Team Of Rivals Part 57

After breakfast, Lincoln walked up the bluff to Grant's headquarters, where plans were made for a visit to the front. As the presidential party pa.s.sed by the battle sites, it became clear that the engagement had been more serious than first realized. "The ground immediately about us was still strewn with dead and wounded men," recalled Barnes. The Confederates had suffered nearly five thousand casualties; the Federals over two thousand. Burial parties were already at work as ambulances transported the wounded to the hospital and surgeons attended those still lying in the field. When a long line of captured Confederate soldiers pa.s.sed by, "Lincoln remarked upon their sad and unhappy condition...his whole face showing sympathetic feeling for the suffering about him." On the return trip, he commented "that he had seen enough of the horrors of war, that he hoped this was the beginning of the end, and that there would be no more bloodshed or ruin of homes."

"I am here within five miles of the scene of this morning's action," Lincoln telegraphed Stanton from Meade's headquarters in the field. "I have seen the prisoners myself and they look like there might be the number Meade states-1600." Unsettled by Lincoln's proximity to the front, Stanton replied, "I hope you will remember Gen. Harrison's advice to his men at Tippecanoe, that they 'can see as well a little further off.'" But for the soldiers in the field who greeted him with heartfelt cheers, Lincoln's presence at the scene revealed that "he was not afraid to show himself among them, and willing to share their dangers here, as often, far away, he had shared the joy of their triumphs."

Seated at the campfire that night, Lincoln seemed to Horace Porter much more "grave and his language much more serious than usual." Undoubtedly, the grisly images of the dead and wounded were not easily dismissed. As the night wore on, the president rallied and "entertained the general-in-chief and several members of the staff by talking in a most interesting manner about public affairs, and ill.u.s.trating the subjects mentioned with his incomparable anecdotes." Toward the end of the evening, Grant asked, "Mr. President, did you at any time doubt the final success of the cause?" "Never for a moment," Lincoln replied.

Grant then turned the conversation to the Trent affair. According to Grant, Seward had given "a very interesting account" of the tangled questions involved during his visit the previous summer. "'Yes,' said the President; 'Seward studied up all the works ever written on international law, and came to cabinet meetings loaded to the muzzle with the subject. We gave due consideration to the case, but at that critical period of the war it was soon decided to deliver up the prisoners. It was a pretty bitter pill to swallow, but I contented myself with believing that England's triumph in the matter would be short-lived, and that after ending our war successfully we would be so powerful that we could call her to account for all the embarra.s.sments she had inflicted upon us."

Lincoln continued, "I felt a good deal like the sick man in Illinois who was told he probably had n't many days longer to live, and he ought to make his peace with any enemies he might have. He said the man he hated worst of all was a fellow named Brown, in the next village.... So Brown was sent for, and when he came the sick man began to say, in a voice as meek as Moses's, that he wanted to die at peace with all his fellow-creatures, and he hoped he and Brown could now shake hands and bury all their enmity. The scene was becoming altogether too pathetic for Brown, who had to get out his handkerchief and wipe the gathering tears from his eyes.... After a parting that would have softened the heart of a grindstone, Brown had about reached the room door when the sick man rose up on his elbow and called out to him: 'But see here, Brown; if I should happen to get well, mind, that old grudge stands.' So I thought that if this nation should happen to get well we might want that old grudge against England to stand." Everyone laughed heartily, and the pleasant evening drew to a close.

On Sunday morning, the River Queen carried the presidential party downriver to where Admiral Porter's naval flotilla awaited them, "ranged in double line, dressed with flags, the crews on deck cheering." As each vessel pa.s.sed by, reported Barnes, Lincoln "waved his high hat as if saluting old friends in his native town, and seemed as happy as a schoolboy." After lunch aboard Porter's flagship, the River Queen sailed to Aiken's Landing. There, arrangements were made for Lincoln to ride on horseback with Grant to General Ord's encampment four miles away while Mary Lincoln and Julia Grant followed in an ambulance. "The President was in high spirits," observed Barnes, "laughing and chatting first to General Grant and then to General Ord as they rode forward through the woods and over the swamps." Reaching the parade ground ahead of the ladies, they decided to begin the review without them, since the troops had been waiting for hours and had missed their midday meal. General Ord's wife, Mary, asked if "it was proper for her to accompany the cavalcade" without Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Grant. "Of course," she was told. "Come along!"

