"I am very much of your opinion, Mr. President," said the Senator, soberly, as he retired.
Mr. Charles A. Dana, Assistant Secretary of War, says, "A spy whom we employed to report to us the proceedings of the Confederate government and its agents, and who passed continually between Richmond and St. Catherines, reporting at the War Department upon the way, had come in from Canada and had put into my hands an important despatch from Mr. Clement C. Clay, Jr., addressed to Mr. Benjamin. Of course the seal was broken and the paper read immediately. It showed unequivocally that the Confederate agents in Canada were making use of that country as a starting-point for warlike raids which were to be directed against frontier towns like St. Albans in Vermont. Mr. Stanton thought it important that this despatch should be retained as a ground of reclamation to be addressed to the British government. It was on a Sunday that it arrived, and he was confined to his house by a cold. At his direction I went over to the President and made an appointment with him to be at the Secretary's office after church. At the appointed time he was there, and I read the despatch to them. Mr. Stanton stated the reasons why it should be retained, and before deciding the question Mr. Lincoln turned to me, saying,—
"'Well, Dana?'
"I observed to them that this was a very important channel of communication, and that if we stopped such a despatch as this it was at the risk of never obtaining any more information through that means.
"'Oh,' said the President, 'I think you can manage that. Capture the messenger, take the despatch from him by force, put him in prison, and then let him escape. If he has made Benjamin and Clay believe his lies so far, he won't have any difficulty in telling them new ones that will answer for this case.'
"This direction was obeyed. The paper was sealed up again and was delivered to its bearer. General Augur, who commanded the District, was directed to look for a Confederate messenger at such a place on the road that evening. The man was arrested, brought to the War Department, searched, the paper found upon him and identified, and he was committed to the Old Capitol Prison. He made his escape about a week later, being fired upon by the guard. A large reward for his capture was advertised in various papers East and West, and when he reached St. Catherines with his arm in a sling, wounded by a bullet which had passed through it, his story was believed by Messrs. Clay and Jacob Thompson, or, at any rate, if they had any doubts upon the subject, they were not strong enough to prevent his carrying their messages afterward.
"The last time I saw Mr. Lincoln to speak with him," continued Mr. Dana, "was in the afternoon of the day of his murder. The same Jacob Thompson was the subject of our conversation. I had received a report from the Provost-Marshal of Portland, Maine, saying that Jacob Thompson was to be in that town that night for the purpose of taking the steamer for Liverpool, and what orders had the Department to give? I carried the telegram to Mr. Stanton. He said promptly, 'Arrest him;' but as I was leaving his room he called me back, adding, 'You had better take it over to the President.' It was now between four and five o'clock in the afternoon and business at the White House was completed for the day. I found Mr. Lincoln with his coat off, in a closet attached to his office, washing his hands. 'Halloo, Dana,' said he, as I opened the door, 'what is it now?' 'Well, sir,' I said, 'here is the Provost-Marshal of Portland, who reports that Jacob Thompson is to be in that town to-night, and inquires what orders we have to give.' 'What does Stanton say?' he asked.
'Arrest him,' I replied. 'Well,' he continued, drawling his words, 'I rather guess not. When you have an elephant on hand, and he wants to run away, better let him run.'"
When a friend brought to his attention the fact that Secretary Chase was seeking the nomination for President, the President accepted the announcement with the utmost good-humor, and said,—
"My half-brother was once ploughing corn on a Kentucky farm. I was driving the horse and he holding the plough. The horse was lazy, but on one occasion rushed across the field so fast that I, even with my long legs, could hardly keep pace with him. On reaching the end of the furrow, I found an enormous chin-fly fastened upon him, and knocked him off. My brother asked me what I did that for. I told him I didn't want the old horse bitten in that way. 'Why,' said he, 'that's what makes him go.' If Mr. Chase has a Presidential chin-fly biting him, I'm not going to knock him off, if it will only make his department go."