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Selected American history
The Life of Abraham Lincoln
By Henry Ketcham
CHAPTER XXXIX.
A NATION'S SORROW.
The outburst of sorrow and indignation over the foul murder of the
President was so great as to lead people to assume that Lincoln was at
all times and universally a favorite. Those who know better have
sometimes thought it discreet to preserve silence. But the greatness of
his work cannot be appreciated at its full value unless one bears in
mind that he had not the full measure of sympathy and a reasonable help
from those on whom he had a right to depend. During the four years that
he was in Washington he was indeed surrounded by a band of devoted
followers. But these people were few in numbers. Those who sympathized
with Fremont, or McClellan, or Greeley, plus those who were against
Lincoln on general principles, constituted a large majority of the
people who ought to have sustained him. All of these factions, or
coteries, however much they differed among themselves, agreed in
hampering Lincoln. For one person Lincoln was too radical, for another
too conservative, but both joined hands to annoy him.
Much of this annoyance was thoughtless. The critics were conscientious,
they sincerely believed that their plans were the best. They failed to
grasp the fact that the end desired might possibly be better reached by
other methods than their own. But on the other hand much of this
annoyance was malicious.
When the shock of the murder came, there was a great revulsion of
feeling. The thoughtless were made thoughtful, the malicious were
brought to their senses. Neither class had realized into what
diabolical hands they were playing by their opposition to the
administration. It was the greatness of the sorrow of the people--the
plain people whom he had always loved and who always loved him--that
sobered the contentions. Even this was not fully accomplished at once.
There is documentary evidence to show that the extreme radicals,
represented by such men as George W. Julian, of Indiana, considered
that the death of Lincoln removed an obstruction to the proper
governing of the country. Julian's words (in part) are as follows:
"I spent most of the afternoon [April 15, 1864, the day of Lincoln's
death] in a political caucus held for the purpose of considering the
necessity for a new Cabinet and a line of policy less conciliating than
that of Mr. Lincoln; and while everybody was shocked at his murder, the
feeling was nearly universal that the accession of Johnson to the
presidency would prove a godsend to the country.... On the following
day, in pursuance of a previous engagement, the Committee on the
Conduct of the War met the President at his quarters at the Treasury
Department. He received us with decided cordiality, and Mr. Wade said
to him: 'Johnson, we have faith in you. There will be no trouble now in
running the government.'... While we were rejoiced that the leading
conservatives of the country were not in Washington, we felt that the
presence and influence of the committee, of which Johnson had been a
member, would aid the Administration in getting on the right track....
The general feeling was ... that he would act on the advice of General
Butler by inaugurating a policy of his own, instead of administering on
the political estate of his predecessor." (Julian, "Political
Recollections," p. 255, ff.).
The names of the patriots who attended this caucus on the day of
Lincoln's death, are not given. It is not necessary to know them. It is
not probable that there were many exhibitions of this spirit after the
death of the President. This one, which is here recorded in the words
of the confession of one of the chief actors, is an exception. But
before the death of Lincoln, this spirit of fault-finding,
obstruction, hostility, was not uncommon and was painfully aggressive.
After his death there was a revulsion of feeling. Many who had failed
to give the cheer, sympathy, and encouragement which they might have
given in life, shed bitter and unavailing tears over his death.
On the other, the Confederate, side, it is significant that during the
ten days the murderer was in hiding, no southern sympathizer whom he
met wished to arrest him or have him arrested, although a large reward
had been offered for his apprehension. As to the head of the
Confederacy, Jeff Davis, there is no reasonable doubt that he approved
the act and motive of Booth, whether he had given him a definite
commission or not. Davis tried to defend himself by saying that he had
greater objection to Johnson than to Lincoln. But since the conspiracy
included the murder of both Lincoln and Johnson, as well as others,
this defense is very lame. It was certainly more than a coincidence
that Booth--a poor man who had plenty of ready money--and Jacob
Thompson, the Confederate agent in Canada, had dealings with the same
bank in Montreal. Davis himself said, "For an enemy so relentless, in
the war for our subjugation, I could not be expected to mourn."
To put it in the mildest form, neither Jeff Davis in the South, nor the
extreme radicals in the North, were sorry that Lincoln was out of the
way. Extremes had met in the feeling of relief that the late President
was now out of the way. This brings to mind a statement in an ancient
book which records that "Herod and Pilate became friends with each
other that very day; for before they were at enmity between
themselves."
On Friday evening there had been general rejoicing throughout the loyal
North. On Saturday morning there rose to heaven a great cry of
distress,--such a cry as has hardly been paralleled since the
destruction of the first-born in Egypt. For the telegraph--invented
since Lincoln had come into manhood--had carried the heavy news to
every city and commercial center in the North. The shock plunged the
whole community, in the twinkling of an eye, from the heights of
exultation into the abyss of grief.
There was no business transacted that day. The whole nation was given
up to grief. Offices, stores, exchanges were deserted. Men gathered in
knots and conversed in low tones. By twelve o'clock noon there was
scarcely a public building, store, or residence in any northern city
that was not draped in mourning. The poor also procured bits of black
crepe, or some substitute for it, and tied them to their door-knobs.
The plain people were orphaned. "Father Abraham" was dead.
Here and there some southern sympathizer ventured to express
exultation,--a very rash thing to do. Forbearance had ceased to be a
virtue, and in nearly every such case the crowd organized a lynching
bee in the fraction of a minute, and the offender was thankful to
escape alive.
