Many officers, and others able to secure leave of absence or passes, hastened to witness this greatest of our national events. With other State Agency ladies, I was anxious to break the long strain of caring for sick and wounded patients amid scenes of the horrors of war and bloodshed. Nine thousand men, at different times, filled this well-organized camp. Mangled bodies were brought directly in from the battle-fields where they had fallen, by means of temporary rails, on rough bare sand cars, on which they were piled like so many logs, one upon another, so great was the need of haste to get them to the hospital. All of these were covered with dirt, powder, blood, torn uniforms, and seemed an almost indistinguishable mass; while many a half-severed limb dangled from a shattered human trunk.
I was fortunate in being able to go to Washington quite independently, without fear of detention, having a pass from General Grant that ordered all guards, pickets, steamboats and government roads to pass “Miss Ada W. Smith,” and which practically would have allowed me to travel free without question over the entire Northern States, as all roads were then under government control. Thus was I enabled to accept the invitation of Dr. Hettie K. Painter, Pennsylvania State Agent, and her husband, to join their party going to Washington. On arriving in that city we went to a small hotel, where we met some Western friends, and found there also a former patient from City Point, Lieutenant Gosper, who had lost a leg in the skirmish before Petersburg, and was now convalescent. He manifested the usual cheerfulness of wounded men, while waiting to have an artificial limb adjusted,—a free gift from the government.
We had secured tickets and good places to see the official ceremony; but the surging mass of humanity crowded us quite beyond hearing. On this eventful morning a raw, threatening gale blew dust and loose debris into our eyes and faces, nearly blinding us.
“And men looked up with mad disquietude upon the dull sky,” as we awaited the signal of the President’s coming. At last the tall, gaunt form of Mr. Lincoln came forward on to the portico of the Capitol, surrounded by officials and attendants. Chief Justice Chase opened the great Bible, and President Lincoln stepped forward, placing his hand upon the book to take, for the second time, his oath of office. At this moment, the leaden sky, that had not lifted during the day, suddenly opened a small rift, while a strong bright ray of sunshine shot through and rested upon the noble head of the soon-to-be-glorified martyr. A silence of awe seemed for a moment to overspread the startled multitude, and then the darkening gloom closed down again as with an ominous foreboding. But not a word of that memorable address could we hear above the soughing, cold, gusty wind.
While planning for the reception, our young lieutenant, sensitive and refined, positively declined to accompany us, repeating only: “It is no place for a cripple.”
After we had exhausted all other arguments, a happy thought came to me: “Well, Lieutenant, if you will not go with us I suppose I shall have to stay away also; each of the other ladies has an escort, and, as every lady must be attended, I can not go alone.”
“Would you go to a reception with a cripple on a crutch?” he replied, sadly.
My answer came quickly and sincerely: “I would be proud of such an escort!”
At last he consented, rather reluctantly, to accompany us. At the appointed hour we started for the evening reception. Soon, however, we found ourselves in a frightful crush of people, crowding up the White House steps, and we quickly closed around the lieutenant, fearing he might get under foot. Our party was carried up bodily to the landing, where I found that my arm was quite badly bruised by the crutch.
After getting breath and composing ourselves, we fell into the long procession of couples approaching the President, where the ushers went through the form of taking our names and introducing us. In passing we saw a group of cabinet officers and a number of ladies with Mrs. Lincoln, who was gowned in white satin with a deep black thread lace flounce over an expansive skirt, in the style of that day; and she wore her favorite head dress, a wreath of natural pink roses entirely around her plainly dressed hair.