knows that Abraham Lincoln will stand out a colossal figure as long as
American history is read. A thousand years will not dim the lustre of
his name or fame.
When his armies were pushed back till they built their camp-fires under
the shadow of the nation’s Capitol, and treason glared at him from
the near palaces, and the ship of state rocked in the trough of the
waves of civil war and social revolution, he stood firm and strong at
the helm, with calm, unwavering trust in God. In a rougher mould, he
possessed the majesty of a Clay, the sagacity of a Franklin, the wit
of a Ben Jonson, the benevolence of a Howard, and the social qualities
of the Adamses. No heart in all the land throbbed with a truer,
kindlier charity towards all, than did the great heart of Abraham
Lincoln when the assassin’s bullet stopped its generous beating. Among
philanthropists, in all ages, Lincoln will stand out as The Great
Emancipator, who brought liberty to an enslaved and cruelly wronged
race; and Right will laurel-crown him as a martyr.
No one bullet ever went forth on a deadlier mission, or struck so heavy
a blow to friends and foes alike, as did the bullet that laid Abraham
Lincoln low in the dust.
Victor and vanquished, who had come up out of a great struggle with
their garments rolled in blood to ground their arms at his feet, and
who had received his benediction of peace and good-will to all, were
alike mourners when the assassin’s bullet did its deadly work.
It was as though there was one dead in every house. The mourners went
about the streets uncomforted. Men forgot their love for gold and
their lust for power; statesmen groped about like blind men for some
hand to lead. _The world was in mourning_; for all the world knew that
he had come to the kingdom for such a time as that.
The lives of such men as Abraham Lincoln are measured by deeds, and
not by length of days. His work was wrought in a few short years. He
answered the question of the wisdom and solidity of a republican form
of government by hurling its betrayers from power. He established human
liberty on the immutable rock of intelligent public sentiment. When he
proclaimed above the sleeping heroes of Gettysburg, “a government of
the people, by the people, and for the people,” he sounded forth an
endless jubilee that has echoed and re-echoed through the world, till
the people of every kindred and tongue have heard the glad tidings,
and human slavery has been branded as a crime, and outlawed by all the
civilized nations of the earth.
The saviour of his people, the liberator of the oppressed, the
great-hearted friend of humanity, he will stand out a colossal figure
in history while men love liberty more than life, while men love
freedom more than chains, and while human sympathy links us to each
other and draws us toward God and heaven.
It seems fitting, as there was not one of all the millions who loved
him, and who would have shielded him at any cost, but knew not of his
peril, that the flag he loved should have become his avenger, and
caught the foot of the assassin in its loyal folds, and hurled him away
to certain death. That flag, kept securely in a glass case, is held
sacred in the treasure-house of the nation. The swift-footed years have
gone by, till _twenty-nine_ have passed; but Lincoln is not forgotten:
his memory is as fresh and sweet as it was at the first.
The robins come to build their nests, and the bluebirds sing their
sweet spring songs, just as they did twenty-nine years ago this
April-time; but he is not forgotten, for his work goes on. The
flag that Lincoln upheld is the banner honored of all nations, the
principles he sustained and taught are more and more becoming the
heritage of the world, and will be universal.
HOW I GOT THE COTTON.
A few days after the first fleet ran the blockade at Vicksburg, another
fleet, composed entirely of wooden steamers, ran through that fiery
channel.
The plans of the government coming to my knowledge, I sent a note to
the medical director, offering to ship a lot of hospital supplies, and
asking him to designate the boat on which I should ship them. My note
came back indorsed,--
“Send supplies down on the _Tigress_.”
I still have that letter on file.
The _Tigress_ was a trim, stanch little craft which General Grant had
used for headquarters. And feeling sure the swift, trim little steamer
would make the passage safely, I shipped a heavy lot of supplies on her.
There were six wooden steamers, with barges in tow, laden with army
supplies.
On the night of the 26th of April, 1863, they ran the blockade.
All the important machinery was protected by bales of cotton and bales
of hay.
All the boats got through safely, except the _Tigress_.
