[Illustration: ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN.]
When dawn came and lamps grew dim, A-bra-ham Lin-coln’s pulse be-gan
to fail. Soon a calm look of peace came up-on his worn face and he was
gone.
The bad man who shot Lin-coln was one of that knot of folks who had
sworn to do him, and some of his Cab-i-net, harm. They said that by so
do-ing they would “a-venge the South.” Oth-er good men be-sides the
Pres-i-dent were struck that night, but the Pres-i-dent, a-lone, met
his death wound.
Those who had made the plot to do that foul deed were soon caught and
put to death.
As the news went forth of the tra-gic death of A-bra-ham Lin-coln the
land stood a-ghast with awe. Bells tolled, work stopped, and grief
filled all hearts.
As the fun-er-al pro-ces-sion moved from the White House to the church,
it was seen that the es-cort was a reg-i-ment of black men, whose
free-dom from sla-ver-y had come from him whose voice and hand were now
stilled by death.
The State of Il-li-nois said the last rest-ing place of A-bra-ham
Lin-coln must be on that soil. Then a group of men in high pla-ces,
Ad-mir-als of the Na-vy, Gen-er-als of the Ar-my, with States-men and
oth-ers made a guard of hon-or, and went on that long jour-ney to the
tomb with the pre-cious dust, stop-ping in man-y cit-ies that peo-ple
might look once more on the dead form of the man who led all oth-er
men.
On May 14, 1865, the great Cap-tain, his life work done, was laid to
rest in Oak Ridge Cem-e-te-ry, Spring-field, Il-li-nois.
The ser-vice was plain. There was a hymn, a pray-er, a few words, then
the read-ing of Lin-coln’s sec-ond in-au-gu-ral ad-dress.
Notes of sym-pa-thy came to the U-ni-ted States from rul-ers of oth-er
lands. It seemed as if all the world laid wreaths up-on the bier of
A-bra-ham Lin-coln.
“Rest to the un-crowned king who toil-ing brought
His bleed-ing coun-try through a dread-ful reign:
Who, liv-ing, earned the world’s re-ver-ing thought,
And dy-ing, leaves his name with-out a stain.”
[Illustration]
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――A List of Illustrations has been provided for the convenience of
the reader.
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Hyphenation has been silently corrected for single- and
multiple-syllable words as necessary, due to the nature of the
book.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Life of Abraham Lincoln, by Harriet Putnam