Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: April 20, 1865

Weather fine. Real spring. All is quiet in camp. The body of the martyr President is being carried across the country to his home town, Springfield, Illinois. These are days of mourning. The sudden taking off of Mr. Lincoln is the topic of conversation in our camp. It is generally believed there was a conspiracy among the leaders of the rebellion to murder Mr. Lincoln, so the cry is that the leaders must be punished.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 150

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: April 15, 1865

Early morning news from the pump. Reported the assassination of our beloved President. At first it could not be believed. I saw an orderly galloping into camp, going right to the Colonel's quarters. He brought the official report. It was soon known through camp. It was a great shock and cast a great gloom over our camp. How sudden the change. Joy turned to sorrow, when we were rejoicing over the prospects of peace and the end of the cruel war. At first it was reported that he might recover. Later report he was dead. We could not do anything but talk over the sad event. We all became angry and hated the South worse than ever. Thought all the leaders should be condemned to death. Indignation and rage was expressed alike by citizens and the soldiers. We wondered who could do such an awful thing. Later we were informed who the assassin was. Excitement continues in our camp as this sad day comes to a close.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 148-9

Diary of Dolly Lunt Burge: April 29, 1865

Boys plowing in old house field. We are needing rain. Everything looks pleasant, but the state of our country is very gloomy. General Lee has surrendered to the victorious Grant. Well, if it will only hasten the conclusion of this war, I am satisfied. There has been something very strange in the whole affair to me, and I can attribute it to nothing but the hand of Providence working out some problem that has not yet been revealed to us poor, erring mortals. At the beginning of the struggle the minds of men, their wills, their self-control, seemed to be all taken from them in a passionate antagonism to the coming-in President, Abraham Lincoln. Our leaders, to whom the people looked for wisdom, led us into this, perhaps the greatest error of the age. “We will not have this man to rule over us!” was their cry. For years it has been stirring in the hearts of Southern politicians that the North was enriched and built up by Southern labor and wealth. Men's pockets were always appealed to and appealed to so constantly that an antagonism was excited which it has been impossible to allay. They did not believe that the North would fight. Said Robert Toombes: “I will drink every drop of blood they will shed.” Oh, blinded men! Rivers deep and strong have been shed, and where are we now? — a ruined, subjugated people! What will be our future? is the question which now rests heavily upon the hearts of all.

This has been a month never to be forgotten. Two armies have surrendered. The President of the United States has been assassinated, Richmond evacuated, and Davis, President of the Confederacy, put to grief, to flight. The old flag has been raised again upon Sumter and an armistice accepted.

SOURCE: Dolly Lunt Burge, A Woman's Wartime Journal, p. 46-8

Diary of Sarah Morgan: April 19, 1865

No. 211 Camp St.

“All things are taken from us, and become portions and parcels of the dreadful pasts.” . . .

Thursday the 13th came the dreadful tidings of the surrender of Lee and his army on the 9th. Everybody cried, but I would not, satisfied that God will still save us, even though all should apparently be lost. Followed at intervals of two or three hours by the announcement of the capture of Richmond, Selma, Mobile, and Johnston's army, even the stanchest Southerners were hopeless. Every one proclaimed Peace, and the only matter under consideration was whether Jeff Davis, all politicians, every man above the rank of Captain in the army and above that of Lieutenant in the navy, should be hanged immediately, or some graciously pardoned. Henry Ward Beecher humanely pleaded mercy for us, supported by a small minority. Davis and all leading men must be executed; the blood of the others would serve to irrigate the country. Under this lively prospect, Peace, blessed Peace! was the cry. I whispered, “Never! Let a great earthquake swallow us up first! Let us leave our land and emigrate to any desert spot of the earth, rather than return to the Union, even as it Was!”

Six days this has lasted. Blessed with the silently obstinate disposition, I would not dispute, but felt my heart swell, repeating, “God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in time of trouble,” and could not for an instant believe this could end in an overthrow.

This morning, when I went down to breakfast at seven, Brother read the announcement of the assassination of Lincoln and Secretary Seward.

“Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” This is murder! God have mercy on those who did it!

