WHITE HOUSE GOSSIP
_From Andrew Johnson to Calvin Coolidge_
BY
EDNA M. COLMAN
AUTHOR OF
“SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS OF
WHITE HOUSE GOSSIP”
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM
PHOTOGRAPHS
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1927
COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE
& COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE
COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
FIRST EDITION
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ADMINISTRATION OF ANDREW JOHNSON 1
II. FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF ULYSSES S.
GRANT 50
III. SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF ULYSSES S.
GRANT 77
IV. THE ADMINISTRATION OF RUTHERFORD B.
HAYES 104
V. ADMINISTRATION OF JAMES ABRAM
GARFIELD 128
VI. ADMINISTRATION OF CHESTER ALAN ARTHUR 146
VII. FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF GROVER
CLEVELAND 170
VIII. ADMINISTRATION OF BENJAMIN HARRISON 198
IX. SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF GROVER
CLEVELAND 221
X. FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF WILLIAM
MCKINLEY 243
XI. SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF WILLIAM
MCKINLEY 265
XII. FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF THEODORE
ROOSEVELT 277
XIII. SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF THEODORE
ROOSEVELT 292
XIV. ADMINISTRATION OF WILLIAM HOWARD
TAFT 319
XV. FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF WOODROW
WILSON 340
XVI. SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF WOODROW
WILSON 364
XVII. THE ADMINISTRATION OF WARREN G.
HARDING 378
XVIII. FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF CALVIN
COOLIDGE 401
INDEX 421
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Mrs. Calvin Coolidge _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Andrew Johnson’s first tailor shop 40
The Grand Review of the Armies of the North 40
Mrs. Ulysses S. Grant 56
Nellie Grant Sartoris 88
Mrs. Lucy Webb Hayes 104
Rutherford Birchard Hayes 104
Mrs. James A. Garfield 136
Mrs. John McElroy, sister of President Arthur 152
Mrs. Grover Cleveland in her wedding gown 184
Mrs. Benjamin Harrison 200
The Inauguration of Grover Cleveland 232
Mrs. Ida Saxton McKinley 248
William McKinley 248
Theodore Roosevelt and his family 280
Alice Longworth in her wedding gown 296
William H. Taft and his family 328
Woodrow Wilson and his family in 1912 344
Democracy and Royalty 376
The body of Warren G. Harding lying in state 392
WHITE HOUSE GOSSIP
_From Andrew Johnson to Calvin Coolidge_
WHITE HOUSE GOSSIP FROM
ANDREW JOHNSON TO
CALVIN COOLIDGE
CHAPTER I
ADMINISTRATION OF ANDREW JOHNSON
_April 15, 1865, to March 4, 1869_
Late April and early May of 1865 brought none of the usual springtime
joys to Washington, the Capital City; its residents, in common with
the rest of the nation, were shaken with grief over the death of
President Lincoln. Public buildings and private houses hid behind
dismal swathings of crêpe, and the people were still subdued with the
harrowing incidents that had their beginning on the terrible night of
April 14th. Previous sectional opinions were set aside in the general
regret over the loss of the gaunt, kindly man whom the troubled,
disrupted country had learned to trust. The tragedy at Ford’s Theatre,
with the simultaneous attack upon Secretary of State William Seward,
was the hourly topic of conversation.
Search for the conspirators had begun, and suspicion, fear, and
suspense hung like a pall over the land. Peace and security were gone.
None knew when or where the relentless arm of the law would pounce upon
another suspect. Innocent and guilty alike went through the gruelling.
Especially did the fear of Northern soldier vengeance lie heavily upon
Southern hearts already bowed in the sorrow of defeat.
Andrew Johnson, the Union Democrat, the “Tailor from Tennessee”--“The
Knight of the Shears and Goose,” as Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton
had so often dubbed President Lincoln’s running mate--had stepped
into the presidential shoes and was handling the reins of government
with dominant force and decision. Punishment radiated from every
fibre of his being. As he turned from the bier of his slain chief,
two paramount purposes were definite in his mind: to follow Lincoln’s
policies, and to punish those guilty of his death. He could think of
the tragedy in no other terms but those that spelled treason in its
blackest form, especially as, upon every hand, because of the attack
upon Seward, he found public sentiment committed to the belief that
a general conspiracy had been formed in the South for the purpose of
exterminating the entire Lincoln Cabinet, together with himself as Vice
President, and also General Grant.
From the hour he took the presidential oath and established his offices
in the Treasury building, the demands for vengeance poured in upon him
from every side.
At the moment, the surrender of all of the Southern arms was
incomplete, and a vast Northern army, two hundred thousand strong,
chafing at restraint, was ready at a word to take the matter of
avenging the death of “Father Abraham” into its own hands and
thus renew the bloody conflict. Never had a man stepped into the
Presidency under such difficult and soul-trying conditions, or been
confronted with greater tasks, more exacting demands, or more serious
responsibilities. Never had there been such urgent need for a calm,
judicial, well-balanced mind, able to rise above partisan bias, poised
to hold firmly to the ability to see both sides of each problem and to
refrain from impetuous action.
A nation torn asunder through an internal upheaval had to be brought
together and welded into one again.
Although Andrew Johnson had spent thirty years in public service,
fighting for what he conceived to be right, his experience had not been
of the type to furnish the subtle diplomacy or suave poise needed to
handle successfully the great problems that now confronted him. It is
doubtful if any man who participated in the political contests of that
period, even the great, wise Lincoln, could have brought harmony out of
the hysteria and chaos that prevailed in the nation on the morning of
April 15, 1865.
Following his induction into office and his inaugural address, Johnson
called his first Cabinet meeting at twelve o’clock on April 15th, at
which two important measures were decided. These were the arrangements
for the funeral of Mr. Lincoln and the appointment of Mr. W. Hunter as
temporary Secretary of State pending the recovery of Secretary Seward.
At this time the new President requested the members of the Cabinet to
retain their portfolios.
In his first proclamation President Johnson expressed his horror of
the crime and his resolve to punish the guilty participants. This
document also offered rewards for the arrest of those believed to
be implicated--one hundred thousand dollars for Jefferson Davis;
twenty-five thousand dollars each for Clement C. Clay, Jacob Thompson,
George N. Sanders, and Beverly Tucker; and ten thousand dollars for
William C. Cleary, late clerk of Clement C. Clay.
It might be stated here that, despite the most exhaustive efforts, not
the slightest evidence was produced to connect any of the Southern
leaders with the crime of Booth. Jefferson Davis was captured May 10,
1865, at Irwinsville, Wilkinson County, Ga., and sent to Fortress
Monroe. Although indicted for treason against the United States in the
Federal Court for the District of Virginia, he was finally admitted to
bail, one of his bondsmen being Horace Greeley, the abolitionist leader
of the North, and released without trial.
Colonel Lafayette Baker, Chief of Secret Service, was out of Washington
the night of the tragedy. On his return, he at once applied himself
to the task of capturing Booth, Herold, and all others suspected by
Secretary of War Stanton, for the apprehension of whom the latter had
offered liberal rewards in a proclamation issued immediately following
the tragedy. The Stanton proclamation stated that $50,000 would be paid
by the War Department for the apprehension of the murderers of the late
President. All persons were warned against harbouring or aiding them in
any way on pain of being treated by the government as accomplices in
the plot.
The City of Washington also offered a reward of $20,000 for the arrest
of the assassin and his associates implicated in the crime.
These rewards stirred up extra zeal, and the army of searchers grew
steadily.
The search for Booth through the swamps and the final scenes of his
capture and death were most graphically told by George Alfred Townsend,
a newspaper correspondent, in the New York _World_ during that eventful
period. “Gath,” as he was familiarly known, gathered his daily reports
from the most reliable sources. Those bearing upon Booth’s wild act he
later assembled in booklet form and published in 1865. From it this
picture of Booth’s final stand is copied.
The assassin had been traced to the Garrett home on the Rappahannock,
some distance from Bowling Green, by the little force sent out
by Colonel Lafayette Baker, Chief of the Secret Service, with
instructions not to return till they had their man. The company was in
charge of Colonel Baker’s former Lieutenant Colonel, E. J. Conger, and
of his cousin, Lieutenant L. B. Baker. At two o’clock, early morning,
they approached the house.
“In the dead stillness, Baker dismounted and forced the outer gate;
Conger kept close behind him, and the horsemen followed cautiously.
So they surrounded the pleasant old homestead, each horseman, carbine
in poise, adjusted under the grove of locusts, so as to inclose
the dwelling with a circle of fire. After a pause, Baker rode to
the kitchen door on the side, and dismounting, rapped and hallooed
lustily. An old man, in drawers and a nightshirt, hastily undrew
the bolts, and stood on the threshold, peering shiveringly into the
darkness.
“Baker seized him by the throat at once, and held a pistol to his ear.
‘Who--who is it that calls me?’ cried the old man. ‘Where are the men
who stay with you?’ challenged Baker. ‘If you prevaricate you are a
dead man!’ The old fellow, who proved to be the head of the family,
was so overawed and paralyzed that he stammered and shook, and said
not a word. ‘Go light a candle,’ cried Baker, sternly, ‘and be quick
about it.’ The trembling old man obeyed, and in a moment the imperfect
rays flared upon his whitening hairs and bluishly pallid face. Then
the question was repeated, backed up by the glimmering pistol, ‘Where
are those men?’ The old man held to the wall and his knees smote each
other. ‘They are gone,’ he said. ‘We haven’t got them in the house. I
assure you that they are gone.’ Here there were sounds and whisperings
in the main building adjoining, and the lieutenant strode to the
door. A ludicrous instant intervened, the old man’s modesty outran
his terror. ‘Don’t go in there,’ he said feebly, ‘there are women
undressed in there.’ ‘Damn the women,’ cried Baker; ‘what if they are
undressed? We shall go in if they haven’t a rag.’ Leaving the old man
in mute astonishment, Baker bolted through the door, and stood in the
assemblage of bare arms and night robes. His loaded pistol disarmed
modesty of its delicacy and substituted therefor a seasonable terror.
