THE REST HOUR
For two terrible days and nights Betty Winter saw the endless line of
ambulances creep from the field of Fredericksburg. Some of these men lay
on the frozen ground for forty-eight hours before relief came. Many of
the wounded might have lived but for the frightful exposure to cold
which followed the battle. They died in hundreds.
Thousands were placed on the train for Washington and so great was the
pitiful suffering among them Betty left with the first load. There would
be more work in the hospitals there than in Burnside's camp. It would be
many a day before his shattered army could be ready again to give
battle.
The worst trouble with it was not the bleeding gap torn through its
ranks by Lee's shot and shell. Not only was its body wounded, its soul
was crushed. Its commanding generals were divided into warring factions,
the rank and file of its stern fighting men discouraged.
Again an epidemic of desertions broke out and ten thousand men were lost
in a single month.
Burnside assumed the full responsibility for the disaster and asked to
be relieved of his command. The third Union General had gone down before
Lee--McClellan, Pope and Burnside.
The President, heartsick but undismayed, called to the head of the army
the most promising general in sight, Joseph Hooker, popularly known as
"Fighting Joe Hooker." There was inspiration to the thoughtless in the
name, yet the Chief had misgivings.
On sending him the appointment he wrote his new general a remarkable
letter:
"GENERAL:
"I have placed you at the head of the Army of the Potomac. Of
course, I have done this upon what appears to me to be sufficient
reasons; and yet I think it best for you to know that there are
some things in regard to which I am not quite satisfied with you.
"I believe you to be a brave and skillful soldier--which of course
I like. I also believe you do not mix politics with your
profession--in which you are right. You have confidence in
yourself--which is a valuable if not indispensable quality. You are
ambitious--which within reasonable bounds does good rather than
harm; but I think that during General Burnside's command of the
army you have taken counsel of your ambition and thwarted him as
much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country,
and to a most meritorious and honorable brother officer.
"I have heard in such a way as to believe of you recently saying
that both the army and the Government needed a dictator. Of course
it was not for this, but in spite of it, that I gave you the
command. Only those generals who gain successes can set up as
dictators.
"What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the
dictatorship.
"The Government will support you to the utmost of its
ability--which is neither more nor less than it has done and will
do for all commanders. I much fear that the spirit which you have
aided to infuse into the army of criticising their commander and
withholding confidence from him, will now turn upon you. I shall
assist you as far as I can to put it down. Neither you nor
Napoleon, if he were alive again, could get any good out of an army
while such a spirit prevails in it.
"And now beware of rashness--but with energy and sleepless
vigilance go forward and give us victories."
While Hooker lay in winter quarters reorganizing his army his picket
lines in speaking distance with those of his opponent across the river,
the President bent his strong shoulders to the task of cheering the
fainting spirits of the people. On his shaggy head was heaped the blame
of all the sorrows, the failures and the agony of the ever deepening
tragedy of war. Deeper and deeper into his rugged kindly face were cut
the lines of life and death, and darker grew the shadows through which
his sensitive lonely soul was called to walk.
And yet, through it all, there glowed with stronger radiance the charm
of his quaint genius and his magnetic personality--tragic, homely,
gentle, humorous, honest, merciful, wise, laughable and lovable.
He found time to run down to Hampton Roads with Gideon Welles, his loyal
Secretary of the Navy, to inspect the ships assembled there. He saw a
narrow door bound with iron.
"What is that?" he asked sharply.
"Oh, that is the sweat box," the Secretary replied, "used for
insubordinate seamen----"
"Oh," the rugged giant exclaimed, "how do you work it?"
"The man to be punished is put inside and steam heat is turned on. It
brings him to terms quickly."
The tall figure bent curiously examining the contrivance:
"And we apply this to thousands of brave American seamen every year?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Let me try it and see what it's like."
It was useless to protest. He had already taken off his tall silk hat
and there was a look of quiet determination in his hazel-grey eyes.
He stepped quickly into the enclosure, which he found to be about three
feet in length and about the same in width. His tall figure of six feet
four was practically telescoped.
"Close your door now and turn on the steam," he ordered. "I'll give you
the signal when I've had enough."
The door was closed and the steam turned on.
He stood it three minutes and gave the signal of release.
He stepped out, stretched his long legs, and breathed deeply. He mopped
his brow and there was fire in his sombre eyes as he turned to Welles:
"Mr. Secretary, I want every one of those things dumped into the sea.
