We had been talking of the war, and the late Governor Curtin, of
Pennsylvania, broke out suddenly and said:
“It was just after the battle of Fredericksburg. I had been down there
and came up to Washington by the night boat. I arrived at the foot of
Seventh street a little after midnight. Just as I landed a messenger
met me, saying that the President wanted to see me at once at the White
House. I took a carriage and went directly there. I sent in my card, and
word came back that the President had retired, but that he requested me
to come up to his bedroom. I found him in bed, and as I entered the room
he reached out his hand, shook hands, and said:
“‘Well, Governor; so you have been down to the battle-field?’
“‘Battle-field? Slaughter-pen! It was a terrible slaughter, Mr. Lincoln.’
I was sorry in a moment, that I had said it, for he groaned, and began
to wring his hands and took on with terrible agony of spirits. He sat up
on the edge of the bed, and moaned and groaned in anguish. He walked the
floor of the room, and uttered exclamations of grief, one after another,
and I remember his saying over and over again: ‘What has God put me in
this place for?’ I tried to comfort him, and could hardly forgive myself
for not being more careful and considerate of his feelings.”