Here he repeated his summons, and the half light gave to his face a
more than bandit ferocity. They all denied knowledge of the strangers’
whereabouts.
“In the interim, Conger had also entered, and while the household and
its invaders were thus in weird tableaux, a young man appeared, as if
he had risen from the ground. The muzzles of every gun turned upon
him in a second; but, while he blanched, he did not lose loquacity.
‘Father,’ he said, ‘we had better tell the truth about the matter.
Those men whom you seek, gentlemen, are in the barn, I know. They
went there to sleep.’ Leaving one soldier to guard the old man--and
the soldier was very glad of the job, as it relieved him of personal
hazard in the approaching combat--all the rest, with cocked pistols at
the young man’s head, followed on to the barn. It lay a hundred yards
from the house, the front barn door facing the west gable, and was an
old and spacious structure, with floors only a trifle above the ground
level.
“The troops dismounted, were stationed at regular intervals around
it, and ten yards distant at every point, four special guards placed
to command the door and all with weapons in supple preparation, while
Baker and Conger went direct to the portal. It had a padlock upon it,
and the key of this Baker secured at once. In the interval of silence
that ensued, the rustling of planks and straw was heard inside, as of
persons rising from sleep.
“At the same moment, Baker hailed: ‘To the persons in this barn. I
have a proposal to make; we are about to send in to you the son of the
man in whose custody you are found. Either surrender to him your arms
and then give yourselves up, or we’ll set fire to the place. We mean
to take you both, or to have a bonfire and a shooting match.’
“No answer came to this of any kind. The lad, John M. Garrett, who
was in deadly fear, was here pushed through the door by a sudden
opening of it, and immediately Lieutenant Baker locked the door on the
outside. The boy was heard to state his appeal in undertone. Booth
replied:
“‘Damn you! Get out of here. You have betrayed me.’
“At the same time he placed his hand in his pocket as for a pistol. A
remonstrance followed, but the boy slipped quickly over the reopened
portal, reporting that his errand had failed, and that he dared not
enter again. All this time, the candle brought from the house to the
barn was burning close beside the two detectives, rendering it easy
for any one within to have shot them dead. This observed, the light
was cautiously removed, and everybody took care to keep out of its
reflection. By this time, the crisis of the position was at hand, the
cavalry exhibited very variable inclinations, some to run away, others
to shoot Booth without a summons, but all were excited and fitfully
silent. At the house near by, the female folks were seen collected
in the doorway, and the necessities of the case provoked prompt
conclusions. The boy was placed at a remote point. The summons was
repeated by Baker:
“‘You must surrender inside there. Give up your arms and appear. There
is no chance for escape. We give you five minutes to make up your
mind.’
“A bold, clarion reply came from within, so strong as to be heard at
the house door:
“‘Who are you and what do you want with us?’
“Baker again urged: ‘We want you to deliver up your arms and become
our prisoners.’
“‘But who are you?’ hallooed the same strong voice.
“Baker--‘That makes no difference. We know who you are, and we want
you. We have here fifty men, armed with carbines and pistols. You
cannot escape.’
“There was a long pause, and then Booth said:
“‘Captain, this is a hard case, I swear. Perhaps I am being taken by
my own friends.’ No reply from the detectives.
“Booth--‘Well, give us a little time to consider.’
“Baker--‘Very well. Take time.’
“Here ensued a long and eventful pause. What thronging memories it
brought to Booth, we can only guess. In this little interval he made
the resolve to die. But he was cool and steady to the end. Baker,
after a lapse, hailed for the last time.
“‘Well, we have waited long enough; surrender your arms and come out,
or we’ll fire the barn.’
“Booth answered thus: ‘I am but a cripple, a one-legged man. Withdraw
your forces one hundred yards from the door, and I will come. Give me
a chance for my life, Captain, I will never be taken alive.’
“Baker--‘We did not come here to fight, but to capture you. I say
again, appear, or the barn shall be fired.’
“Then, with a long breath, which could be heard outside, Booth cried
in sudden calmness, still invisible, as were to him his enemies:
“‘Well, then, my brave boys, prepare a stretcher for me.’
“There was a pause, broken by low discussions within between Booth and
his associate, the former saying, as if in answer to some remonstrance
or appeal, ‘Get away from me, you are a damned coward and mean to
leave me in my distress; but go! go! I don’t want you to stay. I won’t
have you stay.’ Then he shouted aloud:
“‘There’s a man inside who wants to surrender.’...
“At this time, Herold was quite up to the door, within whispering
distance of Baker. The latter told him to put out his hands to be
handcuffed, at the same time drawing open the door a little distance.
Herold thrust forth his hands, when Baker, seizing him, jerked him
into the night, and straightway delivered him over to a deputation of
cavalrymen. The fellow began to talk of his innocence and plead so
noisily that Conger threatened to gag him unless he ceased. Then Booth
made his last appeal, in the same clear, unbroken voice:
“‘Captain, give me a chance. Draw off your men and I will fight them
singly. I could have killed you six times to-night, but I believe you
to be a brave man, and would not murder you. Give a lame man a show.’
“It was too late for parley. All this time Booth’s voice had sounded
from the middle of the barn.
“Here he ceased speaking, Colonel Conger, slipping around to the rear,
drew some loose straws through a crack and lit a match upon them. They
were dry and blazed up in an instant, carrying a sheet of smoke and
flame through the parted planks, and heaving in a twinkling a world of
light and heat upon the magazine within. The blaze lit up the black
recesses of the great barn till every wasp’s nest and cobweb in the
roof was luminous. Behind the blaze, with his eye to a crack, Conger
saw Wilkes Booth standing upright upon a crutch. He likens him at
this instant to his brother Edwin, whom he says he so much resembled
that he half believed, for the moment, the whole pursuit to have been
a mistake. At the gleam of the fire Wilkes dropped his crutch, and,
carbine in both hands, crept up to the spot to espy the incendiary and
shoot him dead.... In vain he peered with vengeance in his look; the
blaze that made him visible concealed his enemy. A second he turned,
glaring at the fire, as if to leap upon it and extinguish it, but it
had made such headway that this was a futile impulse, and he dismissed
it. As calmly as upon the battlefield a veteran stands amidst the hail
of ball and shell and plunging iron, Booth turned to the door, carbine
in poise, and the last resolve of death, which we name despair, set on
his high, bloodless forehead.
“As so he dashed forward, intent to expire not unaccompanied, a
disobedient sergeant at an eye-hole drew upon him the fatal bead. The
barn was all glorious with conflagration, and in the beautiful ruin
this outlawed man strode like all that we know of wicked valour, stern
in the face of death. A shock, a shout, a gathering up of his splendid
figure as if to overtrip the stature God gave him, and John Wilkes
Booth fell headlong to the floor, lying there in a heap, a little life
remaining. ‘He has shot himself!’ cried Baker, unaware of the source
of the report, and rushing in, he grasped his arms to guard against
any feint or strategy. A moment convinced him that further struggle
with the prone flesh was useless. Booth did not move, nor breathe,
nor gasp. Conger and two sergeants now entered, and taking up the
body, they bore it in haste from the advancing flame, and laid it
without upon the grass, all fresh, with heavenly dew.
“‘Water,’ cried Conger, ‘bring water.’
“When this was dashed into his face, he revived a moment and stirred
his lips. Baker put his ear close down and heard him say:
“‘Tell Mother--I die--for my country.’
“They lifted him again, the fire encroaching in hotness upon them, and
placed him on the porch before the dwelling.
“A mattress was brought down, on which they placed him and propped
his head, and gave him water and brandy. The women of the household,
joined meantime by another son, who had been found in one of the
corn cribs, watching, as he said, to see that Booth and Herold did
not steal the horses, were nervous, but prompt to do the dying man
all kindnesses, although waved sternly back by the detectives. They
dipped a rag in brandy and water, and this being put between Booth’s
teeth, he sucked it greedily. When he was able to articulate again, he
muttered to Mr. Baker the same words, with an addendum, ‘Tell Mother
I died for my country. I thought I did for the best.’ Baker repeated
this, saying at the same time, ‘Booth, do I repeat it correctly?’
Booth nodded his head. Twice he was heard to say, ‘Kill me, kill me.’
His lips often moved but could complete no appreciable sound. He made
once a motion which the quick eye of Conger understood to mean that
his throat pained him. Conger put his finger there, when the dying man
attempted to cough, but only caused the blood at his perforated neck
to flow more lively. He bled very little, although shot quite through,
beneath and behind the ears, his collar bone being severed on both
sides.
“A soldier had been meanwhile dispatched for a doctor three miles
away. Just at his coming, Booth had asked to have his hands raised and
shown him. They were so paralyzed that he did not know their location.