Meanwhile, the ambulance carrying the women had encountered great discomfort due to the corduroyed road, which jounced them into the air each time a log was struck. Concerned that the agonizingly slow pace would make them late for the review, Mary ordered the driver to go faster. This only made things worse, for the first "jolt lifted the party clear off the seats," striking their heads on the top of the wagon. Mary "now insisted on getting out and walking," recalled Horace Porter, who had been a.s.signed to escort the ladies, "but as the mud was nearly hub-deep, Mrs. Grant and I persuaded her that we had better stick to the wagon as our only ark of refuge."

When Mary finally reached the parade grounds and saw the attractive Mrs. Ord riding beside her husband in the place of honor that should have been her own, she erupted in an embarra.s.sing tirade against Mrs. Ord, calling her "vile names in the presence of a crowd of officers." Mrs. Ord, according to one observer, "burst into tears and inquired what she had done, but Mrs. Lincoln refused to be appeased, and stormed till she was tired. Mrs. Grant tried to stand by her friend, and everybody was shocked and horrified."

That evening Mary continued her harangue at dinner, manifestly aggrieving her husband, whose att.i.tude toward her, marveled Captain Barnes, "was always that of the most affectionate solicitude, so marked, so gentle and unaffected that no one could see them together without being impressed by it." Knowing his wife would awake the next morning humiliated by such a public display of temper, Lincoln had no desire to exacerbate the situation. Perhaps, as Mary's biographer suggests, the blow in the wagon that Mary suffered to her head had initiated a migraine headache, spurring the irrational outburst of wrath. Whether from illness or mortification, she remained sequestered in her stateroom for the next few days.

At this time, General Sherman was on his way to City Point. His army had stopped in Goldsboro, North Carolina, to resupply, leaving him several days to visit Grant and discuss plans for the final push. When Sherman arrived, he and Grant eagerly greeted each other, "their hands locked in a cordial grasp." To Horace Porter, "their encounter was more like that of two school-boys coming together after a vacation than the meeting of the chief actors in a great war tragedy." After talking for an hour, they walked down to the wharf and joined the president on the River Queen. Lincoln greeted Sherman "with a warmth of manner and expression" that the general would long remember, and initiated "a lively conversation," intently questioning Sherman about his march from Savannah to Goldsboro.

The talk darkened as Sherman and Grant agreed that "one more b.l.o.o.d.y battle was likely to occur before the close of the war." They believed Lee's only option now was to retreat to the Carolinas. There, joining forces with Johnston, he would stage a desperate attack against either Sherman or Grant. "Must more blood be shed?" Lincoln asked. "Cannot this last b.l.o.o.d.y battle be avoided?" That was not in their hands, the generals explained. All would depend upon the actions taken by Robert E. Lee.

The next morning, March 28, Sherman and Grant, accompanied this time by Admiral Porter, returned to the River Queen for a long talk with Lincoln in the upper saloon. With the war drawing to a close, Sherman inquired of Lincoln: "What was to be done with the rebel armies when defeated? And what should be done with the political leaders, such as Jeff. Davis, etc.?" Lincoln replied that "all he wanted of us was to defeat the opposing armies, and to get the men composing the Confederate armies back to their homes, at work on their farms and in the their shops." He wanted no retaliation or retribution. "Let them have their horses to plow with, and, if you like, their guns to shoot crows with. I want no one punished; treat them liberally all round. We want those people to return to their allegiance to the Union and submit to the laws."

Regarding Jefferson Davis and his top political leaders, Lincoln privately wished they could somehow "escape the country," though he could not say this in public. "As usual," Sherman recalled, "he ill.u.s.trated his meaning by a story: 'A man once had taken the total-abstinence pledge. When visiting a friend, he was invited to take a drink, but declined, on the score of his pledge; when his friend suggested lemonade, [the man] accepted. In preparing the lemonade, the friend pointed to the brandy-bottle, and said the lemonade would be more palatable if he were to pour in a little brandy; when his guest said, if he could do so "unbeknown" to him, he would not object.'" Sherman grasped the point immediately. "Mr. Lincoln wanted Davis to escape, 'unbeknown' to him."

