>; 
 
 *• » 
 
 
The President's Son 
 
 by 
 
 T. MORRIS 
 LONGSTRETH 
 
 .ere is a story of Civil War 
 Washington seen through the eyes of the most 
 lovable brat in American history. For Tad Lin- 
 coln, although the joy of the President's heart, 
 was certainly a trial and tribulation to the others 
 who knew him — to old Andrew, the green- 
 house keeper, who discovered that the straw- 
 berries so carefully forced for a State dinner were 
 not there when they should have been; to Stan- 
 ton, the grim, efficient Secretary of War, who 
 was the victim of a hosing on the White House 
 lawn; to Mrs. Taft, who returned home one 
 day to stand scandalized by the object which 
 flew from her flagpole; to office seekers who 
 were led on wild-goose chases through some 
 thirty rooms in the White House; and to prac- 
 tically anybody else who impeded Tad's wild 
 enthusiasm and boundless imagination. 
 
 Through Tad emerges the tender story of Abe 
 and Mary Todd Lincoln . . . the Civil War 
 as it was lived and suffered in the White House 
 . . . the moments of turbulent uncertainty un- 
 til the first Northern soldiers arrived . . . the 
 anxiety and search for a general to lead the 
 Northern forces. And underneath the humor 
 and suspense is the President's never-failing un- 
 derstanding of the thing for which he himself 
 is fighting, an understanding that cannot over- 
 shadow his love for people, even those who are 
 the enemy. 
 
 (continued on back flap) 
 Jacket Design by Forrest Orr vj>2_. *\ O 
 

 
 
 
LINCOLN ROOM 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 MEMORIAL 
 
 the Class of 1901 
 
 founded by 
 
 HARLAN HOYT HORNER 
 
 and 
 
 HENRIETTA CALHOUN HORNER 
 
TAD LINCOLN 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://archive.org/details/tadlincolnpresidOOIong 
 
TAD 
 LINCOLN 
 
 THE PRESIDENT'S SON 
 
 By 
 
 T. Morris Longstreth 
 
 Philadelphia 
 THE WESTMINSTER PRESS 
 
COPYRIGHT, MCMXLIV, BY THE WESTMINSTER PRESS 
 
 All rights reserved — no part of this book may be reproduced in 
 any form without permission in writing from the publisher, ex- 
 cept by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connec- 
 tion with a review for magazine or newspaper. 
 
 This book is manufactured in accord with 
 orders issued by the War Production Board 
 for conserving paper and other materials. 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
<?73. 7JL.U3 
 , SUX 
 
 J 
 
 
 To 
 WESTTOWN SCHOOL 
 
 From a Grateful Offspring 
 
Qontents 
 
 I, 
 
 The First Day in the White 
 
 House 
 
 3 
 
 2 
 
 Uncle Elmer Hauls Down a 
 
 Flag 
 
 13 
 
 3 
 
 Tad Branches Out 
 
 
 26 
 
 4 
 
 The Happy Summer 
 
 
 37 
 
 5« 
 
 The Boys Dine in State 
 
 
 53 
 
 6 
 
 Willie Writes a Poem 
 
 
 64 
 
 7< 
 
 The Marine Band Plays for Willie 
 
 75 
 
 8 
 
 Tad Celebrates a Victory 
 
 
 85 
 
 9 
 
 Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 
 
 100 
 
 IO 
 
 A Boy at Loose Ends 
 
 
 120 
 
 ii 
 
 Tad Goes to the Front 
 
 
 135 
 
 12 
 
 Tad Hears of Gettysburg 
 
 
 149 
 
 i3< 
 
 ft As We Forgive Those " 
 
 
 161 
 
 14 
 
 Two Sons of Pillars Meet 
 
 
 180 
 
 if- 
 
 Tad Under Fire 
 
 
 193 
 
 16 
 
 Tad Is a Comfort 
 
 
 210 
 
 17 
 
 , " Forever Free " 
 
 
 217 
 
 18 
 
 Tad Goes to Richmond 
 
 
 227 
 
 19 
 
 " Tad Wants Some Flags " 
 
 
 240 
 
 20 
 
 Tad Faces the Mystery 
 
 
 249 
 
 
 Postscript 
 
 
 261 
 
TAD LINCOLN 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 The First Day in the White House 
 
 TAD LINCOLN PULLED AS HARD AS HE DARED, BUT HIS MA 
 held him tight and pretended not to notice. She was talking 
 to Mr. Buchanan, who had been President until his pa had 
 swapped places with him. 
 
 They were all standing in the main reception hall. The White 
 House was going to be better for " hide-and-go-seek " than their 
 house at home. Tad stared at the nearest marble column and won- 
 dered if he could shinny up it. 
 
 He tried to get Willie's attention, but Willie was standing 
 there, good as lamb pie, listening to Mr. Buchanan. Willie was 
 eleven. With his light hair, round face, blue eyes, and gentle 
 manner, he looked like a cherub on a church ceiling. Except that 
 the cherubs Tad had seen in the Chicago church didn't wear wool 
 suits. Tad had no desire to be a cherub. If anything, at the mo- 
 ment, he wanted to stick a pin into Mr. Buchanan. Then he'd 
 get mad and go away and they could see the White House. 
 
 As next best to a pin Tad tried a spread eagle. The floor was as 
 slippery as ice, but his copper-toed boots made a noise and his 
 ma's grasp tightened. Willie shook his head and Mr. Buchanan 
 left off being polite and stared at Tad in distaste. Tad had seen 
 that look before from fashionable strangers. He had watched 
 their noses tilt up when they looked at his pa. His ma had worn 
 that same look when one of his pa's poor relations came to stay 
 that time. 
 
 Mr. Buchanan was waiting for his niece to say good-by and to 
 fill in he was saying, " Your children favor you, madam." 
 
4 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " People do say they resemble the Todds," his ma said. 
 
 :< Your oldest son is attending Harvard University, I hear." 
 
 c Yes, Robert is enjoying the life at Cambridge very much. He 
 is so diligent at his studies that he decided not to take in the in- 
 auguration." 
 
 " And this is your youngest? " Mr. Buchanan regarded Tad 
 fishily. 
 
 " Yes, christened Thomas after my husband's father, but he 
 prefers to be called Taddie. Just eight, but such a little man al- 
 ready and the apple of his father's eye! " 
 
 Tad, to escape this unwelcome publicity, leaned as far back 
 as his spine would arch and goggled, upside down, at the pillars. 
 It made you cross-eyed dizzy to stare over your eyebrows. He 
 saw his pa's legs striding toward them. So he jerked up, whipped 
 free of his ma's hold, and ran to take his pa's hand. Mr. Buchanan 
 was saying a real good-by at last. " If you are as happy, Mr. 
 President, on entering this house as I am in leaving it, you are the 
 happiest man in this country." 
 
 ct Well, it's a little early yet to tell," Tad heard his pa drawl. 
 " But mother wanted to try her hand at housekeeping in this 
 Mansion, and here we are." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Lincoln, I won't have all the responsibility pushed 
 upon my shoulders," Mrs. Lincoln said with a happy smile. 
 
 " Destiny forbid that I throw any shadow on your anticipa- 
 tions," Mr. Buchanan remarked in a gloomy voice. " But it looks 
 very much, Mr. Lincoln, as if you might be the last President of 
 the United States." 
 
 " I hope not," said the new President. " Your apprehension re- 
 minds me of an elderly gentleman out West. He belonged to a 
 sect who ardently believed that the world was going to end on 
 a certain Tuesday evening at seven o'clock. They provided them- 
 selves with white shrouds, and on the appointed evening went out 
 and sat on the top of a near-by hill in order to get the best view of 
 the proceedings. Seven o'clock came and nothing happened. The 
 
The First Bay in the White House 5 
 
 old gentleman waited around for a while, growing as melancholy 
 as a man whose hens won't lay. Finally he was so put out that he 
 sprang up, tore off his shroud, and yelled at the top of his voice, 
 1 Dern it all, they've miscalculated again! ' " 
 
 Tad laughed. Buchanan did not, and Lincoln continued 
 gravely: " I trust, sir, that someone is miscalculating again. It is 
 not in my plans to become the undertaker of the Union. You may 
 count on that." 
 
 Mr. Buchanan's niece came up and the two made their adieus 
 and left. Mrs. Lincoln said, M I thought that awful man would 
 never get done talking and go." 
 
 M There's no hurry, mother." Lincoln tapped his wife on her 
 shoulder. M You've got a mortgage on this Mansion for four 
 years." 
 
 " That is all very well. But the guests will soon be here for 
 luncheon. The boys want to see their rooms, and I must look 
 around and see where they are going to have their dinner." 
 
 Tad howled, " Can't Willie and I even eat with pa? " 
 
 "Now, Taddie! " Lincoln's big hand pressed the boy against 
 him. " You and I have got to be patient and see how this pans 
 out. You'll have a good time unpacking your wagons and seeing 
 where you're going to keep your pets." 
 
 Willie agreed and called to Tad, " Beat you upstairs! " 
 
 Tad clattered away after him across the parquetry floor. Ed- 
 ward McManus, the staid doorkeeper who had a nodding ac- 
 quaintance with the dignitaries of four administrations, frowned 
 after the boyish tumult. Like most of elegant Washington, he had 
 dreaded the invasion of these uncouth Westerners. Now, after 
 one look at the unpolished President and his inexperienced 
 madam, he wondered how he would live through four years of 
 such rustics, not to mention their children. He did not know that 
 Tad already had a name for him. " Look at Goatie! " Tad had 
 said with derisive contempt to Willie. ee I'll bet he butts people he 
 don't like." 
 
6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 The boys raced over the house. Willie started to keep count of 
 the rooms but lost track at thirty-one, with basement and attic 
 to go. Tad was impressed by the opportunities for " cops and rob- 
 bers." " I'll ride up and down in the elevator and never get 
 caught." 
 
 " Goatie'll never let you," Willie said. " Hell bring you to 
 time if you ever try it." 
 
 " What do I care for him? Pa's President and he'll let me. Pa 
 can do anything he wants. He can get up an army if he wants. 
 I heard that man at the hotel say he could." 
 
 " Ma'd have fits. She'd be afraid we'd bung up the gold piano 
 or something." 
 
 " Well, * hide-and-go-seek ' then," Tad persisted. " It's the 
 best place for it that ever was. There's more statues to hide be- 
 hind than there was trees at home. Come, I'll show you." 
 
 Their Aunt Lizzie Edwards intercepted them and took them 
 to the family dining room for a belated meal. They did not miss 
 dining with the new members of the Cabinet; they were too hun- 
 gry to care. 
 
 " Is all this house ours, Aunt Lizzie? " Tad asked. 
 
 " Of course it is, while pa's President," Willie cut in. 
 
 " I don't wonder you ask, child," Aunt Lizzie said. " I am over- 
 whelmed by it. I can hardly realize that my own sister is to live 
 here. When I was driven up to the stately front door, I said to 
 myself, * Elizabeth Edwards, take this in while you have a chance,' 
 and I hope you boys will never for one minute forget that you are 
 the most privileged boys in America." 
 
 " Why? " asked Tad. 
 
 " Why? " repeated Aunt Lizzie indignantly. " Don't gape like 
 that at the table. Willie, you tell Tad why." 
 
 " Because he's living where everybody else in the country'd 
 like to live but can't, I reckon." 
 
 " That's no reason. That's pride, and I do wish you'd sit up 
 straight. The reason is because of the wonderful history of this 
 
The First Day in the White House 7 
 
 place. George Washington himself helped to lay the cornerstone 
 of this house. And every President of our country has lived here 
 since Washington. More than that, nearly every famous person 
 who has visited the United States has come here — ambassadors 
 and generals and famous writers from every country of the 
 globe." 
 
 tf Any kings? " Willie inquired. 
 
 " Naw," Tad said in disdain. " They wouldn't let kings in the 
 White House." 
 
 " As visitors, Willie means, Taddie," Aunt Lizzie explained. 
 M I'm not sure, Willie. I don't think any kings have visited this 
 country. I doubt if they would feel attracted to it as yet. But, 
 kings will come." 
 
 " Will they call on pa? " asked Tad, who was pleased at the 
 idea. 
 
 " That's only manners," Willie said. M All kings have got that 
 much manners, I reckon." 
 
 " Maybe they'd play * hide-and-go-seek ' with us," Tad 
 squealed. 
 
 " Such an idea! " Aunt Lizzie was shocked at this sacrilege. 
 w Your father will be sorry yet that he has never restrained you 
 two. And that reminds me, Tad — and Willie too — your mother 
 asked me to tell you particularly not to venture out of the 
 grounds. Do you hear me? " 
 
 " Why not? " asked Tad. " I wouldn't get lost." 
 
 :t That is not the question," Aunt Lizzie spoke with great posi- 
 tive ness. " Do you understand me, Tad? You are not to go out 
 any of the gates unless somebody goes with you." 
 
 " But why? " 
 
 " I know," Willie said calmly. " People hate pa so, they might 
 kidnap us or hurt us." 
 
 " That is enough, Willie," Aunt Lizzie admonished. 
 
 " Tad knows all about it," Willie informed her. " There was 
 a man at the hotel last night shouted, r Nigger worshiper ' at pa." 
 
8 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Et That is sufficient," Aunt Lizzie said emphatically. " I know 
 the situation. It's very unfortunate. Please eat your greens." 
 
 " Pa says that anybody who spells Negro with two g's isn't a 
 good American," pursued Willie. 
 
 Tad had been waiting for his turn. " I saw a picture of pa in 
 the papers, Aunt Lizzie, and he had feathers all over him." Tad 
 laughed. 
 
 " The gorilla one was funnier," stated Willie. " Did you see that 
 one, Aunt Lizzie? " , 
 
 " No, and I shouldn't have laughed at it if I had," Aunt Lizzie 
 said severely. " It is bad enough to have the papers poison the 
 people's minds about your father without his sons being disre- 
 spectful." 
 
 Willie's eyes opened in hurt surprise. He wasn't being disre- 
 spectful. Hadn't he sat on the arm of his pa's chair while they 
 looked at the fearsome and funny cartoons and his pa chuckled 
 as loud as he did? 
 
 The servant, and a man at that, brought in dessert. Tad peered 
 at it hopefully and made a face. " Slip-an'-go-down! " he com- 
 plained. " I thought when we got to the White House we'd have 
 fancier victuals than that! " 
 
 " I bet it's just that old Mr. Buchanan's leftovers," Willie said. 
 
 Suddenly Tad shrieked, slipped from his chair, ran, and flung 
 himself at a robust young man in the doorway. Willie repeated 
 Tad's actions, flinging himself on Colonel Ellsworth's other hip. 
 That young man smiled, entered the room no more encumbered 
 apparently than if two butterflies had alighted on him, and bowed 
 to Aunt Lizzie. 
 
 She forgot to be mortified, so entranced was she to see the na- 
 tion's idol at close range. His dark-hazel eyes shone with health. 
 His even teeth whitened a merry smile. His dark-brown hair 
 framed a cheerful and friendly face. From typical American be- 
 ginnings, as clerk, as construction-gang worker, as one thing 
 
The First Day in the White House 9 
 
 after another, he had attained overnight a typical American fame, 
 hysterical, and country-wide, with his Zouaves. 
 
