day a party of dignified ladies were solemnly and with due reverence
inspecting the famous East room, when they heard a deafening clatter at
the end of the corridor where the Lincolns' private apartments were,
then came a shout of "Get out of the way there!" and Tad the
irrepressible, galloped into the room driving a tandem team of goats
harnessed to a chair! Up the room and down again and out of the front
entrance went the goats and Tad like a flash of lightning, leaving the
ladies aghast at a spectacle to which they had found no reference in
their guide books.
To his mother's great distress, an interested but not over-thoughtful
friend, gave Tad a tool chest, which of course delighted him, and which
at once suggested to him the idea of opening a cabinet shop to
manufacture furniture for hospital use, but he fortunately discovered
an old wagon to experiment on, and forgot the shop; turning his
attention also to any and every object which he could bore, chisel, saw
or hack with his tools. Nothing was said in remonstrance until he began
to experiment on the old-fashioned mahogany furniture in the East room,
when that tool chest mysteriously disappeared and no amount of
searching ever brought it to light again.
As he was unable to exist without some new outlet for his feelings he
decided to have a theatre and give shows, for which purpose he
appropriated an unused room in the White House, and had a fine time
fitting it up with a stage, seats, orchestra, drop-curtain and all. At
that time, Mr. Carpenter, an artist, was at work on a portrait of
President Lincoln and his Cabinet, and when it was found necessary to
take several photographs of the room in the White House which was to be
the background for the painting, Tad's theatre was offered to the
photographers to use in developing their pictures, and Mr. Carpenter
used to tell with a chuckle of delight how all went well till Tad
suddenly discovered the invasion of his room, when he fell upon the
artist and blamed him in a fiery burst of temper, for letting the men
into his room, and then went up and calmly locked the door, pocketed
the key and walked off, leaving the astonished photographers without
occupation, as their apparatus and chemicals were in the room. But that
made no difference to tyrant Tad--no one should go into his theatre, he
said, and no amount of urging moved him. Finally the President was
asked to deal with the young rebel, as was usual when Tad's behaviour
presented impossibilities to the general public. Mr. Lincoln was
sitting ready to be photographed at the time. He listened quietly to
the story, and then called Tad and told him to go and open the door.
Tad rushed off, muttering and shaking his head but he absolutely
refused to obey, even though Mr. Carpenter made use of all the
arguments he could think of, to make him yield. Reluctantly the artist
went back to the room where the President sat and he at once asked:
"Has the boy opened that door?"
Mr. Carpenter was obliged to say that he had not, and Lincoln slowly
rose, compressing his lips and strode out of the room. Soon he
returned, carrying the key, which he handed to the artist saying
apologetically:
"He is a peculiar child. He was violently excited when I went to him. I
said 'Tad, do you know you are making your father a great deal of
trouble?' He burst into tears and at once gave me the key."
This little incident shows the affectionate side of tyrant Tad who
could always be led, but never driven, and it was to his father's
gentle diplomacy that the fiery, impulsive little fellow always
responded.
Often Tad would perch on his father's knee, or even on his shoulder,
while weighty conferences were going on, and sometimes would insist on
spending a whole evening in the executive mansion, finally falling
asleep on the floor, when the President would tenderly pick him up and
carry him off to bed.
At other times, with affairs of the gravest importance awaiting his
consideration, President Lincoln would sit with his arms around the
boy, telling him anecdotes and stories of which he had an endless fund,
until the boy's drowsy eyes closed, when President Lincoln would gently
carry him to his room, and then go back to ponder on weighty matters of
national importance far into the night, but never retiring for the
night without a last look at the little fellow who was the supreme joy
and comfort of his life.
He was very fond of animals, and for a long while goats were his
special favourites, during which time a large and flourishing family of
them decorated the lawns and roads about the White House, and that the
goats were very important members of the family is shown by the fact
that at a time when Mrs. Lincoln and Tad had gone away for a week and
the family were living at the Soldiers' Home, Lincoln wrote to his
wife: "Tell dear Tad that poor Nanny Goat is lost and we are in
distress about it. The day you left, Nanny was found resting herself
and chewing her little cud on the middle of Tad's bed, but now she's
gone! The gardener kept complaining that she spoilt the flowers, till
it was decided to bring her down to the White House, which was done,
but on the second day she disappeared and has not been heard of since."