Later that afternoon, Sherman left City Point to return to his troops and prepare for the expected battle. Saying goodbye to the president, he "was more than ever impressed by his kindly nature, his deep and earnest sympathy with the afflictions of the whole people," and his "absolute faith in the courage, manliness, and integrity of the armies in the field." To be sure, "his face was care-worn and haggard; but, the moment he began to talk, his face lightened up, his tall form, as it were, unfolded, and he was the very impersonation of good-humor and fellowship." A decade later, Sherman remained convinced of Lincoln's unparalleled leadership. "Of all the men I ever met, he seemed to possess more of the elements of greatness, combined with goodness, than any other."

Lincoln walked to the railroad station early the next morning to bid farewell to Grant, who was heading to the front for what they hoped would be the final offensive against Lee. Oppressed by thoughts of the expected battle, "Lincoln looked more serious than at any other time since he had visited headquarters," recalled Horace Porter; "the lines in his face seemed deeper, and the rings under his eyes were of a darker hue." As the train pulled away from the platform, Grant and his party tipped their hats in honor of the president. Returning the salute, his "voice broken by an emotion he could ill conceal," Lincoln said: "Good-by, gentlemen, G.o.d bless you all!"

As Grant was leaving City Point, Seward was heading south to join Lincoln. "I think the President must have telegraphed for him," Welles surmised, "and if so I came to the conclusion that efforts are again being made for peace. I am by no means certain that this irregular proceeding and importunity on the part of the Executive is the wisest course." The Tribune concurred: "We presume no person of even average sagacity has imagined that the President of the United States had gone down to the front at such a time as this in quest merely of pleasure, or leisure or health even." That he hoped to "bring peace with him on his return," the editorial suggested, was "too palpable to be doubted."

Though Lincoln clearly would have loved "to bring peace with him on his return," he went to City Point with no intention of engaging in further negotiations. He had, in fact, sought a "change of air & rest," as well as the chance "to escape the unceasing and relentless pressure of visitors." More important, he wanted to underscore his directive that Grant should converse with Lee only with regard to capitulation or solely military concerns. Grant was "not to decide, discuss, or confer upon any political question. Such questions the President holds in his own hands." Lincoln wished to ensure that his lenient policy toward the rebels would not be undercut by a punitive agenda.

He knew that work was acc.u.mulating on his desk as his second week of absence from Washington began, but he was not yet ready to return. "I begin to feel that I ought to be at home," he telegraphed Stanton on March 30, "and yet I dislike to leave without seeing nearer to the end of General Grant's present movement. He has now been out since yesterday morning.... Last night at 10.15, when it was dark as a rainy night without a moon could be, a furious cannonade, soon joined in by a heavy musketry-fire, opened near Petersburg and lasted about two hours. The sound was very distinct here, as also were the flashes of guns upon the clouds. It seemed to me a great battle, but the older hands here scarcely noticed it, and, sure enough, this morning it was found that very little had been done." Stanton replied promptly, "I hope you will stay to see it out, or for a few days at least. I have strong faith that your presence will have great influence in inducing exertions that will bring Richmond; compared to that no other duty can weigh a feather.... A pause by the army now would do harm; if you are on the ground there will be no pause. All well here."

Seward, who had most likely come to keep Lincoln company, remained only two days. On April 1, he accompanied Mary back to Washington. The Lincolns had apparently decided that, after her public outburst, she would be better off in the White House, away from prying reporters. Moreover, Lincoln had related to her a dream in which the White House had caught fire, and Mary wanted to a.s.sure herself that all was well. Once she was aboard the steamer heading north, her spirits lifted abruptly. Fellow pa.s.senger Carl Schurz talked with her on the voyage. She "was overwhelmingly charming to me," he wrote to his wife. "She chided me for not visiting her, overpowered me with invitations, and finally had me driven to my hotel in her own state carriage. I learned more state secrets in a few hours than I could otherwise in a year.... She is an astounding person."