 Aunt Lizzie had taken Tad and Willie to see the Ellsworth 
 Zouaves at Springfield. She thought the boys would go mad. The 
 athletic cadets wore blue jackets with yellow and orange trim, 
 red caps, and baggy, scarlet trousers. They went through light- 
 ning drills, with guns, bayonets, whips. They formed human 
 pyramids, ladders, revolving circles. They had been acclaimed at 
 West Point and had won champions' honors in half the states. 
 
 The Lincoln boys talked of nothing else, acted nothing else, 
 and would scarcely sleep until Mr. Lincoln had brought Elmer 
 Ellsworth to the house. He was Uncle Elmer to them in a week. 
 And presently Lincoln had fallen captive to this short well-knit 
 athlete's frankness and happy charm. " He's the greatest little 
 man I ever met," Lincoln told his law partner Herndon. " He's 
 a boy only, yet surpassingly great in power to control men." 
 
 The leader of the Zouaves could climb eighty-foot ropes hand 
 over hand, or balance on ladders and shoot pigeons on the wing. 
 With equal skill he climbed aboard the Lincoln star. He became 
 a law-student in the Lincoln-Herndon office, a stump speaker for 
 the Presidential candidate, and it was he who made the arrange- 
 ments for the safety of the President-elect during the stops on 
 the long train trip East. Ellsworth's popularity at those stops was 
 hardly second to Lincoln's. And when Tad and Willie appeared in 
 his company, they were envied heartburningly by all the boys in 
 sight. 
 
 The hero, half-smothered in boy, sat down. M Well, the big 
 show came off all right, didn't it? Tad, what part did you like 
 most? " 
 
 " The first part, Uncle Elmer. I had fun leaning out the win- 
 dow of the hotel counting the policemen. There were more peo- 
 ple in the street than . . ." 
 
 " I liked being in the parade most," Willie cut in. M Pa had an 
 
io Tad Lincoln 
 
 awful lot of soldiers around his carriage. There were more sol- 
 diers with guns on the roofs. That was so's nobody would shoot 
 at pa." 
 
 " It was more fun than playing Indians," Tad announced. 
 lt The 'nauguration was an awful long time getting over, 
 though." 
 
 " A man fell out of a tree, listening to pa," Willie reported. 
 " He fell right on his head." 
 
 Tad laughed at this happy memory. u I liked that part most. 
 He fell out just like that squirrel you shot, Uncle Elmer, but pa 
 went on reading. Then a man shoved out a Bible at pa, and pa 
 held up his hand and said something. And then ma leaned over 
 to me and said, * Your father is President of the United States! ' 
 ... As if I didn't know it! " 
 
 " You didn't know why they fired the cannons," Willie ac- 
 cused Tad. 
 
 " I did so." 
 
 " Then why did you ask me? You didn't know they were salut- 
 ing pa because he was President." 
 
 " I did so," Tad repeated belligerently. " I knew it before you 
 did." 
 
 Colonel Ellsworth rose, cascading the boys onto the floor. " I 
 hope that Mrs. Lincoln is not too tired," he said to Aunt Lizzie. 
 
 " Bless you, when did being noticed ever tire a woman? " Aunt 
 Lizzie exclaimed heartily. " This is Mary Lincoln's day of tri- 
 umph. When she was a girl she announced that the man she mar- 
 ried would be President. And now he is." 
 
 Tad laughed at something remembered. " Ma wouldn't let pa 
 sit down before the 'nauguration," he injected. " She said he'd 
 crease his new pants." 
 
 te Let's go out and see where I'm going to keep the pony pa's 
 promised me," urged Willie, taking Ellsworth's hand. 
 
 Tad was instantly on his feet shouting: " And pa said I could 
 keep goats. Come on, come on! " 
 
The First Day in the White House 
 
 ii 
 
 " First put on your coats and hats," commanded Aunt Lizzie. 
 " It's turned overcast, and you don't want to catch your deaths 
 of cold the minute you get here." 
 
 The boys tore out into the hall and Aunt Lizzie went on: 
 " Wasn't it nice that they had it sunny for the ceremony! I must 
 say. Colonel Ellsworth, I was as thrilled as the boys by those can- 
 non saluting. And to think that Abraham Lincoln is my brother- 
 in-law! You must consider me very petty to think of such a 
 thing." 
 
 " Not at all, Mrs. Edwards," Ellsworth replied gallantly. " You 
 would laugh if you knew what thrills me most about all this." 
 
 M Do tell me." 
 
 M It's the pony express. The telegraph doesn't reach any far- 
 ther than St. Jo., Missouri, as you probably know. So the mes- 
 sengers must take the grand news farther west. Tonight and to- 
 morrow and every day and night for a week, young men on ponies 
 will be riding them furiously. If I didn't have a bigger oppor- 
 tunity here, I'd like to be astride one of those ponies. I'd like to 
 have a hand in joining West Coast to the East and helping all the 
 people to know that they belong to one great and glorious coun- 
 try." 
 
 " But of course Mr. Lincoln couldn't spare you," Aunt Lizzie 
 said quickly. tc You are so important. Tell me, Colonel, do you 
 really believe the country is in as grave danger as some think? " 
 
 Ellsworth looked at this woman in dismay. She was the sister 
 of the President's wife and could ask that question! How could 
 anyone be so dense? For weeks, months, he had moved among 
 men poised and ready to fly at each others' throats. He had heard 
 General Scott say in all seriousness, " A dogfight now might 
 cause the gutters to run with blood." Was this woman blind to 
 the fact that South Carolina had proclaimed the Union dissolved? 
 Was she ignorant of the seceding states that had followed? Didn't 
 she know that people had bet in all earnestness that Abraham Lin- 
 coln would not live to be sworn in? Hadn't she seen what even 
 
12 Tad Lincoln 
 
 the children had seen, the sharpshooters on every roof and in the 
 windows of the Capitol? Informed people expected civil war as 
 they expected the morrow. President Lincoln's entry into this 
 very Executive Mansion was surmised to be the signal for overt 
 rebellion. The only question was how the bloody break would 
 occur. Yet the President's sister-in-law could ask if the country 
 was in real danger! Next she'd want to know what color a black 
 man was. 
 
 The door flew open just then and Willie, shrieking, " I beat! I 
 beat! " reached young Ellsworth two instants before the screech- 
 ing Tad. They left a wake of servants wondering what had struck 
 the White House. Aunt Lizzie knew, and suffered for them. Colo- 
 nel Ellsworth knew, and grinned at the knowledge. And the boys 
 knew too, or at least suspected, that they had started in on a 
 career of fun which nothing could well hinder. Their pa was 
 President and could do anything he wanted, and they usually 
 could persuade him to do anything they wanted. Their ma had 
 said that it wouldn't be proper for them to go to school. Uncle 
 Elmer had promised to teach them the Manual of Arms and to 
 take them behind the scenes with his Zouaves. It all looked like 
 what the older folks called the millennium. 
 
 Tad grabbed one arm of his worshiped Uncle Elmer and 
 shouted: " Come on! Come on! " 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 Uncle Elmer Hauls Down a Flag 
 
 MRS. KECKLEY WAS LOTS NICER THAN AUNT LIZZIE, TAD 
 thought. Her voice was nicer. It never got impatient like 
 Aunt Lizzie's. That was because she had been born in Virginia. She 
 was light-skinned for a Negro, but if she had been blacker than 
 ink it would have been all right with him. She believed in lemon- 
 ade and cookies at any old time. She liked goats, she said, and 
 enjoyed a joke almost as much as his pa did. She had a boy too, 
 but he was Robert's age and lived out West. Tad had found her 
 in his room unpacking his things. He had felt more at home with 
 her in five minutes than with anybody except his pa and Willie 
 and maybe his ma. 
 
 In those first flurried days of White House living, Mrs. Keckley 
 was home for Tad. His ma had a thousand things to attend to. 
 Mr. Buchanan was just like any bachelor and had let the mansion 
 run down. Carpets had faded where the hot summer suns had 
 shone on them, and must be replaced. Draperies must be put up. 
 The chandeliers were filthy with dust. The frescoes needed re- 
 gilding. The furniture was awful. The attic looked as though 
 the servants' rooms had been neglected since President Jackson's 
 coachman had had smallpox there. And as for the kitchen in the 
 center of the basement, it was impossibly dark, now that the 
 north portico shut out the sun, and would have to be moved. Tad 
 wished his ma would stop complaining about how imperfect ev- 
 erything in the White House was. Why, you could even have fun 
 on the roof I There never was such a house for fun. 
 
 And then Mrs. Keckley read to him and Willie, whenever they 
 
14 Tad Lincoln 
 
 asked. And one day Tad had a view of slavery at close quarters. 
 Mrs. Keckley had been a slave. It didn't seem possible that this 
 tall, nice-voiced woman whose advice his ma sometimes asked 
 had once been sold like potatoes or a bureau. 
 
 Tad was shocked. He had heard people talking about slavery 
 all his life, and getting hot about it, but it had never touched 
 him very closely before. There were lots of puzzling things about 
 it. Everybody talked about Uncle Tom's cabin, but when he 
 wanted to go see the cabin, nobody would take him. They said 
 there wasn't any such thing. And then everybody talked about 
 the Underground Railroad, in whispers. That sounded exciting, 
 but it was a mighty funny railroad because it didn't have any 
 engines or even any rails. Tad had stopped puzzling his head 
 about it when he heard there were no tunnels. So how could it 
 run underground? Then Mrs. Keckley mentioned one day that 
 she had saved up $1,200 and bought her boy's freedom and her 
 own. 
 
 Tad whistled as he had heard his elders do when surprised. M I 
 reckon that's more than a shovelful of money," he said. " Why 
 didn't you and George run away from the man sometime when 
 he wasn't looking instead of paying him all that money? " 
 
 "Where would we-all run tuh, honey? " came the sad, soft 
 voice. " A slave ain't welcome no place. Dey sick de dogs on him 
 quick as eat breakfust." 
 
 A new worry sobered Tad's round face. " They can't come and 
 get you now, can they? " 
 
 M No, chile. Not while ah hab mah papers." 
 
 " If they did, I'd shoot them! " Tad cried indignantly. M Pa 
 says it ain't right to keep slaves." 
 
 M Yo' pa don't 'pear kindly tuh shootin', nuther," Mrs. Keck- 
 ley said. M An' ah reckon it don' hep nuthin' much. Yo' pa's de 
 justest-thinkin' man ah eber knowed." 
 
 " What's that? What's justest-thinkin'? " Tad asked. 
 
 " Why, righteous 'fore God an' no truck wid what ain't fair," 
 
Uncle Elmer Hauls Down a Flag 15 
 
 replied the colored woman devoutly. " Do you know what Wil- 
 lie's doin'? " 
 
 ct Playin' trains." 
 
 " He's the easiest-amusin' boy ah eber see," Mrs. Keckley ob- 
 served. " He kin take mo' trips widout movin'! Seems like he 
 done climb into his head an' den pull up de ladder." 
 
 Tad agreed, and explained that Willie was going to be a rail- 
 roader when he grew up. He spent whole evenings with his time- 
 tables taking imaginary trips as engineer. He could take a train 
 from Springfield to New York or Washington, naming the in- 
 termediate stations and the places to take on water, and giving 
 the scheduled times for arrival and departure. 
 
 At the moment he was downstairs with Goatie McManus, act- 
 ing as train dispatcher. The office seekers who poured into the Ex- 
 ecutive Mansion were the trains. Some knew where they were 
 going; they were the expresses. Those who inquired were the 
 locals, and Willie directed them to their proper tracks. Some of 
 the office seekers were so stupid and clumsy that they got de- 
 railed and wandered about until their momentum died down. 
 There were long lines of freights on settee sidings before the Pres- 
 idential office door. Willie had made friends with Mr. McManus, 
 but Tad hadn't! Mrs. Keckley had already noticed the latter's 
 impetuous temper. He was quickly affectionate, and lastingly so 
 to those he liked, but his dislikes were also quick and unbudging. 
 The wise woman saw this serious failing, but knew that it was 
 too soon to set about correcting it. 
 
 Tad also had his game with these applicants for office. He had 
 met a few of them back in Springfield and acquired a distaste for 
 them. Now his home was overrun by swarms. They all had a 
 kind of hungry look. He couldn't take a walk with his pa with- 
 out some bald-headed man loping up and saying he had known 
 Mr. Lincoln when he was a child. They insisted on patting Tad's 
 head the minute they knew he was Old Abe's son. Tad hated to 
 be touched by strangers, and especially such strangers. One of 
 
1 6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 them handed him a sound silver dollar on condition that he 
 would point out the door to his father's office. That gave Tad an 
 idea. On dull days when there was nothing better to do he made 
 money. Sometimes if the office hunter was especially objection- 
 able, Tad sacrificed the tip for another satisfaction. He would 
 say, ec Follow me," to the creature and lead him up stairs and 
 down until the panting applicant discovered the trick and ex- 
 ploded. From what his ma said nothing could be too bad for 
 these office hunters. 
 
 Tad found, however, that his pa took a different view of office 
 seekers. They lined the stairs, left dirty marks where they had 
 leaned against the wall, left seegar ashes everywhere, and filled 
 the air with snuff. Yet his pa took it patiently. He saw them 
 through hour after hour, while Tad hung around hoping his pa 
 would walk with him, take him across the broad avenue to see 
 the squirrels in Lafayette Square. 
 
 One day after this had gone on interminably, Tad walked into 
 his pa's office. " Pa, ain't we ever going to take walks, like we did 
 at home? " 
 
 Lincoln was wrung by this appeal. Tad's wish had always been 
 law; now it conflicted with duty and Tad must be hurt. To ease 
 that hurt, Lincoln said: " Taddie, you can always be with me. 
 When you get lonely come in here and sit in my lap or listen. 
 It does not matter who's here, you can always come, provided 
 you promise me not to tell any secrets outside this room." 
 
 Tad took that stipulation in, as Lincoln saw, and he knew that 
 Tad kept a promise. " But why can't you tell them you can't see 
 any more today, pa? " he asked. 
 
 M There are several reasons, sonny. These men elected me, and 
 it would be very ungrateful of me not to listen to them and try 
 to assist when I can. Then keeping in touch with people is part 
 of my job as President. And once upon a time, before you knew 
 me, I was an office seeker myself." 
 
Uncle Elmer Hauls Down a Flag 17 
 
 M Were you trying to be President then, pa? " 
 
 * No, I was trying to be Commissioner of the Land Office — 
 and couldn't make it." 
 
 " How did you try? " 
 
 lt Well, I got recommended by people just like these. I sat on 
 chairs in offices somewhat like this. I rounded up influence by 
 the cartload. Then somebody rounded up two cartloads of it and 
 got the place. . . . And so I'm just President of the United 
 States," Lincoln concluded thoughtfully. Tad heard a smothered 
 laugh in the corner from Secretary Hay. " Now, Hay, if you'll 
 open the sluice gate, we'll show Tad how we polish off these cus- 
 tomers in short order." 
 