Charlotte Corday killed Marat in his bath, and is held up in history as one of Liberty's martyrs, and one of the heroines of her country. To me, it is all murder. Let historians extol blood-shedding; it is woman's place to abhor it. And because I know that they would have apotheosized any man who had crucified Jeff Davis, I abhor this, and call it foul murder, unworthy of our cause — and God grant it was only the temporary insanity of a desperate man that committed this crime! Let not his blood be visited on our nation, Lord!

Across the way, a large building, undoubtedly inhabited by officers, is being draped in black. Immense streamers of black and white hang from the balcony. Downtown, I understand, all shops are closed, and all wrapped in mourning. And I hardly dare pray God to bless us, with the crape hanging over the way. It would have been banners, if our President had been killed, though!

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 435-7

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Saturday, April 22, 1865

To see a whole city draped in mourning is certainly an imposing spectacle, and becomes almost grand when it is considered as an expression of universal affliction. So it is, in one sense. For the more violently “Secesh” the inmates, the more thankful they are for Lincoln's death, the more profusely the houses are decked with the emblems of woe. They all look to me like “not sorry for him, but dreadfully grieved to be forced to this demonstration.” So all things have indeed assumed a funereal aspect. Men who have hated Lincoln with all their souls, under terror of confiscation and imprisonment which they understand is the alternative, tie black crape from every practicable knob and point to save their homes. Last evening the B–––s were all in tears, preparing their mourning. What sensibility! What patriotism! a stranger would have exclaimed. But Bella's first remark was: “Is it not horrible? This vile, vile old crape! Think of hanging it out when —” Tears of rage finished the sentence. One would have thought pity for the murdered man had very little to do with it.

Coming back in the cars, I had a rencontre that makes me gnash my teeth yet. It was after dark, and I was the only lady in a car crowded with gentlemen. I placed little Miriam on my lap to make room for some of them, when a great, dark man, all in black, entered, and took the seat and my left hand at the same instant, saying, “Good-evening, Miss Sarah.” Frightened beyond measure to recognize Captain Todd¹ of the Yankee army in my interlocutor, I, however, preserved a quiet exterior, and without the slightest demonstration answered, as though replying to an internal question. “Mr. Todd.” “It is a long while since we met,” he ventured. “Four years,” I returned mechanically. “You have been well?” “My health has been bad.” “I have been ill myself”; and determined to break the ice he diverged with “Baton Rouge has changed sadly.” “I hope I shall never see it again. We have suffered too much to recall home with any pleasure.” “I understand you have suffered severely,” he said, glancing at my black dress. “We have yet one left in the army, though,” I could not help saying. He, too, had a brother there, he said.

He pulled the check-string as we reached the house, adding, “This is it,” and absurdly correcting himself with “Where do you live?” — “211. I thank you. Good-evening”; the last with emphasis as he prepared to follow. He returned the salutation, and I hurriedly regained the house. Monsieur stood over the way. A look through the blinds showed him returning to his domicile, several doors below.

I returned to my own painful reflections. The Mr. Todd who was my “sweetheart” when I was twelve and he twenty-four, who was my brother's friend, and daily at our home, was put away from among our acquaintance at the beginning of the war. This one, I should not know. Cords of candy and mountains of bouquets bestowed in childish days will not make my country's enemy my friend now that I am a woman.

_______________

¹ A cousin of Mrs. Lincoln.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 437-9

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Tuesday, June 15, 1865

Our Confederacy has gone with one crash — the report of the pistol fired at Lincoln.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 440

Diary of Judith Brockenbrough McGuire: Sunday Night, April 16, 1865

The Episcopal churches being closed, we went to the Rev. Dr. Hoge's church. The rector was absent; he went off, to be in Confederate lines ; but the Rev. Dr. Read, whose church is in ruins, occupied the pulpit.

