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Story of Young Abraham Lincoln

<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> <h3>"No End of a Boy"</h3> "The Story of Young Abraham Lincoln" would be incomplete without some insight into the perfect boyishness of the President of the United States. When the cares of State and the horrors of war had made his homely yet beautiful face pallid and seamed, till it became a sensitive map of the Civil War, it was said that the only times the President was ever happy were when he was playing with little Tad. He used to carry the boy on his shoulder or "pick-a-back," cantering through the spacious[235] rooms of the Executive Mansion, both yelling like Comanches. The little boy was lonely after Willie died, and the father's heart yearned over the only boy left at home, for Robert was at Harvard until near the close of the war, when he went to the front as an aide to General Grant. So little Tad was his father's most constant companion and the President became the boy's only playfellow. Mr. Lincoln, with a heart as full of faith as a little child's, had always lived in deep sympathy with the children, and this feeling was intensified toward his own offspring. When Abe Lincoln was living in New Salem he distinguished himself by caring for the little children—a thing beneath the dignity of the other young men of the settlement. Hannah Armstrong, wife of the Clary's Grove bully, whom Abe had to "lick" to a finish in order to establish himself on a solid basis in New Salem society, told how friendly their relations became after the thrashing he gave her husband: "Abe would come to our house, drink milk, eat mush, cornbread and butter, bring the children candy and rock the cradle." (This seemed[236] a strange thing to her.) "He would nurse babies—do anything to accommodate anybody." <div class='center'> HOW HE REPAID THE ARMSTRONGS' KINDNESS</div> The Armstrong baby, Willie, grew to be a youth of wrong habits, and was nicknamed "Duff." He was drawn, one afternoon, into a bad quarrel with another rough young man, named Metzker, who was brutally beaten. In the evening a vicious young man, named Morris, joined the row and the lad was struck on the head and died without telling who had dealt the fatal blow. The blame was thrown upon "Duff" Armstrong, who was arrested. Illinois law preventing him from testifying in his own behalf. When Lawyer Lincoln heard of the case, he wrote as follows: <div class="blockquot"> <div class='right'> "Springfield, Ill., September, 1857. </div> "Dear Mrs. Armstrong: "I have just heard of your deep affliction, and the arrest of your son for murder. "I can hardly believe that he can be capable of the crime alleged against him. "It does not seem possible. I am anxious that he should be given a fair[237] trial, at any rate; and gratitude for your long-continued kindness to me in adverse circumstances prompts me to offer my humble services gratuitously in his behalf. "It will afford me an opportunity to requite, in a small degree, the favors I received at your hand, and that of your lamented husband, when your roof afforded me a grateful shelter, without money and without price. <div class='right'> "Yours truly, "A. Lincoln." </div> </div> The feeling in the neighborhood where the crime was committed was so intense that it was decided that it must be taken over to the next county to secure a fair trial. Lawyer Lincoln was on hand to defend the son of his old friend. Besides those who testified to the bad character of the young prisoner, one witness, named Allen, testified that he saw "Duff" Armstrong strike the blow which killed Metzker. "Couldn't you be mistaken about this?" asked Mr. Lincoln. "What time did you see it?" "Between nine and ten o'clock that night." "Are you certain that you saw the prisoner[238] strike the blow?—Be careful—remember—you are under oath!" "I am sure. There is no doubt about it." "But wasn't it dark at that hour?" "No, the moon was shining bright." "Then you say there was a moon and it was not dark." "Yes, it was light enough for me to see him hit Metzker on the head." "Now I want you to be very careful. I understand you to say the murder was committed about half past nine o'clock, and there was a bright moon at the time?" "Yes, sir," said the witness positively. "Very well. That is all." Then Lawyer Lincoln produced an almanac showing that there was no moon that night till the early hours of the morning. "This witness has perjured himself," he said, "and his whole story is a lie." <hr style='width: 45%;' /> "Duff" Armstrong was promptly acquitted. The tears of that widowed mother and the gratitude of the boy he had rocked were the best[239] sort of pay to Lawyer Lincoln for an act of kindness and life-saving. <div class='center'> "JUST WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THE WHOLE WORLD!"