Though this wave of sorrow swept over the land from ocean to ocean, it
was necessarily more manifest in Washington than elsewhere. There the
crime had been committed. There the President's figure was a familiar
sight and his voice was a familiar sound. There the tragedy was nearer
at hand and more vivid. In the middle of the morning a squad of
soldiers bore the lifeless body to the White House. It lay there in
state until the day of the funeral, Wednesday. It is safe to say that
on the intervening Sunday there was hardly a pulpit in the North, from
which, by sermon and prayer, were not expressed the love of the chief.
On Wednesday, the day of the funeral in Washington, all the churches in
the land were invited to join in solemnizing the occasion.
The funeral service was held in the East room of the White House,
conducted by the President's pastor Dr. Gurley, and his eloquent
friend, Bishop Simpson of the Methodist Episcopal church. Mrs. Lincoln,
prostrated by the shock, was unable to be present, and little Tad would
not come. Only Robert, a recent graduate of Harvard and at the time a
member of Grant's staff, was there to represent the family.
After the service, which was brief and simple, the body was borne with
suitable pomp and magnificence, the procession fittingly headed by
negro troops, to the Capitol, where it was placed in the rotunda until
the evening of the next day. There, as at the White House, innumerable
crowds passed to look upon that grave, sad, kindly face. The negroes
came in great numbers, sobbing out their grief over the death of their
Emancipator. The soldiers, too, who remembered so well his oft repeated
"God bless you, boys!" were not ashamed of their grief. There were also
neighbors, friends, and the general public.
It was arranged that the cortege should return to Springfield over as
nearly as possible the same route as that taken by the President in
1861,--Baltimore, Harrisburg, Philadelphia, New York, Albany,
Cleveland, Columbus, Indianapolis, and Chicago. In the party there were
three of those who had escorted him to Washington,--David Davis, W. H.
Lamon, and General Hunter.
At eight o'clock on Friday, April 21st, the funeral train left
Washington. It is hardly too much to say that it was a funeral
procession two thousand miles in length. All along the route people
turned out, not daunted by darkness and rain--for it rained much of the
time--and stood with streaming eyes to watch the train go by. At the
larger cities named, the procession paused and the body lay for some
hours in state while the people came in crowds so great that it seemed
as if the whole community had turned out. At Columbus and Indianapolis
those in charge said that it seemed as if the entire population of the
state came to do him honor. The present writer has never witnessed
another sight so imposing.
Naturally the ceremonies were most elaborate in New York City. But at
Chicago the grief was most unrestrained and touching. He was there
among his neighbors and friends. It was the state of Illinois that had
given him to the nation and the world. They had the claim of fellow-
citizenship, he was one of them. As a citizen of the state of which
Chicago was the leading city, he had passed all his public life. The
neighboring states sent thousands of citizens, for he was a western man
like themselves, and for the forty-eight hours that he lay in state a
continuous stream of all sorts and conditions of men passed by
sorrowing.
In all these cities not a few mottoes were displayed. Most of these
were from his own writings, such as, "With malice toward none, with
charity for all;" and, "We here highly resolve that these dead shall
not have died in vain." Two others are firmly fixed in the mind of the
writer which are here given as a sample of all. The first is from the
Bible: "He being dead yet speaketh." The second is from Shakespeare:
"His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world, This was a man!"
His final resting-place was Springfield. Here, and in all the
neighboring country, he was known to every one. He had always a kind
word for every one, and now all this came back in memory. His goodness
had not been forgotten. Those whom he had befriended had delighted to
tell of it. They therefore came to do honor not merely to the great
statesman, but to the beloved friend, the warm-hearted neighbor. Many
could remember his grave face as he stood on the platform of the car
that rainy morning in February, 1861, and said, "I now leave, not
knowing when or whether ever I shall return." Between the two days,
what a large and noble life had been lived.
The city had made elaborate preparations for the final services. The
funeral in Springfield was on May 4th. The order of service included a
dirge, a prayer, the reading of his second inaugural address, and an
oration. The latter was by Bishop Simpson and was worthy of the noble
and eloquent orator. It was a beautiful day, the rain which had been
falling during the long journey was over, and May sunshine filled earth
and sky. Near the close of the day the body of the President, together
with that of his little son Willie, which also had been brought from
Washington, was laid in a vault in Oak Ridge cemetery.
A movement was at once set on foot to erect a suitable monument. For
this purpose a few large sums of money were subscribed, but most of it
came in small sums from the plain people. The negro troops contributed
$8,000. The sum of $180,000 in all was raised and a noble structure was
erected. It was dedicated in 1874. The orator of the day was his old-
time friend, Governor, afterwards General, Oglesby. Warm words of
appreciation were added by Generals Grant and Sherman. The former, who
served under him as general and for two terms succeeded him in office,
among other things said, "To know him personally was to love and
respect him for his great qualities of heart and head, and for his
patience and patriotism."
Lincoln was never a resident of Chicago, but he was always a favorite
in that city, even though it was the home of his great rival, Judge
Douglas. It was there he was nominated in 1860, and the city always
felt as if it had a personal claim on him. It has done itself honor by
the construction of Lincoln Park. The chief ornament is a bronze statue
of heroic size, by the sculptor St. Gaudens. The statue represents
Lincoln in the attitude of speaking, and the legend, which is lettered
at the base, is the sublime paragraph that concludes the second
inaugural. The beauty of the park--lawn, flowers, shrubbery, trees--
and the majesty of the statue, constitute a noble memorial of the man
whose name they perpetuate.
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