 As the door opened, Tad could see the line of eager, strained, 
 nosey faces. The first man strode in so vigorously that Tad 
 thought he would jump his pa's desk. He bowed slightly and said: 
 ** I have here, Mr. President, a letter which endorses me as a suit- 
 able candidate for postmaster of Cambridge, Massachusetts. You 
 see all these signatures? " He turned the paper over to exhibit 
 rows of scrawls and flourishes. ct They comprise the famous citi- 
 zens, the influential businessmen of our town. Now, if you will 
 look more closely, Mr. President, you will see, and I am proud to 
 show it, that this list is headed by no less than your oldest son, 
 Robert Todd Lincoln." 
 
 Tad felt his pa shift forward, and his voice sounded cross as 
 he said. " You state that my son is being used in such matters? " 
 
 " Yes, Your Excellency. He very kindly gave his time to look 
 into my qualifications for the postmastership." 
 
 " Well, he'd better attend to his studies." 
 
 " No harm intended, Your Excellency," said the would-be 
 postmaster less hopefully. w Mr. Robert has no doubt inherited 
 his graciousness from his distinguished father, sir." 
 
 M You can tell my son, if you see him again, that he will be 
 taken from college unless he lets politics alone. As for the post- 
 
1 8 Tad Lincoln 
 
 mastership, I have no intention of removing the present postmas- 
 ter at Cambridge so long as he performs his duties successfully. 
 I wish you good day." 
 
 Tad wanted to snicker as the other man slunk away, but the 
 next in line was already coming in. He had the jocular approach. 
 " Good day, Mr. President, good day! I won't take a minute of 
 your time. I think you know my family, name of Barnes. My 
 grandfather, Josiah Barnes, ran for the doctor the day you were 
 born. It was a cold morning in February and . . ." 
 
 " Did you come to tell me that? " Lincoln asked. w I was born 
 in a shack with one window and one door and on a bed of corn- 
 husks. If your grandfather ran for a doctor he must have run 
 in the wrong direction, for my mother had none." 
 
 Anyone but an office seeker would have been disconcerted. 
 " Well, well, Mr. President, you suffered no harm from those 
 pioneer conditions, if I am any judge. And speaking of judges, 
 I have some papers here which set forth my qualifications to a 
 judgeship in your appointment. I refer to the Federal vacancy." 
 He began to pull a volume of papers from his inner pocket. 
 
 Lincoln raised his hand. " There is no vacancy at present. I 
 regret that I cannot accommodate you." Then he pointedly 
 looked past the applicant toward the doorway. 
 
 The disappointed judge was not to be so easily dismissed. " In 
 that case, Mr. President," he said quickly, " I am entirely willing 
 to accept a position as postmaster. I have another set of endorse- 
 ments for that office, if you will have a moment's patience," and 
 he began searching in another pocket. 
 
 "Don't bother hauling them out," Lincoln interposed. "A 
 postmastership is beneath one of your qualifications, and in addi- 
 tion, I have none to allocate to you. I bid you good day." 
 
 " Wait! Wait, I beg of you! " cried the frustrated suppliant. 
 " If there is no postmastership available, I would embrace the 
 opportunity of becoming a lighthouse keeper, sir. It is a digni- 
 fied calling and I have a meditative temperament . . ." 
 
Uncle Elmer Hauls Down a Flag 19 
 
 Lincoln rubbed one hand with the other. M I suppose that a 
 lighthouse anywhere along the coast would suit you? " 
 
 " Of course, sir. Anywhere." 
 
 " Then apply to the Treasury. We are not dispensing light- 
 houses here . . . and good day! " 
 
 Tad sat patiently while the line filed in and dribbled out. He 
 saw modest, stammering men to whom his pa was kind, and 
 brusque, demanding men, and occasionally someone whom he 
 had noticed back home in Springfield. Each had a request to 
 make. Each wanted a gift of some sort. His pa heard them until 
 he was sure the case was hopeless, and then dismissed them as 
 comfortably for both as he could. 
 
 " Pa, when are we going to see the squirrels? " Tad asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 M Hay, how many still to come? " Lincoln inquired. 
 
 Hay looked out the door. " The line's endless, sir. They fill the 
 stairway, clutter the hall, and you'd likely find two or three in 
 the coat closet. And all original Lincoln supporters, of course." 
 
 M Of course, even if they voted for Douglas." Lincoln smiled. 
 Then the smile died away and he said, " If our American society 
 and the United States Government are demoralized and over- 
 thrown, it will come from the voracious desire for office, this 
 wriggle to live without toil. If it were believed that vacant places 
 could be had at the North Pole, the road there would be lined 
 with dead office seekers." Lincoln eased Tad from his lap and 
 said. " It wouldn't look right for me to go squirrel-hunting now, 
 Taddie. But we'll go this evening. If you see Uncle Elmer, ask 
 him to come to me, please." 
 
 The magic possibility of seeing Colonel Ellsworth made it eas- 
 ier for Tad to leave. He wandered from room to room of the big 
 house and out on the grounds. Then he had an idea and dashed 
 upstairs where he had seen a spyglass in the library. He took it 
 up on the roof and pretended he was on a desert island at sea. 
 It was hard to hold the spyglass steady, but if you looked at a 
 
20 Tad Lincoln 
 
 horse in Pennsylvania Avenue you could see his ear twitch. You 
 could see boats on the Potomac and house tops way over in Vir- 
 ginia. He trained the glass on Lafayette Square for squirrels. 
 Finally he got one right in view. He was close enough to eat out 
 of your hand. 
 
 War! 
 
 Willie was terrifically excited, mostly because everyone around 
 him was running in and out of the White House, tearing up the 
 staircase with handfuls of papers, frowning, swearing, talking, 
 bragging, calling names. 
 
 He ran out and bought newspapers because it thrilled him to 
 see the words in big print. 
 
 It is at last decided that Fort Sumter shall be reinforced. . . . 
 The Cabinet have issued orders for the evacuation of Fort Sumter. 
 . . . Orders were sent off last evening to reinforce Major Ander- 
 son at all costs. . . . 7/ is believed that Major Anderson evacu- 
 ated Fort Sumter by order of the Government last evening. 
 
 w Which do they mean? " shrilled Willie. 
 
 Tad was for immediate action. In the attic the boys cleared a 
 central floor space; this was Charleston Harbor. Tad sheltered 
 behind a parapet of attic odds and ends representing the walls of 
 Fort Sumter. A fleet of blocks were the relief ships sent by their 
 pa to carry food to Major Anderson's garrison. Willie, manning 
 a shore battery, lay on his stomach and pounded the Fort with 
 his mortars. The shot and shell consisted of peanuts fired by 
 rubber bands. They could hurt too. The objective was a small 
 American flag flying from a ruler-flagstaff on Fort Sumter. 
 
 Tad had forced Willie into the Confederacy. Willie was a phi- 
 losopher. He saw that there had to be rebels if there was to be a 
 rebellion. He had got Mrs. Keckley to sew him up a Confederate 
 flag. 
 
Uncle Elmer Hauls Dawn a Flag 21 
 
 M Ah'll do it dis time," said the devoted colored woman. " But 
 don' ask me tuh soil mah hands makin' a rebel flag agin. Ah'm 
 happy yo' pa is takin' no mo' sass from dem critters. Dis coun- 
 try's lak a man wid one laig. How kin it go on ahead, lak it's ben 
 goin', ef ha'f of it won't go wid tuther ha'f ? " 
 
 " Pa's called for 75,000 troops," Willie said. " They'll see that 
 the rebels get licked." 
 
 Mrs. Keckley shook her head. H It's goin' tuh take a sight mo' 
 troops dan dat, boy. Fse ben down dere an' Ah know. Dey's 
 rich an' dey's proud an' dey's millions ob 'em. Dey dat takes up 
 de sword perish by de sword, as de Good Book say, but dey mostly 
 kills a lot ob de udders fust." 
 
 Mrs. Keckley added with pride that her son George had joined 
 up. He was in Company D in the First Regiment of Missouri. 
 
 Willie was touched. The war had come very close. Uncle Elmer 
 was in it, of course, but he would be all right. No one so brave 
 and dashing as the Zouave leader could be hurt. But Willie wor- 
 ried about Mrs. Keckley's George whom he had never seen. As 
 he lay on his stomach firing cannon at Fort Sumter, he thought 
 about it. Tad mocked at his misses. But at length the Union flag- 
 staff was hit. "Surrender! Surrender! " yelled Willie. "You're 
 smashed." 
 
 But Major Anderson was having too good fun to surrender. 
 He determined to change history. He hit Willie in the eye with 
 a peanut. 
 
 " You've got to surrender! " Willie stopped the bombardment 
 to rub his eye. <c Your food's gone. Your garrison's stifled by heat 
 and smoke. Your relief ships'll never get to you. And you've been 
 under bombardment for thirty-three hours. You've got to sur- 
 render." 
 
 * I won't! " 
 
 There was but one answer: more war. Willie charged across 
 Charleston Harbor, wrecked the front of Sumter, threw Major 
 
22 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Anderson down, and began to grind his scalp with his knuckles. 
 " Will you surrender now? " 
 
 Tad writhed free. He was too light to beat Willie in a frontal 
 attack, but he was faster. He flew downstairs screaming, half 
 with excitement, half with laughter, and plunged for protection 
 into his pa's study. 
 
 Lincoln was standing looking out his window. Tad knew why. 
 His pa was watching for the soldiers. For days after the call for 
 troops, the Capital of the United States had lain undefended, 
 soldierless. It was filled with sympathizers of the Confederacy. It 
 was bounded by slaveholding Maryland's hostility on the north, 
 by a sullen impenetrable silence on the south. At any moment 
 the secessionists might swoop on the city, sack it, carry off the 
 President, take his family for hostages. The suspense was like a 
 black fog in the April air. It grew daily more intolerable. No 
 word, no news, no regiments marching in. " What is the North 
 about? " asked the mystified Commander in Chief of this phan- 
 tom army. " Don't they know our condition? " 
 
 " Secretary Cameron sends out messengers daily," Hay said. 
 
 " And not a company, not a corporal's squad. I don't believe 
 there is any North. That Seventh Massachusetts is a myth." 
 
 M What's a myth, pa? " Tad asked. 
 
 c * A fairy tale. It's an army existing only in imagination. The 
 outer world is a myth, and I wonder why I keep sending dis- 
 patches to it." 
 
 Tad was puzzled. He had never seen his pa so wrought up. For 
 Tad, as for Willie, fun piled on fun. They were greatly excited 
 by the volunteer guard for the White House. Everybody expected 
 the fighting to start in Washington and to rage its hardest at the 
 White House threshold. Young men who had seen service in the 
 Mexican War patrolled the halls. The Executive Mansion had 
 been turned into a barracks. Fort Washington down the river 
 was manned by a single old soldier. The two arsenals at Harper's 
 Ferry and Norfolk were in Confederate hands. Through his spy- 
 
Uncle Elmer Hauls Down a Flag 23 
 
 glass Lincoln could see Confederate flags flying on the Virginia 
 side of the river. The tension and mystery were hard to bear. 
 
 Willie entered the study in a breathless hurry. " They're com- 
 ing, they're coming, pa! " he shouted. " I heard 'em." 
 
 Lincoln, greatly excited, with Tad racing in front of him, 
 strode across the hall and into a room facing the Avenue. He 
 raised a window and leaned out. " Let me see too, pa! " squealed 
 Tad. 
 
 " Hear them, pa? " Willie cried. 
 
 It was true. Far away they heard the shrill of fifes and the rat- 
 tat-tat-tat-tat-tat of snare drums. Presently the head of the col- 
 umn appeared. The band broke into M Yankee Doodle." The 
 intoxicating tramp-tramp-left-right-left-right could be heard, 
 felt. Flags dipped as they passed the White House. Ten thousand 
 troops for defense! The first crisis was past. Willie and Tad turned 
 to new excitements. 
 
 The best of these was that Uncle Elmer was back from New 
 York. He had brought a whole regiment of Zouaves. Tad thought 
 that a regiment of monkeys couldn't have been more fun. The 
 red trousers of the Zouaves were everywhere. They chased one 
 another on the dizzy ledges of the Capitol and hung from the 
 base of the dome. They charged after imaginary rebels in the 
 streets, invaded taverns, let themselves down from their quarters 
 by ropes. Tad, wide-eyed, watched them and thought all the 
 more of Colonel Ellsworth for commanding them. Tad stood by 
 his pa at the swearing-in of the regiment. He felt thoroughly in 
 the war now. 
 
 One May evening Tad heard voices in his pa's study and went 
 in. It was just Uncle Elmer and his pa, but they sounded more 
 solemn than usual. Uncle Elmer made a grab at Tad, missed him 
 on purpose, chased him around the study, caught him, swung 
 him onto his shoulder, held him tight, and tickled him. Tad 
 
24 Tad Lincoln 
 
 screamed with joy and the tickles. He kicked loose and felt the 
 floor under his feet, and heard his pa saying, " Now, Taddie, 
 Uncle Elmer and I want to talk." 
 
 " Let him stay," Ellsworth said, and the two resumed where 
 they had left off. Tad soon lost interest in the conversation. It 
 was about transports, whatever they were, and cutting commu- 
 nications southward from Alexandria, and whether or not to 
 give the enemy troops an hour's grace to leave town. 
 
 Tad picked up the spyglass and trained it on the houses down- 
 river on the Virginia side. A flag caught the evening sun. It was 
 the same flag that Mrs. Keckley had made for Willie. " Look, pa! 
 I can see the rebel flag. Look! Come look! Please come! " 
 
 " We know it's there, sonny," Lincoln said. 
 
 " Shall I tell him? " Ellsworth asked, and at the President's nod 
 said: u That's what we've been talking about, Taddie. God will- 
 ing, that flag won't be there this time tomorrow." 
 
 Next morning Willie and Tad were out at the stable watching 
 Francis Burns, the coachman, polish the harness. Tad heard the 
 bells and wondered if it had got to be Sunday by mistake. The 
 coachman stopped rubbing the silver and said, M Now what would 
 they be tolling them for? " 
 
 Tad stepped out of the stable to see. The Stars and Stripes on 
 the White House pole was being hauled down. He ran back in 
 excitement. ° They're taking down the flag on our house. The 
 rebels haven't won, have they? " 
 
 " Of course not! " Willie exclaimed. " Do you think pa'd let 
 'em? " he asked scornfully. 
 
 Francis Burns dropped the polishing rag and went out to see 
 for himself. " Mercy on us! " he exclaimed on finding the flag 
 at half-mast. " Who could that be for? You boys wait here . . ." 
 
 Neither Tad nor Willie liked to wait. They ran into the White 
 House looking for someone to explain these strange happenings. 
 
Uncle Elmer Hauls Down a Flag 25 
 
 Their pa wasn't in his study or the library. They found him at 
 last in their ma's room, and she was lying down on a lounge cry- 
 ing. M Ma, what is it? Are you sick again? " Willie asked. 
 
 M Do they put the flag at half-mast when ma's sick? " Tad 
 asked. 
 
 Lincoln was standing with his back to the room, gazing down 
 the shining river. He looked very tall and statuesque in his black 
 clothes against the light of the window. Now he turned around 
 and Tad saw that he had been crying too. This unheard-of sight 
 hit Tad like a blow of a hand. He had never seen tears in his pa's 
 eyes. He knew something terrible had happened. Lincoln put his 
 arm about Tad and said: " You boys must be brave as soldiers. 
 Colonel Ellsworth has been taken from us." 
 