When they were displayed, he muttered with a sad lethargy, ‘Useless,
useless.’ These were the last words he ever uttered. As he began to
die, the sun rose and threw beams into all the tree-tops. It was of
a man’s height when the struggle of death twitched and fingered in
the fading bravo’s face. His jaw drew spasmodically and obliquely
downward; his eyeballs rolled toward his feet, and began to swell;
lividness, like a horrible shadow, fastened upon him, and, with a sort
of gurgle and sudden check, he stretched his feet and threw his head
back and gave up the ghost.
“They sewed him up in a saddle blanket. This was his shroud; too
like a soldier’s. Herold, meantime, had been tied to a tree, but was
now released for the march. Colonel Conger pushed on immediately for
Washington; the cortège was to follow. Booth’s only arms were his
carbine, knife, and two revolvers. They found about him bills for
exchange, Canada money, and a diary. A venerable old Negro living in
the vicinity had the misfortune to possess a horse. This horse was a
relic of former generations, and showed by his protruding ribs the
general leanness of the land. To this old Negro’s horse was harnessed
a very shaky and absurd wagon, which rattled like approaching
dissolution. It had no tailboard, and its shafts were sharp as famine;
and into this mimicry of a vehicle the murderer was to be sent to
the Potomac River, while the man he had murdered was moving in state
across the continent. The corpse was tied with ropes around the
legs and made fast to the wagon sides. Herold’s legs were tied to
stirrups, and he was placed in the centre of four murderous-looking
cavalrymen.... When the wagon started, Booth’s wound, till now
scarcely dribbling, began to run anew. It fell through the crack of
the wagon, dripping upon the axle, and spotting the road with the
terrible wafers. It stained the planks, and soaked the blankets; and
the old Negro, at a stoppage, dabbled his hands in it by mistake; he
drew back instantly, with a shudder and stifled expletive, ‘Gor-r-r,
dat’ll never come off in de world; it’s murderer’s blood.’ He wrung
his hands and looked imploringly at the officers, and shuddered
again: ‘Gor-r-r, I wouldn’t have dat on me fur t’ousand, t’ousand
dollars.’
“Toward noon, the cortège reached Port Royal and proceeded to Bell
Plain, where the old Negro was niggardly dismissed with two paper
dollars. The corpse was cast upon the deck of a steamer, and the
journey to Washington began.
“All the way associated with the carcass went Herold, shuddering in so
grim companionship, and in the awakened fears of his own approaching
ordeal, beyond which loomed already the gossamer fabric of a scaffold.
He tried to talk for his own exoneration, saying he had ridden, as was
his wont, beyond the East Branch, and returning, found Booth wounded,
who begged him to be his companion. Of his crime he knew nothing, so
help him God, &c. But nobody listened to him. All interest of crime,
courage, and retribution centred in the dead flesh at his feet. At
Washington, high and low turned out to look on Booth. Only a few were
permitted to see his corpse for purposes of recognition. It was fairly
preserved, though on one side of the face distorted, and looking blue
like death, and wildly bandit-like, as if beaten by avenging winds.
“Yesterday, the Secretary of War, without instructions of any kind,
committed to Colonel Lafayette C. Baker, of the Secret Service, the
stark corpse of J. Wilkes Booth. The Secret Service never fulfilled
its volition more secretively. ‘What have you done with the body?’
said I to Baker. ‘That is known,’ he answered, ‘to only one man living
beside myself. It is gone. I will not tell you where. The only man who
knows is sworn to silence. Never till the great trumpeter comes shall
the grave of Booth be discovered.’ And this is true. Last night, the
27th of April, a small rowboat received the carcass of the murderer;
two men were in it, they carried the body off into the darkness, and
out of that darkness it will never return.”
Gossip and rumour have played fast and loose with the life and death
of Booth, and statements and evidence have been plentiful disputing
the fact that Booth was the man killed in the Garrett barn. Plausible
theories have been advanced as to his escape, due to the secrecy
imposed by Colonel Baker in the interment of the body. The corpse
really was interred beneath the floor of one of the cells in the
penitentiary in the Arsenal grounds, and not committed to the river,
as some believed. Later, the Booth family were permitted to remove the
body to their own burial plot in Maryland.
Doubtless, to the end of time in American history, the question of
Booth’s death, like that of the fate of the Dauphin of France, will
inspire tales of romance and adventure for the pen of the imaginative
writer.
However, he was proved dead to the satisfaction of those empowered to
apprehend him, and to the satisfaction of those most vitally interested
in the punishment of the murderer, and all further search for Booth was
abandoned. Robert Todd Lincoln, eldest son of the President, who was
on General Grant’s staff at the time of the tragedy, gave a statement
in his eighty-second year to the effect that he had never doubted that
Booth met his death in the Garrett barn; that the evidence produced at
the time was sufficiently conclusive, and that the numerous stories
of the escape of the assassin were merely fabrications created for
sensation.
From the diary of Booth, discovered on his body after his death, the
whole scheme of the actor was disclosed. The repeated failure of a plan
to kidnap the President while he was driving or walking about the city,
and take him by force to Richmond and keep him there as a hostage for
the release of a large group of Confederate prisoners, was the reason
that brought Booth finally to the point of planning assassination.
This diary was not produced at the trial of the conspirators, nor
did it receive publication in the newspapers until President Johnson
ordered a certified copy of it sent to him two years later. Then, on
Wednesday, May 22, 1867, the _National Republican_ printed a certified
copy of it together with the facts connected with its capture.
TO THE PRESIDENT
The following is a copy of the writing (which was in pencil) found in
the diary taken from the body of J. Wilkes Booth.
OFFICIAL COPY:
J. Holt
Judge Advocate General
Te Amo
April 13-14--Friday the Ides.
Until to-day nothing was ever thought of sacrificing to our country’s
wrongs. For six months we had worked to capture. But our cause was
almost lost. Something decisive and great must be done. But its
failure was owing to others who did not strike for their country with
a heart. I struck boldly and not as the papers say. I walked with a
firm step through a thousand of his friends, was stopped, but pushed
in. A colonel was at his side. I shouted “_sic semper_” before I
fired. In jumping broke my leg. I passed all his pickets. Rode sixty
miles that night with the bone of my leg tearing the flesh at every
jump.
I can never repent it though we hated to kill. Our country owed all
her troubles to him and God simply made me the instrument of His
punishment.
The country is not
April 15, 1865.
what it was. This forced union is not what I have loved. I care not
what becomes of me. I have no desire to out-live my country. This
night (before he died) I wrote a long article and left it for one of
the editors of the _Intelligencer_ in which I fully set forth our
reasons for our proceedings.
He or the Gov’s
Friday 21
After being hunted like a dog through swamps, woods, and last night
being chased by gunboats till I was forced to return wet, cold, and
starving with every man’s hand against me, I am here in despair. And
why? For doing what Brutus was honored for, what made Tell a hero,
and yet I, striking down a greater tyrant than they ever knew, am
looked upon as a common cut-throat. My action was purer than either of
theirs. One hoped to be great. The other had not only his country’s
but his own wrongs to avenge. I hoped for no gain. I knew no private
wrong. I struck for my country and that alone. A country that groaned
beneath this tyranny and prayed for this end, and yet behold the cold
hand they extend to me. God cannot pardon me if I have done wrong.
Yet I cannot see my wrong, except in serving a degenerate people. The
little, the very little I left behind to clear my name the Gov’t will
not allow to be printed. So ends All. For my country I have given
all that makes life sweet and holy, brought misery upon my family
and am sure that there is no pardon in the Heavens for me since man
condemns me so. I have only heard of what has been (except what I did
myself) and it fills me with horror. God try and forgive me and bless
my mother. To-night I will once more try the river with intent to
cross. Though I have a greater desire and almost a mind to return to
Washington and in a measure clear my name--which I feel I can do.
I do not repent the blow I struck. I may before God, but not to man. I
think I have done well. Though I am abandoned with the curse of Cain
upon me, though, if the world knew my heart, that one blow would have
made me great though I did desire no greatness.
To-night I try to escape those bloodhounds once more. Who, who can
read his fate? God’s will be done. I have too great a soul to die
like a criminal. Oh, may He spare me that and let me die bravely. I
bless the entire world, have never hated or wronged any one. This last
was not a wrong unless God deems it so. And it is with Him to damn or
bless me.
And for this brave boy with me, who often prays (yes, before and
since) with a true and sincere heart, was it a crime in him, if so,
why can he pray the same? I do not wish to shed a drop of blood but I
must fight the course, ’tis all that’s left me.
As the Capital City was still under military rule, a military
commission was appointed to meet at Washington, D. C., on May 8, 1865,
for the trial of the conspirators and other persons implicated in the
murder of the late President Lincoln and the attempted assassination of
Hon. William E. Seward, Secretary of State.
Throngs gathered about the Court (sitting then in the Penitentiary at
the Arsenal) daily eager to view the spectacle of the prisoners, hooded
and in irons. Mrs. Surratt was manacled like the men, according to the
account given by Ben Perley Poore.
The Court finished its task on June 30, 1865, and a full report of
its findings was ordered to be submitted to the President. On July
5th, the President approved the report and ordered the executions of
Mrs. Surratt, David E. Herold, George A. Atzerodt, and Lewis Payne to
take place at once. On July 7th, these sentences were carried out. The
others implicated, Samuel Arnold, Edward Spangler, Samuel Mudd, and
Michael O’Laughlin, were sent to the military prison at Dry Tortugas.