In the midst of the fiery channel a solid shot cut through the heavy
gunwales of the barge she was towing, and went through her hull, just
below the water-level. Her crew deserted her, and made their escape in
the small boats which were there for that purpose.
She filled with water so slowly that she drifted down into the Union
lines before she sank, sinking near the shore on the Louisiana side of
the river.
Two days afterwards I received a letter from an Iowa colonel, whose
name I have forgotten, whose regiment was in camp opposite where the
_Tigress_ sank, informing me that the men of his command were willing
to wade out neck-deep and secure the cotton about the engine of the
_Tigress_, if the commanding general would give it to me for sanitary
purposes; and that as he was coming up to Young’s Point with empty
wagons for supplies, he would gladly deliver it there.
I was very much perplexed as to what I had best do, but finally sent
the colonel’s letter to General Grant, who had gone below Vicksburg
with his army, with a brief letter, saying that “If the granting of
this request is entirely consistent with your sense of honor, and
the best interest of yourself and of the government, I would be glad
to receive the cotton, as I shipped a heavy lot of supplies on the
_Tigress_, and they have all been lost.”
As soon as my letter was received, the order was issued, and sent up
by a special messenger. I sent it immediately to that generous Iowa
colonel, with a most kindly message.
I do not know how deep the Iowa soldiers waded out to secure the
cotton; but I do know that a heavy lot came up in good condition very
promptly, and that I shipped it to St. Louis to Partrage & Co. for
sale, and that it was sold for $1,950, which I charged to my account,
and which enabled me to more than double the amount of supplies I had
lost.
I see by bills in my possession that I bought immense quantities of
supplies in St. Louis. There is one bill of seventy-five bushels of
dried apples, while all the onions in the market were bought up,
and lemons and other antiscorbutics; and when our forces surrounded
Vicksburg, heavy supplies were rushed in to meet their pressing wants,
especially those who were sick and wounded in hospital and camp.
Somehow I lost the address of that Iowa colonel; but although more than
thirty years have passed, I have never ceased to feel the most profound
gratitude to that colonel and his men for their heroic services. If
this should fall under the eyes of any of them, I should be very glad
to hear from them, and to thank them personally.
THE SEQUEL TO “UNCLE TOM’S CABIN.”
The name of Harriet Beecher Stowe recalls the story of “Uncle Tom’s
Cabin.” It was a story that thrilled and moved the people of this
country as no other story has ever done. Its influence was not a
sentimental and transitory one. The shafts of truth were sent home to
men’s consciences, and were abiding; they live to-day.
It may not, however, be generally known that the hero of “Uncle Tom’s
Cabin” _did not die till a few years ago_--in 1883.
I knew him personally, and have heard the story from his own lips. Mrs.
Stowe was acquainted with Uncle Tom, and read a sketch of his life
which had been published by the Anti-Slavery Society before she wrote
her book.
His history and work after the beating he had received, which brought
him down to death’s door, are more remarkable than those that had
preceded, which she records, and where she leaves him dead. He
recovered, and afterwards had an opportunity to escape with his family
from slavery. He used such sagacity in planning his journey, preparing
for months for the great event, that he was able to elude his pursuers,
and reach Canada in safety. Two of his four children were too small to
travel on foot such a long journey. So he made a sack with straps over
his shoulders, and carried them on his back out of slavery. At times
his back was so sore, from the heat and friction, that the blood ran
down to his heels.
It was a heroic effort for freedom for himself, and his children, and
his wife.
He was, as far as I am able to judge, the most remarkable colored man
that has ever lived on this continent.
His home, which I have visited, was on the Sydenham River, near the
town of Dresden, Ontario, Canada. It was a most comfortable one.
He did not know one letter from another when he reached Canada. He
became a scholar, and in a few years spoke the English language
correctly and without the Southern accent.
He had neither money nor credit when he settled in Canada, but he owned
at the time of his death one of the finest farms in the Dominion.
He had never studied oratory, but he became one of the most eloquent
speakers in Canada and England. He could fill Exeter Hall, England,
without effort. Lords and ladies entertained him at their castles, and
on invitation of Queen Victoria he visited her at Windsor Palace.
