USA > Washington DC > Washington DC > Washington : the capital city and its part in the history of the nation > Part 11
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Another and no less significant bill, passed on April 16, 1862, abolished slavery in the Dis-
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trict of Columbia. Owners were compensated for the slaves set free, and there was thus dis- bursed a little more than nine hundred thousand dollars. Three thousand slaves, in all, were liberated, the vanguard, as it proved, of eman- cipated millions, for before the year's end came President Lincoln's proclamation declaring that the slaves in all States found in rebellion against the government on January 1, 1863, should be forever free.
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CHAPTER IX
LINCOLN IN THE WHITE HOUSE
P RESIDENT LINCOLN has been de- scribed by a whilom member of his offi- cial family as " a methodical man of irregular habits," a characterization which may have been prompted by knowledge of his daily life during his four years in the White House. It was without order or system, for he was seldom, if ever, free from interruption, and his desire that all who wished to see him should be allowed to do so made him the first to break down the barriers which others reared about him. Yet in one way or another each new task got itself performed, and, with wisdom and patience, the work was done that has given his name to the ages.
The President was an early riser, his sleep being light and capricious. He was often at his desk at six o'clock in the morning, and during his first days in the White House he found delight in sunrise visits to the camps and hospitals in and around the city. He was
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generally unattended in these rambles, probably from choice, as he was thus enabled to mingle freely with the soldiers, and to make himself familiar with their needs and condition. Now and again, in these first days, he would find time for an unannounced visit to one of the depart- ments in the discharge of some helpful task which he did not elect to intrust to others. It was an errand of this sort which, one hot after- noon in the early summer of 1861, caused his unexpected appearance at the head-quarters of General Scott. He looked the picture of weari- ness and disgust, and, without waiting for the general to welcome him, sank heavily into the first chair to which he came.
"Keep your seat, general," said the President, as with a huge bandanna he wiped the dust and moisture from his face. " It is too hot to stand on ceremony. I have only dropped in to tell you that I have learned something new to-day."
" What is that, Mr. President?" asked Gen- eral Scott, a look of surprise still lingering in his face.
"That it is a great thing to be an office- holder," Mr. Lincoln went on. "Since nine o'clock this morning I have been trying my best
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to get an audience with some clerk in the pen- sion office, but without success. I have been up-stairs and down-stairs, from the ground-floor to the attic, half a dozen times, and I am com- pletely fagged out."
"Pardon me, Mr. President," General Scott broke in, "but it is rather an uncommon thing for the President of the United States to be- come a solicitor of pensions. When you have any business of that kind demanding attention send it to me, and my secretary here will be glad to attend to it without delay."
The secretary in question was Colonel (after- wards Major-General) Schuyler Hamilton, and it is he who tells the story.
"I am sure the claim is a just one," the President continued, unmindful of the general's interruption, " for I have gone over the papers in the case with care." Here he drew a bulky package from one of his pockets. "The appli- cant is the widow of a corporal who was killed by the Indians. She should have had her money long ago, but nobody seems to have taken any interest in the case. She has been haunting the White House almost daily for weeks. I am resolved to wind the matter up one way
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or another to-day. I have promised the poor woman an answer at four o'clock, and she is waiting for me over at the White House. How long do you think it would take you, colonel," addressing Hamilton, "to get this case through the pension office?"
" It should be done in half an hour," replied Hamilton, as he glanced over the papers to see if they were in proper form.
"Go ahead, my son," said the President, "and I will wait for you here."
Five minutes later Hamilton was addressing the Commissioner of Pensions.
" Did you see a tall, dark-complexioned man here to-day?" he asked. "He wore a linen duster and a slouch hat, and was interested in the pension of a woman whose husband was killed in the Seminole War."
"Oh, yes, I remember the man," was the reply. " He said he was a lawyer from some- where out West."
" Well," said Hamilton, " you have got your- self in a pretty fix. That man is President Lin- coln, and I have just promised him I would bring him an answer from you inside of half an hour."