Strange rumours are afloat to-night. It is said, and believed, that Lincoln is dead, and Seward much injured. As I passed the house of a friend this evening, she raised the window and told me the report. Of course I treated it as a Sunday rumour; but the story is strengthened by the way which the Yankees treat it. They, of course, know all about it, and to-morrow's papers will reveal the particulars. I trust that, if true, it may not be by the hand of an assassin, though it would seem to fulfil the warnings of Scripture. His efforts to carry out his abolition theories have caused the shedding of oceans of Southern blood, and by man it now seems has his blood been shed. But what effect will it hare on the South? We may have much to fear. Future events will show! This event has made us wild with excitement and speculation.

General Lee has returned. He came unattended, save by his staff — came without notice, and without parade; but he could not come unobserved; as soon as his approach was whispered, a crowd gathered in his path, not boisterously, but respectfully, and increasing rapidly as he advanced to his home on Franklin Street, between 8th and 9th, where, with a courtly bow to the multitude, he at once retired to the bosom of his beloved family. When I called in to see his high-minded and patriotic wife, a day or two after the evacuation, she was busily engaged in her invalid's chair, and very cheerful and hopeful. “The end is not yet,” she said, as if to cheer those around her; “Richmond is not the Confederacy.” To this we all most willingly assented, and felt very much gratified and buoyed by her brightness. I have not had the heart to visit her since the surrender, but hear that she still is sanguine, saying that “General Lee is not the Confederacy,” and that there is “life in the old land yet.” He is not the Confederacy; but our hearts sink within us when we remember that he and his noble army are now idle, and that we can no longer look upon them as the bulwark of our land. He has returned from defeat and disaster with the universal and profound admiration of the world, having done all that skill and valour could accomplish. The scenes at the surrender were noble and touching. General Grant's bearing was profoundly respectful; General Lee's as courtly and lofty as the purest chivalry could require. The terms, so honourable to all parties, being complied with to the letter, our arms were laid down with breaking hearts, and tears such as stoutest warriors may shed. “Woe worth the day!”

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 355-7

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Friday, May 5, 1865

It is quite warm. We left our bivouac at 3 a. m. and by 6 o'clock had crossed the Roanoke river. It is a fine stream. One of our drivers had an exciting experience in crossing the river last night, over the pontoon bridge. When he reached the middle of the bridge his leading mules became frightened at the cracks between the boards and turned right around, upsetting the whole thing, and the six mules, wagon and all went overboard. When the driver saw what was going to happen, quick as a flash, he dropped down upon the bridge between the wheel mules and the wagon, thus saving himself. The mules and wagon were never seen again, as the Roanoke is very deep. We crossed the State line into old Virginia at 6:30 this morning. At 1 p. m. we crossed the Meherrin river and after marching twenty-six miles for the day went into bivouac. We have fine roads. News came that the two men who killed the president and stabbed Seward had been shot. All is quiet.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 273-4

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Friday, April 21, 1865

Rain again today. All the men in the five different corps are at work fixing up their camp grounds. The army feels very sad and sorrowful over the death of the president.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 269

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Monday, April 17, 1865

News came that Abe Lincoln¹ had been assassinated at Washington, in a theater, also Secretary Seward and his son.² When the news came of the death of the president, the safety guards, placed at private houses to protect the families from violence, were relieved. General Sherman at once demanded an answer from Johnston by tomorrow, in regard to the surrender. Charles Correll of our company was put under arrest for saying that the president should have been shot three years ago. Correll has only been with the company since the 28th of last September, and then had been hired to enlist for a big sum of money. I went out on picket this morning.

_______________

¹ That a soldier should speak of Lincoln in such familiar terms was but natural. It was in no sense disrespectful. All through the war the President was spoken of as "Abe" Lincoln. — Ed.

² This shows again the unreliable character of the first reports. — Ed.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 268

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: June 1, 1865

The New York Herald quotes General Sherman as saying, “Columbia was burned by Hampton's sheer stupidity.'” But then who burned everything on the way in Sherman's march to Columbia, and in the line of march Sherman took after leaving Columbia? We came, for three days of travel, over a road that had been laid bare by Sherman's torches. Nothing but smoking ruins was left in Sherman's track. That I saw with my own eyes. No living thing was left, no house for man or beast. They who burned the countryside for a belt of forty miles, did they not also burn the town? To charge that to “Hampton's stupidity “ is merely an afterthought. This Herald announces that Jeff Davis will be hanged at once, not so much for treason as for his assassination of Lincoln. “Stanton, '” the Herald says, '”has all the papers in his hands to convict him.”

