The courier was only a boy. His eyes were bloodshot, and his uniform was streaked and spattered. He swayed a little as he bowed and extended a letter.
“General Stephenson sends his greetings, sir.”
Lincoln’s eyes were on the boy as his shaking fingers tore at the envelope.
“Why do you not come from General Strong?”
“General Stephenson is now in command of the two brigades.” He stopped, but the President’s eyes still questioned him and he added, “General Strong and Colonel Putnam have been killed.”
Then Lincoln looked down at the single sprawled sheet. His lips began to move, and some of his words were distinct enough for Douglass to hear.
“On the night of July 18 we moved on Fort Wagner ... the Sixth Connecticut, Forty-eighth Infantry New York, Third New Hampshire, Seventy-sixth Pennsylvania, Ninth Maine....” He read on, then cried out, “Douglass! Listen to this!”
“The honor of leading the charge was given to the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts. I must report, sir, that these black soldiers advanced without flinching and held their ground in the face of blasting fire which mowed them down cruelly. Only a remnant of the thousand men can be accounted for. Their commander, Colonel Robert Shaw, is missing. We had counted on aid from the guns of the fleet—troops in the rear could not—” The President stopped.
Douglass’ breath had escaped from his tense body in a groan. Now he gasped.
“I must go—Forgive me. I must go to my wife!”