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This brief announcement wrought an instant change in the pension office. Bells were rung and heads of divisions sent for, while clerks and messengers ran here and there at the seem- ing peril of life and limb. Before the expira- tion of the promised half-hour Hamilton placed the final papers, duly signed and executed, in the hands of the President. He looked them over carefully to make sure that they were right, and then, with a quizzical smile, asked,-
"Can you tell me, colonel, how it is that I was so long and failed, and you were so short and succeeded ?"
"To speak frankly, Mr. President," said Hamilton, "I promptly informed the commis- sioner that it was the President who championed this poor woman's cause. You could not do that, and they did not know you at the pension office, sir."
The President laughed, put the papers in his pocket, and asked Hamilton to keep him com- pany in the walk back to the White House. An old Irishwoman was waiting for him in the portico. He went up to her, and, handing her the papers, said,-
" Here you are, my good woman. Your
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pension is all right, and all you need to do now is to go to-morrow morning at nine o'clock and get your money. But from my own ex- perience to-day, I would advise you not to go before ten o'clock. If you do you won't find the officials there." The poor creature caught the President's hand and covered it with kisses, at the same time showering a thousand blessings on her benefactor's head. "Don't thank me," he answered, gently freeing himself from her grasp. " This young man here is the one who did the business for you, and who deserves all the thanks."
Incidents of this sort belonged to Mr. Lin- coln's first days in the Presidency. His waking hours, after the midsummer of 1861, were nearly all passed in his office. Then, as now, the west end of the second floor of the White House was used for residence, and the east end for business purposes. The President's office was a large room on the south side, which commanded a fair view of the Potomac. "The furniture of this room," writes Isaac N. Arnold, " con- sisted of a large oak table covered with cloth, extending north and south, and it was around this table that the Cabinet sat when it held its
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meetings. Near the end of the table and be- tween the windows was another table, on the west side of which the President sat, in a large arm-chair, and at this table he wrote. A tall desk, with pigeon-holes for papers, stood against the south wall. The only books usually found in this room were the Bible, the United States Statutes, and a copy of Shakespeare. There were a few chairs and two plain hair-covered sofas. There were two or three map-frames, from which hung military maps, on which the positions and movements of the armies were traced. There was an old and discolored en- graving of General Jackson on the mantel and a later photograph of John Bright. Doors opened into this room from the room of the secretary and from the outside hall, running east and west across the house. A bell-cord within reach of his hand extended to the secre- tary's office. A messenger sat at the door open- ing from the hall, and took in the cards and names of visitors."
These included all sorts and conditions of men, and women too,-the place-hunters, whose numbers diminished as the offices were filled ; politicians in Congress and out; seekers after
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army contracts and commissions; officers anx- ious for promotion or desirable assignments ; private soldiers moved by childlike faith in the President's willing ability to grant the favors refused them elsewhere; parents, wives, and sweethearts asking help or mercy for loved ones sick, wounded, or in trouble; and still another class, equally earnest and importunate, made up of those who had perfected devices for making war more deadly which they were eager to sell to the government. The man with a new weapon of any sort, refused an audience by others in authority, was sure to find a patient and interested listener in Mr. Lincoln, who had a quick comprehension of mechanical principles, and who, more often than not, would person- ally test his gun. The inventor, with his active if not always well-balanced brain, was a source rather of amusement than annoyance to the President, who was wont to quote, with peals of laughter, the solemn dictum of one rural visitor that " a gun ought not to rekyle; if it rekyled at all, it ought to rekyle a little forrid." Prac- tical results issued, now and then, from the time devoted by Mr. Lincoln to the testing of new weapons. One was the adoption of the
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mitrailleuse, and another, the equipment with breech-loaders of the famous regiment of sharp- shooters commanded by Colonel Hiram Ber- dan.
Delegations without number sought audience with the President. Many, in the early days of the war, came to urge, and frequently to demand, the immediate emancipation of the slaves. Thence arose more than one embar- rassing situation, from which Mr. Lincoln was extricated only by quick wit or by the recital of some amusing story which was also an apt illustration of the subject under discussion. A case in point was his answer to the Chicago ministers who called on him, in September, 1862, to demand of him a proclamation of emancipation. He heard them through, and then asked,-
" Now, gentlemen, if I cannot enforce the Constitution in the South, how am I to enforce a mere Presidential proclamation? Won't the world sneer at it as being as powerless as the Pope's bull against the comet ?"