In Mrs. Surratt’s case, every effort made by her daughter and her
father confessor, as well as a group of prominent men and women who
sought to intercede in her behalf, met with complete failure. Although
the daughter knelt upon the White House steps for hours beseeching
a hearing by the President, Mrs. Johnson, and even Mrs. Patterson,
admission was denied to her and all others on the same mission.
The recommendation for clemency for Mrs. Surratt, making her sentence
one of life imprisonment instead of execution, because of her age and
sex, was signed by all members of the Court except General Lew Wallace,
A. P. Howe, Colonel R. Clennin, and T. M. Harris. This paper was
prepared, signed, and given to Judge Holt to be handed to the President
with the findings of the Court.
President Johnson declared this petition never reached him, and the
supposition is that it was either blocked or mislaid accidentally or
intentionally in the War Department.
Great was the furore stirred up in legal circles over this trial, and
dissenting opinion was freely expressed. Judge Andrew Wiley, of the
District Supreme Court, known as one of the strongest characters on
the bench, did not concur in the plans for a military trial for the
conspirators. He arose early on the morning of the execution day to
sign a writ of habeas corpus for the release of Mrs. Surratt. Judge
Wiley, a devoted friend of Abraham Lincoln, having received his
appointment to the bench from him, believed that the legality of Mrs.
Surratt’s conviction by court martial should be determined by a civil
court. He concurred in the effort to secure a stay of execution by
signing the writ of habeas corpus, directing General Hancock to produce
her in court. The writ was served, but General Hancock did not obey
it. Judge Wiley’s scathing rebuke to the military authorities for thus
ignoring and overriding the civil powers is one of the most notable in
the annals of court history.
During the short period of the trial, from May 8th to June 30th, 403
witnesses were subpœnaed, 247 examined for the prosecution, 236 for the
defense, 4,300 pages of legal copy testimony taken, with an additional
700 pages of arguments.
John Surratt, whose intimate association with Booth led to his mother’s
being implicated, escaped to Canada and for two years evaded capture.
Finally, he was apprehended, but owing to the odium that had followed
the Military Commission, he had a civil court trial. This grew into
such a bitter controversy over the execution of his mother that it
became more of a trial of a former court than of himself, and through
the failure of the jury to agree he was released.
The first great task of President Johnson was the disbandment of the
army. As a fitting climax to their four years of terrible struggle
and hardship, President Lincoln had planned the Grand Review in
Washington for May 23 and 24, 1865. To completing the preparations
for this notable event, the President and Secretary Stanton devoted
much attention, keenly aware of the impression which the assembly
of the nation’s armed force would make upon the minds of foreign
representatives and of its influence upon the general public.
As the time for the pageant drew near, there came a lifting of the
gloom that had enveloped the capital, still a tented city surrounded on
a circuit of thirty-seven miles by a ring of sixty-eight armed forts,
with their encircling watch fires--a picture that had inspired Julia
Ward Howe to write the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Public squares
were still occupied by camps, and all available structures, converted
into hospitals, were filled to overflowing with wounded soldiers.
Washington’s streets were notorious for their clouds of dust or wallows
of sticky mud. As the dust prevailed at this period, the services of
the Fire Department were necessary on both mornings to sprinkle the
line of march to make the passing of the procession fairly comfortable
for marchers and onlookers. Patrols guarded the intersections.
Upon the grassy hillsides and steps of the Capitol were massed the
city’s school children in gala dress, with wreaths, flags, and
bouquets, ready to greet the conquering hosts with patriotic songs.
Four gaily decorated reviewing stands were erected in front of the
White House for officials and celebrities. With the President were
the members of the Cabinet and General U. S. Grant. Every window,
roof, and tree presented its full limit of spectators while every
foot of standing room along the entire line of march was filled with
enthusiastic people.
With military promptness, on each morning at 9 o’clock, the great
divisions of the army began their movement down Capitol Hill. The Army
of the Potomac, with General George A. Meade commanding, occupied the
entire day on Tuesday in passing in review, while Sherman’s army, with
its two wings--the Army of Tennessee commanded by Major General John
A. Logan, affectionately called “Black Jack” by his men because of
his swarthy complexion, and the Army of Georgia, in command of Major
General Henry D. Slocum--kept a weary audience shouting applause until
dark on Wednesday. Before the columns started, the young women and
girls of the city decked officers, men, horses, cannon, and guns with
floral wreaths, garlands, and bouquets, and as each officer passed, he
received a special ovation.
Brevet Major General George M. Custer, in command of the cavalry of
the Army of the Potomac, was a picturesque figure, mounted upon a
handsome stallion, his long hair reaching to his shoulders. Just as
the procession turned into Pennsylvania Avenue from Fifteenth Street,
the onlookers were horrified to see his horse rear and wildly dash up
the street. The General’s hat flew off, and everyone expected to see
him pitched to the ground and killed. But fears were turned to shouts
of admiration at his horsemanship when he suddenly quieted the horse,
turned, and rode back to his place, picking up his hat as easily as if
he had planned the performance. In fact, such a charge was made. Every
man in his contingent wore the Custer tie, a red scarf around the neck
and extending almost to the belt.
A slowly increasing roar of applause greeted the coming of Sherman and
Major General Oliver O. Howard, whose empty sleeve was an eloquent
testimony of his service. These two rode a little in advance--horses
flower decked and wreathed--and after they passed the reviewing stand,
they too dismounted and joined the receiving party.
Spectators and marchers alike thrilled over the battle-torn flags
that brought forth such storms of applause as they appeared. One flag
alone drew every eye but no applause. It hung from the portico of the
Treasury building--the flag of the Treasury Guard Regiment--a flag
never to be forgotten. The lower portion was torn and jagged, not by
bullet or shell, but by the spur on the boot of Booth the assassin,
when he had jumped from the presidential box to the stage in Ford’s
Theatre.
No military pageant in the history of the world had ever surpassed or
equalled this review in size or character. The four years of constant
conflict with a foe equally fine in every respect as themselves had
battered, trained, and polished the raw recruits of the North, who had
responded so quickly to President Lincoln’s call for volunteers, into
the finest military organization in the world, unmatched anywhere save
by their Confederate antagonists, also trained in the same rigorous
school of experience.
From early morning until dark, on each day, eighty thousand bronzed
patriots, in a column reaching from curb to curb, tramped up
Pennsylvania Avenue to the triumphant music of their bands. Powerful,
grim, relentless, they typified the rigours of war. Upon them still
was the atmosphere of the conquest of half a continent reflected in
their resolute faces and their worn clothes. No dress-parade soldiers
were these. They were men who had witnessed and experienced every phase
of the terrible game of war and had paid its heavy toll in wounds
and hardship. None needed to scan the ragged emblems they carried so
proudly to know that they had met and sustained the shock of combat.
Veterans of Bull Run, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville,
Gettysburg, Petersburg, and the final glory of Appomattox; veterans of
Donelson, Belmont, Shiloh, Corinth, Perryville, Stone River, Vicksburg,
Chickamauga, Mission Ridge, Atlanta, Savannah, the Carolinas,
Bentonville, and scores upon scores of other places. Behind them, upon
these and many other blood-dyed fields, they had left another host, a
silent army whose mangled bodies had consecrated the cause for which
they and Abraham Lincoln had fallen.
Following this majestic and awe-inspiring pageant came the queerest
collection of flotsam and jetsam ever gathered together--the “Bummers.”
These were the stragglers that had attached themselves to the
various corps, odd assortments of humans, animals, loot and salvage,
hangers-on of Sherman’s March to the Sea, drift-wood clinging to the
only anchorage that promised food and safety. They furnished the
oddest parade ever seen in Washington before or since. Mules, goats,
asses, horses, dogs, sheep, pigs, colts, raccoons, chickens, cats, and
Negroes all ambling along contentedly as though their only object in
life was to follow the army--as, indeed, it was. Each beast of burden
was loaded to its carrying capacity with the odds and ends of camp
luggage, equipment, and the queer lot of junk the soldiers had gathered
“to carry home some day”--tents, knapsacks, hampers, sacks, bundles
of clothing, boxes, valises, blankets, pots, kettles, fiddles, bird
cages, camp stools, a few stray cradles, plenty of pickaninnies, and
here and there, presiding over the lot, a black woman. Realism thus
painted a living picture of the vicissitudes of the long weary march
of destruction through the forests, swamps, plantations, and towns
that came within the path of the blue-clad torrent which had swept all
before it.
In this epochal review were numbers of distinguished officers: Merritt,
Macy, Benham, Griffin, Humphreys, Davies, Devin, Patrick, Woods, Carey,
Hunter, Hancock, Ross, Blair, Ward, Smith, Nagle, Geary, and others,
too many to enumerate with any degree of accuracy--names a grateful
nation has since placed high upon the honour roll in her Memorial Hall
of Fame.
Most deservedly interesting of them all was the quiet, diffident man,
with the three stars in his shoulder straps, the idolized commander of
all of the armies of the North during the last year of the war--Ulysses
S. Grant, whom Lincoln had chosen to bring peace to a sorely stricken
land. A silent and unassuming observer, he seemed entirely unconscious
that through his persistent and efficient service the Stars and Stripes
were floating over a reunited nation.
A tanner’s clerk with a series of mercantile failures behind him when
the guns of Sumter opened the war, he was the honoured and loved
commander of half a million veterans, with the faith and trust of
a nation when it closed--the leader of the greatest army from every
standpoint that any man had ever had subject to his call.
Inarticulate in public, modest and silent by nature, General Grant’s
pride and elation in the day’s event were manifest in the concentrated
attention he gave to the passing marchers. His popularity demanded his
almost constant response to the ovations to himself.