 In the silence they heard only a sob from the lounge. It had 
 not yet penetrated Tad. " Taken where? " he asked. " Did the 
 rebels get him? " 
 
 " That means he's dead," Willie interpreted. " How, pa? 
 How? " 
 
 " He exposed himself to pull down a Confederate flag and he 
 was shot." 
 
 It was the first time that this lightning had struck out of their 
 sunny skies. It was dazzling to Tad. Then the thunderclap of 
 realization! Uncle Elmer would never come laughing into a room 
 again to swing him on his shoulder. Never hang from the win- 
 dow sill and kick his scarlet legs in the air. Never put his Zouaves 
 through the drill. Never teach Willie and him the Manual of 
 Arms as he had promised. Never — never — never! 
 
 Tad gave way to his first frantic grief. Mrs. Keckley heard 
 and came in, and her own lips quivered at the boys' anguished 
 faces. 
 
 " God's po' li'l lambs," she murmured. 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 Tad Branches Out 
 
 TAD WAS OPPRESSED BY THE CHANGE IN EVERYBODY. NO OF- 
 fice seekers disturbed the hush in the White House. He was 
 not allowed in the East Room. Colonel Elmer's funeral services 
 were to be held there, he was told. In the afternoon long lines of 
 men and women, and even children his own age, were let in there 
 to see the body that had housed the brave youth. 
 
 " Can I go? " he asked Mrs. Keckley. 
 
 " Lan's sakes no, honey. Dat wouldn' do no good." 
 
 " Why can't I go? " Tad persisted. 
 
 " When de cook clean a chicken, honey, which yo' want tuh 
 look at, de good meat or de remainders? Why, de good meat, ob 
 course. Well, it's de same wid dat nice boy. De Lord God 
 Amighty, he taken him and he lef de remainders, dat's all, an' 
 yo' wouldn' keer tuh see dem, Ah know. But tomorrer dey's 
 gwine tuh be a grand big dress-up funer'l an' den Taddie kin 
 go sit by his pa an' sing an' be happy dat his fren' is done wid 
 all dis misery here below." 
 
 So Tad looked forward to the funeral. It showed him a so- 
 lemnity he had not dreamed of. The box, which he was embar- 
 rassed to look at, was covered with heaps of flowers and wreaths. 
 Two tall motionless and magnificent Zouaves stood at each end 
 of it. Tad sat on a gilt chair right behind old General Scott, a 
 most uncomfortable chair. Occasionally Tad rested himself by 
 standing up and hanging onto the back of General Scott's chair. 
 When the General rose once, Tad fell back, the chair made an 
 awful screech, and Willie looked superior. 
 
Tad Branches Out zj 
 
 Tad enjoyed the funeral. There was no place for sadness with 
 the funny Cabinet members and gold lace distractions to look at. 
 Resplendent Zouaves escorted the hearse down the Avenue amid 
 the tolling of bells, the salutes of minute guns, and the dirges of 
 martial brass. Death moving to muffled drums wore a stately face. 
 Only when Tad came back to the big and empty White House 
 did he realize that Colonel Ellsworth was gone forever. That night 
 he sobbed himself to sleep with Mrs. Keckley sitting by his bed. 
 
 Two days later Tad found a present from somebody on that 
 same bed — a soldier doll, a Zouave complete to the last gilt but- 
 ton on his tunic. His scarlet trousers were especially admirable, 
 and his red fez. His face, painted on durable cloth, hinted at his 
 daredevil nature. Tad asked everybody who had given him the 
 present. Willie did some detective work in Mrs. Keckley 's sewing 
 basket and found pieces of the blue tunic. Tad named the Zouave 
 " Private Jack," and the two kept each other company. Willie's 
 pony fortunately arrived the day after the funeral, and the boy 
 spent much time in the stable currying, harnessing, feeding, and 
 currying again. Colonel Ellsworth's death had hit him deeply. 
 When Willie wasn't in the stable, he stayed by himself and read. 
 It was as if his heart remained black and blue from the blow. 
 
 Tad had to have company livelier than books. He peppered 
 away at people in search of companionship and found most of 
 them busy. It was like knocking at doors of locked rooms. He 
 usually ended the search in his pa's lap. Sometimes the visitor 
 pounded the desk, like the shipper. Tad's thought had been wan- 
 dering when this man shouted: " Mr. Lincoln, you've got to do 
 it! If you don't nip this piracy in the bud, where are you? And 
 the only way to stop these outrageous practices is to hang the 
 pirates. Hang 'em from the yardarms of their own privateers." 
 
 This was something like it, and Tad leaned forward to see his 
 pa's face better. The bright, dreamy eyes that could gaze through 
 you if you had been bad, now stared stubbornly at the visitor. 
 His pa's face was a dark brown, as it sometimes was when his 
 
2% Tad Lincoln 
 
 ma said he had a touch of liver. The visitor's was as red as a roost- 
 er's comb. " We're losing millions, Mr. Lincoln. During this last 
 month the privateers' captures have cost us Northern shippers 
 between four and five millions of dollars. Eighteen vessels from 
 New England ports alone have been boarded. In your proclama- 
 tion you plainly promised to hang such thieves. If you don't be- 
 gin hanging them soon, sir, the rebels will know that you were 
 just saying Boo and we shippers will go bankrupt." 
 
 Tad noticed how his pa's sinewy yellow neck stood up like a 
 tree trunk above his turned down shirt collar, and how black his 
 hair seemed. His ears were so big that Tad wondered why they 
 didn't flap like a donkey's. Tad loved him for this face that 
 always left him with something to explore. You couldn't know it 
 all. Tad felt like patting it, though not now of course. He could 
 pat it, like a trusted horse, and know that his pa wouldn't kick. 
 But a big hand would steal around his body and tickle with a 
 forefinger, and Tad would laugh the whole dreary war away, for 
 here was fun and kindness and infinite protection and endless 
 comfort. " No," his pa was saying, " I can't begin a competition 
 in hanging, Mr. Bordell. For every pirate we strung up, a Union 
 officer in the Confederates' hands would also be hanged." 
 
 " But your proclamation! " Again that whack on the desk. 
 
 " I reckon I proclaimed myself plain ignorant in that," Lin- 
 coln said. " I've been studying up some of the fine points of this 
 maritime law, and find that maybe we've been a bit brash in 
 making up our own definitions." 
 
 Tad slipped off his pa's lap. When he heard that word " law " 
 it was time to leave. Grownups could puff and sweat over that 
 word and never get anywhere. He wondered where his ma was, 
 and remembered she was seeing to the fixing up of the Green 
 Room. He steered away from that. 
 
 His Aunt Lizzie had gone back to Springfield, and for a mo- 
 ment he wished he was back there too, playing with the boys he 
 knew. He went outdoors. Summer was coming. A hot air blew 
 
Tad Branches Out 29 
 
 from the south and it didn't smell quite good. He knew why, for 
 the old sewage canal that wound along that side of the White 
 House grounds didn't flow fast enough in dry weather and stank 
 something terrible. His ma was always talking about it. Mrs. 
 Keckley agreed with her that it was mighty strange that the Presi- 
 dent of the United States and his family should have to endure 
 the risk of typhoid fever. He and Willie had been told not to play 
 anywhere near the place. 
 
 Tad wandered out front. One nice thing about being the Pres- 
 ident's son was that you always had soldiers to talk to. The vol- 
 unteer guard for the White House had been replaced by regulars. 
 The only trouble was that they changed so often. Tad was 
 delighted to find one he knew on duty at the gate. The other 
 soldiers called him " Malaria," but his real name was Abner. 
 " They're jest jealous 'cause I'm a corporal and they ain't," Ma- 
 laria explained. 
 
 " What's jealous? " asked Tad, who, unlike Willie, didn't know 
 all the words. 
 
 " Jealous? " Malaria paused, and the muscles worked in his sal- 
 low face. " Jealous is kind of grudgin' you somethin'. See those 
 boys at the gate starin' at us? They're jealous of me bein' in uni- 
 form while they ain't. They're jealous because I tote a gun and 
 they don't. They got an envy for you because you can play in 
 this big yard and they can't." 
 
 " How if I ask them in to play? " Tad suggested. "They won't 
 be jealous then." 
 
 M No, and if I let them in, I wouldn't have my job." 
 
 " But if pa says I can have them, would that be all right? " 
 
 " Well, I wouldn't stand in his way," Malaria said. 
 
 Tad turned and tore up the drive. 
 
 For two hours the street urchins and Tad played " tag " and 
 " cops and robbers," and it was just like being back in Spring- 
 
30 Tad Lincoln 
 
 field. Then they formed a company of guerrillas, with headquar- 
 ters under the drooping gingko tree brought as a gift to Presi- 
 dent Buchanan by the Japanese on their first visit to this country. 
 
 Tad was chief of the guerrillas and sent them on dangerous er- 
 rands. One of them had to bring back a hair from the tail of 
 Willie's pony without being caught by the groom or by Willie. 
 Tad and the rest went along, somewhat in the rear, to check up. 
 One of them had to spy on Andrew Martin, the gardener, and 
 report when he went to his dinner. Andrew was Tad's chief foe, a 
 humorless Scot as prickly as a bunch of his native thistles. He had 
 two life interests, Queen Victoria and roses, and one life detesta- 
 tion, the people who interfered with his work. He was his natural 
 self when he was scolding, Tad discovered. 
 
 Tad whooped when Andrew was safely away. He sent one 
 guerrilla to fetch a spade from the toolroom and led the others 
 down to the extensive rose garden. Andrew had just received 
 a consignment of rosebushes, small ones, from England. He had 
 spent days setting them out so that the colors would blend pleas- 
 ingly when the roses bloomed. 
 
 Tad made each guerrilla lift his right hand and swear, as his 
 pa had done at the inauguration, that he would never tell what 
 they were going to do, even at home. The penalty for breaking 
 the oath was debated, and varied from extermination to eating 
 a worm. One of the guerrillas had a. father in the Union Army 
 and suggested the guardhouse. They settled on a night in the tool- 
 room. That settled, they started to retransplant the rosebushes 
 after carefully removing the little wooden tags. 
 
 It was hot work, and hurried work because Tad expected to 
 be called to his dinner. It was hungry work too. After about 
 thirty bushes were reset, Tad considered that Andrew's defeat 
 was complete. So they put the spade away, propped up a bush or 
 two that had been broken, removed what signs of trampling they 
 could, wiped the sweat out of their eyes, and — waited. Tad un- 
 
Tad Branches Out 3 1 
 
 derstood, and led his guests to the kitchen. He hoped that Silas 
 Thompson would not be in a temper. 
 
 " What are we going to have for dinner, Silas? " Tad asked. 
 
 M You go on up to the dining room and you'll see," Silas re- 
 torted. His temper was shortest on hot days, and today had 
 turned very hot. Also he understood the meaning of the silent 
 cluster of boys in the doorway. There were eight or nine of them. 
 
 " I'm going to have dinner with them," Tad said, nodding at 
 his guerrillas. 
 
 M All right, go and have it with them," Silas said testily. 
 
 " I mean here," Tad said. " We can all sit at that table, I 
 reckon." 
 
 Silas* glance slid from one dirty face to the next, and finally to 
 Tad's round, presumptuous one. It was time that this spoiled 
 child was put in his place, which wasn't the kitchen. " You think 
 I'm going to feed all Fourth Street? " he asked. He turned to the 
 gang. " Might as well go, boys. You won't get nothing here." 
 
 " They will so! " Tad stood up to the angry cook. M My pa will 
 tell you to. This isn't your kitchen." 
 
 " It's mine while I work here. Now you go upstairs and play 
 in your part of the house." 
 
 " You just work for pa and the Gov'ment! " Tad was angry 
 at being called down before his friends. " I'll tell him on you . . ." 
 
 " Go ahead. Tell him. I was chef for President Buchanan and 
 we got along all right. Now run along, all of you." 
 
 Tad motioned to the others to follow. The guerrilla who had 
 a father in the Army said: " Don't mind us, Tad. We can go home 
 and eat." 
 
 M Sure we can," the others chimed in. 
 
 " No. We want to play some more after dinner. You wait here 
 and I'll ask pa." 
 
 Lincoln, on that hot end-of-June day, had just dismissed a 
 Cabinet meeting. Simon Cameron, Secretary of War, and Gen- 
 
32 Tad Lincoln 
 
 eral McDowell had stayed behind with the President to talk over 
 military plans. For ten weeks the newspapers, the peop 1 e, and his 
 own desires urged action, a battle. Now it was decided. 
 
 McDowell was talking. Lincoln, so green at war, so burning 
 with anxiety to do the right thing, was listening. Secretary Cam- 
 eron, who knew more about manipulating his betters by hook 
 and crook, was bending over the map watching McDowell's pen- 
 cil, when Tad burst into the room and rushed to his pa. 
 
 General McDowell stopped, scowled at the boy, and waited for 
 Lincoln to throw him out of the room. His ever tender pride was 
 outraged when the President put an arm about the boy and asked 
 what was the matter. 
 
 Cameron's cold, measuring eyes looked knives at the rumpled 
 child, and he thought what a pleasure it would be to give the un- 
 mannerly brat a good switching. 
 
 Tad, half-blown like a raced horse, gulped out his grievance. 
 Lincoln looked up at the others, and saw how annoyed they were 
 at him for not being annoyed. " Gentlemen," he said, " this is im- 
 portant. A moment, please." Then to Tad: "This case requires 
 diplomacy, sonny. Go back and tell Silas, nicely, that neither I nor 
 he owns this house. We are just stewards in it, and the boys are to 
 be fed." 
 
 " Pa, will you write it? He mayn't believe me." 
 
 Lincoln drew a pad toward him and wrote, " Please accommo- 
 date Tad's guests for dinner, and oblige, A. Lincoln." 
 
 Tad, without so much as a glance at the frowning celebrities, 
 took the note and fled. 
 
 It was a strange sort of Sunday, Tad thought. The first real 
 battle of the war was going on, but he had to go to church with 
 his ma and pa. If he was President he wouldn't go to any plaguey 
 old church when he could go to a battle. Most everybody in 
 Washington was driving out to Bull Run to see the soldiers fight. 
 
Tad Branches Out 33 
 
 He had watched the buggies tearing by the White House at mad 
 speed so that the spectators in them mightn't miss anything. They 
 had big lunch baskets. Some of them were so thirsty that they 
 tilted bottles to their mouths and drank. Everyone who had a 
 horse had gone, and lots of ladies with them. It was hot as Tophet, 
 Francis Burns had remarked before his pa and ma had got into 
 the carriage. When Tad repeated this his ma corrected him for 
 being inelegant. 
 
 Tad didn't want to be elegant. He wanted to go to the battle. 
 " Pa, can we drive to Bull Run and see the battle after church? " 
 he had asked. But his ma interrupted. She said it was shameless 
 to see people breaking the Sabbath so. When he asked if the Army 
 wasn't breaking the Sabbath too, his pa laughed. Francis Burns 
 said, over his shoulder, that he had heard a man had offered a 
 thousand dollars for a horse to take him to the fight. 
 