The ministers could not answer this question, but one of them said,-
" Mr. President, what we bring you is a
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message to you from our Divine Master, com- manding you, sir, to open the doors of bondage that the slave may go free."
" That may be, sir," was the instant reply, " for I have studied this question, by night and by day, for weeks and for months; but if it is, as you say, a message from your Divine Master, is it not odd that He should send it by way of Chicago?"
The ministers went away sorrowful, believing, in the face of this rejoinder, that the slave had little to hope for from Mr. Lincoln. Yet he had resolved months before on what they pleaded for, and the proclamation was issued within a fortnight. A knotty query and a jest were his means of concealing his purpose until the time came to make it known.
Those seeking aid for themselves or for others made early discovery of Mr. Lincoln's kindness of heart, and of the fact that his sympathy went out spontaneously to all in distress. The best-remembered appeals to his clemency were made in behalf of soldiers under sentence of death for desertion, and books and newspapers, and living men as well, teem with anecdotes of offenders who owed their lives to his inter-
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position. "Must I shoot a simple-minded sol- dier who deserts," he wrote on one occasion, " while I must not touch a hair of the wily agitator who induces him to desert?" It was almost impossible during his first months in office to secure his consent to an execution for desertion, and until the last he recoiled from taking the life of the very young soldier charged with this offence. "I wish to grant a pardon in this case," he endorsed on a set of papers now filed in the War Department, "and will be obliged to the judge-advocate of the army if he will inform me as to the way in which it is to be done." No evident reason existing for a pardon, he frequently found one in the prisoner's youth. "His mother says he is but seventeen," was his excuse for suspending sen- tence in another case, and later he granted the lad a full pardon " on account of his tender age." The whereabouts of a condemned man being unknown, the President, in still another case, telegraphed to four different commanders, ordering a suspension of sentence.
Old friends and associates were, in more than one instance, numbered among those in whose behalf appeals were made to Mr. Lincoln. Late
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on a December afternoon in 1863 a page brought to Daniel W. Voorhees at his seat in the House the card of one of his constituents, Bullitt by name. Going to the door he was greeted by Bul- litt and his wife. The couple bore the marks of travel and appeared to be in deep distress. The husband hastened to disclose the reason for their presence at the Capitol. The wife's father was Henry F. Luckett, an aged Methodist minister, who at different times had held charges in most of the States of the Middle West. His small savings were so invested that the opening of the war swept them away. The old man's losses weighed heavily upon him, and his family, hoping that he would benefit by a change of scene, finally induced him to visit a niece who lived in Memphis. There his loud lamentations over his losses attracted the attention of gov- ernment detectives, anxious for advancement and not over-scrupulous as to how they secured it. These officials, discovering that the old man's sympathies were with the South, told him that the Confederate forces had great need for qui- nine and percussion-caps; that it was an easy matter to trade through the lines,-Memphis was then in federal possession; and if he would
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undertake to supply these wants he could speed- ily and safely repair his fortunes. The minister fell into the trap, was arrested with the con- traband articles in his possession, tried by a military court, and condemned to death.
" He is to be shot the day after to-morrow," said Mr. Bullitt. "Can you help us to save him?"
Mr. Voorhees, deeply moved, but knowing that an appeal to Stanton would be without avail, resolved upon the instant to carry the matter to Mr. Lincoln. Before the day was ended he sought Senators Lane and Hendricks, of his own State, and William R. Morrison, of Illinois, and secured promises of their aid in the minister's behalf. The four drove next morning to the White House, accompanied by the Bullitts, and were soon in the presence of the President. Senator Hendricks, acting as spokesman, introduced Mrs. Bullitt as the daughter of the Rev. Henry F. Luckett, who had once preached in Springfield.