During the four years of the war for the preservation of the Union,
there had been more than twenty-four hundred engagements of greater
or lesser importance. In all, 2,600,000 men had been enlisted in the
Federal armies, and while some of the records of the Confederate forces
were destroyed, it has been estimated that they put more than a million
men under arms.
The conclusion of the review sent back to civil life a vast host. All
but a standing army of 15,000 men were disbanded.
The time had now come when President Johnson’s task assumed herculean
proportions. Secession was abolished, slavery was an institution of the
past, the Negroes were free, and the indestructibility of the Union and
the supremacy of the national government were definitely and completely
established. With the conspirators captured and on trial, public
attention turned with redoubled interest to the political situation
and with concentrated scrutiny to the attitude of the new Executive
toward the problems that developed and multiplied daily about his head
in stabilizing the government and reviving long-neglected and stagnant
industries.
Before him lay the greatest responsibility and the greatest opportunity
that had ever confronted any executive of the United States. From a
huge disorganized fluid mass of opposed human elements, each committed
to and allied to some of the varied forces that made up the national
chaos, he must either bring reorganization, a harmonious welding of
the mighty forces into a structure of government to endure, or must
suffer retrogression, the tragedy of dissolution and national eclipse.
Medusa-headed were the disrupting units, and legion the demands, needs,
and appeals for attention and action.
It was a crucial period, when legal astuteness, super-statesmanship,
extraordinary political acumen, expert diplomacy, unbiased vision,
indomitable courage, and, above all, unswerving patriotism and
Gibraltar-like strength to hold to convictions were the qualifications
needed to control the rocking ship of state.
To form any just estimate of the administration of Andrew Johnson in
his accidentally conferred office through such an epochal period,
one must first get a concept of the man--his background of ancestry,
environment, education, and former achievements.
The whole story of his life and public service reveals one of the most
notable examples of self-development in our national history. Never
was man more entirely captain of his own soul and master of his own
destiny. Adversity surrounded him with every baffling agency in his
childhood, and opportunity forgot him in his boyhood. But the fates
that presided at his birth showered him liberally with pugnacity,
energy, determination, and unlimited ambition which, though late in
awakening, drove him unceasingly until the end of his life.
With these qualities, he builded his own career, a sturdy structure of
achievement of which his posterity may be proud and to which a nation
now pays a measure of tardy tribute.
Throughout his entire life, Johnson conducted a personal defense of
the Constitution of the United States, which he treasured as his Bible,
a much-worn copy never being absent from his pocket. However, though
staunch and unswerving in his loyalty to his country, his perspective
was narrowed by his own stubbornness, and his vision limited by his
passion for detail.
In unwavering patriotism and firm devotion to the Union, he may be
compared with Abraham Lincoln, and in the measure of his martyrdom, he
falls not far behind that great emancipator.
President Lincoln lived long enough to see his gigantic struggle
crowned with success, to hear the wild enthusiasm over Northern
victory, and to feel the first great relief in the dawn of peace. His
death, the deed of a crazed actor, enshrined him forever in American
hearts.
Not even a small measure of any satisfaction or acclaim came to Andrew
Johnson. He had turned his back on his native southland, upon his
constituents, and had led his own state back into the Union in the face
of every possible personal risk and sacrifice. With notable courage,
he had taken his stand at the side of Abraham Lincoln in every crisis
through the war, with a price upon his head and a curse for him in the
hearts of all of the Confederacy.
When he found himself in the midst of the delegation that came to wait
upon him with the news of the death of his chief and to witness his
taking the oath that placed the sceptre of a great office in his hands,
he plainly and emphatically avowed his purpose to carry out President
Lincoln’s often-expressed policies toward the defeated Southern
States. With the purest, best intentions in the world, he attempted
to do this, but because he lacked the calm patience and ability to
hold himself impervious to personal slander and abuse, he was denied
the satisfaction that came to Abraham Lincoln before tragedy brought
oblivion. Andrew Johnson found himself put through indignities and
subjected to affronts such as no other President has ever been called
upon to meet.
His official family withheld their support and deserted him, he was
stripped officially of his prerogatives, was accused of treason and of
complicity in the murder of his chief, and, finally, was haled before
a Court of Impeachment, thereby providing a spectacle for the public
during which he was required to defend every word and act of his public
career. Attacked and ridiculed by the press, he was, at last, forced to
stand before the world a leader chosen for his policies when a national
exigency needed him, yet repudiated a few months later because of those
same policies.
His blunders--and that he made blunders is admitted by his staunchest
friends--were due to his zeal to bring to pass the measures that
his point of view decreed as conducive to the best interests of
his country. He met attack with counter attack, and criticism and
incrimination with retort and recrimination. Herein lay the pit of
his own digging--the ever-widening chasm between himself and Congress
into which he was finally plunged on the most trivial and unwarranted
charges. The whole matter was a product of the wild spirit of the
disorganization that was then upon the land.
Through all of the abuse and criticism, Johnson, nevertheless, remained
to the bitter end the same stubborn fighter, yielding not one tittle
of his principles. Brusque of manner and more brusque of speech, he
maintained his attitude, austere, forbidding, uncompromising, and
defiant toward a hostile Congress that omitted no opportunity to
belittle, discredit, and humiliate him in its final effort to depose a
man it could not control for party ends. Exasperated, again and again,
and led into violent retorts and unwise attacks not compatible with
the dignity of his high office, he kept his faith in himself and his
countrymen, in spite of all.
When he was finally vindicated, and that by but a single vote, and thus
escaped being deposed, it is claimed his mask of indifference was so
firmly set that he showed no elation or emotion whatever, unless it was
a sense of disappointment that the long battle was over.
Johnson was born December 20, 1808, in Raleigh, N. C., in a one-room
log cabin. When the boy was but four years old, the father died,
leaving him and his mother to battle with poverty and obscurity. The
child scrambled daily for pennies, and the best that befell him was
his apprenticeship to a tailor, at the age of ten. He had no schooling
whatever, not even a knowledge of the alphabet.
While he was fully engrossed in learning the technic of tailoring and
becoming expert with the shears and goose he heard, through a friend,
of a gentleman of the city whose favourite form of social service was
that of reading aloud to labouring men in their luncheon hours. Andrew
joined the group and manifested such interest that he received as a
gift the book used in these readings. This imbued him with the courage
to learn to read for himself.
In a moment of mischief, while still an apprentice, he and some other
boys directed a rock bombardment upon what they believed to be an empty
house. To his horror, he learned the next day it was occupied, and that
the owner had recognized him and made a formal complaint against him.
Young Johnson did not care to face a session with his employer or be
taken to court; so he ran away in the night with only the clothes upon
his back and the tools of his trade. His employer posted the following
advertisement for the return of this future president of the United
States.
Ten Dollars Reward.
RAN AWAY from the Subscriber, on the night of the 15th instant, two
apprentice boys, legally bound, named WILLIAM and ANDREW JOHNSON. The
former is of a dark complexion, black hair, eyes, and habits. They
are much of a height, about 5 feet 4 or 5 inches. The latter is very
fleshy freckled face, light hair, and fair complexion. They went off
with two other apprentices, advertised by Messrs Wm. & Chas. Fowler.
When they went away, they were well clad--blue cloth coats, light
colored homespun coats, and new hats, the maker’s name in the crown of
the hats, is Theodore Clark. I will pay the above Reward to any person
who will deliver said apprentices to me in Raleigh, or I will give the
above Reward for Andrew Johnson alone.
All persons are cautioned against harboring or employing said
apprentices, on pain of being prosecuted.
JAMES J. SELBY, Tailor.
Raleigh, N. C. June 24, 1824 26 3t
For two years, he worked in a tailor’s shop in Laurens, S. C., and
while there had his first love affair, the young lady being Miss Sarah
Wood. His devotion found expression in assisting her in making a
patchwork quilt, still preserved by her descendants. The story current
of the quilt included the fact that the initials S. W., found on the
corners, were the unassisted handiwork of the young lover.
When Andrew Johnson decided upon matrimony, he returned to see his
mother and to make peace with his former employer. In bidding his
fiancée farewell, he presented her with his treasured goose. Their
parting proved final, for they disagreed and broke their engagement.
Andrew found his mother had remarried. Owing to the advertisements
posted in so many places, no one would employ him, as he was considered
bound to Mr. Selby until of age. His eagerness to establish himself
independently in new fields gained his former employer’s sympathy,
and with his trouble adjusted, he prevailed upon his mother and
stepfather, Turner Dougherty, to travel westward with him. They settled
in Greeneville, Tenn., where the young man quickly found employment and
soon had his own little shop, the site of which is one of the historic
spots of the town.
One of the traditions of his arrival at Greeneville is to the effect
that, on that day, he and his parents passed a little group of girls,
among whom was Eliza McCardle, daughter of the village shoemaker. As
the young lad passed, she prophesied to her companions, “Girls, there
is my beau--you wait and see.” They “saw” Andrew Johnson and Eliza
McCardle married within a year, on May 17, 1827, when he was nineteen
and she but seventeen.
While he had acquired a rudimentary knowledge of the three “R’s” in
Raleigh, he was far behind his girl wife in education. As she came of
prudent Scotch ancestry and was a schoolteacher, she set to work to
encourage and instruct her young husband. He studied while he plied his
needle, and she taught to help the finances of the little home until
her babies absorbed all of her time. Thus, together, they budded the
foundation of his later career.
