A large reward has been offered for his arrest. If he is caught
during the present state of excitement, the law will be robbed of its
due, for the cry of every loyal heart is: ‘Avenge the death of our
President.’ Washington, so recently decorated with flags, is now draped
in mourning; those starry banners, but yesterday so proudly floating
in the breeze, now droop at half-mast, and are wearing the emblems of
woe. Only last evening the country was bewildered with joy; to-day the
nation is bowed with a sorrow so great ‘that the huge earth can scarce
support it.’ All nature mourns. Even the elements seem to share in the
general gloom. Darkening clouds fill the heavens, and water the earth
with their tears. Oh, can we believe that this black cloud which hangs
over our national horizon has a ‘silver lining?’ Has this dark picture
a bright side? No ray of sunshine is seen on its gloomy background. In
the death of Abraham Lincoln the country has sustained an irreparable
loss. His place none can ever fill. A great and good man has fallen.
In him were exemplified the true principles of Christianity: he was
kind, merciful, forgiving, and generous to a fault. How truthfully has
it been said, that ‘he was great in goodness, and good in greatness.’
Oh, how cruel! after four years of trial and burden, such as none other
ever bore, that Treason should take his precious life; but he lived to
see that victory, final and complete, had perched upon our banner. If
life consists in deeds, not years, how few have lived as long as he.”
* * * * *
It was my sad privilege to see the remains of our lamented President
twice while lying in state--once at the White House, and again at the
Capitol. Emblems of mourning were everywhere visible. Darkened rooms,
with gas dimly burning, added to the oppressive gloom. Suppressed sobs
and bursts of grief were heard, as one after another took the farewell
look of him they loved. Strong men, unaccustomed to tears, wept beside
his bier.
He was stricken down in the midst of his usefulness, at a time when the
nation greatly needed his wise counsels and righteous administration.
His funeral obsequies were observed in Washington, Wednesday, the
19th instant. The solemnities of the occasion I will not attempt
to describe; that has already been done by abler pens. That long
procession, consisting of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, with
various bands; the Marine Corps and band; officers of the army and
navy; Congressmen; members of the Cabinet; the Diplomatic Corps;
various orders and lodges; Governors of States; the clergy, of all
denominations; clerks from the different departments, and thousands of
private citizens, all wearing the badge of mourning; flags and banners,
draped and at half-mast; the dirge-like music; the tolling of bells
and firing of guns--rendered it the most solemn scene ever witnessed
on this continent. None but an eye-witness can form any adequate
conception of that solemn pageantry. Thousands thronged the sidewalks,
windows, verandahs; and trees were filled with weeping spectators.
The morning of the 21st, the remains were removed to Baltimore, _en
route_ for his Western home and final resting-place. The busy world
moves on, and, though we see his face no more, he will long live in the
memory of a grateful people. History will love to record his virtues.
His name will be handed down to future generations, linked with that of
Washington, “and many will rise up and call him blessed.”
Well has it been said, that, “in the death of Abraham Lincoln, the
world has lost its greatest philanthropist, the nation its purest
patriot, the people their best and kindest friend. His life was the
brightest page in our country’s history, his death the nation’s deepest
sorrow.” But he has left a bright record. Oh! that all, not only as a
nation, but as individuals, might emulate his example, cultivate his
virtues, live for God and humanity as did Abraham Lincoln. “He lived
not only for a day, but for all time. His life was gentle, his death
peaceful, his future all glory.”
In referring to my journal, I find, under date of April 21st, the
following: “One week ago to-night the assassin’s hand was imbued in
innocent blood, and, a few hours later, the great heart of Abraham
Lincoln forever grew still! This is, surely, a mysterious dispensation
of God’s providence, and we are led to ask, ‘Oh, Lord! why was it?’
Yet, while we mourn, it becometh us to bow in submission to Him who
knoweth the end from the beginning, and, though he has permitted this
wicked deed, we know that ‘he is too wise to err;’ that he ‘worketh all
things after the counsel of his own will,’ causing even the wrath of
man to praise him.”