</div> A Springfield neighbor used to say that it was almost a habit with Mr. Lincoln to carry his children about on his shoulders. Indeed, the man said he seldom saw the tall lawyer go by without one or both boys perched on high or tugging at the tails of his long coat. This neighbor relates that he was attracted to the door of his own house one day by a great noise of crying children, and saw Mr. Lincoln passing with the two boys in their usual position, and both were howling lustily. "Why, Mr. Lincoln, what's the matter?" he asked in astonishment. "Just what's the matter with the whole world," the lawyer replied coolly. "I've got three walnuts, and each wants two." <div class='center'> THE "BUCKING" CHESS BOARD</div> Several years later Judge Treat, of Springfield was playing chess with Mr. Lincoln in his[240] law office when Tad came in to call his father to supper. The boy, impatient at the delay of the slow and silent game, tried to break it up by a flank movement against the chess board, but the attacks were warded off, each time, by his father's long arms. The child disappeared, and when the two players had begun to believe they were to be permitted to end the game in peace, the table suddenly "bucked" and the board and chessmen were sent flying all over the floor. Judge Treat was much vexed, and expressed impatience, not hesitating to tell Mr. Lincoln that the boy ought to be punished severely. Mr. Lincoln replied, as he gently took down his hat to go home to supper: "Considering the position of your pieces, judge, at the time of the upheaval, I think you have no reason to complain." <div class='center'> WHEN TAD GOT A SPANKING</div> Yet, indulgent as he was, there were some things Mr. Lincoln would not allow even his youngest child to do. An observer who saw the President-elect and his family in their train on the way to Washington to take the helm of State,[241] relates that little Tad amused himself by raising the car window an inch or two and trying, by shutting it down suddenly, to catch the fingers of the curious boys outside who were holding themselves up by their hands on the window sill of the car to catch sight of the new President and his family. The President-elect, who had to go out to the platform to make a little speech to a crowd at nearly every stop, noticed Tad's attempts to pinch the boys' fingers. He spoke sharply to his son and commanded him to stop that. Tad obeyed for a time, but his father, catching him at the same trick again, leaned over, and taking the little fellow across his knee, gave him a good, sound spanking, exclaiming as he did so: "Why do you want to mash those boys' fingers?" <div class='center'> THE TRUE STORY OF BOB'S LOSING THE INAUGURAL ADDRESS</div> Mr. Lincoln was always lenient when the offense was against himself. The Hon. Robert Todd Lincoln, the only living son of the great President, tells how the satchel containing his father's inaugural address was lost for a time.[242] Some writers have related the story of this loss, stating that it all happened at Harrisburg, and telling how the President-elect discovered a bag like his own, and on opening it found only a pack of greasy cards, a bottle of whisky and a soiled paper collar. Also that Mr. Lincoln was "reminded" of a cheap, ill-fitting story—but none of these things really took place. Here is the true story, as related to the writer by Robert Lincoln himself: "My father had confided to me the care of the satchel containing his inaugural address. It was lost for a little while during the stay of our party at the old Bates House in Indianapolis. When we entered the hotel I set the bag down with the other luggage, which was all removed to a room back of the clerk's desk. "As soon as I missed the valise I went right to father, in great distress of mind. He ordered a search made. We were naturally much alarmed, for it was the only copy he had of his inaugural address, which he had carefully written before leaving Springfield. Of course, he added certain parts after reaching Washington. The missing bag was soon found in a safe place. "Instead of taking out the precious manuscript[243] and stuffing it into his own pocket, father handed it right back to me, saying: "'There, Bob, see if you can't take better care of it this time'—and you may be sure I was true to the trust he placed in me. Why, I hardly let that precious gripsack get out of my sight during my waking hours all the rest of the long roundabout journey to Washington." <div class='center'> THE TERRIBLE LONELINESS AFTER WILLIE DIED</div> The death of Willie, who was nearly three years older than Tad, early in 1862, during their first year in the White House, nearly broke his father's heart. It was said that Mr. Lincoln never recovered from that bereavement. It made him yearn the more tenderly over his youngest son who sadly missed the brother who had been his constant companion. It was natural for a lad who was so much indulged to take