The more he read and studied, the more public service and politics
attracted him. To become a speaker, he joined a debating society and
tramped eight miles regularly each week to listen and participate. To
lose no opportunity for absorbing information, he hired a schoolboy
for fifty cents a day to read to him while he worked at his bench.
Financial success awarded his steady industry as a tailor and political
honours his determined self-development. From town commissioner to
the White House, he fought his way through defeat and victory in a
continual succession of elective offices. His ambition carried him
through the State Legislature, through both houses of the United States
Congress, through the governorship to the vice presidency, while
accident sent him into the White House.
During the war, he was the most conspicuous figure in official life--a
United States Senator from a seceded state, standing with President
Lincoln against his own constituency. He threw himself into the fight
against the ordinance of Secession passed by the Tennessee Legislature
and toured his state, making powerful speeches for the Union.
This trip proved the most exciting and dangerous of all his
experiences. His life was in constant danger, and he was insulted and
threatened in various places, and was repeatedly hanged or burned in
effigy as a traitor to the South.
Antipathy to his policies and hatred of his acts ran so high that,
before appearing to make one address, he was warned that he would be
shot upon his appearance on the platform. Upon arriving at the hall, he
marched to the platform, faced the audience calmly, and, looking over
the assembly, leisurely pulled a revolver from his pocket, remarking
crisply, “Before I begin my speech, there is another matter that needs
to be attended to. Threats have been made that if I appeared here
to-night I would be shot. Now, if any man has any shooting to do, let
him begin.”
He looked about a bit, and, seeing no move, continued: “I have been
misinformed and will now proceed to address you on the issues which
have called us together.”
His subsequent remarks must have been convincing, as was the case
wherever he spoke, for his efforts won the citizens as supporters of
the Union cause, and East Tennessee not only voted against the act of
Secession but refused to be governed by it.
To danger he was indifferent. It was Mrs. Johnson who paid the heavy
price in suffering for his energetic service to the Union. When the
little family was finally reunited in Nashville after two years of
separation, it was a most eventful and happy day. The occasion was one
of the few, if not the only one, where rumour credits Senator Johnson
with exhibiting any emotion of joy. Mrs. Johnson’s strength, however,
gave way, and disease fastened upon her so tenaciously that she was
reduced to complete invalidism for the balance of her life.
The Johnson element quickly formed themselves into a fighting unit for
action, a procedure that was characterized by Jefferson Davis as the
“rebellion of East Tennessee.”
President Lincoln appointed Senator Johnson Military Governor of
Tennessee on March 7, 1862, with the rank of Brigadier General, with
full authority to do as seemed best to him to bring order out of the
chaos in that state.
Johnson inaugurated a rule of stringency and dictatorship that was long
remembered.
In the autumn of that year General Buell, chief in command, proposed
to evacuate the city on the approach of the Confederate Army. Governor
Johnson determined to prevent this and requested the President to
remove General Buell, threatening to shoot the first man who talked of
surrender.
At this juncture, when the Governor was most alarmed over the impending
disaster, he was visited by the fighting Parson of the Buckeye state,
Reverend Granville Moody. A story often related of their meeting is as
follows:
“Mr. Johnson turned to Mr. Moody, exclaiming, ‘Moody, we are sold
out. Buell is a traitor. He is going to evacuate the city, and in
forty-eight hours we will be in the hands of the rebels.’ Presently,
when calmer, he said, ‘Moody, can you pray?’ ‘That’s my business
as a minister of the gospel,’ said the preacher. ‘Well, I wish you
would pray,’ said Johnson. The two knelt down at their chairs, and as
the prayer became more fervent, Johnson added his ‘Amen’ with true
Methodist energy. Presently, he crawled over to the preacher and put
his arms about him as he prayed, and when the prayer was over, Johnson
said emphatically, ‘Moody, I feel better.’ A moment later he said,
‘Moody, I don’t want you to think I have become religious because I
asked you to pray. I am sorry to say it, but I have never pretended to
be religious, but, Moody, there is one thing I do believe: I believe
in Almighty God, and I also believe in the Bible, and I say, I’ll be
damned if Nashville shall be surrendered.’”
Nashville was not surrendered. President Lincoln relieved General
Buell. In his office of Brigadier General, Andrew Johnson raised and
equipped twenty-five regiments for service in Tennessee, in which his
sons and sons-in-law were all enrolled.
This position was to his liking, and he reluctantly turned his face to
Washington for the inauguration of March 4, 1865.
Much has been written of Andrew Johnson’s words and deeds, but detailed
descriptions of his appearance, habits, and personal characteristics
have not been either prolific or expansive.
The descriptions written of him by his various secretaries are perhaps
the most dependable, since these men had the advantage of seeing him
at all times under all conditions of mental stress and calm, in his
moments of relaxation and under the irritation of attack.
He possessed neither the physique nor the temperament to inspire
admiration or win friends. His life struggle had been too severe, and
all that he had gained had exacted a heavy toll. He was in constant
physical pain, with an ailment of long duration that caused him so
much suffering at times that he stood for hours to gain relief. In
his features, as a result, had come a grim severity of expression,
forbidding and repelling. It impregnated the atmosphere about him and
gave him the morose irritability that his many anxieties accentuated.
His nerve tension was so great at times that even audible laughter
annoyed him.
To offset this, his speech was courteous and suave and kindly, his
manner distant. Fred Cowan, who served as one of his secretaries at the
White House, said in his reminiscences that he never saw the President
smile but once in more than two years; nor did he ever see him relax
from the austere dignity which encased him like an armour. He greeted
friends with the pleasure showing in his face. A deep-cut line or
wrinkle took the place of a smile. The sorrows of his private life, the
loss of one son, the weakness of another, the perpetual illness of his
wife were heavy upon him.
The arrival of the President’s family in June brought him great
pleasure and was a source of delight to the White House.
There were in the party Mrs. Johnson, Colonel Robert Johnson, who
assisted his father in a secretarial capacity, Mrs. David Patterson,
eldest daughter, wife of Senator Patterson with her two children, Mary
Belle and Andrew J.; Mrs. Stover, second daughter of the President, and
the three little Stovers, Sarah, Lettie, and Andrew J.; and last but
not least important, the President’s youngest son, Andrew Johnson, Jr.,
a lad of fourteen years.
Naturally, all attention was turned upon the new First Lady of the
Land and her daughter. Mrs. Johnson, from the beginning, took no
active part in the direction of affairs. All matters were delegated to
Mrs. Patterson and to Mrs. Stover. According to Colonel Wm. W. Crook,
whose service in the mansion extended over a period of thirty years,
Mrs. Johnson was a small, fragile woman afflicted with old-fashioned
consumption, exceedingly pleasant and thoughtful, but very dignified.
Owing to her long illness, she was weak and emaciated, and was obliged
to walk very slowly.
Mrs. Johnson appeared at but three functions during her entire
residence at the White House, and seldom came to breakfast, spending
most of her time in her room in a little rocking chair with her
needlework and a book. She kept abreast of the times and had decided
literary tastes, preferring serious books to fiction. Her husband had
long since learned to respect her opinion and to value her judgment.
Her influence with him was greater than that of any one else.
Mrs. Patterson was very like her father; they were thoroughly in accord
and congenial. She understood his disposition and at once applied
herself to the task of turning a much disorganized and dishevelled
establishment into an orderly household. The entire atmosphere of
the place had changed with the arrival of the troop of five lively
youngsters, who adored their grandfather and grandmother, and who raced
pell-mell, whooping like Indians, through the corridors and halls.
Andrew Johnson, Jr., was put into public school and a competent teacher
engaged to come to the White House every morning for the grandchildren.
To make the White House wholesome and attractive for the New Year
reception of 1866, the first function of their rêgime, was a gigantic
task to which Mrs. Patterson devoted her energy and created a great
transformation. Congress had appropriated $30,000--a mere bagatelle
against the necessities of repairing and cleaning a supply of worn-out
equipment.
The dingy carpet of the great East Room was covered with fresh white
linen, as were also the shabbiest pieces of the furniture. The other
carpets were removed, leaving the oilcloth beneath them. Flowers were
used in quantities, and the air of cheerfulness and welcome that
pervaded the place, where happy children’s voices were heard, destroyed
much of the gloom that had settled over the mansion with the tragedy
and funeral of the previous spring.
President Johnson received in the Blue Room with Mrs. Patterson at
his side. She made a charming picture in a regal gown of rich black
velvet with elegant point lace trimmings, a white japonica in her
hair. She showed much skill in keeping political friction out of her
drawing-room. The great value of her calm, diplomatic social charm was
apparent to everyone, and her unfailing graciousness won continual
regard and admiration.
Her hobby was her dairy. She introduced into the White House the
newest, most spotless dairy equipment, and her daily routine of duty
began with her regular early morning visit to supervise her milk pans.
Her dress covered by a large print apron, she showed a vast pride in
her shining pans and spotless crocks and the quality of her butter,
and took as great delight in conducting friends through her dairy
as through the conservatory. She made all of the butter used in the
mansion during her father’s term, and was proud of the accomplishment.
To her is credited this statement: “We are plain people from the
mountains of Tennessee, brought here through a national calamity. We
trust too much will not be expected of us.” When making this statement,
she was the daughter of a President and the wife of a United States
Senator, and she had no need to explain or deprecate her discharge of
the duties of the position which she graced with such success to the
end of her father’s administration.