 Tad wished something exciting would happen in church. He 
 didn't want to listen to the minister, who was preaching to his 
 pa, anyway. He prayed for his pa. It didn't seem to be necessary. 
 His pa had got to be President without it. He had asked his pa 
 why the ministers prayed for him, and his pa had said they did it 
 because they thought he needed it, he suppored. 
 
 Tad wished he had gone to the other church with Willie and 
 Bud Taf t. He would next Sunday. Now the only thing to do was 
 to sit back in the pew and watch his ma fan herself with the 
 beautiful fan she had bought in New York. It came from Paris, 
 but not Paris, Illinois. How could two places have the same name? 
 It was as silly as calling two boys Tad Lincoln. The other Paris 
 ought to have its name changed and leave Paris, Illinois, alone. 
 
 Tad watched a fly come sliding down a dusty beam of sunlight. 
 It made him think of angels. Perhaps that was how the Bible had 
 thought of angels, watching a fly. This one whirled around sleep- 
 ily in long curves, and then another came and joined it. If he was 
 a fly he wouldn't come to church. They were singing the closing 
 hymn, " Rock of Ages." He liked that hymn. He hoped the 
 
34 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Union Army was licking the rebels to pieces, as everybody said 
 they would. Then the war would be over, and Mrs. Keckley 
 wouldn't have to worry about her George any more. 
 
 Sunday afternoon was even stranger than the morning. At 
 home Tad went walking with his pa. Now he had to wait and 
 wait while his pa read telegrams. Everybody was thinking about 
 the battle. It was in their faces, in their footsteps. About three 
 o'clock Tad went with his pa to see General Scott. The old soldier 
 was sound asleep, which was funny right in the middle of a battle. 
 His mouth curved down like the new moon. The epaulets on his 
 shoulders must be heavy to carry. 
 
 " Nothing to worry about," yawned the General. " Good as 
 won." 
 
 At five his pa went for a drive with his ma. Tad didn't go. His 
 ma was always telling his pa, when they went driving, what he 
 ought to do. It made Tad itch. His pa listened a lot, and if he 
 wasn't going to do it, he said, " Now, mother . . ." 
 
 Tad was hunting Willie to play with when an old white-haired 
 man bumped into him in the hall. He was pale and breathing hard 
 and didn't say, " Excuse me." He held a telegram. Tad knew who 
 he was — Mr. Seward, Secretary of State. Although he was lots 
 too big for a mole, Tad thought of him as a sort of mole, because 
 his pa had remarked that most of Mr. Seward's work must neces- 
 sarily be done in the dark, and his ma had said that Mr. Seward 
 was doing his best to undermine his pa. He looked like an under- 
 miner, with his unorderly hair, long, burrowing nose, and sly 
 eyes. " Direct me to your father, please," Mr. Seward addressed 
 Tad. " It is most urgent that I find him." 
 
 " He's out driving with ma," Tad said. 
 
 Mr. Seward made a face as if he had a bad pain. w Out taking a 
 drive at this critical hour! " 
 
 His tone made Tad angry. He wished he was a dog so that he 
 
Tad Branches Out 3 5 
 
 could bite Mr. Seward. Just then Mr. Hay came up. " Is there any- 
 thing I can do for you, Mr. Seward? " 
 
 " Yes, locate the President." 
 
 " He's out celebrating the victory with Mrs. Lincoln." 
 
 " Victory! " Mr. Seward spat out the word the way he'd spit 
 out a bug. Then his voice lowered. "Do not tell a soul, Hay. I've 
 just received direct news from McDowell. He's retreating. Our 
 troops have been utterly routed, and he can't rally them." 
 
 " How dreadful! " Young Mr. Hay looked sick too. 
 
 M It's worse than a mere battle lost. Tomorrow we may have to 
 give up Washington! " 
 
 Tad stood listening, the words looming like ugly giants in his 
 mind. " Poor Mr. Lincoln! " exclaimed Hay. M This will be bitter 
 news." * 
 
 " Especially for one who can take a drive at' a time like this! " 
 Mr. Seward's tone was heavy with censure. Mr. Seward had tried 
 to be patient with this undecided, inexperienced, and uncouth 
 Westerner who had turned up in the White House. He had en- 
 deavored to help him, and had accepted a place in the Cabinet for 
 the good of the party. He had resigned once already, in despair 
 of making a President out of such shilly-shallying material, and 
 then resumed his seat out of pity. But now his patience was defi- 
 nitely at an end. " When Mr. Lincoln finishes taking the air with 
 his wife, tell him I shall be available in my office. It is tragic that 
 General Scott is so far in his dotage that he can't take the news in. 
 Somebody must do something. If the rebels take the seat of gov- 
 ernment they will have won the war." 
 
 They had forgotten the boy. Suddenly in a comprehension of 
 terror Tad ran along the hall and up the wide staircase. " Mrs. 
 Keckley! Mrs. Keckley! " he screamed. " Where are you? " 
 
 " Here Ah am, honey," came the quiet voice from his own 
 room. 
 
 He flung in and ran to her. " The rebels are coming! The rebels 
 have beaten! They're coming to take Washington and pa! " 
 
3 6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 The soft hand soothed him. M Now, now, honey boy, don* mind 
 talk lak dat. Whoeber tell mah boy dat is kiner foolish, in mah 
 'pinion. Yo' knows, Taddie, yo' pa wouldn' let any ole rebels 
 take dis big city. It jes' foolishment tuh say so." 
 
 " Mr. Seward's mad because pa's out ridin\ He says . . ." 
 
 " Now don' mind wot dat Mr. Sewar' say," Mrs. Keckley went 
 on. " He's jes' one ob yo' pa's hired help. He's stuck in de Cabinet, 
 ain't he, kiner on de top shelf? Yo' pa's de boss an' he knows wot 
 he wants done, but he ain't tellin' nobody yet. Don' worry 'bout 
 yo' pa, honey. Now lay down on dat horsehair sofa. It's nice an' 
 cool, an' Ah'll tell yo' de refreshin' story ob Dabid an' Goliart. 
 An' don' fuss no mo' 'bout de rebels. Dey's jes' men lak anybody 
 else, honey, an' wot one lot ob 'em kin start anuther kin stop." 
 
 Mrs. Keckley drew her rocker close to the sofa and began the 
 story of David " way back," as Tad commanded, and he forgot 
 the rebels and Seward's alarmed voice and even Hay's " Poor Mr. 
 Lincoln! " 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 The Happy Summer 
 
 M 
 
 ONDAY WAS LONELINESS. TAD WAS FORGOTTEN, NEG- 
 
 lected. He had never been so free to do as he pleased, and 
 could think of nothing. A dark sky dropped fine rain on such 
 confusion as the boy had not seen outside of a chicken yard at 
 killing time. 
 
 The White House was like a railroad station after an accident. 
 Messenger boys only a little oMer than Willie wove their way 
 among contractors, correspondents, Congressmen, and civilians, 
 who would still apply for office with the heavens falling. The 
 crowd showed numbers of shoulder straps — political soldiers in 
 uniform — who fought only with their mouths and mostly for 
 themselves. President Lincoln was cloceted with generals, Cabi- 
 net members. Tad could neither stay away from the push and 
 variety of the confusion nor enjoy it. Willie was out quietly cur- 
 rying his pony, but he had so severely limited Tad's privileges 
 with the animal that it was no fun. Tad's goats had not come. He 
 felt completely out of everything. He felt reckless, as if he didn't 
 mind doing something he might be punished for. At least then 
 people had to notice you. The only forbidden thing he could 
 think of was to leave the White House grounds unattended. It 
 might be fun to explore. He scouted down to the gate. Malaria 
 was not on duty, and Tad did not mind getting a stranger into 
 trouble. When the guard was occupied, the boy slipped out into 
 the big world. 
 
 Almost at once he was frightened and fascinated. Lafayette 
 Square held grievous sights. From Bull Run, twenty miles away, 
 
38 Tad Lincoln 
 
 the soldiers were straggling in, some with bloody bandages, with 
 their arms in slings. They were unshaven, with powder filth on 
 their faces, hair matted, eyes tired and bloodshot. 
 
 Tad walked among them, not caring now whether he felt 
 naughty or not. He wanted to see and hear. He heard things he 
 was glad his ma didn't hear. He heard words he didn't understand 
 and stored them away. He could ask Malaria. He stopped before 
 one villainous-looking soldier who was haranguing some civilians. 
 " Ya, miles of it! Miles of rifles, blankets, canteens, hats, haver- 
 sacks! Throwed away! Wagons upside down in ditches. Too 
 scared to right 'em. A blamed bloody retreat. A panic, if you ask 
 me, and that doll-baby McDowell a-settin' his horse lookin' 
 pretty. Bah! A bunch of angry farmers with pitchforks could 'a 
 fought better." 
 
 Tad grew a year crossing that Square. He walked up the street 
 in the drizzle and stopped under an awning. A girl was serving 
 soup from a silver bowl to a dirty-faced corporal. He saw a row 
 of soldiers lying very still on the lawn. It shocked him. " Are 
 they deaders? " he asked the girl. 
 
 " Mercy, no! They're worn out." The girl, who was about six- 
 teen, looked rather superciliously at her young questioner. 
 
 " It's no fault of the War Department they're not," growled 
 the corporal. " My musket wouldn't hit a barn door at twenty 
 paces. Made in Belgium! Whoever sold it to Cameron was a 
 swindler, unless they both are." He sucked up his soup with a 
 drawling noise. 
 
 Julia Taft's mouth opened. " That's treason! To talk about the 
 Secretary of War like that just because you can't hit a barn 
 door! " 
 
 " You don't say! " sneered the soldier. " Maybe your pa's a con- 
 tractor too." 
 
 " My father is Judge Taft! " Julia's shoulders rose two inches 
 and her nose at least one. " He's as honest as Mr. Lincoln, I'd 
 have you know." 
 
The Happy Summer 39 
 
 M Well, I don't know Lincoln, neither," said the corporal. " But 
 if he's the one who ordered green boys into that battle, he's a dis- 
 aster to have for President. And they are green! Only one divi- 
 sion commander in three had seen battle. Six out of nine brigadiers 
 had never smelled the smoke of battle." 
 
 M Well, how much experience have the rebels had? " Julia de- 
 manded. 
 
 " Enough, sister, enough! " The corporal wiped his lips with 
 the back of his hand and put down the bowl. " You can ask 'em 
 personally in a few hours. They'll be in Washington tonight. And 
 Old Abe will look still older." 
 
 This was the limit of disrespect. Tad's right foot went back 
 and then came forward in a brisk kick against the corporal's 
 shin. M Old Abe's my pa! " he said in a fury. " You can't talk 
 about him like that." 
 
 Julia gasped. She was amazed and horrified. The soldier's fist 
 hauled back but he did not strike, forgetting the sting of his shin 
 at the sight of the fearless urchin with the angry blue eyes in 
 front of him. The brat's effrontery amused him. " Sure he is. Old 
 Abe's your pa. But that don't give you leave to kick General 
 Scott. That's me." 
 
 " That's a lie. You're not General Scott. I know him." 
 
 The soldier grinned at Julia as much as to say that he couldn't 
 cope with the child. " Give my respects to your pa and the gen- 
 eral, and tell 'em to sign up their next so'gers for more than three 
 months." Then he went off up the street. 
 
 Julia was scrutinizing Tad. " I thought I'd seen you before. 
 You must be Tad Lincoln," she said. " My brother Bud knows 
 your brother Willie. Does your mother know that you are wan- 
 dering around like this, kicking soldiers? That was an awful thing 
 to do. Suppose he had hit you as he was going to? You wouldn't 
 have got over it for days." 
 
 Tad was already ashamed of his hasty act. " I'll run after him 
 and tell him I didn't mean it," he offered. 
 
40 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " No, no, he's gone now. Besides, you did mean it. Come into 
 the house please." 
 
 Julia was so sure of hercelf that Tad followed her into the Taft 
 home. A boy just his age and size was playing with tin soldiers 
 on the floor. " Holly, get up and greet Tad Lincoln," Julia said. 
 " His real name is Halsey but we call him Holly." 
 
 The other brother, Horatio, came into the room. He was Wil- 
 lie's size, Tad noted. " Bud, I want you to greet President Lin- 
 coln's son, Tad." Julia had the manner of a Washington society 
 woman. It was no slight honor, she knew, to entertain a mem- 
 ber of the White House family. 
 
 Bud shook Tad's hand and said: "Willie's told me all about 
 you. I was just going over to see his pony. He asked me. If you 
 want to go back I can take you." 
 
 Tad, rarely shy, liked Holly's looks. They were all going to 
 have fun. He could see that. " Let's go play at our place," he sug- 
 gested. " Julia too." 
 
 ,c Now isn't that sweet of you! " Julia said. " I'd love to go." 
 Then to Tad, " Call me Julie. All my friends do." 
 
 Then began the happy summer. When Bud and Holly were 
 not at the White House, Willie and Tad were at the Tafts'. In ad- 
 dition to being inseparable, they were congenial, and even looked 
 alike. Bud and Willie were the quiet pair, rather old for their 
 ages of twelve and eleven, quite capable of lively rows and en- 
 thusiasm, but thoughtful. Lincoln even sent Bud on confidential 
 errands more suitable for a mature messenger. 
 
 Tad and Holly, both a bit over eight, sparkled with energy, 
 glittered with it. They were the laughers, the teasers, the enter- 
 prising and rambunctious. 
 
 The four of them made an arch of sunlight across the dark 
 cloud of the first war summer. Julia, on the verge of society do- 
 ings, old enough for some functions but still a schoolgirl, occa- 
 
The Happy Summer 41 
 
 sionally forgot her dignity and consented to play with the boys. 
 Just as often she and Mrs. Lincoln looked on. She took part of the 
 place of the daughter that Mrs. Lincoln had never had. To her 
 the President was a good unclelike person, smiling, very tall, and 
 kind. 
 
 Private Jack, the Zouave, figured prominently in their play. 
 He suffered for many sins. He had run away from the rebels at 
 Bull Run and was disciplined by shooting. But Tad found that 
 the ball had not gone through his heart, and his convalescence was 
 rapid. 
 
 Next he was transferred to Malaria's company, but the flesh 
 was weak. He was found sleeping on picket duty. Willie con- 
 ducted a court-martial. The defense was ragged and Private Jack 
 was sentenced to life imprisonment in Old Capitol Prison. 
 
 This jail had recently figured much in the news. Washington 
 was sown with spies. Tad and Willie were especially intrigued by 
 the stories they overheard. Women were already mysterious be- 
 ings, thanks to their bustles and huge hoops. Now it was learned 
 that they carried spy messages in their complicated clothing. Rose 
 O'Neale Greenhow, who lived only a short distance from the 
 White House, was notorious. The boys would walk across La- 
 fayette Square and up to 398 Sixteenth Street in the hope of 
 catching sight of the woman imprisoned on the top floor. Tad 
 was in a state of fearful hope that he might see her being brought 
 out to the firing squad. 
 