Tad was evidently consoled for this tragic event by not one goat, but a
whole family of them, for about a year later Mr. Lincoln ended a
business telegram to his wife in New York with the words: "Tell Tad the
goats and father are very well," and with a gleam of that humour for
which he was famous, the great-hearted, patient man added, "especially
the goats!"
[Illustration: _Tyrant Tad and Abraham Lincoln_]
Again a friend of the Lincolns' sent them a fine live turkey to be used
for the President's Christmas dinner, but long before that time the
turkey and Tad had become bosom friends. Tad named him Jack and used
more patience in trying to teach him tricks than he could ever be
persuaded to give to his lessons. One day just before the holiday,
while President Lincoln was discussing a matter of gravest importance
with his cabinet ministers, Tad burst into the room as if shot out of a
cannon and sobbing as if nothing could ever comfort him. Of course,
business came to a standstill while Tad explained; Jack was about to be
killed, he must not be killed, it was wicked, and Tad had forced the
executioners to stay their hands while he laid the case before the
President. Jack should _not_ be killed! sobbed out the indignant little
tyrant.
"But," said the President quietly, "Jack was sent to be killed and
eaten for this very Christmas."
"I can't help it," roared Tad, between his sobs. "He's a good turkey
and I don't want him killed."
The President of the United States paused in the midst of the important
business under discussion, and with the gravity due to a solemn
occasion, took a card and wrote on it an order of reprieve for the
turkey, which Tad seized, and fled with all speed, and Jack's life was
saved. He became very tame, and roamed peacefully about the grounds at
will, enduring petting and teasing alternately, from his capricious
young master. At that time the White House was guarded by a company of
soldiers from Pennsylvania with whom the turkey was a great favourite.
The tents of these soldiers were on the Potomac side of the White
House, at the end of the South lawn, and in the summer of 1864 a
commission was sent down from Pennsylvania to take the votes of the
Pennsylvania soldiers in Washington for the coming election. Tad was,
as usual, much interested in what was going on, and dragged his father
to the window to see the soldiers voting, while Jack stalked around
among them, apparently intelligent and interested.
"Does Jack vote?" asked Lincoln with a roguish twinkle in his eye.
For a moment Tad was nonplussed by the unexpected question, but he was
as quick as he was keen, and rallying, he answered:
"Why no, of course not. He isn't of age yet!"
Another of Tad's great diversions was to stand around among the crowd
of office-seekers who daily filled the corridors leading to President
Lincoln's office, for their turn to see the President. Tad used to talk
with them, while they waited, asking them all sorts of impertinent
questions which were always taken in good faith, because he was the
President's son, and known to be such a favourite that he might be a
valuable ally. Some of the office-seekers came day after day without
ever obtaining an interview with Lincoln, and with these Tad grew quite
intimate; some of them he shrewdly advised to go home and chop wood for
a living, others he tried to dismiss by promising them that he would
speak to his father of their case, if they would not come back again
unless they were sent for, and with one and all he was a great
favourite, he was so bright and cunning, and too, all were eager to
have the good will of the little fellow, for motives not always the
highest. This, shrewd little Tad discovered, and he decided to put his
popularity to use, so one morning when the line of callers began to
form, they found Tad standing at the foot of the staircase, where he
made every one who passed up pay him five cents for the benefit of the
Sanitary Fund, as he explained while he was gathering in the nickels.