All that day, Lincoln haunted the telegraph office at City Point, anxiously awaiting news from Grant. Returning to the River Queen, he could see "the flash of the cannon" in the distance, signaling that the battle for Petersburg had begun. "Almost all night he walked up and down the deck," Crook recalled, "pausing now and then to listen or to look out into the darkness to see if he could see anything. I have never seen such suffering in the face of any man as was in his that night."

The battle was intense, but by early morning, the Federals had broken through Petersburg's outer lines of defense and had almost reached General Lee's headquarters at the Turnbull House. Realizing he could no longer hold on, Lee ordered his troops to withdraw from both Petersburg and Richmond. That evening Lincoln received the news that Grant had "Petersburg completely enveloped from river below to river above," and had taken "about 12,000 prisoners." Grant invited the president to visit him in Petersburg the following day.

Earlier that day, Lincoln had moved from the luxurious River Queen to the compact Malvern, Admiral Porter's flagship. Concerned by the cramped quarters, Porter had offered Lincoln his bed, "but he positively declined it," Porter recalled, choosing instead "the smallest kind of a room, six feet long by four and a half feet wide." The next morning he insisted he had "slept well," but teasingly remarked that "you can't put a long blade into a short scabbard." Realizing that the president's six-foot-four frame must have overhung the bed considerably, Porter got carpenters to knock down the wall, increasing the size of both the room and the bed. When Lincoln awoke the next morning, he announced with delight that "a greater miracle than ever happened last night; I shrank six inches in length and about a foot sideways."

To reach Grant, who was waiting in "a comfortable-looking brick house with a yard in front" on Market Street in Petersburg, Lincoln had to ride over the battlefields, littered with dead and dying soldiers. Years later, his bodyguard could recall the sight of "one man with a bullet-hole through his forehead, and another with both arms shot away." As Lincoln absorbed the sorrowful scene, Crook noticed that his "face settled into its old lines of sadness." By the time he reached Grant, he had recovered himself. Grant's aide Horace Porter watched as Lincoln "dismounted in the street, and came in through the front gate with long and rapid strides, his face beaming with delight. He seized General Grant's hand as the general stepped forward to greet him, and stood shaking it for some time." Lincoln showed such elation that Porter doubted whether he had "ever experienced a happier moment in his life."

Lincoln and his lieutenant general conferred for about an hour and a half on the piazza in front of the house while curious citizens strolled by. Though no word had arrived yet from Richmond, Grant surmised that, with the fall of Petersburg, Lee had no choice but to evacuate the capital and move west along the Danville Road, hoping to escape to North Carolina, in which case the Federals would attempt to "get ahead of him and cut him off." Grant had hoped to receive word of Richmond's fall while still in the president's company, but when no message arrived, he felt compelled to join his troops in the field.

Lincoln was back at City Point when news reached him that Union troops commanded by General Weitzel had now occupied Richmond. "Thank G.o.d that I have lived to see this!" he remarked to Admiral Porter. "It seems to me that I have been dreaming a horrid dream for four years, and now the nightmare is gone."

For Jefferson Davis and the Confederate government, the nightmare was just beginning. Twenty-four hours earlier, the Confederate president had received the devastating news of Lee's evacuation plans. Seated in his customary pew at St. Paul's Church for the Sunday service, Davis had received "a telegram announcing that General Lee could not hold his position longer than till night, and warning [him] that we must leave Richmond, as the army would commence retreating that evening."

"Thereupon," an attendant at the service noted, Davis "instantly arose, and walked hurriedly down the aisle, beneath the questionings of all eyes in the house." Summoning his cabinet to an emergency session, he made preparations for a special train to carry the leading officials and important government papers south and west to Danville, where a new capital could be established. As word of the evacuation of the troops spread, the citizenry panicked, and a general exodus began. In the tumult, a small fire, deliberately set to destroy the tobacco warehouses before the Federals arrived, raged out of control, burning "nearly everything between Main street and the river for about three-quarters of a mile." All the public buildings in its path, including the offices of the Richmond Examiner and the Inquirer, were destroyed, leaving only the Customhouse and the Spotswood Hotel.

