There had been marches and battles, sufferings unspeakable, misery, sorrow, death, destruction, all the woes of war, on both sides, four long, dark years, and through it all steadfast in duty, earnest and honest, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, with a heart as great as God giveth, and an intelligence as high as heaven, had, with kindly face and even temper, borne through it his burden of responsibility and his soul sorrow in it all.
The end of the war had come, and the great, good man, who had thousands of times earned the satisfaction and sweet peace that should have come to him and been to him a living joy, was, at the moment of his worthy triumph of that which was to prove best for all, laid low in death, at the hands of a monomaniac, an irresponsible, unfortunate enemy to both causes and to himself.
The nation mourned; even Lincoln’s enemies condemned the deed, and from that day to this there has been a deep regret in the heart of that generation, and the generation that has succeeded, that Lincoln did not live to see the great good that he had wrought. Yet in the finitude of human understanding we may not have fully felt that Jehovah’s wisdom called him to the higher and broader sphere of heaven that he might in a more exalted and perfect manner enjoy the results of his great work.
But Lincoln lived to see the dawn of peace. When he came to deliver his second inaugural address the way was clear, but in that splendid effort there was not a note of victory; there was no exultation over a fallen foe. It breathed but the spirit of brotherly love and the incense of prayerful hopes.
“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphans, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.” This was the word and spirit of his way in all the trying time. He went down to death with that flowing from his soul and as a benediction to the people, the republic and its institutions.
It was not long after this beautiful message that General Lee gave up his stronghold at Richmond, departing with about half of his original army, and that closely pursued by the victorious hosts led by General Grant. The army in blue overtook the gray remnant at Appomattox, and there one April day, amid its sunshine and showers, its smiles and its tears, War’s sable plume bowed before the white banner of Peace, and Lincoln’s great mission had been performed.
The flag of the Union had once more become the flag of all the country, and in this condition of affairs President Lincoln visited Richmond and the final scenes of the mighty conflict and then returned to Washington to begin his new work of “binding up the nation’s wounds.”
He had now reached the climax of his career and had touched the highest point of his greatness. His great task was done and the heavy burden that had so long worn upon his heart had been lifted off and carried away. Then, when the whole nation was rejoicing over the return of peace, the Saviour of the Union was stricken down by the hand of an assassin.
From early youth, Mr. Lincoln had been followed by presentiments that he would die a violent death, or that his final days would be marked by some great tragic event. And yet from the time of his first election to the Presidency it had been an unsuccessful task upon the part of his closest friends to endeavor to make him understand that he was in constant danger of assassination; for, notwithstanding his presentiments, he always laughed at their fears in that direction, in his splendid courage.
During the summer months he lived at the Soldiers’ Home, some miles from Washington, and frequently made the trip between the White House and the Home, unguarded and without escort. Secretary of War Stanton and Ward Lamon, Marshal of the District of Columbia, were in a constant state of alarm over this unnecessary exposure of the President to the danger of assassination. They frequently warned him and provided suitable bodyguards to attend him. But Lincoln as constantly gave the guards the slip, and, mounting his favorite saddle-horse, would set out alone, and often after dark, for the lone ride to his place of rest.