This enterprise was so satisfactory that he decided to give one of the
Sanitary Commission Fairs which were then being held all over the
country, and placing a table in the entrance hall of the White House he
stocked it with all the odds and ends which his amused friends could be
made to contribute, as well as with some food begged from the pantry,
and some of his own broken toys. One can well imagine the difficulty of
getting in or out of the White House that day with any change in one's
pocket, and when night came Tad's accounts made him chuckle with
delight, and decide on a still bolder enterprise. This required
capital, however, but that did not daunt him, for he had quite an
amount of pocket money saved up, and with it he bought out the entire
stock of an old woman who sold gingerbread and apples near the Treasury
Building, wheedled a pair of trestles and a board from a carpenter, and
set up shop in the very shadow of the stately portico of the White
House, to the horror of some who saw the performance, and to the
intense amusement of others who were always watching to see what Tad
would do next.
As long as his stock lasted, he did a heavy business, for it was an
excellent chance for those who wished to buy his favour, to do so, and
his pockets were well lined with bills when he shut up shop that night,
but being as generous as he was shrewd, capital and profit were soon
squandered, and it is said the little merchant went penniless to bed.
In vain were all attempts to make Tad study. He never had any time for
such dull things as books, when there was all out-of-doors for his
restless self to rove in, and his father did not seem grieved or
worried when tutors came and went, shaking their heads over a boy who
was such a whirlwind of activity that they had no chance to become
acquainted with him, although he was keener than they, and weighed them
each in the balance and found them wanting before any one of them had
been with him twenty-four hours.
When appealed to in regard to the matter, the President would say:
"Let him run. There's time enough yet for him to learn his letters and
get poky." And so the boy followed out his own impetuous desires, and
although so backward in regard to books, he understood far more about
mechanics and trade than other boys of his own age, and for all his
impetuosity and despotism, he had a very tender conscience and a loving
nature. A friend of Lincoln's tells of sitting with the President once
when Tad tore into the room in search of some lost treasure, and having
found it, flung himself on his father like a small whirlwind, gave him
a wild fierce hug, and without a word, or even giving his father time
to do or say anything, rushed out as impetuously as he had come in. It
is needless to say that he was no respecter of persons, young Tyrant
Tad; he knew no law, he had no restraint that barred him from any part
of the house at any time, but came and went, and did and said whatever
pleased his vagrant fancy. Not unfrequently while the President was
occupied with his cabinet, Tad would burst into the room bubbling over
with some personal grievance which demanded immediate attention or with
some pathetic story about a shabbily dressed caller who was being sent
away by the ushers, to Tad's great anger. At other times he would
become deeply interested in some young person who had come to the
President with a request which Tad had heard first himself, and insist
on dragging him into the President's presence at once to tell the
story, and make his request, and so thoroughly was the President in
sympathy with this tender-hearted trait of his son, that he always
received such proteges of Tad's with interest and helped them if he
could.
Tad had his likes and dislikes, and took no pains to conceal them, and
one morning when he broke in on his father's privacy and found with him
a Cabinet officer for whom he had no liking, he cried out:
"Why are you here so early? What do _you_ want?" probably to the
chagrin of his father, who doubtless talked with him seriously later in
the day about showing such discourtesy to an elder.
Quick to take up a new interest, and as quick to throw it aside, one
day when the Secretary of War, Mr. Stanton, found Tad fussing around
his office, Mr. Stanton, just for the fun of it, commissioned Tad a
lieutenant of the United States Volunteers; this excited Tad so greatly
that he hurried off and on his own responsibility ordered a quantity of
muskets sent up to the White House at once, and then gathered together
the house-servants and gardeners, and organised them into a company,
drilled them for service, and then actually dismissed the regular
sentries on the premises, and ordered his new recruits on duty as
guards. Robert Lincoln, who was then at home, having discovered Tad's
scheme, thought that the men who had been at work all day, ought to be
free at night, and told Tad so, but Tad would not listen to him, so
Robert appealed the case to his father, who only laughed, as he
generally did at Tad's pranks, thought the whole thing a good joke, and
gave no orders to the refractory young lieutenant. Tad, however, soon
grew tired of being on watch himself, and went to bed, when his
recruits were quietly relieved from duty, and there was no guard over
the President's house that night.
While he sported his commission as lieutenant Tad looked the part,
having from some source got a uniform suitable for the occasion, and in
that proud costume he had himself photographed to the great delight of
his admiring circle of friends.