The news of Richmond's capture on April 3, 1865, reached the War Department in Washington shortly before noon. When over the wire came the words "Here is the first message for you in four years from Richmond," the telegraph operator leaped from his seat and shouted from the window, "Richmond has fallen." The news quickly "spread by a thousand mouths," and "almost by magic the streets were crowded with hosts of people, talking, laughing, hurrahing, and shouting in the fullness of their joy." A Herald reporter noted that many "wept as children" while "men embraced and kissed each other upon the streets; friends who had been estranged for years shook hands and renewed their vows of friendship."

Gathering at the War Department, the crowd called for Stanton, who had not left his post for several nights. "As he stood upon the steps to speak," recalled his aide A. E. Johnson, "he trembled like a leaf, and his voice showed his emotion." He began by expressing "grat.i.tude to Almighty G.o.d for his deliverance of the nation," then called for thanks "to the President, to the Army and Navy, to the great commanders by sea and land, to the gallant officers and men who have periled their lives upon the battle-field, and drenched the soil with their blood." Stanton was "so overcome by emotion that he could not speak continuously," but when he finished, the crowd roared its approval.

Seward, who had been at the War Department awaiting news of Richmond's fall, was urged to speak next. Clearly understanding that the moment belonged to Stanton, he kept his remarks short and humorous. He was beginning to think that it was time for a change in the cabinet, he began. "Why I started to go to 'the front' the other day, and when I got to City Point they told me it was at Hatcher's Run, and when I got there I was told it was not there but somewhere else, and when I get back I am told by the Secretary that it is at Petersburg; but before I can realize that, I am told again that it is at Richmond, and west of that. Now I leave you to judge what I ought to think of such a Secretary of War as this." The crowd erupted in "loud and l.u.s.ty" cheers, and a "beaming" Stanton led them in a chorus of "The Star-Spangled Banner."

Newspapers raced to issue special editions. "The demand seemed inexhaustible," the Star reported, "and almost beyond the power of our lightning press to supply." One hundred Herald couriers, "as fleet on foot and as breathless with enthusiasm as Malice with his fiery cross," raced to distribute papers in every section of the city. EXTRA! GLORIOUS! FALL OF RICHMOND! read the headlines, adding that black troops were among the first to enter the city. For anyone who missed the cries of the newsboys, the sound of eight hundred guns, fired at Stanton's order, marked the signal triumph.

That night, with bands playing in the streets, candles sparkling in the windows of government buildings, and flags flying from every housetop, Seward joined a group of guests for dinner at Stanton's house. The evening's joy was diminished only by the anxiety Stanton and Seward shared for Lincoln's safety. Earlier that day, Seward had talked with James Speed about his fear that "if there were to be a.s.sa.s.sinations, now was the time." With the fall of Richmond, Seward told Speed, "the Southern people would feel as though the world had come to an end." At such moments, history suggested, desperate men might be prompted to take desperate action, and "the President, being the most marked man on the Federal side, was the most liable to attack." Aware that Mary had invited Speed to join her two days later on a return trip to City Point, Seward begged him to "warn the President of the danger."

Stanton, who worried constantly about the president's safety, needed no reminders that the situation was more hazardous than ever. He had tried to keep Lincoln from going to Petersburg, asking him "to consider whether you ought to expose the nation to the consequence of any disaster to yourself," and pointing out that while generals must run such risks "in the line of their duty," political leaders were not "in the same condition." Lincoln was already back from Petersburg when he received Stanton's telegram. He thanked the secretary for his concern and promised to "take care of [himself]," while simultaneously announcing his intended departure for Richmond the next day.

At 8 a.m. on Tuesday morning, April 4, Lincoln set forth on his historic journey to Richmond. When the Malvern reached the channel approaching the city, its pa.s.sage was blocked by "wreckage of all sorts," including "dead horses, broken ordnance, wrecked boats," and floating torpedoes. They were forced to transfer to the captain's barge, which was towed in behind a little tug manned by marines. When the tug went aground, the president's arrival was left to the rowing skills of a dozen sailors. The situation was unnerving to Crook. "On either side," he recalled, "we pa.s.sed so close to torpedoes that we could have put out our hands and touched them."