 The unhappy Zouave, Jack, escaped from his jail only to be 
 arrested for a more serious offense. He was caught spying on the 
 White House guards. The President had received many warn- 
 ings, some anonymous but some signed, that attempts on his life 
 were being planned. The guards were increased. Armed men, con- 
 cealed in the shrubbery, covered all the approaches to the Man- 
 sion. A reserve troop, with muskets and bayonets, had its station 
 in the White House basement, much to Tad's pleasure. It was 
 news of these arrangements that Private Jack had smuggled out 
 
42 Tad Lincoln 
 
 to the enemy. A trial was held, Willie being the judge, and his 
 pa's oldest dressing gown, considerably looped up, was the judi- 
 cial robe. Jack was sentenced to be hanged. The only hitch in the 
 execution was the waiting for Andrew Martin to go to dinner. 
 For Andrew had far from cooled off after the transplanting of 
 his imported roses. 
 
 As this was Jack's positively final demise, much ceremony was 
 called for. When Andrew had gone to dinner, taking his wheel- 
 barrow with him, the line for the dead march formed. Tad, as 
 executioner, led. Then came Bud and Holly Taft, with Private 
 Jack in chains between them. They were the prison guards, and 
 their lives were to be forfeited if Jack escaped. Willie had read 
 a good deal about the procedures of justice, and Tad had asked 
 soldiers. Willie followed, with the judge's decision in his hands. 
 Julie brought up the rear as chief mourner. " There has to be 
 someone to feel sorry for Jack, I should think," she said. 
 
 The procession moved with solemnity to the rose bed, which 
 seemed the most suitable spot to bury a friend. The air was mel- 
 low with perfumes. Tad halted in front of a bower, the very thing 
 to suspend a body from. Julie got out her handkerchief. Willie 
 read the paper of " whereases " that found the prisoner deserv- 
 ing of being hanged by the neck until dead. Private Jack 
 dangled. 
 
 " Now the grave," Tad said. He had secreted a shovel in a 
 mock-orange bush, and they soon had a worthy excavation at the 
 foot of a richly flowering rose. 
 
 " The coffin! " Bud exclaimed. " We've forgotten the coffin." 
 
 " We can't bury him! " Holly said hopefully. " Not without 
 a coffin." 
 
 Tad was stumped for half a moment. " We can so! " he an- 
 nounced. " He's a spy, ain't he? They don't waste coffins on spies. 
 They just dump 'em any old place." 
 
 " I think we'd better hurry," Julie said. " We were late yester- 
 day." 
 
The Happy Summer 43 
 
 Tad looked his disgust. It was just like a girl to think of some- 
 thing like that. tl You cut him down," he said to Bud. " Willie can 
 read the burial service." 
 
 " There isn't time, Tad," Julie complained. 
 
 Et Willie can kind of skim through it," Bud said. 
 
 This compromise was agreed to, and the burial party gathered 
 about the grave with their heads bent. They were awaiting the 
 first sacred words from Willie when they heard a very different 
 voice. " And now what! " came in explosive syllables from An- 
 drew Martin. 
 
 The mourners jumped. Andrew bent over to cover the roots of 
 his cherished bush. " If this rose dies, I'll wring your idle neck," 
 he said to Tad. " Digging up my prize rose! " 
 
 " We were not digging it up! " Tad countered. 
 
 " Private Jack was hung and has to be buried," Willie added. 
 
 " Not here, he doesn't," the gardener said forcefully. Grab- 
 bing the shovel, he started to fill in the hole. 
 
 " He does, tool " shouted Tad and held on to the shovel. 
 
 " Tad, stop! " Julie Taft tried to loosen his hands, while An- 
 drew shoveled. " I know a better place for a cemetery. Lots 
 better." 
 
 " Queen Victoria sent that rosebush to President Buchanan and 
 I'm not going to see it killed by your foolishness," Andrew 
 grumbled. u Let go that shovel, or I'll tell your father." 
 
 M I won't. Pa lets me do as I want," Tad said. His face was hot 
 and angry and near tears. 
 
 Willie saw that it was time to use some imagination. He picked 
 up Private Jack and said, loudly, " Why, look! I don't believe 
 Jack's dead, Tad." 
 
 "Yes he is!" 
 
 Julie saw what Willie was after. " No he's not, Tad. I think 
 I saw him breathe." 
 
 w Then we'll have to hang him again," Bud said. 
 
 " Oh, no! Let him off," Julie begged. 
 
44 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Tad was wavering slightly, for after all the Zouave was an old 
 friend. Julie went on: " Why don't you have the President par- 
 don Jack, Tad? I think he would, if you asked him." 
 
 Andrew Martin sniffed. " You can be sure of it! He's mighty 
 free with his pardons, they say." 
 
 Tad threw himself into the new situation. c< All right, Come 
 quick. There's just time to save his life." Grabbing up Jack, Tad 
 ran for the White House and upstairs. As he was about to rush 
 into his pa's study, the doorman stopped him. M You can't go in 
 there, now, Master Tad. General McClellan's in there." 
 
 " Yes I can too. Pa said I could." 
 
 :< The President gave special orders not to be disturbed." 
 
 " But I have to save a soldier's life," Tad exclaimed and dodg- 
 ing the doorman he went in, Private Jack under his arm. 
 
 The young general, who was not yet thirty-five, looked an- 
 noyed. He had grown rapidly accustomed to homage and ex- 
 treme deference from all, including the President. Washington 
 called him " Little Mac " and made an idol of him. He was short, 
 and considered that he resembled Napoleon. At Tad's entrance 
 he had been addressing the President in a Napoleonic attitude. 
 Tad, who had heard much about this man, decided to listen, and 
 sat down on a lounge. 
 
 McClellan resumed. te Who would have thought that I should 
 so soon be called upon to save my country! " he said grandilo- 
 quently. " Don't let them hurry me is all I ask." 
 
 !< You shall have your own way as to that," Lincoln said. 
 
 " It is an immense task that I have in my hands, yet I believe 
 I can accomplish it. I flatter himself that Beauregard has won 
 his last victory. All I ask is to have my own way in everything 
 and not to be hurried." 
 
 " You shall have all the time you require," Lincoln repeated. 
 
 " I have already quieted Washington, as you may have no- 
 ticed," McClellan went on, placing his right arm Napoleonically 
 across his middle. M General Scott is my only obstacle. If I were 
 
The Happy Summer 45 
 
 to be commissioned General in Chief, I should be completely sat- 
 isfied." 
 
 Tad could see that his pa didn't like this, and from that mo- 
 ment Tad began not to like McClellan. " The supreme command 
 of the Army would entail a vast labor upon you in addition to 
 your present command," Lincoln said. 
 
 w I can do it all," affirmed the little man. 
 
 " The situation reminds me of the Irishman whose horse kicked 
 up and caught his foot in the stirrup. * Arrah! ' said he. * If you 
 are going to get on, I will get off.' " 
 
 The picture was so ludicrous that Tad snickered. General Mc- 
 Clellan's face was not affected by this levity. It sounded as if the 
 President were belittling his ability. His dignity was hurt. 
 
 Tad was puzzled. He was used to seeing people laugh at his 
 pa's jokes. McClellan began dropping even faster in Tad's esti- 
 mation. If he couldn't see a joke, he couldn't be much good. Since 
 he was no longer impressed, Tad jumped up and went over to his 
 pa, saying: " Private Jack was a spy and we hung him once, but 
 it didn't kill him, and Julie's chief mourner, and says to get you 
 to pardon him. Will you, pa? " 
 
 Lincoln considered. There are many ways of sizing up a man, 
 and it was vital to get the measure of this leader into whose hands 
 he was putting the main conduct of the war. " What is the mili- 
 tary law in such matters, General? " Lincoln asked. " Is there 
 not sufficient basis for a pardon in this case? " 
 
 Such frivolity when he was engaged in impressing the Presi- 
 dent with his abilities displeased McClellan. " I see no reason for 
 lenience," he said coldly. 
 
 "Will you, pa? " Tad asked. He felt like hating McClellan's 
 fat cheeks and drooping whiskers for his stuck-upishness. 
 
 " Well, I think we have some law to go on, Taddie. No man can 
 be put twice in jeopardy of his life for the same offense, and I 
 believe that you've hanged Jack already several times for his 
 work as a spy. So I reckon he's entitled to this pardon." Lincoln 
 
4 6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 pulled a sheet of notepaper headed Executive Mansion toward 
 him and wrote: 
 
 The Provost Marshal, Fort Tadd, Md. 
 
 Kindly pardon Private Jack, of the Fire Zouaves. 
 
 By order of the President, 
 
 A. Lincoln. 
 
 te There, sonny. And I hope it will be a lesson to him." 
 Tad grabbed the paper and ran downstairs to his waiting 
 friends. 
 
 The summer was moving under the high thunderheads that 
 built up and up into the sky over Virginia. Occasionally Tad 
 could see lightning stabbing down. Malaria said it was killing 
 rebels — and a good thing too, since the Army of the Potomac 
 didn't get at it. 
 
 Malaria was mighty curious about his pa, Tad thought. Tad 
 remembered a lot of things to tell him. His pa had taught him to 
 count nine by the windows in the house at Springfield, and ten 
 was the door, his pa had a funny way of reading a book. He'd 
 turn the chair over and he'd sit on the floor, leaning his head on 
 the slanting back of the chair. He always read aloud. It nearly 
 drove his ma crazy. And Mr. Herndon too. Mr. Herndon was his 
 pa's partner. He was kind of cranky. 
 
 Willie, who was listening, laughed. " He had good reason to 
 be," Willie told Malaria. " Pa'd take us down to his office on Sun- 
 day mornings when ma was to church, and Tad'd upset the ink 
 bottle and throw all the pencils into the spittoon." 
 
 " Yes, and you'd sit good as pie where they couldn't see you 
 and pull all the books off the shelves." Tad laughed. 
 
 " Pa don't keep his office in his hat any more," Willie observed. 
 
 " How'd he do that? " Malaria asked. 
 
 M Why, he'd make notes and lift his hat off and put the note in 
 and then clap the hat down on his head again," Willie explained. 
 
The Happy Summer 47 
 
 " It got to be like a squirrel's nest, it was so full of bits of paper. 
 People'd ask him why he didn't leave them in his desk, and pa'd 
 say that he owed it to his clients to keep their affairs on his mind." 
 
 " Mr. Herndon don't like ma," Tad announced. 
 
 " Ma don't like Mr. Herndon," Willie said quickly. " He gets 
 drunk." 
 
 " Pa said not to say that," Tad corrected. 
 
 " I'm telling Malaria why ma don't like him," Willie said. 
 M He broke a big windowpane once and pa had to scratch around 
 and find the money to pay for it. Ma don't like Mr. Herndon 
 borrowin' money from pa. He spits too." 
 
 " Shucks," said Tad. " Everybody spits." 
 
 M Pa don't, and ma don't." 
 
 Tad leaned back laughing at the thought of a woman's spitting. 
 
 M And ma don't like it the way Mr. Herndon divides up the 
 money," said Willie. Tad was silent, for he knew nothing what- 
 ever about money except that you had to have it if you wanted 
 to buy things. 
 
 " How's that? " prompted the soldier. 
 
 M I can't remember," Willie said lamely. " Pa earns the big fees 
 and Mr. Herndon the little ones, but pa always splits with Mr. 
 Herndbn." Willie wandered away. He didn't like discussions 
 about their ma. He loved her and understood her, even when she 
 was cross. The headaches she had would make anybody cross. And 
 the work she had to do! It wasn't so bad now, of course, with Mrs. 
 Keckley and everybody to help. But he'd seen her cook and 
 sweep and look after everyone when they were sick. He didn't 
 mind being called a home boy and a mother's boy. They didn't 
 call Tad a father's boy, but he was. His ma was all the time cor- 
 recting his pa and saying he'd look better if he had his hair 
 combed. It made Tad mad to have his ma pick on their pa like 
 that. But Willie understood. His ma wanted to have everything 
 looking nice and expensive, including pa. It troubled him, though, 
 because his ma's face looked unhappy and kind of starchy. 
 
48 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Willie got his pony and tethered him in the long grass of the 
 White House grounds and lay down while the pony cropped the 
 green blades. He was as happy as all get out. His thoughts rose 
 up with the thunderheads. He pretended he was taking a walk 
 among those soft palaces of cloud. He liked to hear his pony's 
 teeth tear the grass. It made a succulent sound. It reminded him 
 of the German ambassador at dinner. He made the same noises 
 with his mouth. 
 
 Willie tried over words in his mind that fitted the clouds. He 
 had already written some poetry. He had first known there was 
 such a thing from reading the lines his pa had written in an old 
 speller when he was a boy in Kentucky: 
 
 " Abraham Lincoln 
 His hand and pen 
 He will be good but 
 God knows when." 
 
 Willie liked the way those lines kind of kicked out their feet. 
 They were saucy. He tried out lines of his own, but they dragged 
 their feet. Then he tried letting the lines go their way and that 
 sounded better. 
 
 The chief advantage of being President, Willie thought, was 
 being able to read all day in the library. It was a shame his pa was 
 too busy for that, but Willie made up for it. He had never seen 
 so many books and wonderful magazines. He picked out things 
 to read aloud to whomever he could get to listen. His pa was busy, 
 his ma occupied, Tad was too young, Mrs. Keckley wouldn't un- 
 derstand, Bud Taft didn't like being read to. That left Francis 
 Burns, the coachman — but he moved around too much — and 
 Malaria. 
 
 Malaria liked to listen. He said it took his mind off being a 
 soldier. Willie had tried The Atlantic Monthly on him first. He 
 had found a description of Washington and run out to the guard- 
 
The Happy Summer 49 
 
 house with it, it was so funny. " Have you got time to hear it, 
 Malaria? " he asked. Malaria nodded and Willie read: 
 
 The houses are low, the rents high; the hacks are black, the 
 horses white: the squares are triangles, except that of the Capi- 
 tol, which is oval. If the beggars of Dublin, the cripples of Con- 
 stantinople, and the lepers of Damascus should assemble in Baden- 
 Baden during a Congress of Kings, then Baden-Baden would 
 resemble Washington. Society in Washington dresses as it pleases 
 and does as little work as possible. Its only trouble is lack of 
 money. Everybody is busted. It is not an isolated complaint. 
 
 Willie looked shyly at Malaria, and saw that he was not amused. 
 He hadn't laughed once. 
 
 " Where's all them places? " Malaria asked. 
 
 " I don't know." The question surprised Willie. Where they 
 were hadn't mattered. Their names made feelings, like the cloud 
 palaces. Malaria wanted facts. 
 
 * That fellow who wrote that ought to go around with me," 
 Malaria said. " I'd show him everybody wasn't busted. Take the 
 hackmen — they're having a lively time of it. And the concer- 
 tina players. I could stand all day listening to them, and people 
 chuck money at them from morning till night. And the fancy 
 card writers. I got one of them to write my name on a card and 
 I sent it home to mom to show her how good I'd learned to write 
 since I got in the Army. Then there's the toothpick sellers. You'd 
 think they couldn't make a living. But they do. I asked one how 
 he made out, and he said it was a picnic. Everybody had teeth 
 and everybody et three meals a day, didn't they? Nuf sed. I fol- 
 lowed an organ-grinder around one afternoon and he made a 
 mint. His little monkey kept hauling it in by the capful. That 
 writer fellow didn't know the right people, I reckon. Nobody's 
 busted in this city, except the so'gers." 
 