advantage of his freedom. Tad had a slight impediment in his speech which made the street urchins laugh at him, and even cabinet members, because they could not understand him, considered him a little nuisance. So Tad, though known as "the child of the nation," and greatly beloved and petted by those who[244] knew him for a lovable affectionate child, found himself alone in a class by himself, and against all classes of people. <div class='center'> TURNING THE HOSE ON HIGH OFFICIALS</div> He illustrated this spirit one day by getting hold of the hose and turning it on some dignified State officials, several army officers, and finally on a soldier on guard who was ordered to charge and take possession of that water battery. Although that little escapade appealed to the President's sense of humor, for he himself liked nothing better than to take generals and pompous officials down "a peg or two," Tad got well spanked for the havoc he wrought that day. <div class='center'> BREAKING INTO A CABINET MEETING</div> The members of the President's cabinet had reason to be annoyed by the boy's frequent interruptions. He seemed to have the right of way wherever his father happened to be. No matter if Senator Sumner or Secretary Stanton was discussing some weighty matter of State or war, if Tad came in, his father turned from the men of high estate to minister to the wants of his little boy. He did it to get rid of him, for of[245] course he knew Tad would raise such a racket that no one could talk or think till his wants were disposed of. <div class='center'> AN EXECUTIVE ORDER ON THE COMMISSARY DEPARTMENT FOR TAD AND HIS BOY FRIENDS</div> A story is told of the boy's interruption of a council of war. This habit of Tad's enraged Secretary Stanton, whose horror of the boy was similar to that of an elephant for a mouse. The President was giving his opinion on a certain piece of strategy which he thought the general in question might carry out—when a great noise was heard out in the hall, followed by a number of sharp raps on the door of the cabinet room. Strategy, war, everything was, for the moment forgotten by the President, whose wan face assumed an expression of unusual pleasure, while he gathered up his great, weary length from different parts of the room as he had half lain, sprawling about, across and around his chair and the great table. "That's Tad," he exclaimed, "I wonder what that <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'boys'">boy</ins> wants now." On his way to open the door, Mr. Lincoln explained that those knocks had just been adopted by the boy and himself, as[246] part of the telegraph system, and that he was obliged to let the lad in—"for it wouldn't do to go back on the code now," he added, half in apology for permitting such a sudden break in their deliberations. When the door was opened, Tad, with flushed face and sparkling eyes, sprang in and threw his arms around his father's neck. The President straightened up and embraced the boy with an expression of happiness never seen on his face except while playing with his little son. Mr. Lincoln turned, with the boy still in his arms, to explain that he and Tad had agreed upon this telegraphic code to prevent the lad from bursting in upon them without warning. The members of the cabinet looked puzzled or disgusted, as though they failed to see that several startling raps could be any better than having Tad break in with a whoop or a wail, as had been the boy's custom. <div class='center'> ISSUING THE EXECUTIVE ORDER ON PETER FOR PIE</div> The boy raised a question of right. He had besieged Peter, the colored steward, demanding that a dinner be served to several urchins he had picked up outside—two of whom were sons of[247] soldiers. Peter had protested that he "had other fish to fry" just then. The President recognized at once that this was a case for diplomacy. Turning to various members of the cabinet, he called on each to contribute from his store of wisdom, what would be best to do in a case of such vast importance. Tad looked on in wonder as his father set the great machinery of government in motion to make out a commissary order on black Peter, which would force that astonished servant to deliver certain pieces of pie and other desired eatables to Tad, for himself and his boy friends. At last an "order" was prepared by the Chief Executive of the United States directing "The Commissary Department of the Presidential Residence to issue rations to Lieutenant Tad Lincoln and his five associates, two of whom are the sons of soldiers in the Army of the Potomac." With an expression of deep gravity and a solemn flourish, the President tendered this Commissary Order to the lieutenant, his son, saying as he presented the document: "I reckon Peter will have to come to time now."[248] <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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