Several times the General made a movement to depart, fearing he was availing himself too lavishly of Mr. Lincoln’s affability, but each time was ordered to keep his seat, the President remarking that they were both prisoners, and he hoped the General would take some pity upon him and help him to talk about the times when they were both their own masters, and hadn’t everybody criticising and abusing them.
Finally, however, General Barringer arose, and was bowing himself out, when Mr. Lincoln once more took him by the hand almost affectionately, placed another hand upon his shoulder, and inquired quite seriously:
“Do you think I can be of any service to you?”
Not until we had all finished a hearty laugh at this quaint remark did the President realize the innocent simplicity of his inquiry, and when General Barringer was able to reply that “If anybody can be of service to a poor devil in my situation, I presume you are the man,” Mr. Lincoln drew a blank card from his vest pocket, adjusted his glasses, turned up the wick of the lamp, and sat down at General Bowers’ desk with all the serious earnestness with which you would suppose he had attached his name to the emancipation proclamation.
This was, however, all assumed. He was equipping himself and preparing us for one of his little jokes. While writing he kept up a running conversation with General Barringer (who was still standing and wondering) to this effect:
“I suppose they will send you to Washington, and there I have no doubt they will put you in the old Capitol prison. I am told it isn’t a nice sort of a place, and I am afraid you won’t find it a very comfortable tavern; but I have a powerful friend in Washington—he’s the biggest man in the country,—and I believe I have some influence with him when I don’t ask too much. Now I want you to send this card of introduction to him, and if he takes the notion he may put you on your parole, or let up on you that way or some other way. Anyhow, it’s worth while trying.”
And then very deliberately drying the card with the blotter, he held it up to the light and read it to us in about the following words:
“This is General Barringer, of the Southern army. He is the brother of a very dear friend of mine. Can you do any thing to make his detention in Washington as comfortable as possible under the circumstances?
“A. Lincoln.
“To Hon. Edwin M. Stanton,
“Secretary of War.”
Barringer never uttered a word. I think he made an effort to say “Thank you,” or “God bless you,” or something of that kind, but he was speechless. We both wheeled about and left the tent.