"Here we were in a solitary boat," Admiral Porter remembered, "after having set out with a number of vessels flying flags at every mast-head, hoping to enter the conquered capital in a manner befitting the rank of the President of the United States." Lincoln was not disturbed in the slightest. The situation reminded him, he cheerfully noted, of a man who had approached him seeking a high position as a consulate minister: "Finding he could not get that, he came down to some more modest position. Finally he asked to be made a tide-waiter. When he saw he could not get that, he asked me for an old pair of trousers. But it is well to be humble."

No sooner had the presidential party reached the landing than Lincoln was surrounded by a small group of black laborers shouting, "Bress de Lord!...dere is de great Messiah!...Glory, Hallelujah!" First one and then several others fell on their knees. "Don't kneel to me," Lincoln said, his voice full of emotion, "that is not right. You must kneel to G.o.d only, and thank him for the liberty you will hereafter enjoy." The men stood up, joined hands, and began to sing a hymn. The streets, which had been "entirely deserted," became "suddenly alive" with crowds of black people "tumbling and shouting, from over the hills and from the water-side."

An ever-growing crowd trailed Lincoln as he walked up the street. "It was a warm day," Admiral Porter noted, and Lincoln, whose tall figure "overtopped every man there," was easily visible. From the windows of the houses along the two-mile route, hundreds of white faces looked on with curiosity at the lanky figure, "walking with his usual long, careless stride, and looking about with an interested air and taking in everything."

Lincoln's bodyguard was relieved when they finally reached the safety of General Weitzel's headquarters, for he thought he had glimpsed a figure in Confederate uniform pointing a gun at Lincoln from a window along the route. Weitzel and his officers had occupied the stucco mansion that Jefferson Davis had abandoned only two days earlier. Captain Barnes recalled that when Lincoln walked into the "comfortably furnished" office of the Confederate president, he crossed the room "to the easy chair and sank down in it." To all present, it seemed "a supreme moment," but Lincoln betrayed no sense of exaltation or triumph. His first words, softly spoken, were simply to ask for a gla.s.s of water. The water was promptly supplied, along with a bottle of whiskey. An old black servant still at his post told them that "Mrs. Davis had ordered him to have the house in good condition for the Yankees."

Lincoln had already toured the mansion, seeming "interested in everything," and had met with the members of General Weitzel's staff, when the Confederate a.s.sistant secretary of war, John Campbell, arrived to see him. Lincoln welcomed Campbell, whom he had met two months earlier at the Hampton Roads Conference. While the details of their conversation were later disputed, it appears that Lincoln, still fearing that Lee might engage in a final battle, agreed to allow the Virginia legislature to convene, on the understanding that they would repeal the order of secession and remove the state's troops from the war.

Riding through the city that afternoon in an open carriage, the president and his entourage found the Confederate statehouse "in dreadful disorder, signs of a sudden and unexpected flight; members' tables were upset, bales of Confederate scrip were lying about the floor, and many official doc.u.ments of some value were scattered about." When they finally returned to the flagship, both Admiral Porter and William Crook were greatly relieved. Having worried all day about Lincoln's safety, Crook later wrote that it was "nothing short of miraculous that some attempt on [Lincoln's] life was not made. It is to the everlasting glory of the South that he was permitted to come and go in peace."

As Lincoln rested on the Malvern that night, all the public buildings in the nation's capital were illuminated by order of the secretary of state. "The city was all alight with rockets, fireworks, and illuminations of every description," observed Noah Brooks, "the streets being one blaze of glory." It seemed "the entire population of Washington" had poured into the streets to share in the triumph and view the brilliant spectacle produced by "thousands of lighted candles."

Though Seward joined in the glorious celebrations, he continued to fret. The following day he told Welles that he had secured a revenue cutter to take him to Richmond with some important papers that required the president's immediate attention. "He is filled with anxiety to see the President," Welles recorded in his diary, "and these schemes are his apology."