His name was Josiah Henson. I visited him in August, 1882, at his home.
He was then nearly ninety-three years of age. In March, 1883, having
turned into his ninety-fourth year, he died. His mind was clear, his
conversation intelligent and logical. The pathetic story of his running
away from slavery would have been, if touched by Mrs. Stowe’s pen, far
in advance of anything in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
He was a friend of the slaves, and for several years before, and
especially during the war, was one of the conductors and guides on the
underground railroad to Canada.
He founded a colony near Dresden.
He was well acquainted with Mrs. Stowe, and frequently visited her at
her home in Boston.
He wrote his life before she wrote “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
His anti-slavery speeches in England won him a great reputation for
oratory.
The last time he was in London, Queen Victoria invited him to an
interview with her at Windsor Palace; and after lunch was served to
him and his party, he was ushered into the presence of the Queen,
in the great drawing-room of the palace, where all the lords- and
ladies-in-waiting had been gathered in. The interview was a most
interesting one.
When she told him that she was glad to see him, and spoke
appreciatively of his services, he responded easily and frankly:--
“I am glad to see you, my sovereign, and to be so graciously received
by you. But I do not forget that I am an alien, and that I was a slave.
I came flying for life and liberty to your dominion; and when my weary
feet touched the soil over which you reign I was a free man. I knelt
reverently, and kissed the earth, and thanked my God that wherever
your flag floated the slave was free and safe. I desire to assure your
Majesty, that among the millions of your subjects, although I am one of
the humblest, there are none more true and loyal than Josiah Henson.”
Her Majesty was visibly moved. Prince Leopold and Princess Beatrice,
two of her children, were on either side of her during this interview,
which lasted for some time. She took from the hand of Beatrice a little
package and handed it to him, saying:--
“Accept this as a small token of my appreciation of your valuable
services to the slaves in America, and as a token of my interest in
your race, especially those who have settled in Canada.”
The package contained a small picture of herself set in gold, resting
on a gold easel. As that was kept in the safe at the bank I did not see
it; but I did see the oil painting of “Uncle Tom,” as everybody called
him, presented to him by the Anti-Slavery Society of Boston, about the
time Mrs. Stowe’s book, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” came out.
SECRETARY STANTON’S GENEROUS GIFT.
In October, 1863, I came up from the hospitals in the front, to attend
a sanitary convention at Muscatine, Iowa.
As I was legally commissioned the sanitary agent of the State by
Governor Samuel J. Kirkwood, having been elected to that position by
the Legislature of Iowa, my presence was greatly desired by the workers.
The convention was large and representative. But my own heart was
greatly burdened with touching messages from dying soldiers to their
wives and children. In the midst of the convention I boldly announced
my purpose to try to establish a home for soldiers’ orphan children.
The proposition was received with the wildest enthusiasm; and the
convention took action at once, not only indorsing the movement, but
pledging financial support.
There was no precedent to follow, as there was no institution of the
kind in all the world.
I was elected president of “The Orphans’ Home Association,” but
declined, and Governor Stone, the newly elected governor of the State,
was chosen. The ablest men and women of the State were brought into the
organization, and the Home was duly opened in a rented house.
The house, although large, was soon crowded to overflowing, and we
could get no larger building that would accommodate the hundreds who
were applying for admission.
A committee sent out to search for more commodious quarters reported
new, fine barracks on a piece of confiscated land of thirty acres,
adjoining the town of Davenport.
The barracks were new and well-built, and had cost $46,000.
The leading men of Iowa, as well as the women, were actively enlisted
in the work.
Ex-Governor Kirkwood, and his private secretary, N. H. Brainard,
Governor Stone, Judge Lowe, Judge Coles, Chaplain Ingalls, John Parvin,
and many others whose names were a guaranty of honest and faithful
work, were active.
I was selected to go to Washington and secure these barracks as a gift
from the government, if possible. If I could not obtain them as a gift,
I was authorized to offer $1,000 a year as rent for them. I protested
strongly against being sent on such an important mission; but I was
overruled, and was obliged to accept the duty.
