The opinion of the Attorney-General, Judge Bates, as to the safety of
Mr. Lincoln’s being intrusted with the pardoning power, was founded
upon an intimate knowledge of the man. A nature of such tenderness and
humanity would have been in danger of erring on what many would call
the weak side, had it not been balanced by an unusual degree of strong
practical good sense and judgment.
The Secretary of War, and generals in command, were frequently much
annoyed at being overruled,--the discipline and efficiency of the
service being thereby, as they considered, greatly endangered. But
there was no going back of the simple signature, “A. LINCOLN,” attached
to proclamation or reprieve.
The Hon. Mr. Kellogg, representative from Essex County, New York,
received a despatch one evening from the army, to the effect that
a young townsman, who had been induced to enlist through his
instrumentality, had, for a serious misdemeanor, been convicted by
a court-martial, and was to be shot the next day. Greatly agitated,
Mr. Kellogg went to the Secretary of War, and urged, in the strongest
manner, a reprieve. Stanton was inexorable. “Too many cases of the
kind had been let off,” he said; “and it was time an example was
made.” Exhausting his eloquence in vain, Mr. Kellogg said,--“Well, Mr.
Secretary, the boy is not going to be _shot_,--of that I give you fair
warning!” Leaving the War Department, he went directly to the White
House, although the hour was late. The sentinel on duty told him that
special orders had been issued to admit no one whatever that night.
After a long parley, by pledging himself to assume the responsibility
of the act, the congressman passed in. The President had retired; but,
indifferent to etiquette or ceremony, Judge Kellogg pressed his way
through all obstacles to his sleeping apartment. In an excited manner
he stated that the despatch announcing the hour of execution had but
just reached him. “This man must not be shot, Mr. President,” said he.
“I can’t help what he may have done. Why, he is an old neighbor of
mine; I can’t allow him to be shot!” Mr. Lincoln had remained in bed,
quietly listening to the vehement protestations of his old friend,
(they were in Congress together.) He at length said: “Well, I don’t
believe _shooting_ him will do him any good. Give me that pen.” And, so
saying, “red tape” was unceremoniously cut, and another poor fellow’s
lease of life was indefinitely extended.
One night Speaker Colfax left all other business to ask the President
to respite the son of a constituent, who was sentenced to be shot, at
Davenport, for desertion. He heard the story with his usual patience,
though he was wearied out with incessant calls, and anxious for
rest, and then replied: “Some of our generals complain that I impair
discipline and subordination in the army by my pardons and respites,
but it makes me rested, after a hard day’s work, if I can find some
good excuse for saving a man’s life, and I go to bed happy as I think
how joyous the signing of my name will make him and his family and his
friends.”
Mr. Van Alen, of New York, in an account furnished the “Evening Post,”
wrote: “I well remember the case of a poor woman who sought, with the
persistent affection of a mother, for the pardon of her son condemned
to death. She was successful in her petition. When she had left the
room, Mr. Lincoln turned to me and said: ‘Perhaps I have done wrong,
but at all events I have made that poor woman happy.’”
The Hon. Thaddeus Stevens told me that on one occasion he called at
the White House with an elderly lady, in great trouble, whose son had
been in the army, but for some offence had been court-martialled,
and sentenced either to death, or imprisonment at hard labor for a
long term. There were some extenuating circumstances; and after a
full hearing, the President turned to the representative, and said:
“Mr. Stevens, do you think this is a case which will warrant my
interference?” “With my knowledge of the facts and the parties,” was
the reply, “I should have no hesitation in granting a pardon.” “Then,”
returned Mr. Lincoln, “I will pardon him,” and he proceeded forthwith
to execute the paper. The gratitude of the mother was too deep for
expression, and not a word was said between her and Mr. Stevens until
they were half way down the stairs on their passage out, when she
suddenly broke forth in an excited manner with the words, “I knew
it was a copperhead lie!” “What do you refer to, madam?” asked Mr.
Stevens. “Why, they told me he was an ugly looking man,” she replied,
with vehemence. “He is the handsomest man I ever saw in my life!” And
surely for that mother, and for many another throughout the land, no
carved statue of ancient or modern art, in all its symmetry, can have
the charm which will for evermore encircle that careworn but gentle
face, expressing as lineaments of ruler never expressed before, “Malice
towards none--Charity for all.”
Though kind-hearted almost to a fault, nevertheless Mr. Lincoln always
endeavored to be _just_. The Hon. S. F. Miller, of New York, called
upon him one day with the brother of a deserter who had been arrested.
The excuse was that the soldier had been home on a sick-furlough,
and that he afterwards became partially insane, and had consequently
failed to return and report in proper time. He was on his way to his
regiment at the front to be tried. The President at once ordered him
to be stopped at Alexandria and sent before a board of surgeons for
examination as to the question of insanity. “This seemed to me so
proper,” said the representative, “that I expressed myself satisfied.
But on going out, the brother, who was anxious for an immediate
discharge, said to me, ‘The trouble with your President is, that he is
so afraid of doing something wrong.’”
A young man, connected with a New York regiment, had become to all
appearance a hardened criminal. He had deserted two or three times,
and, when at last detected and imprisoned, had attempted to poison his
guards, one of whom subsequently died from the effects of the poison
unconsciously taken. Of course, there seemed no defence possible in
such a case. But the fact came out that the boy had been of unsound
mind. Some friends of his mother took up the matter, and an appeal was
made to the Secretary of War. He declined, positively, to listen to
it,--the case was too aggravating. The prisoner (scarcely more than a
boy) was confined at Elmira, New York. The day for the execution of
his sentence had nearly arrived, when his mother made her way to the
President. He listened to her story, examined the record, and said
that his opinion accorded with that of the Secretary of War; he could
do nothing for her. Heart-broken, she was compelled to relinquish
her last hope. One of the friends who had become interested, upon
learning the result of the application, waited upon Senator Harris.
That gentleman said that his engagements utterly precluded his going
to see the President upon the subject, until twelve o’clock of the
second night following. This brought the time to Wednesday night, and
the sentence was to be executed on Thursday. Judge Harris, true to his
word, called at the White House at twelve o’clock Wednesday night. The
President had retired, but the interview was granted. The point made
was that the boy was insane,--thus irresponsible, and his execution
would be murder. Pardon was not asked, but a reprieve, until a proper
medical examination could be made. This was so reasonable that Mr.
Lincoln acquiesced in its justice. He immediately ordered a telegram
sent to Elmira, delaying the execution of the sentence. Early the next
morning he sent another, by a different line, and, before the hour of
execution arrived, he had sent no less than _four_ different reprieves,
by different lines, to different individuals in Elmira, so fearful was
he that the message would fail, or be too late.
This incident suggests another, similar only, however, in the fact that
both boys were alleged to be irresponsible. A washerwoman in Troy had a
son nearly imbecile as to intellect, yet of good physical proportions.
The boy was kidnapped, or inveigled away by some scoundrels, who
“enlisted” him, dividing his bounty among themselves. For some time his
mother could learn nothing of him. At length she was told that he was
in the army. Alone and unfriended she went to Washington to see, in
her simplicity, if she could not get his discharge. The gentleman who
related the circumstance to me said that she did not even know to which
of the New York regiments her son belonged. She could get no chance
to speak to the President. At length she watched her opportunity, and
intercepted him on his way from the War Department. The result was,
that taking down the lad’s name and place of residence, this message
was written on the back of the card, and sent to the War Department:--
“_This poor boy is said to be idiotic. Find him, if possible, and
return him to his mother._