LINCOLN’S CLEMENCY
MY last interview with Mr. Lincoln occurred after the adjournment of the extra session of the Senate about the middle of March, 1865. I went to the White House to ask the President to pardon a number of the men who had been languishing in Missouri prisons for various offenses, all political. Some of them had been my schoolmates, and their mothers, sisters, and sweethearts had persisted in appeals that I should use my influence for their release. Since it was evident to me that the Confederacy was in its last throes, I felt that the pardon of most of these prisoners would do more good than harm. I had separated them according to the gravity of the offense into three classes, and handing the first list to him, I said:
“Mr. President, the session is closed, and I am about to start for home. The war is virtually over. Grant is pretty certain to get Lee and his army, and Sherman is plainly able to take care of Johnston. In my opinion, the best way to prevent guerrilla warfare at the end of organized resistance will be to show clemency to these rebel sympathizers.”
Lincoln shook his head and said:
“Henderson, I am deeply indebted to you and I want to show it, but don’t ask me at this time to pardon rebels.”
Then I offered new arguments, but he replied in a grieved tone:
“I can’t do it! People are continually blaming me for being too lenient. Don’t encourage such fellows by inducing me to turn loose a lot of men who, perhaps, ought to be hanged.”
I answered:
“Mr. President, these prisoners and their friends tell me that for them the Rebellion is over, and it will surely have a good influence now to let them go.”
He answered:
“Henderson, my conscience tells me that I must not do it.”
But I persisted:
“Mr. President, you should do it. It is necessary for good feeling in Missouri that these people should be released.”
“If I sign this list as a whole, will you be responsible for the future good behavior of the men?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then I will take the risk and sign it.” He wrote the word “pardoned,” signed the general order of release, and returned the paper to me.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” I said, “but that is not all; I have another list here.”
“You are not going to make me let loose another lot!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” I answered, “but I am not quite so sure of the merits of this list. However, I believe the men are not dangerous, and it will be good policy to let them go. My argument for this list is the same as for the other. The war is virtually over; the guilt of these men is at least doubtful; mercy must be the policy of peace.”
With the only word approaching profanity I ever heard him utter, he exclaimed:
“I’ll be durned if I don’t sign it!” and he signed the second list like the first. “Now, Henderson,” he said, as he handed the list back to me, “remember that you are responsible to me for these men; and if they don’t behave, I shall have to put you in prison for their sins.”