The Life of Abraham Lincoln for Young People, Harriet Putnam [good english books to read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Harriet Putnam
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The crowd was so dense that Ad-mir-al Por-ter had to call sail-ors from his boat to march in front and be-hind the Pres-i-dent, so that a track might be cleared for him through the town. Lin-coln did not seem to think of fear, and no one raised a hand a-gainst him or spoke an un-kind word.
The Pres-i-dent went to the house then used by Gen. Weit-zel, who was in charge of the Un-ion troops there—the same house in which Jef-fer-son Dav-is had lived for months, and which he had just left in great haste.
Lib-by Pris-on was in that town, and there hordes of some of the brav-est and best of the men of the North had starved and died. Here, too, was a pris-on where black slaves were kept. It was the “Rich-mond Mart” with its cells and grates of i-ron. The end had come for the pris-on, the whip, the shac-kles, the auc-tion-block and dri-ver.
In the ear-ly morn of the day on which the foe’s troops had marched out of Rich-mond, the or-der was giv-en to burn the bridge o-ver which they passed. At the same time, flames burst from win-dows and roofs of tall build-ings, and in a few hours 800 of them were on fire.
The poor folks of the town had their arms full of house-hold goods, and stacks of beds, ta-bles, and chairs were piled up in o-pen pla-ces. Groups of peo-ple stood still in their fright, for their hou-ses were in ash-es and they had no food or clothes.
A great hush, at last, fell on all, as the Pres-i-dent’s coach was driv-en to a stand in the “Square.” Then Lin-coln rose, faced the great throng, and spread out his hands as a min-is-ter would when giv-ing a bless-ing. Not a sound was heard for more than a min-ute. Then the hor-ses went on and Lin-coln was gone.
One more vis-it was made by the Pres-i-dent to Rich-mond. He then had his wife and his son “Tad” with him. At that time he talked with Judge Camp-bell a-bout the terms he would make with the foe. The Judge had his own i-de-a of what he would like. Mr. Lin-coln was not of the same mind, but said, “I will give you in black and white my on-ly terms.”
These were plain and sim-ple. Lin-coln was kind but he was firm.
Af-ter that the Lin-colns went to For-tress Mon-roe. There, though the Pres-i-dent was wea-ry and full of care, he spent hours with the sick and those in pain. He talked of the grand news, of the Un-ion saved by the brave “Boys in Blue,” and of their homes and dear ones they would soon see.
But when the Un-ion troops were on their way North, a few weeks lat-er, May 23, 1865, and 65,000 of them in full strength and health marched in di-vis-ions, in close lines, round the cap-i-tol at Wash-ing-ton, A-bra-ham Lin-coln, the “well be-loved,” was not there to see them. His work was done. He had gone to his Re-ward.
On Good Fri-day, A-pril 14, 1865, it was four years from the “Sur-ren-der of Fort Sum-ter.” Ma-jor An-der-son had, then, when the foe’s guns struck the fort, hauled down the Stars and Stripes, and with great care, put the dear flag a-way to keep for a glad day which should come, and a large throng of folks from the North had come down to Port Roy-al and Charles-ton to raise, with words of praise and pray-er, o’er the ru-ins of Sum-ter, that same Flag of the Free in all its beau-ty.
Words were read from the Bi-ble, and all there who could sing, joined in a hymn. Then the Star Span-gled Ban-ner was flung to the breeze by Gen. Rob-ert An-der-son. The pa-tri-ot, Hen-ry Ward Bee-cher, gave at that time one of his great o-ra-tions. All hearts were thrilled.
The day was a glad one at the White House. The Pres-i-dent’s son, Capt. Rob-ert Lin-coln, of Grant’s staff, came home that morn, and told the tale of the last scene at Ap-po-mat-tox.
The fam-i-ly took break-fast and then the Pres-i-dent spent an hour with Mr. Col-fax, the Speak-er of the House. Grant came in and all were glad to see him. At 11 A. M. the Cab-i-net met.
There were man-y themes to speak of at that time, such as how to bring back the States which had left the Un-ion and what to do with those who led the re-volt.
In these first mo-ments which came af-ter the long four years of dark-ness, Lin-coln thought that the way to win the heart of the South was to be kind, and trust to their hon-or to stand by what the test of war had done. Of course they had been in the wrong and had lost their all, but, as broth-ers, the Pres-i-dent felt that it was as much to the in-ter-est of the North as it was to that of the South to take all means to heal wounds and lead and help the weak till strength came to them a-gain.
