CHAPTER XIV. EVENTS BOTH SAD AND JOYOUS.
To gratify Mr. Seward, Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, had been placed on the Republican ticket and elected Vice-President. Mr. Lincoln's re-inauguration took place under circumstances widely different from those which attended his inauguration in 1861. Then seven States had seceded from the Union, and the President had taken the oath of office surrounded by enemies whose disposition to assassinate was stronger than their courage to execute. At the re-inauguration the Federal Government was a substance as well as a name, controlling great armies and navies, and having nearly conquered the Confederacy.
The 4th of March, 1865, was rainy and unpleasant, while the streets and sidewalks were encrusted with from two to ten inches of muddy paste, through which men and horses plodded wearily. The procession was a very creditable one, including the model of a monitor on wheels, and drawn by four white horses. It had a revolving turret containing a small cannon, which was frequently fired as the procession moved. There was a large delegation of Philadelphia firemen, the Washington City Fire Department, the colored Grand Lodge of Odd Fellows, and the Typographical Society, with a press on a car from which a programme was printed and distributed. Many other civic bodies joined the demonstration, and added to its immensity and impressiveness.
In the Senate Chamber there was the usual attendance of the Diplomatic Corps, the Supreme Court, those officers of the army and navy who had received the thanks of Congress, and a number of prominent citizens. Mr. Lincoln, on his arrival at the Capitol, was shown to the President's room, where, as is customary during the closing hour of a session, he signed several bills. Mr. Johnson was escorted to the Vice-President's room opposite, where he was welcomed by Mr. Hamlin, the retiring Vice-President. There was nothing unusual in his appearance, except that he did not seem in robust health. The usual courtesies being exchanged, the conversation proceeded on ordinary topics for a few moments, when Mr. Johnson asked Mr. Hamlin if he had any liquor in his room, stating that he was sick and nervous. He was told that there was none, but it could be sent for. Brandy being indicated, a bottle was brought from the Senate restaurant by one of the pages. It was opened, a tumbler provided, and Mr. Johnson poured it about two-thirds full. Mr. Hamlin said, in telling it, that if Mr. Johnson ordinarily took such drinks as that he must be able to stand a great deal. After a few minutes the bottle was placed in one of the book-cases out of sight. When, near twelve o'clock, the Sergeant-at-Arms, Mr. Brown, came to the door and suggested that the gentlemen get ready to enter the Senate Chamber, Mr. Hamlin arose, moved to the door, near which the Sergeant- at-Arms stood, and suggested to Mr. Johnson to come also. The latter got up and walked nearly to the door, when, turning to Mr. Hamlin, he said: "Excuse me a moment," and walked back hastily to where the bottle was deposited. Mr. Hamlin saw him take it out, pour as large a quantity as before into the glass, and drink it down like water. They then went into the Senate Chamber.
To the surprise of everybody, the Vice-President, when called on to take the oath of office, made a maudlin, drunken speech. He addressed the Diplomatic Corps and the heads of departments in the most incoherent, and in some instances offensive, manner. The Republican Senators were horror-stricken, and Colonel Forney vainly endeavored to make him conclude his harangue; but he would not be stopped; the brandy had made him crazily drunk, and the mortifying scene was prolonged until he was told that it was necessary to go with the President to the eastern front of the Capitol.
Mr. Lincoln's inaugural was delivered before the assembled multitude in front of the Capitol in a full, clear tone of voice. He went on to say: "Both parties deprecated war, but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive; and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. And the war came." Then there arose a deafening shout, for the people felt that the case had been well stated, and they were all disposed to accept war rather than let the nation perish.
As the President closed his address Chief Justice Chase arose and stood facing him. The oath of office was then administered, Mr. Lincoln exhibiting by his manner and gestures the full concurrence of mind and heart with the intent of the obligation. As he concluded the ceremony by taking from the Chief Justice the Bible upon which he had been sworn, and reverently pressing his lips to it, there was a marked sensation through the vast audience, followed by a responsive cheer. Then the cannon near by thundered forth the announcement that the President of the people's choice had been inaugurated, the bands struck up the national airs, and there were hearty rounds of cheers.
The ball on the evening of Mr. Lincoln's re-inauguration was held in a large hall of the Department of the Interior, which had just been completed. It was brilliantly lighted and dressed with flags. Mr. Lincoln and Speaker Colfax entered together, followed by Mrs. Lincoln upon the arm of Charles Sumner. Mr. Lincoln wore a full black suit, with white kid gloves, and Mrs. Lincoln was attired in white silk, with a splendid overdress of rich lace, point lace bertha and puffs of silk, white fan and gloves. Her hair was brushed back smoothly, falling in curls upon the neck, while a wreath of jasmines and violets encircled her head. Her ornaments were of pearl. Having promenaded the entire length of the room, they mounted the few steps leading to the seats placed for them upon the dais, while the crowd gathered densely in front of them.