Tad's tenth birthday was celebrated by a visit which he made with his
father and a party of friends to the Army of the Potomac, which was
then encamped on the banks of the Rappahannock, opposite
Fredericksburg, the visit being made because the President thought a
glimpse of the Nation's Chief Executive might put fresh courage into
the weary soldiers. The visit was five days long and a more restless
member of a party than Tad was, cannot be imagined. By the end of the
first day he had exhausted all the resources of the encampment, and
begged to go home, but there were any number of reviews and parades for
which the President was obliged to stay, and these somewhat diverted
Tad, for a handsome young soldier was detailed as the boy's special
escort, and a little grey horse consoled him partially for the beloved
pony left at home. It is said that those reviews and the part Tad
played in them will never be forgotten by the men who saw or took part
in them, and this is the way they have been described.
"Over hill and dale dashed the general-in-chief with his company of
officers in gay uniforms, sparkling with gold lace, and escorted by the
Philadelphia Lancers, a showy troop of soldiers. At their head, seen
afar, rose the tall form of Lincoln, conspicuous always by his great
height and lean awkward figure, and as they passed, ever on the flanks
of the hurrying column flew, like a flag or a small banner, Tad's
little grey riding coat. His short legs stuck out straight from his
saddle, and sometimes there was danger that he would be shot out of his
seat at some sharp turn in the road, but much to the astonishment of
everybody, the hard-riding reckless youngster turned up at headquarters
safe and sound every night, exhausted but flushed with the excitement
of the day. Everywhere they went on horse-back he divided the honours
with his father, and whenever the soldiers saw the tall figure of their
much loved President, and fresh-faced merry Tad, they cheered
themselves hoarse, but in response to the cheers Tad firmly refused to
salute as he was told to do, saying:
"That's the way General Hooker and father do, but I am only a boy," and
paid no attention to the notice he attracted.
Even with the excitement of the reviews, so restless was Tad during
those days with the army of the Potomac, and so steadily did he plead
with his father to go home, that finally to quiet him, the President
said:
"Tad, I'll make a bargain with you. If you will agree not to say
anything more about going home until we are ready to go, I will give
you that dollar you want so badly."
The teller of that story who was on the spot at the time, says, that
although having a great desire for the dollar, Tad did murmur a few
times after this, and when they were ready to go back to Washington,
Lincoln held up a dollar bill before Tad, asking:
"Now, Taddie, my son, do you think you have earned this?"
Tad hung his head and said nothing, but the President handed it to him,
saying:
"Well, my son, although I don't think you have kept your part of the
bargain, I will keep mine, and you cannot reproach _me_ with breaking
faith, anyway!" Tad's face showed that he understood the value of that
greenback, as well as his father's reproof.
The long terrible months of the War of Secession wore slowly away, now
illuminated by the joy of a victory, now overshadowed by the gloom of
defeat, and meanwhile President Lincoln was criticised by friends and
foes, alike by those who did not understand, and by those who would not
appreciate the vastness of the ideal underlying the pain and tragedy of
the war. But the President struggled on, wearing out his heart and his
strength, but his courage and his faith never failed, and through all
the suspense and responsibility of those years, Abraham Lincoln stood
firm, Captain of the Ship of State, steering her safely into the
desired haven.
The war came to an end. The armies of the Union had crushed out the
great rebellion. Peace came to the troubled land, and Lincoln felt that
he had fulfilled his mission,--that he could now enjoy in unclouded
happiness that second term on which he was just entering.
At that time, when though men were jubilant over the end of the great
struggle, there was still in some hearts a revengeful spirit towards
the conquered, and when in one of his speeches Lincoln asked:
"What shall we do with the rebels?"
A man in the audience cried:
"Hang them!"
The President's elbow received a violent jerk and Lincoln looked
hastily down before replying. As usual Tad was close beside his father,
and had taken the only means of attracting his attention:
"No, father," he said, "don't hang them--hang on to them!"