When I reached Washington, October, 1865, I went to the
surgeon-general’s office, and made known my mission, and secured an
official statement that those barracks would not be needed for hospital
purposes. I want to say in this connection that Surgeon-General J. K.
Barnes had always co-operated with me most heartily in all my work.
I then called on Quartermaster-General Meigs, the man who with such
wonderful executive ability fed and clothed the great armies of the
republic, furnishing quarters and equipments, and paid their wages with
an honesty and fidelity that have never been questioned.
I had often met him before; and no one who ever saw him could forget
his honest, rugged, but kindly face.
When I made known my mission, he looked surprised and pleased, and then
said,--
“Well, now, that is certainly a good use to put these deserted barracks
to.”
“General,” I said, “all I want you to do, is to say officially to the
government that they will not be needed for military purposes.”
“They were never needed; they ought never to have been built. It was a
waste of money.”
“Then, General, you can certainly say they will not be needed for
military purposes. Please say that officially.”
He took up his pen and wrote out a statement, informing the government
that the new cavalry barracks at Davenport, Ia., would not be needed
for military purposes, “even if hostilities were resumed.” His
statement covered over two pages.
Thus armed, I went to the office of the Secretary of War.
I had become acquainted with Mr. Stanton under the most favorable
circumstances.
The governor of Iowa had commended me to him, and early in 1862
obtained for me a general order for transportation of myself and
supplies and rations. And later, when I called on him personally, I was
the bearer of letters of introduction and commendation from some of his
most influential and trusted friends.
Afterwards he always seemed glad to see me, and graciously granted all
my requests.
He was prompt and clear in all his business methods, and was by far the
best listener I have ever met. When I talked to him there was no need
of repeating; he apprehended my meaning. When he talked, there was no
room to misunderstand him. There was no fuss and bluster, or pretence,
or attempt to show off himself or his authority; and that pleased me.
I went, therefore, to his office with great hope and courage. When I
asked to see the Secretary of War, a young, jolly-looking officer came
forward and asked,--
“What can I do for you, madam?”
“I wish to see Mr. Stanton.”
“Mr. Stanton is in Boston. I am Major Eccles, acting Secretary of War,
and will attend to any business you may have to transact.”
I informed him as to my mission. He laughed heartily.
“That, madam, is a little beyond my prerogative. I don’t feel
authorized to give away the property of the government.”
I put myself at once in telegraphic communication with Mr. Stanton. He
asked some questions as to the legal status of the institution, and
that was all I heard that day.
The next morning I took another requisition to the War Department. It
was for hospital supplies. I distinctly remember the first few items,
1,800 blankets; 2,500 sheets; 3,000 pillow-cases; 1,500 pillows, and so
on, till everything I could remember that could be of use to the Home
were enumerated.
When I handed the document to Major Eccles, I said,--
“Here is a small requisition I should like to have go in with the
application for the property.”
“This is a small requisition,” and he laughed heartily as he read the
list aloud.
“Yes, sir,” I said with great gravity. “This is a small requisition;
but with the help of the generous people of Iowa, I hope we shall be
able to get along with that.”
“Now seriously, on what grounds have you a right to ask these supplies
from the government?”
“Well, sir, I call your attention to the fact, that at the beginning of
the war the government had very few hospital supplies. The loyal people
of the North helped to fit them up. The loyal State of Iowa sent nearly
$200,000 worth of supplies into the military hospitals. Now, all I ask
is that you give us back a few of the supplies that we gave you, as you
no longer need them.”
“You are certainly entitled to them. I will do what I can to get this
through.”
The Iowa delegation at Washington, and the officers in the War
Department, including Major Eccles, became greatly interested, and
anxious that Secretary Stanton’s answer should be favorable.
When the answer came it was:--
“Will you accept the property subject to the approval of Congress?”
I flashed back my answer as quickly as possible:--
“Yes; and will get the bill through without annoyance to you.”