I will here give an extract--which seems so appropriate--taken from an
oration delivered by Senator Foot on the death of Senator Collamar,
both of Vermont, and both now no more: “Abraham Lincoln--_clarum
nomen_--the poor Kentucky boy, the martyr President, who had saved a
country and redeemed a race--the martyr President, who, having saved
his country from the greatest rebellion of all history, and redeemed
a race from the bondage of centuries, falling by the assassin hand
of Treason, went down to the grave amid a nation’s tears, and amid a
nation’s requiem of wailing, yet bearing with him to the tomb more of
the world’s affections, more of its sympathy, and more of its honors,
too, than were ever accorded to other man, or prince, or potentate
of earth, and whose highest eulogium is spoken in the universal
lamentation.”
There was no time during the war that I experienced more fatigue in
my work than the last three months. The reason, perhaps, was, that I
had not fully regained my strength after my sickness at City Point.
Then our hospitals were so scattered--several of them being situated
in the extreme limits of the city--some of which were immensely large,
containing from seventy to eighty wards. Besides these, there were two
extensive hospitals in Alexandria, viz.: Sough and Sickles’ barracks.
All the hospitals in that place were merged in these two. Then there
was Fairfax Seminary, and a large hospital at Camp Stoneman.
The field was large, but, with large supplies to draw from, and a
well-filled treasury, we were enabled to accomplish a good work. About
the middle of April, our Association established a “Home” for the
benefit of Michigan soldiers. Here a large number were daily fed, and
many of them supplied with tobacco, stationery, etc. Our expenses were
necessarily increased, and I hope the additional good accomplished more
than compensated for the extra expense; but I have always felt that
more good would have been done had all our means gone to the direct
relief of the sick and wounded in our hospitals and the surrounding
camps. That good was accomplished by the establishment of the “Home,”
no one can deny; but that more would have been done without it, I
firmly believe.
Early in May, the Association purchased a horse and buggy, which
greatly facilitated my work, and enabled me to accomplish much more,
with less fatigue, than before.
Not long after this Mrs. Brainard returned from her work at the front.
Washington was assigned her, and I was sent to Baltimore. I left my
field of labor not without many regrets, for I had tried so hard to
get my work reduced to anything like system, that I was loth to leave
it; besides, the army of the Potomac had been recalled. Sherman’s
troops were arriving; our hospitals were receiving every day new
accessions to our already large numbers, and it did seem to me that
Washington was the very place where the greatest good could be done;
but it was thought best for me to go, for a few days at least, and I
did so. There were only five hospitals there at that time--one having
been discontinued a few days before my arrival, and two others soon
after. I found about fifty Michigan soldiers in these hospitals, all
of whom, except four, were convalescent. After supplying the wants of
these, I went to Annapolis, visited St. John’s hospital--the only one
there at that time--where I found but two Michigan soldiers, who were
considered to be in a dangerous situation. One of these was sick with
small-pox, and the other badly wounded in both hips. There seemed to
be a great demand among the convalescents and paroled prisoners for
tobacco, which I supplied them, also with stationery, and such articles
of clothing as each was needing; besides giving to those without money
a few shillings a piece.
I returned to Baltimore the afternoon of the same day, without stopping
at the camp of paroled prisoners as I had designed, for the rain was
falling almost in torrents when the train passed through the camp;
consequently my contemplated visit to those poor paroled prisoners
was never made--something I shall ever look back upon with regret. At
Baltimore, I made another tour through the hospitals, distributing
sundry articles, which I promised at my former visit, and then returned
to Washington, where a certain number of hospitals were assigned me as
my special field of labor; yet I did not confine myself entirely to
these, but made several visits to the surrounding camps with supplies,
not only for those sick in the regimental hospitals, but also in
their quarters. Soon the hospitals in the city began to be broken
up, and before the close of the month of June, several were entirely
discontinued. I can never efface from memory the feelings of loneliness
experienced in passing through those empty hospitals. Each ward seemed
like a haunted house, where the spirits of the departed still lingered.
How suggestive even the number of these barracks or tents, many of
which would bring to mind vivid recollections of painful scenes therein
witnessed. In one, even now, I see the wasting form of Cyrus Cobb:
a severe wound is sapping the very fountain of life; all his bright
dreams of home, of that dear mother he so loved, and of whom he daily
spoke, of other kindred and loved ones, of future plans and prospects,
vanish at the approach of death; but we trust he has entered a better
than any earthly home--even an heavenly. Near his cot I see a lingering
consumptive--a Maryland soldier--the unnatural brilliancy of whose eye
admonishes us all that the time of his departure is at hand.
