I shall always regret not speaking to Mr. Lincoln at that time. It would have been very easy to do, but I could not see the coming catastrophe, and I hesitated to push forward into the surrounding crowd to be presented. As he passed from tent to tent, with many a cheerful word to the suffering men, a young man connected with the Sanitary Commission, now Doctor Jerome Walker, a successful physician of Brooklyn, said, pointing to some tents near-by, “Mr. President, you do not want to go in there!”
“Why not, my boy?” he asked.
“Why, sir, they are sick rebel prisoners.”
With a hasty movement he said, “That is just where I do want to go,” and he strode within the tent, shaking hands and speaking such words of comfort as only his magnanimous spirit could prompt, to the grateful surprise and pleasure of the Confederate patients.
ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN
On the morning of April 15th, 1865, as the sun rose over our quiet hospital camp, I was startled by the sound of galloping hoofs, that stopped suddenly before our tent. Scratching on the canvas indicated the usual sign for admission. Hastily untying the tent flaps, I found Major William Baker, of the Tenth Colored Troops, still mounted, and betraying much agitation and haste, when he said: “I have just ridden up to tell you, the first person in the hospital, the sad news of the reported death of the President. All officers were assembled at 2 A. M. to a conference, when the reported assassination by Wilkes Booth was read, but not yet officially confirmed.” With a sad expression and a salute he put spurs to his horse and dashed back to City Point.
Telegrams were slow in those days, so it was not till the afternoon that the terrible, cruel tragedy was announced at the hospital camp. The shock was paralyzing, and a sombre silence spread over the wards containing the men who had learned to love this great soul. Men and women as well as soldiers wept together as for a loved, indulgent father, who had borne his crushing responsibilities without a murmur or a cry for help. A few copperhead patients dared to approve of the murderous act, but they were soon beaten into silence with the crutches of the indignant crippled convalescents.
MAJOR WILLIAM BAKER
