LINCOLN always saw the end. He was unmoved by the storms and currents of
the times. He advanced too rapidly for the conservative politicians, too
slowly for the radical enthusiasts. He occupied the line of safety, and
held by his personality--by the force of his great character, by his
charming candor--the masses on his side.
The soldiers thought of him as a father.
All who had lost their sons in battle felt that they had his
sympathy--felt that his face was as sad as theirs. They knew that
Lincoln was actuated by one motive, and that his energies were bent to
the attainment of one end--the salvation of the Republic.
They knew that he was kind, sincere and merciful. They knew that in his
veins there was no drop of tyrants' blood. They knew that he used his
power to protect the innocent, to save reputation and life--that he had
the brain of a philosopher--the heart of a mother.
During all the years of war, Lincoln stood the embodiment of mercy,
between discipline and death. He pitied the imprisoned and condemned.
He took the unfortunate in his arms, and was the friend even of the
convict. He knew temptation's strength--the weakness of the will--and
how in fury's sudden flame the judgment drops the scales, and
passion--blind and deaf--usurps the throne.
One day a woman, accompanied by a Senator, called on the President. The
woman was the wife of one of Mosby's men. Her husband had been captured,
tried and condemned to be shot. She came to ask for the pardon of her
husband. The President heard her story and then asked what kind of man
her husband was. "Is he intemperate, does he abuse the children and beat
you?" "No, no," said the wife, "he is a good man, a good husband, he
loves me and he loves the children, and we cannot live without him. The
only trouble is that he is a fool about politics--I live in the North,
born there, and if I get him home, he will do no more fighting for the
South." "Well," said Mr. Lincoln, after examining the papers, "I will
pardon your husband and turn him over to you for safe keeping." The poor
woman, overcome with joy, sobbed as though her heart would break.
"My dear woman," said Lincoln, "if I had known how badly it was going to
make you feel, I never would have pardoned him." "You do not understand
me," she cried between her sobs. "You do not understand me." "Yes, yes,
I do," answered the President, "and if you do not go away at once I
shall be crying with you."
On another occasion, a member of Congress, on his way to see Lincoln,
found in one of the anterooms of the White House an old white-haired
man, sobbing--his wrinkled face wet with tears. The old man told him
that for several days he had tried to see the President--that he wanted
a pardon for his son. The Congressman told the old man to come with him
and he would introduce him to Mr. Lincoln. On being introduced, the old
man said: "Mr. Lincoln, my wife sent me to you. We had three boys. They
all joined your army. One of 'em has been killed, one's a fighting now,
and one of 'em, the youngest, has been tried for deserting and he's
going to be shot day after to-morrow. He never deserted. He's wild,
and he may have drunk too much and wandered off, but he never deserted.
'Taint in the blood. He's his mother's favorite, and if he's shot,
I know she'll die." The President, turning to his secretary, said:
"Telegraph General Butler to suspend the execution in the case
of--------[giving the name] until further orders from me, and ask him to
answer--------."
The Congressman congratulated the old man on his success--but the old
man did not respond. He was not satisfied. "Mr. President," he began,
"I can't take that news home. It won't satisfy his mother. How do I know
but what you'll give further orders to-morrow?" "My good man," said
Mr. Lincoln, "I have to do the best I can. The generals are complaining
because I pardon so many. They say that my mercy destroys discipline.
Now, when you get home you tell his mother what you said to me about my
giving further orders, and then you tell her that I said this: 'If your
son lives until they get further orders from me, that when he does die
people will say that old Methusaleh was a baby compared to him.'"
The pardoning power is the only remnant of absolute sovereignty that a
President has. Through all the years, Lincoln will be known as Lincoln
the loving, Lincoln the merciful.