The Yankees here say, “The black man must go as the red man has gone; this is a white man's country.” The negroes want to run with the hare, but hunt with the hounds. They are charming in their professions to us, but declare that they are to be paid by these blessed Yankees in lands and mules for having been slaves. They were so faithful to us during the war, why should the Yankees reward them, to which the only reply is that it would be by way of punishing rebels.

Mrs. Adger¹ saw a Yankee soldier strike a woman, and she prayed God to take him in hand according to his deed. The soldier laughed in her face, swaggered off, stumbled down the steps, and then his revolver went off by the concussion and shot him dead.

The black ball is in motion. Mrs. de Saussure's cook shook the dust off her feet and departed from her kitchen to-day—free, she said. The washerwoman is packing to go.

Scipio Africanus, the Colonel's body-servant, is a soldierly looking black creature, fit to have delighted the eyes of old Frederick William of Prussia, who liked giants. We asked him how the Yankees came to leave him. “Oh, I told them marster couldn't do without me no how; and then I carried them some nice hams that they never could have found, they were hid so good.”

Eben dressed himself in his best and went at a run to meet his Yankee deliverers — so he said. At the gate he met a squad coming in. He had adorned himself with his watch and chain, like the cordage of a ship, with a handful of gaudy seals. He knew the Yankees came to rob white people, but he thought they came to save niggers. “Hand over that watch!” they said. Minus his fine watch and chain, Eben returned a sadder and a wiser man. He was soon in his shirt-sleeves, whistling at his knife-board. “Why? You here? Why did you come back so soon?” he was asked. “Well, I thought may be I better stay with ole marster that give me the watch, and not go with them that stole it.” The watch was the pride of his life. The iron had entered his soul.

Went up to my old house, “Kamschatka.” The Trapiers live there now. In those drawing-rooms where the children played Puss in Boots, where we have so often danced and sung, but never prayed before, Mr. Trapier held his prayer-meeting. I do not think I ever did as much weeping or as bitter in the same space of time. I let myself go; it did me good. I cried with a will. He prayed that we might have strength to stand up and bear our bitter disappointment, to look on our ruined homes and our desolated country and be strong. And he prayed for the man '”we elected to be our ruler and guide.” We knew that they had put him in a dungeon and in chains.² Men watch him day and night. By orders of Andy, the bloody-minded tailor, nobody above the rank of colonel can take the benefit of the amnesty oath, nobody who owns over twenty thousand dollars, or who has assisted the Confederates. And now, ye rich men, howl, for your misery has come upon you .You are beyond the outlaw, camping outside. Howell Cobb and R. M. T. Hunter have been arrested. Our turn will come next, maybe. A Damocles sword hanging over a house does not conduce to a pleasant life.

_______________

¹ Elizabeth K. Adger, wife of the Rev. John B. Adger, D. D., of Charleston, a distinguished Presbyterian divine, at one time a missionary to Smyrna where he translated the Bible into the Armenian tongue. He was afterward and before the war a professor in the Theological Seminary at Columbia. His wife was a woman of unusual judgment and intelligence, sharing her husband's many hardships and notable experiences in the East.

² Mr. Davis, while encamped near Irwinsville, Ga., had been captured on May 10th by a body of Federal cavalry under Lieutenant-Colonel Pritchard. He was taken to Fortress Monroe and confined there for two years, his release being effected on May 13, 1867, when he was admitted to bail in the sum of $100,000, the first name on his bail-bond being that of Horace Greeley.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 396

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: April 22, 1865

This yellow Confederate quire of paper, my journal, blotted by entries, has been buried three days with the silver sugar-dish, teapot, milk-jug, and a few spoons and forks that follow my fortunes as I wander. With these valuables was Hood's silver cup, which was partly crushed when he was wounded at Chickamauga.

It has been a wild three days, with aides galloping around with messages, Yankees hanging over us like a sword of Damocles. We have been in queer straits. We sat up at Mrs. Bedon's dressed, without once going to bed for forty-eight hours, and we were aweary.

