The President’s band played stirring airs in an adjoining room, while crowds of every grade passed on, some in dashing uniforms, some in evidently fresh “store clothes,” others in gorgeous costumes, and the good women from the country in sensible black,—with ill-fitting gloves. It was a motley democratic crowd, such as could be seen in no royal country, and of which we are justly proud. Following the almost endless procession we saw the unmistakable form of Mr. Lincoln, his long arm and white-gloved hand reaching out to shake hands, and bowing in a mechanical manner, plainly showing that he wished this demand of the people was well over.
Suddenly straightening up his tall form, while continuing the handshaking, he looked eagerly down the line and, to my surprise, as the lieutenant and I approached, he stepped out before us and, grasping the hand of the crippled soldier, he said in an unforgettable tone of deep sympathy: “God bless you, my boy! God bless you!” Owing to the lieutenant’s crutch I was obliged to take his left arm which brought me on the outside away from the President. I attempted to pass with a bow, but he stood in my way, still holding out his large hand, until I released mine and gave it to him, receiving a warm, sympathetic grasp. Then I saw that wonderful lighting of his kindly beneficent grey eyes, that for a moment often beautified as with a halo that otherwise plain, sad face. As we moved on, the lieutenant exclaimed in happy exultation, “Oh! I’d lose another leg for a man like that!”
Such was the magnetic tone and touch of that rare spirit that carried hope and trust to the hopeless sorrowing, the great heart that could with truth and sincerity enfold not only his own country, but the whole human brotherhood of the world, and caused him to reply in effect to those who wished him to subscribe to some special creed: “When I can find a church broad enough to take in the whole human race, then I will join it.”
Once again I saw President Lincoln, after the inaugural, early in April—that fateful month in which occurred the last battle of the rebellion, the surrender of heroic Lee, the act of the magnanimous Grant, the imprisonment of the Confederate leader, the conference of those great men of war and state.
When Abraham Lincoln had come, in his own boat the River Queen, to meet Grant and Sherman at City Point, he was so secure in the conclusion of peace at last, that he had brought Mrs. Lincoln and “little Tad” to share in the general rejoicing.
I did not see Mrs. Lincoln at that time, and I had also missed seeing her in 1863, when I had taken to the famous Soldier’s Rest and Hospital in Philadelphia one soldier blinded by a bullet that passed through his head, cutting both optic nerves, one who had lost both legs, and another who had lost both arms.
During the war, when the troops were en route to the front and halted in Philadelphia, the great Liberty Bell announced their coming, and hundreds of women and many men hastened with bountiful supplies to this great Rest, where they set up rough wooden tables. Here many passing regiments had a generous meal, and almost lifted the roof with their grateful shouts, exceeded only by those of the outside crowd as they marched away to the jolly tune of the fife and drum.
At City Point the three Titans of war and state—Lincoln, Grant and Sherman—met with navy and state officers to conclude the terms of surrender and peace. There was no desire to confirm the battle cry, “Hang Jeff Davis,” as in most countries would have been inevitable, and even sympathy and mercy inspired the closing acts of this national tragedy that had cost the lives of thousands of brave Southerners, and of those of the invincible North.
During this mighty conclave at City Point, Abraham Lincoln was occasionally seen riding to the front and about camp and hospital, and to visit the tents, in his sombre black suit and high hat towering above many striking uniforms about him. It was a singular fact that while many ministers had come down to “overlook the field” dressed in the same fashion, except that there was always somehow a ministerial dip of the front corners of their long frock coats that at once betrayed their profession, they were often ridiculed and guyed by the rough soldiers. Yet the thought of ridicule was never suggested for this unique man who seemed to dignify and honor everything he touched, even when, in the same style, he rode his horse in an ungainly manner. He could have ridden bareback without loss of dignity.
On one of these occasions Mr. Lincoln had ridden up from the Point to visit our hospital, and was, as usual, accompanied by crowds of devoted friends as he walked through the divisions and avenues of the different camps. There were gathered the sick and wounded of the Ninth, Sixth, Fifth, Second Corps, and the Corps d’ Afric, who were frequently visited by their regimental surgeons and officers of regiments that were encamped before Petersburg.