The army and navy were well represented, adding greatly to the beauty of the scene in the bright uniforms that everywhere flashed before the eyes. Admiral Farragut, General Banks, and General Hooker shone conspicuously, as did also General Halleck, who stood, smiling and happy, to receive greetings from his friends. The members of the Cabinet assumed the seats upon the dais reserved for them, and up to twelve o'clock the crowd continued to pour into the room.
At twelve o'clock the door was opened for supper, and the crowd which had been gathered about it for half an hour rushed forward. Such a crush and scramble as there was! Little screams, broken exclamations, and hurried protestations against the rush were heard upon all sides, but no one heeded or cared for anything but to find a place at the table, at one end of which stood the President, Mrs. Lincoln, and their suite.
The supper scene was one never to be forgotten. Aside from its luxury and splendor, there was so much that was ridiculously laughable connected with it, one naturally looks back upon it in keen amusement. The tables having been instantly filled up, all the spaces between the large glass cases containing the office property were soon crowded to their utmost capacity. Many a fair creature dropped upon the benches with exclamations of delight, while their attendants sought to supply them from the table, to which they had to fight their way. Those who could not get seats stood around in groups, or sank down upon the floor in utter abandonment from fatigue.
It was curious to sit and watch the crowd, to hear the gay laugh, the busy hum of conversation, and the jingle of plates, spoons, and glasses; to see hands uplifted, bearing aloft huge dishes of salads and creams, loaves of cake and stores of candies, not infrequently losing plentiful portions on the way. Many an elegant dress received its donation of cream, many a tiny slipper bore away crushed sweets and meats, and lay among fragments of glass and plates upon the floor.
Meanwhile, it was "thundering all around the heavens," and every night General Grant, in his humble headquarters at City Point, knew exactly what had been done. In his midnight despatches to President Lincoln which were telegraphed all over the loyal States, he narrated the day's success, giving full credit, when necessary, to the original genius of Sherman, the daring pluck of Sheridan, the cool determination of Thomas, the military ability of Terry, and the sagacious gallantry of Schofield, but never alluding to himself as having directed these subordinates on their respective paths to victory.
General Lee and his brave army saw that the end was at hand. They could no longer be deceived by the verbose platitudes of politicians about foreign intervention or strategic purposes, and they saw the stars and stripes approaching on every hand. For four long years they had fought for their hearths and homes with a bravery that had elicited the admiration of their opponents, but steady, ceaseless fighting had thinned their ranks and there were no more men to take their places. They had been out-manoeuvred, out-marched, and out- generaled, while hard knocks and repeated blows were daily diminishing their commands. At length, Richmond was captured, and General Lee formally surrendered at Appomattox Court-House, ending the greatest civil war recorded in history.
As the Union armies advanced, thousands of unemployed and impecunious colored people sought refuge in the District of Columbia. Gathering up their scanty chattels, they made their way from the houses of their masters to Washington, the Mecca of their imaginations, with a firm belief that they would there find freedom and plenty. It was a leap in the dark, but they imagined it a leap from darkness into light, and when they reached the national metropolis, with its public buildings and its busy throng, they believed that at last they had entered the promised land. Free from care at the first, they loitered and lounged and slept and laughed in sunny places. But no feast was offered them; they were invited to no hospitable homes; the men were no longer offered a few new Treasury notes of small value if they would enlist, and be counted on the quota of some Northern town, which would pay the agents five hundred or six hundred dollars for each recruit thus obtained. They were strangers in a strange land, despised by their own people who were residents, and crowded into stable lofts and rude hovels, where many of them, before they had fairly tasted the blessings of freedom, sickened and suffered and died.
On the night of Thursday, the 13th of April, 1865, Mr. Lincoln made his last address to the people who loved him so well. Richmond had fallen, Davis had fled, Lee had surrendered, and on the previous day the formal laying down of arms had taken place. The White House was illuminated, as were the other public buildings, and deafening shouts arose from the crowds assembled outside, jubilant over the glorious victories. Mr. Lincoln had written out some remarks, knowing well that great importance would be attached to whatever he said. These he read to the rejoicing throng from loose sheets, holding a candle in his hand as he read. As he finished each page he would throw it to the ground, where it was picked up by Master Thad, who was at his father's side, and who occasionally shouted, "Give me another paper!"
When Mr. Lincoln had concluded his speech, he said: "Now I am about to call upon the band for a tune that our adversaries over the way have endeavored to appropriate. But we fairly captured it yesterday and the Attorney-General gave me his legal opinion that it is now our property. So I ask the band to play 'Dixie!'"
[Facsimile] your obtservt R ELee ROBERT EDWARD LEE, born at Stratford, Westmoreland County, Virginia, January 19th, 1807; graduated with first honors at West Point in 1829; served in the Mexican War; resigned in 1861, and was, early in 1862, appointed commander of the armies about Richmond; early in 1865 was made Commander-in-Chief of all the Confederate forces; surrendered at Appomattox, April 9th, 1865; became President of Washington College at Lexington, Virginia, where he died October 12th, 1870.