Colonel Cadwallader Jones came with a despatch, a sealed secret despatch. It was for General Chesnut. I opened it. Lincoln, old Abe Lincoln, has been killed, murdered, and Seward wounded! Why? By whom? It is simply maddening, all this.

I sent off messenger after messenger for General Chesnut. I have not the faintest idea where he is, but I know this foul murder will bring upon us worse miseries. Mary Darby says, “But they murdered him themselves. No Confederates are in Washington.” “But if they see fit to accuse us of instigating it?” “Who murdered him? Who knows?” “See if they don't take vengeance on us, now that we are ruined and can not repel them any longer.”

The death of Lincoln I call a warning to tyrants. He will not be the last President put to death in the capital, though he is the first.

Buck never submits to be bored. The bores came to tea at Mrs. Bedon's, and then sat and talked, so prosy, so wearisome was the discourse, so endless it seemed, that we envied Buck, who was mooning on the piazza. She rarely speaks now.

SOURCES: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 381-2

Major-General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, April 23, 1865

Headquarters Army Of The Potomac,

Burksville, Va., April 23, 1865.

An order came yesterday constituting Virginia into the Military Division of the James, assigning Major General Halleck to the command, and putting myself and the Army of the Potomac under him.

This is the most cruel and humiliating indignity that has been put upon me. (It is General Grant's work, and done by him with a full knowledge of my services and the consideration due to them, all of which have been ignored by him to suit his convenience). The order is a perfectly legitimate one, and to which, as a soldier, I have no right to make any objection, General Halleck being my senior in the regular army. I understand, however, the whole affair. After the assassination of the President, General Grant, who had previously determined to return here, made up his mind to remain in Washington. He wished to find a place for Halleck. His first order assigned Halleck to the command of the Department of Virginia, in Ord's place, sending Ord to South Carolina. I presume Halleck demurred at this, as a position not equal to what he was entitled. At Halleck's remonstrance, and to render acceptable his removal from Washington, this order was rescinded, and the order issued making the Military Division of the James, and putting both Ord and myself under him. I feel quite confident that, if I had been in Washington and my remonstrances could have been heard, I either would have frustrated this plan, or have been provided for in some way more consistent with my past services, but les absens ont toujours tort was fully illustrated in this instance, and there is nothing left me but the submission which a good soldier should always show to the legitimate orders of his superiors. I, however, now give up Grant.

I am glad Lyman called to see you. He is an honest man and a true friend. He has a healthy mental organization, which induces him to look on all matters in the most favorable light.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 2, p. 275-6

Major-General George G. Meade’s General Orders No. 15, April 16, 1865

GENERAL ORDERS No. 15.

HDQRS. ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,

April 16, 1865.

The major-general commanding announces to the army that official intelligence has been received of the death, by assassination, of the President of the United States. The President died at 7.22 on the morning of the 15th instant.

By this army this announcement will be received with profound sorrow, and deep horror and indignation. The President, by the active interest he ever took in the welfare of this army, and by his presence in frequent visits, especially during the recent operations, had particularly endeared himself to both officers and soldiers, all of whom regarded him as a generous friend.

An honest man, a noble patriot, and sagacious statesman has fallen! No greater loss, at this particular moment, could have befallen our country. Whilst we bow with submission to the unfathomable and inscrutable decrees of Divine Providence, let us earnestly pray that God, in His infinite mercy, will so order that this terrible calamity shall not interfere with the prosperity and happiness of our beloved country.

GEO. G. MEADE,

Major-General, Commanding.

 SOURCES: The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 46, Part 3 (Serial No. 97), p. 789; George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 2, p. 273-4

Major-General George G. Meade to Margaretta Sergeant Meade, April 16, 1865

Headquarters Army Of The Potomac, April 16, 1865.

I received to-day your letter of the 12th, giving an account of the Union League serenade, and of your having learned of the death of Willie. I am glad for your sake some notice has been taken of my services.