 " I'm going to be a railroader when I grow up," confided 
 Willie. 
 
 M You could do worse," Malaria said. 
 
jo Tad Lincoln 
 
 When the Tafts were taken to the seashore, the boys missed 
 them. It was Tad who first thought of capturing rebels. His ma 
 had given him the idea by saying that the dog days had come. 
 Tad had asked her what the dog days were, and she had explained 
 how dangerous dogs could be in August. If they were dangerous, 
 Tad reasoned, they must be rebels. And if they were rebels, they 
 should be captured and shut up. In the Old Capitol Prison, pref- 
 erably. 
 
 Tad had discovered a shed back of the stable that would do 
 for the Old Capitol Prison. Then he and Willie began hunting 
 rebels. Dogs were rebel soldiers, cats rebel spies. Nothing they 
 had done in Washington equaled the new excitement. 
 
 It was a dangerous undertaking. The rebel cats, on finding 
 themselves in Union clutches, scratched. The rebel dogs took to 
 the traffic. More than one hackman drew his nag back on his 
 haunches to avoid running over a young boy engrossed in the 
 chase. 
 
 The Old Capitol Prison consisted, unfortunately, of only one 
 cell. After considerable activity it housed five prisoners. Luckily 
 there was a beam on which the rebel cats could perch. 
 
 Feeding the prisoners was difficult. Silas Thompson, the cook, 
 had not forgiven his defeats at Tad's hands. He liked Willie, 
 however, and allowed him to carry out milk and bones for his 
 " pet." But Willie's requisitions amazed Silas. " Law's sakes, Mas- 
 ter Willie, you feed a dog like that and he'll get the distemper." 
 
 " I think there are going to be more," Willie said hintingly. 
 
 The next day Willie had a cold and was kept in bed, and Tad 
 had to work the commissary. Silas was short of scraps and tem- 
 per. " I ain't got a thing to give him," he said. M That dog had 
 enough yestiddy to last him a week." 
 
 " It's not a dog. It's five rebel prisoners," Tad announced. 
 
 "Five what}" 
 
 " Prisoners, spies and soldiers. I reckon you know what a 
 rebel is." 
 
The Happy Summer 51 
 
 M And you feed 'em bones? " Silas Thompson's stare grew pene- 
 trating. 
 
 " It's what they like," Tad retorted. " I ... I asked them." 
 
 " Since when have they been letting you feed prisoners? " 
 Silas demanded. " Where are they? " 
 
 " That's a secret." 
 
 M Oh, it is, is it? Well, you don't get any more from me until 
 I know more about it. How do I know you're not feeding rebels 
 that ain't in jail? " 
 
 Tad grew hot. He hated Silas for this slur. He had overheard 
 talk he had not been expected to hear. Some people said that his 
 ma wanted the rebels to win. That was a lie. His ma wanted the 
 Union to win. He knew that. His ma wanted what his pa wanted. 
 And now Silas was hinting he might be feeding the real rebels 
 who had made his pa sad and killed Uncle Elmer. " All right," 
 Tad said in a fury, " they can starve to death, and it'll be all your 
 fault," and he walked out of the kitchen. 
 
 He was terribly unhappy. He couldn't let the captives starve, 
 not even if they were real rebels. Yet in this case he couldn't ask 
 pa to write another note, because his pa might not approve of 
 the Old Capitol Prison. His pa was. the kindest man in eleven 
 counties, Mr. Herndon had said once. But he couldn't let them 
 out without asking Willie, and Mrs. Keckley said Willie had a 
 fever and nobody must go into his room. 
 
 Tad went to bed unhappy. He could not sleep for thinking of 
 the captives who must be very hungry. Then just as sleep was 
 coming he got his idea. He lighted a candle and found a piece of 
 paper and printed: 
 
 YOUR SENTRIES WAS ASLEEP 
 
 GENERAL LEE 
 
 Tad dressed and stole out of the White House. It was hot and 
 still and an old moon was rising. Tad heard a sentry's walk and 
 stood stock-still by a dark tree trunk. 
 
 
52 Tad Lincoln 
 
 It was spooky behind the stables. Tad was afraid to venture 
 into the inky darkness concealing the prison's door. He listened, 
 and he became more frightened for there was no sound. He spoke, 
 very quietly, and still no answering bark. Suppose the five rebels 
 had starved to death? 
 
 Tad was shaking now. He could not slink back to bed with this 
 on his conscience. He must know. So, conquering his desire to 
 run in panic, he stepped toward the door. It was open! The pris- 
 oners were gone! 
 
 Instantly Tad's fear became rage. Silas Thompson had done 
 this, for Francis Burns had promised not to interfere. Silas 
 Thompson was a sneak and a traitor. He had helped the rebels. 
 
 For an instant Tad tried to think of a suitable revenge. Then 
 reason came back. At least the dogs and cats were free. Silas 
 would never tell. Willie and Tad certainly wouldn't. He closed 
 the prison door and fixed the wooden fastener securely. Then he 
 wedged General Lee's triumphant note so that Willie v/ould find 
 it there. It was, after all, a relief not to have rebel prisoners on 
 your mind day and night. 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 The Boys Dine in State 
 
 TAD WAS WATCHING MRS. KECKLEY ADD THE FINISHING 
 touches to his ma's dressing. It brought back, somehow, the 
 pigeon loft at Judge Treat's home in Springfield. One pigeon 
 would walk around the other, cooing and pecking gently. The 
 other pigeon would sit and bask. There was a gap at his ma's 
 waistline where Mrs. Keckley hadn't done up the hooks. 
 
 " Ma, can I keep pigeons? " 
 
 No reply. This was the lady's hour. " An' which bonnet, Miz 
 Lincoln? " Mrs. Keckley 's voice was really dovelike. 
 
 u The one that came today, trimmed with black love ribbon 
 — with the pearl edge, Lizzie." 
 
 M What's love ribbon, ma? " 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln did not answer. She had taken up a hand glass 
 and was absorbed. How far she had come from that house at 
 Eighth and Jackson Streets! This instant she was the most envied 
 woman in the land. Her dream come true! Even three years ago 
 she could have kept house for a month on what this bonnet cost. 
 She raised her head so that Mrs. Keckley could adjust it suitably. 
 
 " Ma, where are you going? " 
 
 " Just to a tiresome reception, Taddie." She could picture it. 
 Seward bending over her hand, and Chase. The hypocrites! She'd 
 oust them yet. They had their eyes on Mr. Lincoln's place. And 
 Cameron should go too. Simply a corrupt politician. She would 
 fight them all like a tigress. Mistress in the White House! 
 
 " Can I go, ma? " 
 
 " Of course not, Taddie. You wouldn't enjoy it." 
 
54 Tad Lincoln 
 
 M I would so, ma. Can't I go? " Tad held to the footpost of 
 the bed and began to swing in broad semicircles. The bed creaked. 
 
 " I said no. There's nothing more boring than a reception." 
 
 " Why do you go then, ma? " 
 
 " Taddie, stop that swinging, you make me giddy." 
 
 Tad stopped, but said, " You like to go, I bet, ma." 
 
 " Now the gloves, Lizzie," Mrs. Lincoln said sharply. 
 
 :t Yes, ma'am," said Mrs. Keckley. Then she looked at Tad, as 
 if the two had a secret between them, and asked, " What're yo' 
 gwine tuh name yo' goat, honey? " 
 
 " Nanko Spanko." Tad was in a teasing mood, idle, on the silly 
 side. " If I can't go to the reception, ma, I'm going to the state 
 dinner. Silas is going to make a cake like a log cabin." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln flushed. The last thing in the world that she de- 
 sired was to have the guests reminded of her husband's absurd 
 beginnings. She had almost died of humiliation in the campaign. 
 
 " He's going to have pa out front splittin' rails," Tad went on 
 in impish mood. It was fun teasing his ma. She teased easily. 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln dropped her reticule as she rose. Mrs. Keckley 
 picked it up. Tad made no effort to. " You have your father's 
 manners," she said angrily to Tad, and swept from the room. 
 
 Tad was embarrassed. His ma had meant to hurt him, and he 
 had only been teasing. 
 
 " Yo' shouldn't go tuh be gay wid yo' ma when she's feelin' 
 bad," Mrs. Keckley said quietly. 
 
 " Is ma feelin' bad? " Tad was instantly sorry. 
 
 " Ah reck'n anybody'd feel bad ef she was fixed lak yo' po' ma. 
 She's lonesome as all git out right here in dis big house." 
 
 Tad was amazed and puzzled. " How can you be lonesone when 
 you got most a million people and go to receptions? " 
 
 " 'Most a million people ain't what a woman want, honey," Mrs. 
 Keckley said, and put her arms about the boy. " Dey want one 
 person. An' when he's so powerful busy he can't tell night from 
 day, de rest ain't no consequence. Tell me, honey, did Silas say 
 
The Boys Dine in State 5 5 
 
 he gwine tuh make dat log-cabin cake, or was yo' 'sponsible fo' 
 dat? " 
 
 Tad was saved from a confession by a knock on the door. It 
 was Lincoln, looking even taller and more gaunt in the loose long 
 suit of reception clothes. Very rarely did he have the moment to 
 call for his wife. M Ah reck'n she's gone tuh see Willie, sir," Mrs. 
 Keckley replied to his question. " She'll be sorry she missed yo\ 
 'T ain't offen yo' git tuh do any courtin' lak." 
 
 Tad saw how surprised his pa was. Lincoln was sensitive, and 
 knew a rebuke when he heard one. He was humble, and knew that 
 this colored woman was telling him something for his own good. 
 
 Tad reached him and said, " I'm going to the state dinner. 
 Can I?" 
 
 Lincoln's face lighted, smiled. There was indeed something 
 irresistible about the boy. M You remind me of the lecturer, Tad- 
 die, who was proving the earth was round. In a sudden silence 
 the audience heard an old man say: * He's a dangerous fellow. 
 He makes you believe what he says in spite of yourself.' " 
 
 Tad looked doubtful. " You mean I can go, pa? And Willie 
 too? " 
 
 " If Willie goes, you certainly may*" 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Lincoln rustled back into the room. As 
 Mrs. Keckley had intimated, she was surprised and pleased to see 
 her husband come to attend her. Perhaps it reminded her of their 
 good times together, the times when she had dressed up for him, 
 wanting to be attractive, and when he had found her so. Tad, 
 bouncing a ball he had found in his pocket, ran off to find Willie 
 and acquaint him with their supposed invitation. 
 
 Willie, Bud and Holly, and Julie were talking together in the 
 vestibule. The chairs and music racks were already put out for 
 the Marine Band. Tad's bouncing ball hit a mirror. Broken glass 
 made its vengeful sound on the parquetry floor. Julie was horri- 
 fied. The boys laughed and Tad colored, then put on a don't-care 
 expression as he saw Goatie McManus coming toward them. 
 
5 6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " Now what have you done? " McManus asked. All the trou- 
 bles of all the administrations he had watched over the White 
 House added together would never be so bad as Tad. 
 
 " Shucks, pa won't care," Tad said with impatience. Old Goatie 
 was always mooching around. 
 
 " It's not your father's mirror," McManus observed acidly. 
 " This Mansion and everything in it belongs to the United States 
 Government." 
 
 " I don't believe the Gov'ment'll care," Tad struggled on. " It's 
 got lots of money." 
 
 :t That's not the point," Julie said severely. 
 
 " People will be coming for the reception in half an hour," 
 McManus continued, " and look at the mess! " 
 
 " Shields'll clean it up," Tad suggested. Then he remembered 
 the treat he had in store for the boys. " Come over here and I'll 
 tell you something." He began to push some of the musicians' 
 chairs together. 
 
 " Stop! " cried the incensed McManus. " You've made trouble 
 enough. Get upstairs with you." 
 
 They drifted away and Tad said, " We're going to a state 
 dinner, Willie and me, and I'm going to ask pa to invite you all." 
 
 " Thank you very much," Julie said with propriety. " But it is 
 not at all suitable." 
 
 " All right, you don't have to come," Tad was somewhat re- 
 lieved. " But you'll come, Holly? " 
 
 Holly nodded. 
 
 " I suppose you know that you are in for nothing but bad luck 
 for five years," Julie said to Tad. 
 
 " Because I broke that old mirror? " Tad tried to sound un- 
 impressed, but he remembered hearing Mrs. Keckley, who knew 
 whole lists of superstitions, say the same thing. 
 
 M I advise you to throw some salt over your left shoulder and 
 then say the Lord's Prayer backward," Julie said coldly. 
 
 Tad darted into the family dining room and came back with 
 
The Boys Dine in State 57 
 
 a whole handful of salt. This he tossed over his shoulder onto 
 the velvet carpet just as McManus passed. 
 
 This time the boys ran. Julie was too dignified to run, but 
 reached them just as Bud said, ec Now for the Lord's Prayer." 
 
 " Backward," prompted Julie. 
 
 :t That means you got to start with Amen," Holly said. 
 
 " Tad don't even know it forward," Willie said. " He's still at 
 ' Now I lay me . . .' " 
 
 " I do so know it! " the tormented Tad cried. " I reckon I've 
 been to church as often as you. Amen . . . ever . . . and 
 ..." a long pause. 
 
 " Forever," Bud prompted. 
 
 " Now you've spoiled it! " Julie rebuked her brother. " Tad, 
 start over again." 
 
 " Aw, let it slide," Tad said. " What in nation can they do? " 
 
 Holly was awed by this courage. " You going to dare five years 
 of bad luck, Tad?" 
 
 Tad nodded, then hastened to change the subject. " It's time 
 to feed Nanko. Come on with me." 
 
 :t You just did feed him," Willie observed, but he followed 
 his younger brother and the Tafts. 
 
 The State Dining Room was a-glitter with chandelier sparkle. 
 
 Thank goodness that was over! Grownups certainly liked to 
 pile the agony on. First, the dressing up. Tad had never been so 
 overhauled in his life. A hundred times he had repented of pla- 
 guing his pa to go to the dinner. His ma had given his pa such a 
 going over about it that Tad was ashamed to ask him to let them 
 off. Willie looked mighty sheepish too. He was dressed to kill, 
 shooting three ways. 
 
 The dressing up, with Mrs. Keckley kind of laughing, was bad, 
 but it wasn't a specimen to waiting for the door to open. Tad felt 
 like a rabbit in a forest of long legs. He had to look out that he 
 
58 Tad Lincoln 
 
 didn't step on the ladies' trains or jab himself on the officers' 
 spurs. He didn't believe Bud and Holly would come. He didn't 
 believe they were that foolish. But they came, and all four boys 
 stood together by the door. 
 
 It was better after they came, and all of a sudden it got funny. 
 The ladies' fans tickled Holly's face. They'd lean over and say 
 something to Willie, who'd get red in the face and say, " Yes, 
 ma'am," until Tad itched to laugh aloud. He hardly knew his 
 ma when she stood in the doorway. She was beautiful, and kind 
 of like a chandelier herself in a bulging white dress with flowers 
 all over it. His pa looked mighty sober. Everybody perked up 
 when he bowed at them, and then they paired up and filed into 
 the Dining Room. The boys came last and found a small table 
 set for them, but just like the big table, with flocks of glasses 
 and a spread of knives and forks. The cook was sure showing off 
 how much silver they had. " I reckon everybody '11 be layin' 
 down if they eat a dinner with each fork," Tad said. 
 