"Tad's got it," said Mr. Lincoln, beaming with pleasure at the little
fellow's idea. "He's right, we'll hang on to them!"--and that remark of
Tad's with the response it brought out, has become one of the most
famous memories of Tad.
In another historic scene we find him figuring. It was the night of
President Lincoln's last long speech, that of April 11, 1865. News had
just come of the fall of Richmond and Petersburg, and the White House
was a blaze of lights from attic to cellar, in honour of the occasion,
while all over the country a wave of joy swept, for now it was felt
that the end of the long struggle was in sight. A great crowd of people
had gathered outside the White House and the sound of their cheers and
shouts was like the roar of the ocean, and the clamour of brass bands
and the explosion of fireworks, added to the general confusion and
noise.
Inside the White House, the President and some friends sat long at
dinner, after which the President would be expected to make a speech to
the expectant crowd, but he lingered at the table, as though loath to
end its pleasant intercourse, while Tad grew impatient at such a long
period of inaction, and crept away. Soon he was discovered at a front
window, out of which he was frantically waving a Confederate flag,
which someone had given him. The impatient crowd outside, eagerly
watching for something to happen, when they saw the little figure with
the big rebel flag, applauded uproariously, for Tad and his pranks were
one of the features of the White House. But when the dignified old
family butler discovered the youngster he was horrified. After a long
struggle with him which delighted the crowd, Tad was captured and
dragged in, and his flag confiscated while the old servant exclaimed:
"Oh, Master Tad, the likes of it, the likes of a rebel flag out of the
windows of the White House.--Oh, did I ever!"
Struggling out of his conqueror's clutches, Tad rushed tempestuously to
his father to complain about such treatment, but Mr. Lincoln, having
finished dinner, had just stepped into a centre window, from which he
could look out on the great crowd of people below him, and was waiting
for the mighty cheer that welcomed him to die away. Then he spoke, and
as the first words:
"We meet to-night, not in sorrow, but in gladness of heart,"--fell on
the ears of the throng, a mighty hush enveloped the surging mass of
human beings whom he was addressing.
His speech was written on loose sheets of paper, which as he finished,
fluttered one by one from his hand to the ground. The candle which
should have given him light, was not where he could see to read by it,
so he took it from its place, and held it in one hand, while he
continued with his reading, and still the pages fluttered to the ground
one by one.
Tad, meanwhile, finding his father occupied, had seized the chance of
despoiling the forsaken dinner table of all the dainties still on it,
but after this diversion began to pall, he looked about for some new
excitement. Hearing the President's voice addressing the crowd, Tad
crept behind his father, and amused himself by picking up the
fluttering pages as they fell. The President was reading slowly and the
pages dropped too seldom to suit impatient Tad.
"Come, give me another!" he whispered loudly, pulling the leg of his
father's trousers. The President made a little motion of his foot
towards Tad, but gave no other sign that he heard the whispered
command, and continued to voice his grave and wise thoughts on
Reconstruction.
Below was that vast sea of upturned faces--every eye fixed on the face
of the much loved President. At the window, his face radiant with
patriotic joy stood Abraham Lincoln--that heroic figure, reading the
speech which was to be his last word to the people.
Beside him, creeping back and forth on his hands and knees after the
fluttering pages, and sometimes lifting an eager face to his father,
was Tad, the boy of the White House, and there let us leave him, close
beside that father to whom he was both comfort and joy, through dark
years of storm and stress. Let us leave Abraham Lincoln, and Tad, his
cherished son, together there in the sight of the people to whom they
were so dear, before the black curtain of sorrow falls over them, that
Tad's merry face may linger in our memory untouched by the sorrow of a
nation's tragedy.
S. F. B. MORSE:
A Great American who Invented the Telegraph
On the ocean, homeward bound from Havre to New York, in the first week
of October, 1832, was sailing the packet-ship _Sully_, with a long
list of passengers, among them Samuel Finley Breese Morse, a man so
important in the history of America, both as an artist and an inventor,
that it is fitting to look backward and see what influences went into
the making of such a man.