Never again allow it to be found on a vessel flying the American flag!"
In an hour every sailor in the harbor had heard the news. The old salts
who had felt its shame and agony lifted their caps and stood with bared
heads, cheering and crying as he passed.
One by one, every country of Europe heard the news and the sweat box
ceased to be an instrument of discipline on every sea of the civilized
world.
Seated at his desk in the White House, he received daily the great and
the humble, and no man or woman came and left without a patient hearing.
There were over thirty thousand cases of trial and condemnations by
court-martial every year now--only a small portion with the death
penalty attached--but all had the right to appeal. They were not slow in
finding the road to the loving heart.
Stanton, worn out by vain protests against his pardons, sent Attorney
General Bates at last.
The great lawyer was very stern as he faced his Chief:
"I regret to say it, Mr. President, but you are not fit to be trusted
with the pardoning power, sir!"
A smile played about the corner of the big kindly mouth as he glanced
over his spectacles at his Attorney General:
"It's my private opinion, Bates, that you're just as pigeon-hearted as I
am!"
Judge Advocate General Holt was sent to labor with him and insist that
he enforce the law imposing the death penalty.
"Your reasons are good, Holt," he answered kindly, "but I can't promise
to do it. You see, so many of my boys have to be shot anyhow. I don't
want to add another one to that lot if I can help it----"
He paused and went on whimsically:
"I don't see how it's going to make a man better to shoot him,
anyhow--give them another trial."
In spite of all Holt's protests he steadfastly refused to sanction any
death warrant against a man for cowardice under fire. "Many a man," he
calmly argued, "who honestly tries to do his duty is overcome by fear
greater than his will--I'm not at all sure how I'd act if Minie balls
were whistling and those big shells shrieking in my ears. How can a poor
man help it if his legs just carry him away?"
All these he marked "leg cases," put them in a separate pigeon hole and
always suspended their sentence.
He would smile gently as he filed each death warrant away:
"It would frighten that poor devil too terribly to shoot him. They
shan't do it."
On one he wrote:
"Let him fight again--maybe the enemy will shoot him--I won't."
Betty Winter came with two cases. The first was a mother to plead for
her boy sentenced to die for sleeping at his post on guard.
"You see, sir," the mother pleaded, "he'd been on watch once that night
and had done his duty faithfully. He volunteered to take a sick
comrade's place. He was so tired he fell asleep. He was always a
big-hearted, generous boy--you won't let them shoot him?"
"No, I won't," was the quick response.
The mother laughed aloud through her tears and threw her arms around
Betty's neck.
The President bent over the paper and wrote across its back:
"Pardoned. This life is too precious to be lost."
Betty waited until the crowd had passed out and he was alone with
Colonel Nicolay. She hurried to his desk with her second case which she
had kept outside in the corridor until the time to enter.
A young mother walked timidly in, smiling apologetically. She carried a
three-months-old baby in her arms. She was evidently not in mourning,
though her eyes were red from weeping.
"What's the matter now?" the President laughed, nodding to Betty.
"Tell him," she whispered.
"If you please, sir," the woman began timidly, "we ain't been married
but a little over a year. My husband has never seen the baby. He's in
the army. I couldn't stand it any longer, so I come down to Washington
to get a pass to take the baby to him. But they wouldn't let me have it.
I've been wandering 'round the streets all day crying till I met this
sweet young lady and she brought me to you, sir----"
The President turned to his secretary:
"Let's send her down!"
The Colonel smiled and shook his head:
"The strictest orders have been given to allow no more women to go to
the front----"
The big gentle hand stroked the shaggy beard.
"Well, I'll tell you what we can do," he cried joyfully, "give her
husband a leave of absence and let him come to see them here!"
The secretary left at once for the Adjutant General's office and the
President turned to the laughing young mother, who was trying to thank
Betty through her tears:
"And where are you stopping, Madam?"
"Nowhere yet, sir. I went straight from the depot to the War Department
and then walked about blind with crying eyes until I came here."
"All right then, we'll fix that. I'll give Miss Betty an order to take
you and your baby to her hospital and care for you until your husband
comes and he can stay there a week with you----"
The mother's voice wouldn't work. She tried to speak her thanks and
could only laugh.
The big hand pressed Betty's as she left:
"Thank you for bringing her, little girl, things like that rest me."
The hour was swiftly coming when he was going to need all the strength
that rest could bring body and soul. His enemies were sleepless. The
press inspired by Senator Winter had begun to strike below the belt.