As I was obliged to leave the War Department before an answer
came, Major Eccles drove up to the house of my friend, where I was
stopping, with the telegraphic order, turning over the property to
the Association. The gift of the barracks and the hospital supplies
aggregated $52,000.
I was lifted to the clouds, figuratively speaking, and rushed to the
telegraph-office, and sent off despatches to the newspapers in Iowa.
The next morning all the leading papers in Iowa appeared with great
head-lines announcing the magnificent gift.
Before Congress met we had bought out the heirs of the confiscated
property, remodelled and plastered the buildings, and had nearly five
hundred soldiers’ orphan children comfortably housed there.
Hon. Hiram Price, a member of Congress from the Davenport District,
took charge of our bill, and carried it through Congress without
annoyance to Mr. Stanton.
The fact that we had possession, and were housing and supporting so
many soldiers’ orphan children in these barracks, made opposition
almost impossible.
With this valuable property in our possession, it was an easy task to
induce the State Legislature to take this burden off our hands and
make it a State institution. The frame barracks have been replaced by
substantial brick buildings; but the Home is still conducted on the
cottage plan, and is one of the finest institutions of the State.
Edwin M. Stanton’s generous action in giving this timely help to a weak
society secured the success of a worthy institution, that has educated
and sent out thousands of children to be good and useful citizens.
Mr. Stanton was one of the strong, true, honest men who made Mr.
Lincoln’s administration a success. He was intensely loyal, and
intolerant to treason and self-seeking, and he made traitors tremble
on both sides of the line. He was, more than any other man, the
balance-wheel in the complicated machinery of the government which held
and regulated its internal workings.
He was a clear and close thinker, a keen and sagacious discerner of
human motives, a tireless worker, and was too open and frank to conceal
his opinions of men and things.
Too unselfish to enrich himself, he toiled on, literally killing
himself at work, and dying poor. When passion and prejudice have passed
away he will receive his full meed of praise.
THE SPECIAL-DIET KITCHEN WORK.
No part of the army service was so defective, during the first two
years of the war, as the cooking department in the United States
government hospitals.
Few of the men employed as cooks in these hospitals were trained or
skilled; most of them had obtained their knowledge of cookery after
being assigned to duty, under most unfavorable circumstances, and
without the proper facilities for doing their work.
One general kitchen provided the food for all--the sick, the wounded,
and the dying, as well as the nurses and convalescents.
Where there were women nurses in a hospital, and they could get a
little stove of their own, special dishes were prepared for the worst
patients; but there was no general system of providing dainty and
suitable diet for the thousands in need of delicate food in home-like
preparation.
The supplies coming from the generous people of the North occasioned
great anxiety.
The surgeons forbade their distribution at the bedside of the patients,
on the ground that something might be given which would endanger their
lives or retard their recovery, and ordered them turned over to the
commissary. Often supplies thus turned over failed to reach the sick or
wounded.
It was under these trying circumstances that the plan of a system of
special-diet kitchens came to me,--clearly and definitely, as a flash
from the skies,--like a divine inspiration.
It was in December, 1863, that the thought came to me, and I hastened
at once to put the plan into execution.
Everybody seemed to accept the plan with enthusiasm; and the Sanitary
and Christian Commission, and the officers and surgeons of the army,
all hastened to co-operate with me in inaugurating and accomplishing
this great reform.
The plan in itself was very simple and practical, and was entirely
satisfactory to all parties.
1. The food for those needing special diet was prescribed by the ward
surgeons. A bill of fare was provided, with the name of the patient and
the number of his bed, for every patient put on special diet; and on
this bill the surgeon prescribed his diet by making a mark opposite the
articles the patient was allowed. This plan gave the sick or wounded
man a chance to express his own wants in regard to food, which was a
great advantage.
2. These bills of fare were consolidated by the ward-master, and a copy
sent to the superintendent of the special-diet kitchen, and the bills
were returned to their places again. So with these consolidated lists
before them, the managers of the special-diet kitchen knew just what to
cook, and just the quantity.
3. The food thus ordered was prepared in the special-diet kitchen,
which, although under separate management, was a part of the hospital,
and as completely under the control of the authorities as any other
part of the hospital.