Voices from the Past Part 161

"The President," he replied. "He was killed by an a.s.sa.s.sin."

An outburst of grief came from the crowd.

I woke...

Mary was very disturbed by my dream; I gained nothing by telling her; in tears she threw herself on her bed.

"Don't repeat your dream to anyone," she said.

2/21/65

How bl.u.s.tery, more like December or January; it will be raining soon.

This morning, when it was more pleasant, I visited the Potomac Book Shop where Willie and I used to buy books.

Here and there were a few soldiers. I was pleased, especially when one of them asked me if I would recommend a book of poetry.

On my last visit I bought Pope's Essay on Man. I noticed a British copy bound in morocco. At the Potomac I have acquired some Emerson, Wordsworth, Longfellow. I picked up a copy of Leaves of Gra.s.s, but it did not appeal to me. The shop reminds me of one in Boston; I told the owner; he laughed: "The shop you mention belongs to my brother... I furnished this one with Boston pieces."

I hope I can get Tad to take an interest in learning to read. Willie's enthusiasm did not rub off on him.

Returning to the White House, one of our horses threw a shoe.

February 27, '65

Hill tells me we have imprisoned a Confederate citizen who was delivering a 40,000 draft to the Southern forces. He also jailed a M. Louis de Bedian, who had letters of credit ($39,000), for the Confederate army. He has apprehended Charles Kopperl, Washington resident, who boasts that he killed Union soldiers. Obviously, Washington has strange, determined men.

Some countrymen objected to Hill's political imprisonments, and I am criticized, in turn. Again nepotism ghosts.

Billy Herndon has walked into my office. Our get- together seemed as though we were in Springfield, in the old office. I threw out questions about friends; he had the answers. The weather favored us as we rambled around Washington, in the presidential coach. Together we explored the White House-Billy's highpoint. We had dinner, with Tad at our table.

Billy gave Tad a hand-carved pony express rider, in walnut. My books interested Billy. He thought my walnut bed a world's wonder. "Is it really nine feet long!" The carvings on the headboard amused him, and the wooden nest with its walnut eggs, under my side table. We parted reluctantly.

I wish I had ten men of his caliber to work with here.

He went away quite shaken by the cost of the war. "How could it be...$2,000,000 every single day... Can our country recover such an outlay?"

March 9th

The Library

We can not escape history. We, of this administration, will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No personal significance or insignificance can spare one or another of us. The fiery trial through which we pa.s.s, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the last generation.

The great books in this room confirm this. The sun in the windows has promise.

Spring is with us along the Potomac. Through my open windows I hear it.

I wish I could place a sprig of lilacs on my mother's grave.

Tomorrow we will visit Willie's grave, but we will leave Tad with friends. His new pony is coming in a day or two; that will make him happy. I bought a Shetland, brown and white.

Mallards mix with small craft. There's not a breath of air moving; life is making a turn.

Wednesday

After reviewing troops on Monday I had that dream. I was staring at myself in a mirror, a full length mirror.

I was seeing myself double-double vision. This time I seemed to perceive myself as traitor. Traitor to what?

Reviewing troops is an experience that shatters satis- faction. How can a man, a thoughtful man, watch men on parade and minimize the fact that some or all of those men will soon be dead or wounded? Or will maim or kill other men?

Last Monday the troops slogged past in heavy rain.

White House

Monday morning

The signs look better. Peace does not appear so distant as it did. I hope it will come soon, and come to stay; and so come as to be worth keeping in all future time. It will then have been proved that among free men there can be no successful appeal from the ballot to the bullet, and that they who take such appeal are sure to lose their case to pay the cost.

And then there will be some black men who can remember that with silent tongue, and clenched teeth, and steady eye, and well-poised bayonet, they have helped mankind on to this great consummation, while I fear there will be some white ones unable to forget that with malignant heart and deceitful speech they strove to hinder it.

The White House

Sat.u.r.day

Again I have visited the Patent Office, this time in the evening, after a tedious meeting. I was accompanied by my escort, cavalrymen with rattling sabers, spirited horses. At the Office I was struck by a vivid recollection of how it used to be, before the war, the rows of cabinets and cases, each containing models of inventions.

Now cases and cabinets have been pushed aside or removed. Flush along the walls are row after row of wounded, as many as four rows deep, the wounded and their beds and cots reflected in dull gla.s.s doors.

Lamps and candles gleamed and smoked among the soldiers. I shook hands, pa.s.sing from row to row. I talked, sat down. Here were signs of resignation, flashes of courage and hope.

Patent Office, I thought, you have a patent on suffering and death. As I stood, talking with doctors and nurses, they carried a man away.