In the White House, President Johnson’s life was as simply conducted
as when he had worked at his bench. He arose at six o’clock, read the
papers carefully, breakfasted at eight, visited with the family and his
wife a few minutes before entering his office, where he remained until
lunch. In the afternoon, conferences and callers occupied him until
four o’clock, when he returned to the family group, visiting until
dinner, which was served at five. Then he would either walk or ride
for a while. In the evening, when there were no formal functions, he
received callers from nine to eleven. He had very few intimate friends,
but such as were his cronies came to his room whenever they chose.
Nothing delighted the President more than to gather up the three little
Andrews and such of the rest of the family as could go, and stage an
impromptu picnic in the country. He was a different person in the midst
of his family, for then he relaxed and entered into all of the fun
and interests of the group. When the boys and girls wanted to ask him
something, they trooped into his office without permission or ceremony,
for they knew they were welcome. His pronounced fondness for children
was not well known. They had many joyous times with him in the privacy
of the home group, where, in dressing gown and slippers, he would join
in the popcorn feasts and the chestnut and apple roasts.
The new President made much history in the months between his induction
into the office on April 15th and the assembling of the Thirty-ninth
Congress the following December. He was engrossed in the question of
reëstablishing the seceded states, which was the thought in every mind
and the topic on every tongue.
From the beginning of his rêgime, he made it clear that his own policy
toward the restoration of the Southern states was exactly that which
Abraham Lincoln had so definitely expressed; that the Government of
the United States was erected as a perpetuity; that the Constitution
provides for the admission of the states, but not for their secession
or destruction. Said President Johnson: “A rebellious state, when it
comes out of a rebellion, is still a state. I hold it a high duty to
protect and to secure to those states a republican form of government,
but such a state must be restored by its friends, not smothered by its
enemies.”
As first step toward accomplishing the restoration of the civil status
of the South, Johnson bent all his energies to the task of encouraging
and aiding the states to make the required pledges of allegiance.
This he regarded as a political and economic necessity and his most
important duty as the Executive of the nation.
On May 9th, Johnson issued an order declaring that all acts,
proceedings of the political, military, and civil organizations which
had been in a state of rebellion against the authority of the United
States within the State of Virginia were null and void and that the
various heads of the Federal government should proceed to reorganize
civil authority in the state. He also appointed Francis H. Pierpoint
governor with power to reëstablish civil government.
From May 29th to July 13th, he issued similar proclamations appointing
provisional governors for North Carolina, Mississippi, Georgia, Texas,
Alabama, South Carolina, and Florida, with authority and instructions
to reorganize state governments. These governments had been partially
reorganized when the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution,
prohibiting slavery, had been submitted to them and ratified by them
by the time Congress assembled. Mass meetings and conventions were
held daily throughout the South, where the terms for readmission to
the Union were discussed. These terms required them to renounce the
Confederate debt and the right of secession, and to abolish slavery.
By December, 1865, conventions had met in all of the states where
Johnson had appointed provisional governors. The ordinance of secession
had been repealed or had been declared void; slavery had been
abolished. All but two states had repudiated the Confederate debt, and
all but two had adopted the Thirteenth Amendment. State governments
had been organized and representatives and senators had been generally
elected. In fact, all of the eleven seceding states save Texas were
ready, or in the process of getting ready, to be restored to the
privileges of citizenship and participation in the legislation of the
land.
During all this time, every effort had been put forth to induce Johnson
to call a special session of Congress. Of its own volition, that body
could not assemble until the regular time of meeting. The President,
however, refused. He thoroughly disagreed with such radicals as were
led by Charles Sumner of Massachusetts, Ben Wade of Ohio, and Thaddeus
Stevens of Pennsylvania. His own theory of reconstruction was in accord
with Lincoln’s ideas. It had been approved by the Cabinet. Johnson’s
firm conviction was that, for the good of everyone concerned, he must
put it into execution and he felt he could carry it out more easily
without interference from Congress. He had begun his administration
with the expressed approval of Northern leaders on his policy toward
the South. But to delegate to himself, as he did, the handling of
matters of such vital national importance, however they might have been
approved, incurred criticism that never abated and that soon developed
into open hostility.
He reiterated the Monroe Doctrine in reference to the occupation
of Mexico by the French forces under Maximilian and threw down the
gauntlet by stating that “now that the Civil War is over, the attention
of the administration will be directed, among other matters, to that
objectionable invasion.” This statement, coming from a man whose
forcefulness in his office was already making itself felt, was most
disturbing news to the hostile foreign financiers who had invested
fully $600,000,000 in Confederate bonds, to say nothing of the vast
sums expended on Confederate ships, supplies, and Southern cotton.
Many of Mr. Johnson’s friends believed that this foreign antagonism
started the propaganda against him. At any rate, a cabal of slander
and distrust was started that resulted in the most trying situation a
president was ever called upon to face. Abroad and at home, a torrent
of abuse broke out.
The Thirty-ninth Congress was chiefly Republican. Thirty-nine of the
fifty senators were of this party, while the political disparity in the
House of Representatives was even greater.
Trouble started at once, for both Houses began to form a policy
regarding the Southern States without waiting for the customary
presidential message which, upon its receipt, did not meet with the
approval of Congress. To add to the tension, twenty-two senators elect
and a much larger delegation of representatives elect, representing the
seceded states, sought seats in the legislative body. Both Houses of
Congress refused admission to the waiting applicants, in spite of the
fact that their state governments had been reorganized and had approved
the Thirteenth Amendment.
A joint committee was appointed to consider the terms of reconstruction
of the Southern States, and until this committee should report, no
action would be taken to seat the waiting legislators elect. Congress
thus repudiated what Johnson had done toward reconstruction and made
it clear that it regarded the restoration of seceded states to a full
participation in government a matter for legislative and not executive
decision.
The Republican house leader, Thaddeus Stevens, was bitter against
the South. He declared it to be his conviction that the Confederate
states had been out of the Union, insisting that they were conquered
territory, entirely under the disposition of Congress--a theory
diametrically opposed to that of Abraham Lincoln and Johnson. Stevens
attacked President Johnson’s policy in vigorous terms, denouncing it
from every standpoint. Secretary of State Seward sought to have the
subject brought into amicable discussion, but his efforts to get a
friendly or even unbiassed hearing for the administration policy not
only failed utterly but aroused a bitter contest that was aggravated on
both sides by the persistent lampooning of the Chief Executive by the
foreign press.
[Illustration: _Photo. by Brady_
ANDREW JOHNSON’S FIRST TAILOR SHOP
Now a Museum in Greeneville, Tennessee]
[Illustration: _Photos. by Brady_
THE GRAND REVIEW OF THE ARMIES OF THE NORTH
Washington, May 23rd, 24th, 1865. Reviewed by President Johnson and
Cabinet and General Grant]
Party lines were drawn so tight that arbitration was out of the
question. Senator Sumner then came forward with another suggestion,
which held that, while no state could legally go out of the Union, yet,
by its act of rebellion, it had lost its status as a state. This was
often referred to as his State Suicide theory. He also insisted that
under this plan it could be restored only by the united effort of its
own loyal element and Congress. Under the leadership of Stevens and
Sumner, Congress finally decided this momentous question, rejecting
the theory of President Lincoln and also the radical view of Stevens.
Republican leaders repudiated past professions and declarations upon
which the North had so thoroughly agreed in the conduct of the war.
Through the winter of 1866 and until the end of the session, antagonism
to President Johnson continued to grow.
Acting in accordance with his theories, Johnson vetoed the bill
providing for the continuance of the Freedman’s Bureau, the Civil
Rights Bill, the import of which was to place the Negroes on the same
footing with the whites. Congress passed both of these bills over his
veto. Regarding Civil Rights, President Johnson said: “I yield to no
one in attachment to that rule of general suffrage which distinguished
our policy as a nation, but there is a limit wisely observed hitherto
which makes the ballot a privilege and a trust, and which requires of
some classes a time suitable for probation and preparation. To give
indiscriminately to a new class wholly unprepared by previous habits
and opportunities to perform the trust it demands is to degrade it and
finally to destroy its power.”
Now the advisers of the President began to urge upon him the need of
making more friends, so that he should have less opposition in the
next Congress. As the summer of 1866 waned, they became more insistent
on the importance of his making a tour through the principal cities
of Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and
Missouri. The occasion presented was the laying of the cornerstone of
the Chicago monument to Stephen A. Douglas arranged for September 6th.
The tour started on August 28th and was the most unusual trip ever
made by a president. Mrs. Patterson, her husband, Senator Patterson,
Secretaries Seward and Welles, Mrs. Welles, Postmaster General
Randall, General Grant, Admiral Farragut, and a group of sixty people
accompanied him. He had continual ovation for three weeks.
But his responses and speeches failed to please. They were considered
campaign utterances, and campaigning was regarded as unbecoming to
presidential etiquette. The criticisms did not deter him, however, for
he never allowed himself to be governed by precedent when he considered
principle involved. Throughout the tour his speeches were aggressive,
even violent. He had much provocation, as the storm of impeachment
proceedings was already brewing, and he read of himself frequently as a
traitor who should be hanged.
The fight with Congress grew in bitterness. The President retaliated by
taking the stump in an effort to defeat his traducers for reëlection.
His resentment expressed by his manner, he declared, “I would ask you,
with all the pains this Congress has taken to poison the minds of their
constituency against me, what has this Congress done? Have they done
anything to restore the Union? No! On the contrary, they have done
everything to prevent it.”