As to Willie, I have written to you how shocked I was to hear of his death. This will, of course, be a terrible blow to his poor wife and the dear children. Your mother also, at her time of life, will necessarily feel it deeply.

Yesterday we were shocked by the announcement of the assassination of the President, Secretary and Assistant Secretary of State. I cannot imagine the motives of the perpetrators of these foul deeds, or what they expect to gain. The whole affair is a mystery. Let us pray God to have mercy on our country and bring us through these trials.

SOURCE: George Meade, The Life and Letters of George Gordon Meade, Vol. 2, p. 272-3

Senator James W. Grimes to Elizabeth Nealley Grimes, April 19, 1865

April 19th. — We have four days of universal and heartfelt sorrow and mourning; business has been nearly suspended. There was a meeting in Union Hall on Monday evening, and, although very rainy, the hall was full. I presided, and spoke a few minutes, and was followed by Mr. Salter, Father Donelan, and Mr. Darwin. At twelve o'clock to-day there were religious services in all the churches, and I hear that all were crowded; Mr. Salter's certainly was. In the afternoon there was an immense procession through the streets, ending its march at the hall, where as many entered as could, leaving a large part out-of-doors. I again presided, and opened and closed with a few remarks. There was not a business-house, or a drinking-house even, open during the day, nor an inebriated man to be seen in the town. No Sunday was ever so universally kept sacred in Burlington. The real grief does not seem to be confined to any party or sect. Everybody seems ready to canonize Mr. Lincoln's memory. If there ever was a man who was happy in his death, that man was Mr. Lincoln. He is for all time to enjoy the reputation of carrying the country successfully through a four years' terrible civil war, and is to have none of the odium and hate that are sure to be engendered by the rival schemes and rival parties for the adjustment of our troubles.

SOURCE: William Salter, The Life of James W. Grimes, p. 279

Senator James W. Grimes to Elizabeth Nealley Grimes, April 16, 1865

Burlington, April 16, 1865.

Day before yesterday was a day of rejoicing and gladness in Burlington. The country people were in town in large numbers, and there were processions, torch-lights, fireworks, illuminations, and every one seemed happy at the thought of a speedy and honorable peace.

That day of jubilee has been succeeded by two very sorrowful ones. About nine o'clock on Saturday, the intelligence reached us of the assassination of Mr. Lincoln, and the attempt upon Mr. Seward's life. Immediately the people began to assemble about the Hawkeye office, and soon Third Street became packed with people. And such expressions of horror, indignation, sorrow, and wonder, were never heard before. Shortly, some one began to decorate his house with the habiliments of mourning, and soon all the business part of the town, even the vilest liquor-dens, were shrouded with the outward signs of sorrow. All business was at once suspended, and not resumed during the day, but every one waited for further intelligence from Washington.

This day has been remarkably pleasant, and every one went to church. I went early, and found our church packed full, so that it was with difficulty I found a seat. Many were there whom I never suspected of ever going to church before, among them many German Turners; and many were turned away.

I was kept busy last night trying to prevent the destruction of a foolish woman's store, who, it was said, expressed her joy at Mr. Lincoln's murder. Had she been a man, so much was the old Adam aroused in me, I would not have uttered a word to save her.

I am full of forebodings about Johnson. He is loyal enough, but he is a man of low instincts, vindictive, violent, and of bad habits. His course will depend much upon the hands he falls into at the outset. I hope he will be equal to the occasion, and prove to be a good President. The performance of the fourth of last month was not a very flattering augury of the future.

Mr. Lincoln is to be hereafter regarded as a saint. All his foibles, and faults, and shortcomings, will be forgotten, and he will be looked upon as the Moses who led the nation through a four years' bloody war, and died in sight of peace. Never did men make a greater mistake than did his assassins, if they desired lenity and favorable terms, when they slew him, and attempted to slay Seward; for they had more to expect from them than from any men, indeed, from all men connected with the public councils in the North. Mr. Lincoln was the most amiable, kind-hearted man I ever knew, and would not, if he could avoid it, punish his most malignant enemy. If I am not greatly deceived, they have got a “Tartar” in his stead.