Minutes after taking leave of Welles, Seward nearly lost his life in a carriage accident. f.a.n.n.y and her friend Mary t.i.tus had come to the Department to join her father and brother Fred for their "customary" afternoon ride. As the horses moved up Vermont Avenue, the coachman stopped to close the carriage door, which had not been properly latched. Before he could return to his seat, the horses bolted, "swinging the driver by the reins as one would swing a cat by the tail." Both Fred and Seward jumped out, hoping they could stop the runaway horses. Fred was not hurt, but Seward caught his heel on the carriage as he jumped, and landed "violently upon the pavement," causing him to lose consciousness.

"The horses tore along," f.a.n.n.y recorded in her diary, and "we seemed to be whirling on to certain destruction." At an alley, they "turned. We brushed against a tree," and headed straight toward the corner of a house, where she feared she would be "crushed to death." Fortunately, a pa.s.sing soldier got control of the reins and brought an end to the terrifying ride. Rushing back to the place where her father had fallen, f.a.n.n.y was horrified to find his broken body, "blood streaming from his mouth." At first she feared he was dead.

For two hours after he was carried to his home, Seward remained unconscious. When he came to at last, he was delirious with pain, having suffered a broken jaw and a badly dislocated shoulder. Doctors arrived, and f.a.n.n.y could hear his agonized cries through the bedroom door. When she was finally allowed to see him, "he was so disfigured by bruises...that he had scarcely a trace of resemblance to himself."

Hearing the news, Stanton rushed to Seward's bedside, where, f.a.n.n.y recalled, he "was like a woman in the sickroom." He ministered carefully to his friend, perhaps remembering childhood days when he had accompanied his father on sick calls. He "wiped his lips" where the blood had caked, "spoke gently to him," and remained by his side for hours. Returning to the War Department, Stanton sent Lincoln a telegram at City Point: "Mr Seward was thrown from his carriage his shoulder bone at the head of the joint broken off, his head and face much bruised and he is in my opinion dangerously injured. I think your presence here is needed."

Receiving the message shortly before midnight, Lincoln advised Grant that Seward's accident necessitated his return to Washington. Meanwhile, Mary and her invited guests, including James Speed, Elizabeth Keckley, Charles Sumner, Senator Harlan, and the Marquis de Chambrun, were steaming toward City Point. At dawn the next morning, Mary sent a telegram to Stanton: "If Mr Seward is not too severely injured-cannot the President, remain until we arrive at City Point." By this time the surgeon general had determined that Seward had suffered no internal injuries. Stanton informed Mary that there was "no objection to the President remaining at City Point." A few hours later, he sent word to Lincoln that Seward was recovering. "I have seen him and read him all the news.... His mind is clear and spirits good."

When Mary's party arrived at noon on April 6, Lincoln brought them into the drawing room of the River Queen and relayed the latest bulletins, all positive, from Grant. "His whole appearance, pose, and bearing had marvelously changed," Senator Harlan noted. "He was, in fact, transfigured. That indescribable sadness which had previously seemed to be an adamantine element of his very being had been suddenly changed for an equally indescribable expression of serene joy, as if conscious that the great purpose of his life had been attained." Nonetheless, the marquis marveled, "it was impossible to detect in him the slightest feeling of pride, much less of vanity."

While the visitors went off to Richmond, Lincoln remained at City Point to await further word from Grant. Welcome news soon arrived-a copy of a telegram from Sheridan, reporting a successful engagement with Lee's retreating armies that had resulted in the capture of "several thousand prisoners," including a half-dozen generals. "If the thing is pressed," Sheridan predicted, "I think Lee will surrender." Lincoln rejoined: "Let the thing be pressed."

That evening Julia Grant, accompanied by Lincoln's old friend E. B. Washburne, joined the Lincoln party on the River Queen. The conversation turned on what should be done with Jefferson Davis if he were apprehended. "Don't allow him to escape the law," one of the group said, "he must be hung." At once Lincoln interjected: "Let us judge not, that we be not judged."