“If my predecessor had lived,” the President stated in another address,
“the vials of wrath from a mendacious press and subsidized gang of
hirelings would have been poured upon him as upon me.”
Upon another occasion, he declared, “I have been fighting traitors
South. They have been whipped and crushed and acknowledge their defeat.
Now, I am fighting traitors North. Some talk about traitors in the
South--when they have not the courage to go away from home and fight,
but remain cowardly at home, speculating and committing frauds in the
government.”
The President vetoed all of the Reconstruction acts but they were
passed over his vetoes. The Tenure of Office Act was passed March 2d,
taking away from the Executive the power of removal of all officers
whose nomination required confirmation by the Senate.[1] The President
might suspend such an officer during the recess of the Senate, but must
within twenty days after that body reassembled present his reasons
therefor. If the Senate deemed them insufficient, the officer at once
resumed his place. On March 2, 1867, also through a rider attached to
an Appropriation bill, the President was forbidden to give any orders
to the army save through the general of the army, General Grant, or to
order him from Washington save with the consent of the Senate.
[1] This Act was repealed in 1887.
President Johnson stoutly maintained that all of these acts were
unconstitutional. Supplementary Reconstruction acts set aside the
instructions of the President issued to the military governors,
notwithstanding the fact that all of the Cabinet had endorsed them,
with the exception of Stanton.
From the beginning of President Johnson’s efforts to readmit the
seceded states, Secretary Stanton’s contempt for his chief, whom he
ridiculed as the “Tailor from Tennessee, the Knight of the Shears and
Goose,” developed into open hostility, and he had aligned himself with
the opponents of Johnson in Congress. The President considered his
presence in his Cabinet out of place and undesirable. On August 5,
1867, he sent the following communication to Secretary Stanton:
SIR:
Public considerations of a high character constrain me to say that
your resignation as Secretary of War will be accepted.
(Signed) ANDREW JOHNSON.
Mr. Stanton replied the same day as follows:
War Department,
Washington, Aug. 5, 1867.
SIR:
Your note of this day has been received, stating that public
considerations of a high character constrain you to say that my
resignation as Secretary of War will be accepted.
In reply, I have the honour to say that public considerations of a
high character, which alone have induced me to continue as the head of
this Department, constrain me not to resign the office of Secretary of
War before the next meeting of Congress.
Very respectfully yours,
(Signed) EDWIN M. STANTON.
A week later, President Johnson sent the following letter to Secretary
Stanton:
Executive Mansion,
Washington, August 12, 1867.
HON. EDWIN M. STANTON, Secretary of War.
SIR:
By virtue of the power and authority vested in me as President by the
Constitution and laws of the United States, you are, hereby, suspended
from office as Secretary of War, and will cease to exercise any and
all functions pertaining to the same.
You will, at once, transfer to General Ulysses S. Grant, who has, this
day, been authorized and empowered to act as Secretary of War, _ad
interim_, all records, books, papers, and other public property now in
your custody and charge.
In his reply, Secretary Stanton said in part:
Under a sense of public duty, I am compelled to deny your right under
the Constitution and laws of the United States, without the advice
and consent of the Senate and without legal cause, to suspend me from
office as Secretary of War, or the exercise of any or all functions
pertaining to the same, or without such advice and consent to compel
me to transfer to any person the records, books, papers, and public
property in my custody as Secretary.
But inasmuch as the general commanding the armies of the United States
has been appointed Secretary, _ad interim_, and has notified me that
he has accepted the appointment, I have no alternative but to submit,
under protest, to superior force.
When Congress convened, the Senate voted the reason for suspension
insufficient. The President hoped that General Grant would contest the
decision, but the latter was wholly guided by the Senate and retired
without even notifying his chief of his intention. Stanton resumed
charge at once.
Johnson let the matter rest until February 21, 1863, when he dismissed
Stanton and appointed General B. Lorenzo Thomas, Adjutant General of
the Army, Secretary, _ad interim_. General Thomas, mild and courteous,
presented his papers and was literally ejected from Stanton’s office.
Stanton barricaded himself in and sent distress calls to his Senator
friends at the Capitol. This produced an executive session of the
Senate which lasted many hours. Stanton was ordered to hang on to his
job, Sumner sending him one cryptic word, “stick,” and the impeachment
bubble, so long threatening, burst.
President Johnson’s actions in ordering Secretary Stanton’s removal in
spite of the Tenure of Office Act was exactly what was wanted by his
opponents in Congress, led in the House by Stevens and in the Senate
by Sumner. These vigorous leaders, angered by President Johnson’s utter
ignoring of their policies, rushed a resolution through the House
declaring that, “Andrew Johnson, President of the United States, be
impeached of high crimes and misdemeanours.”
The managers for the House were Thaddeus Stevens, Pennsylvania; George
S. Boutwell, Massachusetts; James F. Wilson, Ohio; Benjamin F. Butler,
Massachusetts; George F. Miller, Pennsylvania; John A. Bingham,
Pennsylvania; William Lawrence, Ohio; William Williams, Pennsylvania;
and John A. Logan, Illinois. They filed into the Senate Chamber and
formally read their charges against the President, who, when his
presence was called for, responded by proxy.
The impeachment court organized March 5th; the trial began on March
13th. The eleven articles of offense were boiled down to five:
1. That the President had violated the Tenure of Office Act by
dismissing Stanton.
2. That he had violated the Anti-conspiracy Act.
3. That he had declared laws unconstitutional.
4. That he had criticized and ridiculed Congress.
5. That he had attempted to prevent the execution of various acts of
Congress.
The papers were served on President Johnson. He appeared with Henry
Stanbury, his Attorney General, who had resigned from that office to
act as his counsel. Through his counsel he asked that he be given
thirty days to prepare a reply to the charges. His request was curtly
refused, and the demand was made that the case proceed at once, ten
days being finally permitted him in which to prepare his defense. The
trial lasted over the month, ninety witnesses being heard. When this
sensational jury voted, thirty-five declared the President guilty and
nineteen voted not guilty. Immediately after the announcement by Chief
Justice that two thirds of the Senators had not voted him guilty,
President Johnson was acquitted.
Analyzed and stripped of all superfluous matter, the difficulty
revealed itself strictly as a contest between the executive and the
legislative branches of the government. Naturally, during the war,
the executive branch had eclipsed the other two. After the death of
President Lincoln, powerful leaders in the two houses clamoured for the
subordination of the executive branch to the legislative. Mr. Johnson’s
firm fight for the independence of the Executive was in reality
the cause of his unpopularity. Had he been impeached, undoubtedly
succeeding presidents would have found their position stripped of many
of its prerogatives and reduced to that of being mere figureheads.
This bare escape, though by a single vote, was, nevertheless, a
victory. It kept the nation from having still another cataclysm over
the selection of a successor to the President. But, for the balance of
his term, President Johnson was entirely ignored by Congress, or at
least the part that had opposed him so vigorously. It passed bills over
his veto with apparent delight, and he went out of office despised and
ignored by such of its members as had fought him all through his term.
Despite all of the discord and agitation that prevailed during
Johnson’s administration, much important legislation was accomplished.
One of the most noteworthy acts was the purchase of Alaska, effected
for $7,200,000, in 1867, under the negotiations of Secretary Seward,
who was greatly abused for having bought icefields and polar bears.
The laying of the Atlantic cable was another achievement. On December
25, 1868, President Johnson issued his last Amnesty proclamation. This
was universal, and under it Jefferson Davis was released and his case
dismissed, as was also that of John Surratt.
The last reception was so largely attended as to assume the form of an
ovation. Thousands passed through the White House to felicitate the
Chief Executive upon the outcome of the impeachment proceedings. In
this farewell, his policy was commended and the social rêgime highly
praised. His attitude toward receiving gifts was applauded.
The only record of his acceptance of any gift of value was that of
the tea or coffee set presented to him in the opening days of his
administration, a unique silver, brass, and porcelain facsimile of a
railroad locomotive and tender which had been especially designed as a
gift to Jefferson Davis and owned by him previously to the evacuation
of Richmond. It had been purchased at auction and was sent to President
Johnson by Mr. A. Barratti. The boiler received the tea or coffee and
made and then discharged it through a spigot, the miniature steam
whistle indicating when the beverage was ready. The tender carried the
sugar and glasses and container for the cognac. Its sides carried racks
for cigars, and a tiny secret music box, when set, played eight popular
airs. Upon the side of the locomotive, “President Jefferson Davis” was
emblazoned. In front, where the cow catcher belonged, the Confederate
banner and battle flag, entwined with the ensign of France, had been
fashioned into a charming design.
With the advent of Inauguration Day, the Johnson family left the White
House with relief. The retiring President took his departure from the
scenes of his great trial without regret. His trip to Greeneville was
a continuous ovation, with praise and applause upon every hand. It
seemed as though the crowds sought to console him for the affronts he
had suffered. But the dream of his life--the election to the Presidency
as his party’s choice--was denied him.
Johnson’s energy and dominant will would not let him retire to
idleness. Not only did he still continue to study diction, but he began
another congressional race. He was defeated successively for both the
House and the Senate. He ran again for the Senate as an independent and
was elected, taking his seat March 5, 1875, at a special session called
by President Grant, and was the most interesting member of that body.
At the close of the special session, he returned to his home. On July
29, 1875, he suffered a stroke of paralysis, and on the 31st he died at
the home of his daughter Mrs. Stover, where he was visiting for a few
days.