SOURCE: William Salter, The Life of James W. Grimes, p. 277-9

In The Review Queue: Lincoln's Assassination

Lincoln's Assassination

by Edward Steers Jr.

For 150 years, the assassination of Abraham Lincoln has fascinated the American people. Relatively few academic historians, however, have devoted study to it, viewing the murder as a side note tied to neither the Civil War nor Reconstruction. Over time, the traditional story of the assassination has become littered with myths, from the innocence of Mary Surratt and Samuel Mudd to John Wilkes Booth’s escape to Oklahoma or India, where he died by suicide several years later. In this succinct volume, Edward Steers, Jr. sets the record straight, expertly analyzing the historical evidence to explain Lincoln’s assassination.

The decision to kill President Lincoln, Steers shows, was an afterthought. John Wilkes Booth’s original plan involved capturing Lincoln, delivering him to the Confederate leadership in Richmond, and using him as a bargaining chip to exchange for southern soldiers being held in Union prison camps. Only after Robert E. Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia and Richmond fell to Union forces did Booth change his plan from capture to murder. As Steers explains, public perception about Lincoln’s death has been shaped by limited but popular histories that assert, alternately, that Secretary of War Edwin Stanton engineered the assassination or that John Wilkes Booth was a mad actor fueled by delusional revenge. In his detailed chronicle of the planning and execution of Booth’s plot, Steers demonstrates that neither Stanton nor anyone else in Lincoln’s sphere of political confidants participated in Lincoln’s death, and Booth remained a fully rational person whose original plan to capture Lincoln was both reasonable and capable of success. He also implicates both Mary Surratt and Samuel Mudd, as well as other conspirators, clarifying their parts in the scheme.

At the heart of Lincoln’s assassination, Steers reveals, lies the institution of slavery. Lincoln’s move toward ending slavery and his unwillingness to compromise on emancipation spurred the white supremacist Booth and ultimately resulted in the president’s untimely death. With concise chapters and inviting prose, this brief volume will prove essential for anyone seeking a straightforward, authoritative analysis of one of the most dramatic events in American history.

About the Author

Edward Steers, Jr., a scientist retired from the National Institutes of Health, is the author, editor, coauthor, or coeditor of thirteen books, including Blood on the Moon: The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln; The Lincoln Assassination Encyclopedia; The Lincoln Assassination: The Evidence; The Trial: The Assassination of President Lincoln and the Trial of the Conspirators; and Lincoln Legends: Myths, Hoaxes, and Confabulations Associated with Abraham Lincoln.

ISBN 978-0809333493, Southern Illinois University Press, © 2014, Hardcover, 176 pages, Photographs, Maps, End Notes, and Index. $24.95.  To purchase this book click HERE.

Brigadier-General Thomas Kilby Smith to Elizabeth Budd Smith, May 27, 1865

Saturday, May 27th.

Enclosed herewith I hand you the only copy of Mobile paper I can procure; the details therein will be sufficient without further comment from me. To-day is deliciously cool, too cool for comfort without woollen clothes. My little boat has just arrived, bringing me cargo of chickens, green peas, string beans, cucumbers, blackberries, sweet potatoes, and peanuts, with beautiful bouquets sent to me from Mount Louis Island, a blossom or two you will find pressed.

I cannot say what my future will be, a resignation would not be accepted, inasmuch as I have a full major-general's command, and I am in uncertainty as to the day or hour when I may be mustered out, or ordered hence to another field. It is only left to me to be patient to the bitter end. There is a growing disposition through many parts of the country to pay more honor to the base rebels who have been conquered in their efforts to overthrow the best government in the world than to the brave defenders of their flag. It will not be long before the United States uniforms will cease to be a badge of honor. How base the treatment of Sherman, how nobly he has emerged from the fiery furnace. I dare not trust myself in speculation upon passing events, or anticipation of the future.

I rejoice to note by the price current that most of the staples of life are largely reduced in value; corn, oats, flour, etc. You will now be able to make your dollar purchase pretty nearly a dollar's worth, and thus your income be virtually increased.