In another ward lies one, whose beaming countenance indicates peace
with God. The amputating knife has removed the shattered limb, but
it avails nothing. When asked concerning his future prospects, “all
bright,” is his cheerful answer. Soon there is another vacant bed, and
the brother returns with the remains, sad and lonely, to his home in
Pennsylvania, while the departed one sweetly sleeps in Jesus. Here too
is another who has given his strong right arm for his country; he is
convalescing, and is anticipating a speedy return home. But the fatal
fever seizes him, and, in a few days, William McCormick is no more.
Thus I might continue to enumerate such instances for nearly every ward
in our hospitals, but the memory of them is too painful. It is like
living over again those days of sad experiences.
“Through all rebellion’s horrors,
Bright shines our nation’s fame;
Our gallent soldiers, perishing,
Have left a deathless name.”
The grand review of the army took place on the 23d and 24th of May.
It was estimated that one hundred and fifty thousand (150,000) troops
passed in review. It was a grand spectacle--a sight never before and
never again to be witnessed on this continent.
Those gallant officers in full military uniform, mounted upon
prancing steeds, galloping up the broad avenue; the admiring crowd
showering both horse and rider with beautiful wreaths and bouquets;
the graceful salute _à la militaire_; the throwing up of hats, the
waving of handkerchiefs and the loud huzzas that rent the air, made
it an exciting scene. There was General U. S. Grant, the calm,
self-possessed, heroic soldier, whose brow was crowned with the wreath
of victory bravely won on a hundred battle-fields. There, too, was
General Sherman, the invincible, who has yet to learn the meaning
of the word defeat, and whose great “March to the Sea” has won the
applause of an admiring world. The brave and gallant Meade, who so
long and well commanded the army of the Potomac, and who hastened
the overthrow of the rebellion by turning the tide of battle at
Gettysburg, was among the number. The hero of Winchester--General
Phil. Sheridan--too, was there; also that great cavalry rider, General
Kilpatrick, with a corps of subordinate officers--among them our own
Custer, of whom we have been so proud. There was General Burnside, the
noble, generous soldier, whose heroisms never shone on the victorious
field with a brighter lustre than after the defeat at Fredericksburg;
who, when efforts were being made to exonerate him from all blame,
manfully stepped forth, and, with a moral heroism less human than
divine, confessed to the world that he alone was responsible for that
defeat, acknowledged his inability to command so large an army, and
humbly asked to be relieved and assigned to a subordinate position.
Afterwards, the old Ninth Corps, under his victorious leadership,
covered itself with glory and honor. But, “in that bright constellation
of noble heroes,” none shone with a purer radiance--though perhaps
with greater brilliancy--than that one-armed Christian soldier,
Major-General O. O. Howard.
“O soldier with the empty sleeve,
The nation gives you blessing,
And woman’s hand shall keep for you
Its tenderest caressing.”
The navy was likewise largely represented by officers of different
rank, foremost among whom was Admiral Farragut--once “lashed to the
mast.” The first day, the army of the Potomac--those heroes of so many
battles--passed in review; the next, Sherman’s grand columns. It would
seem impossible for one to look back upon those war-worn veterans,
those battle-scarred heroes, whose trusty swords, wielded by strong
arms, had gotten us the victory and saved the life of the Republic,
and hear their stately “tramp, tramp, tramp,” for six successive
hours, causing the earth to tremble beneath their firm tread, proudly
bearing aloft their tattered banners, under which they had fought
and their comrades fallen, without his heart swelling with emotions
of deep gratitude and his eyes becoming dim with tears. Neither
the services nor the hardships of the soldiers can ever be fully
appreciated or estimated. Oh! those long fatiguing marches--the lonely
picket post--the cold, damp bivouac--the scorching heat--the weary
months spent in hospital--the loathesome confinement in prison-pens,
those ante-chambers of hell, compared to which the meanest jail or
penitentiary or almshouse was a paradise, and the exchange would have
been hailed with far great joy than was the fairy isle of Calipso by
the wrecked Télémaque, but the escape from which was a thousandfold
more difficult than his from this enchanted isle!
In retrospecting the past, I find conflicting emotions alternately
taking possession of my heart, emotions both of joy and sorrow. There
are many pleasant remembrances connected with my “army life;” but, ah!
there are also many sad reflections. My experience, though varied,
sometimes joyous and again heart-rending, I would not take a fortune
for. Good opportunities were afforded for the study of that greatest
of all studies, human nature. Every trait of the human heart might be
detected, not only the evil passions, but also the God-like virtues.