" A daughter of Elder Luckett?" answered the President. " Yes, I remember him well. A farmer came to my office one day and, taking me for Elder Luckett, said, 'You must come
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out and preach again next Sunday. Your last sermon did great good, and was thought the best we ever heard.' I rather liked being mis- taken for a Methodist preacher and did not break the delusion. There was some resem- blance between us; he was tall and dark like I am, and I often have been mistaken for him on the street."
" We bring you terrible news from that man to-day," said Senator Hendricks. "He is to be shot."
" To be shot?" asked the President, while a look of anxious surprise stole into his rugged face.
" Yes," was the reply. "His daughter brings you a statement of the case."
Mr. Voorhees had written out a brief record of the facts, and this, with a few affidavits from people who knew the condemned man and were familiar with his condition, were now handed to the President, who, settling back in his chair, proceeded to read the papers aloud, but to him- self. For a time he seemed lost to his surround- ings. Then lie looked up, and his eyes rested for a moment on the white-faced woman before him. Soon he spoke :
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" There must be something wrong with your father, or he would not be in this trouble. He shall not be shot. I do not know what more I can do for him, but his life is safe. I will telegraph General Hurlbut," and he proceeded to write a message ordering a suspension of sen- tence, and that a transcript of the record be sent to him. "I reckon that will do," he added, after he had read it aloud. A secretary appeared in response to a bell. " Take this message," said the President, "and send it quickly. Re- main at the office until it gets through. See that it is answered and that I am informed."
Thus was this duty made obligatory upon the secretary, and the executive mind was at rest. But not that of the anxious daughter, who voiced the fear that some mistake might intervene to thwart the President's command. " My child," said Lincoln, with a low laugh, " if your father lives to see that sentence executed, Methusaleh will be an infant compared with him." Instead, he was soon restored to his family and friends, and lived until far past the age of eighty.
Humor and pathos were often blended in the President's exercise of the pardoning power. Lieutenant-Governor Thomas Ford, of Ohio,
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going to the White House on an autumn even- ing in 1862 to keep an appointment with Mr. Lincoln, was accosted in the vestibule by a young woman, whose drawn face and swollen eyes bore witness to the fact that she was in sore trouble. Ford halted to listen to her story. It had to do with an orphaned brother and sister, who had come from Germany and settled in one of the Western States. The brother, when the war came, had entered the army, but, falling among evil associates, had been induced to de- sert, with the melancholy sequel,-capture, trial, and sentence to death. The sister, who was in domestic service, had borrowed the money for the journey, and hastened to Washington to lay the case before the President. She had vainly sought for two days to secure an audi- ence with him, and finally had been ordered away by the servants.
"Come with me," said Ford, when she had finished, "and I will see what can be done." So saying, he led her up-stairs and into the presence of Mr. Lincoln. " Mr. President," said he, after greetings had been exchanged, "my business must wait until you have heard what this young woman has just told me."
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Mr. Lincoln, seating himself at his desk, lis- tened in silence to the girl's story, and then carefully examined the petition for a pardon, which she handed him, and which bore the sig- natures of a few persons who had formerly known her brother. This done, he studied her tear-stained face and the threadbare garb which spoke her poverty.
" My child," said he, kindly, " you have come here with no one to plead your cause. I believe you to be honest and truthful, and"-this with emphasis-" you don't wear hoops. I will spare your brother."
