I very often went to Washington while the Army of the Potomac was lying along the Rappahannock River, and my husband would manage to run up for a few hours to see me. On one of these visits I was presented to President Lincoln, and had a private audience. I shall never forget that wonderful man, and the pressure of the immense hand which grasped mine, so fervent, true, and hearty was his manner. I was very young, and was dressed in such height of fashion as my means afforded - and how strange that fashion seems to me a quarter of a century later.
It was forenoon, and yet my out of-door costume consisted of a pale-pearl silk dress, trimmed with cherry color, immense hoops, and a long train, such as is now very rarely worn even in a ballroom; a black lace shawl, and a little pearl-colored bonnet, with a white illusion veil tied in a tremendous bow under my chin. There were no bustles in those days, except the one worn under the back- hair to support the chignon, which was more commonly called the "waterfall," and though our foreheads were innocent of bangs or crimps, yet, equally absurd, we twisted our hair around pliable little cushions, which were known as rats and mice. What would a tailor-made girl think if she ran across such an outfit on Fifth Avenue to-day?
Mr. Lincoln wore a dress suit, I remember, his swallow- tailed coat being a terrible misfit, and it puzzled me very much to tell whether his shirt-collar was made to stand up or to turn down - it was doing a little of both. He was entirely at his ease, and impressed me as being pleased with the diversion which my visit gave him. He referred in complimentary terms to my husband's services, and to the requests of his superior officers for his promotion to Brigadier-General, adding, in a quaint and earnest way, "but he is too young." I replied promptly: "He is not too young to be killed in the service, and make me a widow." "Well," said he, with the bonhomie of a courtier, "you would have no trouble in finding promotion then," which, for Mr. Lincoln, was, I presume, quite a flirtatious remark. Perhaps he thought that, under the circumstances, I might agree with Madame de Sévigné, who said (with great provocation, it is true): "Would to God we were born widows."
While we were thus chatting pleasantly, the door-keeper handed him a card with a woman's name upon it, and whispered a few words to the President as he was putting on his eye- glasses. Mr. Lincoln uttered a long and agonizing sigh - perhaps I should call it a groan, - and then, turning to me, in a tone of voice as full of sadness as, a moment before it had been full of mirth, said: "This poor woman's son is to be shot to-morrow."
I confess I was so overpowered by his distress that I had hardly the strength to speak, but, by way of comfort, I ventured the opinion that I presumed such things were inevitable in time of war. "Yes," said he, slowly and pensively, as he threw his head far back and pressed his brow with his hand, "that's so; but there's so many on 'em, so many on 'em." Of course this brought our interview to a close, and I gave way to the broken-hearted mother, who, I am sure, left that great presence as full of hope as I did of love and reverence for this remarkable man. I never again saw him until I met him at City Point, Va., a few days before the assassination.
 |
CivilWarTalk.com -
A free and friendly Civil War community. 
Linear Mode