There were many pleasures experienced in working for the soldier. It
was pleasant to meet, not only old friends and acquaintances, but
to form new ones. It was pleasant to see countenances light up as
one entered the wards where the sick and wounded were lying. It was
pleasant to know that your efforts, however humble, were gratefully
appreciated--yea, an hundredfold. And there was a melancholy pleasure
even in administering to dying wants; but the best of all was the
consciousness of doing good; but the sad reflections far outweigh all
the pleasant experiences. It is sad to think of the desolate homes,
of the broken family circles, of the lonely firesides, of the many
sorrowing ones all over our land. It is sad to think of the thousands
of widowed wives and fatherless children, of so many loving mothers who
wait in vain for the return of their darling boys, and of aged fathers
who have none upon whom to lean, the staff of their declining years
having been broken. It is sad to see so many crippled youth, so many
empty sleeves.
“Empty sleeves! oh, sad reminders
Of that long and dreary night,
Mournful tokens of the battle,
Saddest traces of the fight;
Telling us how heroes suffered
For their country and the right.
“But those empty sleeves are hallowed
By the grave the battle leaves--
Mournful pride and saddest glory,
Noblest gift our land receives.
Honor to those gallant heroes!
Honor to those empty sleeves!”
When we think of the untold millions spent, and the myriads of lives
sacrificed in crushing out the rebellion--for “from Western plain to
ocean-tide are stretched the graves of those who died”--the price seems
too costly. But how truthful the following:
“Some things are worthless, and others so good
That nations who buy them pay only in blood.”
And only when we remember the grand result achieved--“that the canker
of death, dark slavery’s stain,” is wiped out forever, and our glorious
Union maintained--can we feel that the three hundred thousand graves
where sleep the “Boys in White” were not made in vain.
“Noble souls! oh, how heroic
Was the sacrifice they made,
When the awful tide of treason
By their own life-blood was stayed,
And their manhood’s strength and glory
On their country’s altar laid.
“They have bought their country’s freedom,
Sealed with blood and bitter pain;
They have fought, and they have suffered,
But their work was not in vain:
Over all our rescued country
Floats the starry flag again.”
But, as the rainbow of peace now spans the political horizon, may we
not soon hope for the fulfilment of the prophetic words of the immortal
Lincoln, in the closing paragraph of his first inaugural address? “The
mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot
grave to every living heart and hearth-stone all over our broad land,
will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when touched, as they surely
will be, by the better angels of our nature.”
[Illustration]
As a fitting and appropriate conclusion to this little book, and in
keeping with the thoughts and incidents recorded in the last chapter,
we insert the following poem, composed, as we are informed by the
author, during the delivery of Mr. Bancroft’s celebrated eulogy, in the
Hall of Representatives, on the first anniversary of the death of Mr.
Lincoln:
ABRAHAM LINCOLN--ANNIVERSARY POEM.
BY U. J. BAXTER.
[Written April 14, 1866.]
What troubled woe
Speaks to a nation of her glories slain?
What sudden grief tells of our glories slain?
Whose paricidal blow
Has struck her heart and filled her cup of pain?
Why sound the bells
So mournfully upon the air of night?
Why volley forth the guns upon the night,
With sudden peal that tells
Of darkling horror and of dire affright?
The morn shall ope
With a dread tale that tells of dark eclipse--
Of a dark deed that throws its black eclipse
On all a nation’s hope,
And smites the joy that filled a nation’s lips.
The waning light
Goes out in many a home as sinks the day
Which lights a nation’s life--the glorious day
Which made our joy so bright--
A risen sun--a lump of feeble clay!
“Dust unto dust!”
Death calls--earth fades--Heaven opens full in view;
A glorious Heaven meets his raptured view.
No gates shall bar the just--
His mighty soul in triumph enters through!
Through tears and gloom--
Through seas of blood--through stormy deeps of woe--
He brought our land safe through its bleeding woe;
Yet on his honored tomb,
Emblems of peace, fair, fadeless lilies grow.
For if the sword
Owed to his hand its prestige and renown--
Smote all his foes and won his high renown--
His voice was but the word
Through which his people’s voice and will were shown.