Mr. Lincoln's last official act was to pardon a man under sentence of death, charged with being a Confederate spy. Before the war All- mon and George Vaughan were residents of Canton, Missouri. Allmon entered the Union army. His brother espoused the cause of the Confederacy, and in due time became a mem- ber of the staff of General Mark E. Green, an old friend and neighbor. George Vaughan, after the battle of Shiloh, undertook a secret visit to his home at Canton. He wished to see his own family and to carry messages to the wife of General Green. He passed undiscovered
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through the Union lines, spent some days in Canton, and was returning to his command, when he was captured and jailed at Palmyra, Missouri, being soon transferred to St. Louis. There he was tried by court-martial, and, though he stoutly denied that he had entered the Union lines for other than the purposes already named, sentenced to be shot as a spy. Allmon Vaughan, who had become a captain in the Union army, appealed to Senator John B. Henderson to save his brother. Henderson laid the case before Stanton, who, after due investigation, decided that George Vaughan was guilty and that there could be no change in the sentence that had been passed upon him. Then Henderson ap- pealed to Mr. Lincoln, at whose instance an order was issued for a new trial. This resulted in a second verdict of guilty. Again appeal was made to the President, who ordered still another trial, but a third time a court-martial pronounced against the accused man's inno- cence. Henderson, however, continued the fight for his life. It was the spring of 1865, and, in urging the President to exercise clemency, the Senator insisted that, the war being practi- cally over, Vaughan's pardon would be in the
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interest of peace and conciliation. " See Stan- ton, and tell him that this man must be released," said Mr. Lincoln. " I have been to Stanton, and he will do nothing," protested Henderson. " See him again," was the reply, "and if he will do nothing come back to me." Stanton would do nothing, and early in the evening of April 14 Henderson again sought the President, whom he found dressed for the theatre. Mr. Lincoln shook his head when the Senator re- ported the outcome of his interview with Stan- ton. Then, without a word, he seated himself at his desk, wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper, and handed it to Henderson. It was an order for Vaughan's unconditional release and pardon, and it was the last official act of the President's life.
Mr. Lincoln's kindness of heart frequently caused him to be imposed upon, but in most cases he submitted to imposition with silent knowledge of the fact. He could be firm as a rock, however, when he thought that justice should be vindicated, and he often handled doubtful cases with the crafty wariness of a criminal lawyer. Moreover, he rarely failed to flame into righteous anger whenever insult was
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offered to his person or his office. A gambler who assumed for the occasion the role of a minister of the gospel was civilly received by the keen-eyed President when he called upon him, but attempting to practise the fraud a second time he met with a reception little to his liking. " He went into the President's room," writes Stoddard, " and he came out; and when he came through the door there was a strange vision of a large foot just behind him, suggesting to any naval constructor the idea of a propeller. The gambler did not, for the twinkling of an eye, succeed in deceiving Mr. Lincoln as to his real character. He was re- ceived from the first as a rogue, a wolf in sheep's clothing, but his criminal audacity went beyond the limits of patient endurance-and so he was also sent beyond the limits."
Another caller at the White House during Mr. Lincoln's early days in office was an army officer who had been dismissed from the service. The President listened patiently to the elaborate defence he had prepared, and said that even upon his own statement of the case there was no warrant for executive interference. The man withdrew, only, a few days later, to seek a
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second interview, but without accomplishing his purpose. A third time he forced himself into the presence of the President, who again listened to a statement of his case, and at its conclusion again declared he could do nothing for him.
" Well," said the officer, as he turned to de- part, "I see you are fully determined not to do me justice."
The President at these words arose from his desk, and seizing his caller by the coat-collar, marched him to the door, saying, as he ejected him into the passage, " Sir, I give you fair warn- ing never to show yourself in this room again. I can bear censure, but not insult." The man, in a whining tone, begged for his papers, which he had dropped. " Begone, sir," said the Presi- dent, " your papers will be sent to you. I never wish to see your face again."
It was Mr. Lincoln's rule to receive callers, save on days when the Cabinet met, from nine until two o'clock. It was a rule, however, more honored in the breach than in the observance. Visitors found their way into his presence from early morning until late at night, and even his sleeping hours were not wholly free from their importunities. Late in the day, when the
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weather and his duties permitted, he drove out for an hour's airing. Almost invariably some camp or hospital was the objective-point of the day's ride. He was from the first the per- sonal friend of every soldier he sent to the front, and from the first also every soldier seemed to divine, as if by intuition, that he had Mr. Lincoln's heart. Stories of how the President interfered personally to secure some right or favor for the man afoot, with a gun on his shoulder, steadily found their way to the army, and, as the war went on and battle followed battle, the wounded veteran hobbling alone into the White House became a sight too familiar to cause remark. None came away without cheer or help of some kind, and in all parts of the country little cards are treasured by private soldiers, each of which bears witness to some kindly act performed or requested by the President. Here is one of them :
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