I am not much in the habit of telling dreams, and there is no Joseph to interpret; but three that have been lately dreamed, are so peculiar in connection with passing events, that, without giving them in full detail, I will let you have the outline. The first dream I dreamed myself about the time of the assassination of the President, and it was to this effect; that General Canby sent for me to be the bearer of despatches to President Lincoln, and that I went to heaven to deliver the despatches. You will naturally ask how heaven appeared to me in my dream. I can only give you a vague idea of my impressions. The scene was a spacious apartment something like the East Room of the White House; but vast with shadowy pillars and recesses and one end opening into space skyward, and by fleecy clouds made dim and obscure, just visible, with a shining radiance far away in the perspective, farther away than the sun or stars appear to us. I have no remembrance of my interview, but a clear recollection of my sensations that were those of perfect happiness, such as I have never had waking or dreaming. I would not tell this dream to anyone, till some weeks afterwards the Provost Marshal of my staff told me of a strange dream in which he had awakened the night before, and that had made a serious impression on his mind. The scene of his vision was laid at Carrollton, near New Orleans. I was standing surrounded by my staff, Jemmy Sherer and Joe, when a man approached and asked me to retire to the back yard on plea of private and important business. I walked out with him and a moment after a rebel officer followed us, with his hand upon a pistol, partially concealed in his breast. Mrs. Stone, the wife of my Inspector-General, called the attention of the dreamer to this fact, with a solemn warning that I was about to be assassinated. He at once sprang to the door for the guard, and perceiving an officer in command of an escort approaching, called halt, that from him he might procure the guard, but as he neared, discovered he was escorting a long funeral procession of mourners clad in white, in the centre of which was a hearse with towering white plumes. A colloquy and quarrel ensued, and pending the denouement he awoke. He told his dream to me, and on the instant, my own being recalled to mind, I told him mine, but neither of us mentioned the matter to others. Lastly, the Adjutant, Captain Wetmore, had his dream. The march and the battle, and all the vicissitudes of the campaign, in the rapid kaleidoscope of thought, had passed through his brain, when at last Jeff Davis appeared, a captured prisoner, then he was indicted, tried, and convicted, all in due course, and finally the sentence, that he be banished to “Australia” for twenty years, provided the consent of the British government could be obtained thereto.

These dreams were all vivid and interesting in detail, the last the most sensible of the three, and certainly as easy of interpretation as those of the butler and the baker of the King of Egypt. Yet they only serve to remind us of the words of him, who wrote as never man wrote, who knew the human heart, and springs to human action, and the world, and all its contents, better than anyone on earth,

“All Spirits,

And are melted into air, into thin air;

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve;

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind: We are such stuff

As dreams are made of, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep. . . .”

My next letter will be dated from New Orleans, events transpiring, foreshadow my early departure from my headquarters at Dauphine Island, to which I have become a good deal attached. I have had some lonely hours on its shores, but the waves have made sweet music in my ears.

I have some fresh accounts of the horrid accident at Mobile; language fails to do justice to the terrors of the scene. The professional sensation writers will fill the columns of the daily press with details, and I will not attempt to harrow up your soul with my tame pen.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 403-6

Pass of Corydon E. Fuller, April 15, 1865

No. 2691.

Headquarters.

Department of Washington,

Washington, D. C, April 15, 1865.

Pass C. E. Fuller, on Seventh street, near the toll gate, and return.

Reason. To go home and business.

This pass will expire April 23, 1865.

By command of Major General Augur.

J. A. Slipper,

Capt. and A. A. G.

On the back side of the same was the following:

OATH OF ALLEGIANCE.

In availing myself of the benefits of this Pass, I do solemnly affirm that I will support, protect and defend the Constitution and Government of the United States against all enemies, whether domestic or foreign; that I will bear true faith, allegiance and loyalty to the same, any ordinance, resolution or law of any State Convention or Legislature to the contrary notwithstanding; that I will not give aid, comfort or information to its enemies; and further, that I do this with a full determination, pledge and purpose, without any mental reservation or evasion whatsoever: So help me God.

C. E. Fuller.

SOURCE: Corydon Eustathius Fuller, Reminiscences of James A. Garfield: With Notes Preliminary and Collateral, p. 384-5