It was but a few nights be-fore, on A-pril 11, that the Pres-i-dent said words of this sort to the crowds which stormed the White House. In all the land, where true hearts beat for the Un-ion, there was joy. Bells rang, guns roared, and thanks went up to God for the great work He had done.
Lin-coln stood at the cen-tral win-dow of the White House and made his last pub-lic speech. It be-gan with these words:
“We meet this e-ven-ing, not in sor-row, but in glad-ness of heart.”
Then he went on to tell the peo-ple what he hoped to do for those who had lost. He said that his Cab-i-net was a-bout to meet, and the mem-bers of it would, no doubt, join with him in plans to help the South and bring a-bout a spir-it of true peace in the land.
There were some folks in the South at that time, on-ly a small knot of them no doubt, who thought Pres-i-dent Lin-coln was their arch foe. They bound them-selves to-geth-er to do him and some of his best men all the harm they could.
It was on the night of A-pril 14, 1865, af-ter the meet-ing of the Cab-i-net in the morn-ing, that the Pres-i-dent, with his wife and two young friends, went to see a play. Mr. Lin-coln felt wea-ry and would have liked to stay at home. He had been out to drive that af-ter-noon with his wife, and to the throngs of folks who saw and greet-ed him then he had bowed, smiled, and, here and there, said a kind word.
But it was not for him to rest at home that night. He had giv-en his word that he would go to Ford’s The-a-tre. Gen. and Mrs. Grant hoped to join the Lin-colns in their box, but at the last mo-ment they had to leave town.
The thought of see-ing two men so great as Lin-coln and Grant to-geth-er on that night drew a vast throng to Ford’s. Cheer af-ter cheer went up as all rose when the Pres-i-dent came in. The band played “Hail to the Chief,” and all hearts were glad. The Pres-i-dent bowed and took his seat, smil-ing as the first pleas-ing act was played.
Then, just as the cur-tain rose on the sec-ond scene of the last act, the sound of a pis-tol’s re-port fell on the air. At first it was thought to have been part of the play; then a man was seen to leap from the Pres-i-dent’s box and fall down up-on the stage, with a knife in his hand, call-ing out the Lat-in words “Sic sem-per ty-ran-nis,” which mean “Thus al-ways to ty-rants.”
Some one shout-ed “He has shot the Pres-i-dent—!” Friends flew to the box and three ar-my sur-geons made their way through the crowd and helped take the great and good man, who now was near his end, out to a small house a-cross the street.
When dawn came and lamps grew dim, A-bra-ham Lin-coln’s pulse be-gan to fail. Soon a calm look of peace came up-on his worn face and he was gone.
The bad man who shot Lin-coln was one of that knot of folks who had sworn to do him, and some of his Cab-i-net, harm. They said that by so do-ing they would “a-venge the South.” Oth-er good men be-sides the Pres-i-dent were struck that night, but the Pres-i-dent, a-lone, met his death wound.
Those who had made the plot to do that foul deed were soon caught and put to death.
As the news went forth of the tra-gic death of A-bra-ham Lin-coln the land stood a-ghast with awe. Bells tolled, work stopped, and grief filled all hearts.
As the fun-er-al pro-ces-sion moved from the White House to the church, it was seen that the es-cort was a reg-i-ment of black men, whose free-dom from sla-ver-y had come from him whose voice and hand were now stilled by death.
The State of Il-li-nois said the last rest-ing place of A-bra-ham Lin-coln must be on that soil. Then a group of men in high pla-ces, Ad-mir-als of the Na-vy, Gen-er-als of the Ar-my, with States-men and oth-ers made a guard of hon-or, and went on that long jour-ney to the tomb with the pre-cious dust, stop-ping in man-y cit-ies that peo-ple might look once more on the dead form of the man who led all oth-er men.
On May 14, 1865, the great Cap-tain, his life work done, was laid to rest in Oak Ridge Cem-e-te-ry, Spring-field, Il-li-nois.
The ser-vice was plain. There was a hymn, a pray-er, a few words, then the read-ing of Lin-coln’s sec-ond in-au-gu-ral ad-dress.
Notes of sym-pa-thy came to the U-ni-ted States from rul-ers of oth-er lands. It seemed as if all the world laid wreaths up-on the bier of A-bra-ham Lin-coln.
His bleed-ing coun-try through a dread-ful reign:
Who, liv-ing, earned the world’s re-ver-ing thought,
And dy-ing, leaves his name with-out a stain.”
Transcriber’s Notes:
A List of Illustrations has been provided for the convenience of the reader.
Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
Hyphenation has been silently corrected for single- and multiple-syllable words as necessary, due to the nature of the book.
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