His country’s cry
Was to him as the mighty voice of God;
His people’s voice was as the voice of God--
Till called of Him on high
To glory’s courts, where angels never trod;
And now we weep--
Weep that a nation’s sins have laid him low--
Weep that our proud crimes thus have brought him low--
Grieve o’er his peaceful sleep,
Wrought by the vile assassin’s vengeful blow.
And well may tears,
The agony of blood, and ever-during shame--
Tears of remorse and never-ceasing shame,
Flow on through endless years,
And consecrate for aye his deathless name.
The kingliest name
That graced our living earth’s historic page--
Gilding anew the old historic page
Of all her deeds of fame--
The crowning soul--the glory of our age.
Stricken and low!
Aye, let us weep--weep for the guilt and crime--
The ingrate sense--the coward guilt and crime!
Dissolve in tears and woe
The darkling horrors of this monstrous time!
His name breathe not,
His thrice-accursèd name, whose brutal hand--
Whose foul, polluted heart and brutal hand
A demon’s purpose wrought,
And whelmed in grief our glad, rejoicing land.
No fame be his!
His crime too dark for name, too vile for scorn--
A nameless deed of guilt, too vile for scorn--
Oblivion’s dread abyss
Be his abode, through ages still unborn!
To Thee, Great God!
We bow our stricken hearts, and lift our cry--
Humble our prostrate souls and bring our cry;
We feel Thy chastening rod--
Oh! grant Thy loving favor ere we die!
We see Thy hand!
Through all these years Thy ruling hand was shown--
In war’s dread flame Thy mighty hand was shown!
Our torn and bleeding Land
Felt Thy protecting arm around her thrown.
Yet our proud heart
Was still uplifted, full of vaunting boasts--
Claiming the victory with our selfish boasts,
Till vengeance’ sudden dart
Struck down the mightiest from our chosen hosts.
And then we saw--
Saw through the tears and anguish of our pain--
Our quickened flood of grief and blinding pain--
The fiat of Thy law
The joy and clamor of our pride restrain!
Humbly we kneel!
Oh! guide us still, our Father, through the sea!
Our way has led us through a great Red Sea!
And we have felt the seal
Of blood’s baptizing--pensioned thus of Thee!
Now through a year
Of unspent sorrow, still we gaze and weep;
Still in our grief we backward gaze and weep--
Still tremble in our fear,
And shudder o’er fresh phantoms as we sleep.
And still we look
Forth to the future with a nameless dread--
Still the dark problem fills our path with dread;
Time’s yet unwritten book
Hangs ponderous and fearful o’er our head.
Our leader slain;
Our greater Moses laid in smouldering dust,
A nation’s heart bowed with him in the dust,
We turn our hope in vain
To seek a chieftain worthy of his trust.
No marvel here!
Two kingliest come not haply born and twinned--
Each age its one great soul, nor matched, nor twinned,
Owning no mortal peer--
So is his glory in our age unkinned.
His mantle fell--
On whom is not yet shown--yet sure its folds
Are buried not--its rich and loving folds
Shall lay some blessed spell
On him who most his noble spirit holds.
Great chieftain! rest!
Our hearts shall go as pilgrims to thy tomb;
Our spirits mourn and bless thy martyr tomb;
We deem thy lot is blest;
Our love shall rob our sorrow of its gloom.
All coming time
Shall ne’er despoil thy glory of its crown--
Each year shall set its jewels in thy crown--
Each day bell’s passing chime
Shall add a tongue to speak thy just renown.
WASHINGTON, D. C.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation and spacing errors have been fixed.
Page 13: “silence prevaits” changed to “silence prevails”
Page 50: “and sufferring” changed to “and suffering”
Page 54: “Thansgiving day” changed to “Thanksgiving day”
Page 60: “an authorative manner” changed to “an authoritative manner”
Page 128: “I relate his” changed to “I relate this”
Page 158: “General Custar’s carriage” changed to “General Custer’s
carriage”
Page 173: “no communication tion” changed to “no communication”
Page 185: “of of the great” changed to “of the great”
Page 216: “sacred momentoes” changed to “sacred mementoes”
Page 234: “to go the new” changed to “to go to the new” “bank of the
Appomatox” changed to “bank of the Appomattox”
Page 246: “Coal Harbor” changed to “Cold Harbor”
Page 256: “many iwll rise” changed to “many will rise”
Page 267: “the the closing paragraph” changed to “the closing paragraph”