 " Look," Willie said to Bud, and he pointed to a painted screen 
 in the corner of the room. " That's the business end. The waiters 
 come from behind that." 
 
 It was the slowest dinner that ever was, Tad thought. Every- 
 body was so blame' dainty. The ladies had to wrinkle back their 
 gloves and then they ate like they was crippled. They'd take a 
 nip of lobster on a fork and then hold it, with their little finger 
 crooked up, and talk and talk until Tad wanted to lean over and 
 shove the fork in. They'd be all night getting to dessert. 
 
 Holly almost had a bad accident. Willie pointed out the service 
 plates that his ma had bought special for the White House. There 
 was a grand American eagle, his wings spread, and his neck 
 kinked up ready to strike at anybody who got too close, with 
 E Pluribus Unum under the shield. Holly held up the plate to 
 see underneath and dropped it, but fortunately only into his lap. 
 
 At first the boys were subdued and hungry, but presently they 
 woke up. " Look at that one," Bud said under his breath and 
 
The Boys Dine in State 59 
 
 nodding toward a bejeweled lady. " I'll bet those diamonds weigh 
 a ton." 
 
 " 1*11 bet they don't," Tad said. " She couldn't walk if they 
 weighed half a ton even." 
 
 " She looks like she's in swimming, making them motions with 
 her hands," Willie observed. 
 
 Bud laughed. M She hasn't got enough clothes on to go swim- 
 ming. They wouldn't let her on the beach." 
 
 The boys snickered, feeling grown-up. They had cleaned up 
 their plates on the first courses and now were growing uncom- 
 fortable as the waiters came in again and again, relentlessly, with 
 new and appetizing dishes. Holly was the first to groan in actual 
 pain. " Golly, I'm full up to here," and he touched his chin. 
 
 " That's nothin'. I'm full up to here." Tad laid his finger across 
 the bridge of his nose. 
 
 " You can't be," Bud said, " or it'd fall out when you talked." 
 
 That set them off. The giggles came right out of a clear sky. 
 Everything was funny. People opening their faces like goldfish. 
 Men tied up in gold rope like harness on a pony. 
 
 Suddenly there was a cessation of the chatter, and Tad heard 
 his pa's voice saying: " I'm afraid that's a weak sort of faith. It 
 reminds me of the minister's wife in the runaway. She said that 
 she trusted in the Lord till the britchin' broke, and then she didn't 
 know what to do." 
 
 Tad liked to hear them laugh. It was the first real honest sound 
 he'd heard all evening. His pa evidently thought so too, for he 
 went on: " It's as difficult for nations as it is for individuals not 
 to be selfish. The situation reminds me of the time I went spear- 
 fishing with Johnny Barnett in the Sangamon River. I was hold- 
 ing the torch so that Johnny could see to spear the fish. But I 
 held it high, so as to keep the light out of my own eyes. And 
 Johnny called out: c Abe, Abe, bring down that torch. You're 
 holding it clear out of Sangamon County.' " 
 
 Holly's howl of appreciation of this story reminded the grown- 
 
6o Tad Lincoln 
 
 ups of the boys' presence. Some turned to look and laugh. Tad 
 couldn't stand it. He slipped from his chair and ran past the row 
 of backs out of the room. The others followed, leaving laughter 
 in their wake. The four looked at the big clock. It said ten. This 
 was as impressive as dining in the company of ambassadors and 
 generals. Ten o'clock and just finishing supper! It was something 
 to remember. 
 
 Rain was striking the panes of his pa's office with its long darts, 
 and Tad was making a fleet of paper boats to sail in the gutter. 
 But he was listening too to the big Swede talking with his pa. 
 The Swede's head looked like a boulder. Tad stared at it wonder- 
 ingly when John Ericsson stated that things were always coming 
 out of it. A steam carriage able to run at thirty miles an hour 
 was only one of these things. An instrument for taking sea 
 soundings was another. The steam carriage had arrived in 1829. 
 He had invented a caloric engine and a self-acting gunlock for 
 naval cannon, and designed a screw warship named the Princeton. 
 He had increased the draft in short smokestacks. He had already 
 lived in the United States for twenty-two years, found it a won- 
 derful place to work, and didn't want to see it go to pieces. So 
 he had come to Washington to offer his latest invention. It was 
 a vessel which could destroy the rebel fleet at Norfolk between 
 dinner and supper. 
 
 Tad saw how interested his pa was, for his pa had invented 
 things too. Tad left his boat making and went over to sit on his 
 pa's lap. Mr. Ericsson was getting excited, talking about his own 
 boat. His hands were tremendously strong, like his voice. He had 
 picked up a steel paper cutter and snapped it the way he would 
 snap a matchstick. When he noticed it he was embarrassed. " I'm 
 sorry, Mr. President. I shall make you a new one, with a com- 
 pass in the handle ... so you can steer this Ship of State, eh? " 
 His deep -blue eyes lighted with his joke. " But to return. The 
 
The Boys Dine in State 61 
 
 Naval Board, she is not sure. They say: * Wonderful! Fine! Un- 
 heard of! But will it not upset? ' My boat upset! Does a duck up- 
 set? No, because all his business is low, under water. Did the 
 Princeton upset? No. All her propelling machinery was below 
 the water line, safe from hostile shot." Tad was entranced by the 
 man's forcefulness. 
 
 " Now, Mr. President, let me tell you what I tell them. The 
 South is not afraid to try the experiment. The South bolts four- 
 inch iron plates onto that Merrimac, a frigate. They fit a cast- 
 iron ram to her bow. And what then? Why, she goes pung into 
 a wooden ship and the wooden ship sinks. She goes pung into an- 
 other wooden ship and that wooden ship sinks. She carries ten 
 guns. She draws twenty-two foot of water. She can slide past a 
 shore battery unhurt. She can sail up this Potomac, so beautiful 
 under your window and so dangerous, and shell this White House. 
 Even in Sweden we love this White House, Mr. President. It is the 
 home of justice to all peoples. It is the home of shelter to such as 
 me. I do not come to this home for business, Mr. President. I have 
 business. It is wartime and I have orders for marine engines — 
 all I want. But I know the science of artillery. I was a captain in 
 the army of Sweden and I have studied, studied. My wife has 
 gone back across the sea because I studied so much. She was jeal- 
 ous of my engines. But to return. I come to your Naval Board be- 
 cause I want to stop the Merrimac. I want to destroy her before 
 she destroys this White House and disperses Congress and makes 
 herself a terror to New York and Boston and all the wooden 
 ships upon our coasts. I will now show you and your boy the 
 Monitor, Mr. President." 
 
 Tad's eyes shone with excitement as John Ericsson opened a 
 satchel and lifted out a model of his ironclad. It must be fun, Tad 
 thought, to be grown-up and play with real boats. 
 
 " See," said the inventor, " her deck is so low in the water that 
 the Merrimac cannot ram her. She draws only twelve foot of 
 water. So she can go where the Merrimac cannot go. This turret, 
 
6z Tad Lincoln 
 
 see, is of steel and is round, so that the Merrimac's shot will bounce 
 off. And this turret revolves, so she can shoot from any situation." 
 
 Tad leaned forward to look and his hands itched to hold this 
 marvel. He longed to float the Monitor in a tub. The Swede saw 
 his eagerness and handed him the model, saying, ec Now if only 
 you were on the Naval Board, son, they would say, ' Go ahead,' 
 like real Americans." 
 
 " What does the Board say? " Lincoln asked thoughtfully. 
 
 " They say I must not have twelve-inch guns, as I plan. They 
 say the concussion would be too great. As if I had not experiment' 
 with guns all my life. They say i cannot have a thirty-pound 
 charge of powder, but only a fifteen-pound charge! They have 
 not figured, as I have, that it will take a thirty-pound charge to 
 pierce the armor of the Merrimac. They do not listen to me. They 
 shake their heads and say I must do so and so. They have a clause 
 ready for the contract saying that if my Monitor does not prove 
 invulnerable I must refund all Government money paid to me! " 
 
 Tad saw John Ericsson's blue eyes turn the color of steel for a 
 cold instant. His pa's voice sounded angry as he said: " No Naval 
 Board, or Army Board, for that matter, has met an inventor 
 halfway, to my knowledge. If gunpowder were still in the trial 
 stage, Mr. Ericsson, and its inventor came to this Capital with 
 all the proofs of its efficacy, the learned men of the services would 
 decline to look at them. If forced to look at them, they would 
 scrutinize them with their prejudices rather than with their eyes. 
 And when Great Britain or France or Russia had procured the 
 patents, and only then, would our officialdom rouse and say there 
 must be something in them." 
 
 " Then you are favorable? You will speak to the Board, sir? " 
 
 " I will try, although my poor words have small weight with a 
 commodore. How soon could such a ship be built? " 
 
 " In one hundred days from the day the plans are approved." 
 
 Lincoln took the model from Tad, inspected it, and said: " I 
 foresee that this little cheesebox on a raft might chuck the navies 
 
The Boys Dine in State 6$ 
 
 of the world onto the woodpile, Mr. Ericsson." The President 
 pushed Tad from his knee and stood up: " Thank you for com- 
 ing. I will see what I can do. But don't for an instant hope that 
 they will allow you the guns or the powder you require. That is 
 asking too much." 
 
 Ericsson held out his mighty hand. " I thank you, sir. It warms 
 the heart to find a friend who understands." He left the room 
 with his satchel, happiness in his step. 
 
 " Pa, can I go on the boat? " Tad asked. 
 
 Lincoln turned to his secretary. " Hay, didn't you tell me that 
 you are keeping a diary? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Lincoln." 
 
 " Then mark this day down in red pencil. You have seen a 
 man enter this office and talk to me for an hour without asking 
 for remuneration for himself. You have seen a patriot. Now I 
 must go and convince the ticks that the sheep is worth sucking." 
 
 " Pa, what's a tick? " 
 
 '* Any degraded parasitic insect, a self-seeker, a politician." 
 
 There was a knock and the doorkeeper said, " Mr. Stanton to 
 see you, sir." 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 Willie Writes a Poem 
 
 TAD KNEW THAT SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED TO MRS. KECK- 
 ley. He guessed it the minute he saw her when he came back 
 from Saratoga Springs. But he was so busy telling her about his 
 trip that he did not think about it at first. 
 
 His pa had met them at the station. Just for a moment Tad 
 thought that something had happened to his pa too. The dark 
 folded flesh of his face looked so dry and leathery and his eyes 
 so sad and tired. Then his pa reached over and picked him up and 
 lifted him higher and higher until he was above the tossed, 
 black hair. His pa's head sloped funny. Tad felt light and happy. 
 His ma fussed around and said it was no way to act in a public 
 place, but his pa didn't even listen. Tad asked about Nanko and 
 Mrs. Keckley. His pa didn't say that anything had happened to 
 her. 
 
 " Baker's gone," Tad heard his pa say. 
 
 " Not Ned Baker! " his ma said. 
 
 " In a skirmish at Ball's Bluff." 
 
 " I can't believe it. So gay, so warmhearted! Dead! " 
 
 " The war is coming closer daily, mother. We'll have to bear it." 
 
 Mrs. Keckley was up in his room. Her voice was different, kind 
 of lonely and gentle. She was terrible glad to have him back. She 
 said it over and over and made him tell everything that had hap- 
 pened at Saratoga. 
 
 It had been fun there, every day. The hotel was about a mile 
 long. It was called the United States Hotel, and it had a piazza 
 with a million chairs. One day Tad tripped over a man with a 
 
Willie Writes a Poem 6$ 
 
 red and purple face named Commodore Vanderbilt. Somebody 
 said he was as rich as greare is. Tad tried to think of a rich, fat 
 grease. His ma talked a good deal about Mr. Astor too, and Mr. 
 Jim Fisk. She hardly scolded at all except when he came to din- 
 ner without washing his hands. The Dining Room was as big as 
 the White House yard and the waiters jumped quick, like frogs, 
 when his ma spoke to them. Willie asked why they jumped like 
 that and his ma said it was a tribute. But Tad saw her leave a 
 dollar by the plate, like she was absent-minded, and guessed dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 His ma took them to the races, but the women carried parasols 
 and the tassels got in his eyes. When Mr. Fisk asked them into his 
 box it was nicer. Tad had a pony all for himself, and he and 
 Willie raced, the way the big horses did. Tad wanted to talk to a 
 jockey, so Mr. Fisk had his jockey come to the box. He didn't 
 look much bigger than Willie, and not half so fat. Tad intended 
 to be a jockey the minute the war was over and they could go 
 back to Springfield. Willie decided to stick to railroading. 
 
 Tad felt sorry for the people who had to drink the waters at 
 Saratoga. His ma said it was good for you. It smelled exactly like 
 the porch the skunk had been under at Mr. Herndon's farm. He 
 asked his ma if she thought a skunk had got drowned in the 
 spring. His ma got mighty cross about it, and Tad didn't wonder. 
 
 " Sounds lak yo' had a good time, honey," Mrs. Keckley said, 
 but she almost cried when she said it. Tad was puzzled. She 
 seemed so far away, farther than Springfield even. He didn't like 
 to ask her if it was George. Something held him back. But her 
 clothes were blacker than common, and she never changed them 
 any. 
 
 He could mention it to Willie. " I knew all along," Willie 
 said. " I heard her talking to ma about him. He got killed, 'way 
 out West somewhere. She told ma not to tell us because she didn't 
 want to burden boys with her sorrow. So you've got to let on you 
 don't know." 
 
66 Tad Lincoln 
 
 This was worse than not knowing, Tad thought. For now there 
 would be something between them, unless they talked about it. 
 He wondered if he would have to go to the funeral. He hated the 
 old war. 
 
 Willie looked at his brother. w Come on out and see my pony," 
 he offered. te I'll let you curry him, if you want." 
 
 " I don't want to," Tad said, his heart full of hatred. " I don't 
 want to, I tell you." 
 
 " I heard you," retorted Willie and went out, not stopping to 
 speak to Mrs. Keckley coming in. 
 
 Tad looked up at her, scared by the dreadful secret standing 
 like a barrier between them. Mrs. Keckley read his eyes. She laid 
 down her sewing basket and opened her arms. " Ma po' li'l boy! 
 He's growin' up so fast an' learnin' all de sorrows ob life befo' 
 his time. Come tuh me, Taddie . . ." 
 
 She did not need to ask. Her soft, gentle motherliness drew him 
 irresistibly. He was in her arms, his face pressed against her, his 
 sobs shaking him. The woman said nothing, but stroked his back, 
 and held in her own grief so that she might not add to his hurt 
 while he was battling his birth pangs of knowledge. 
 
 Then, presently, she told him how her own boy was now safe 
 beyond all earthly hurt. He had been shot fighting side by side 
 with white folks. He would be waiting for her on the other side 
 of the deep river. The place appointed for their meeting was so 
 beautiful, in her telling, that it soothed Tad just to hear about 
 it. But better than that was to have no secret between them any 
 more. He asked her a lot of questions about George that he had 
 always wanted to ask, and these secrets were new ties, being se- 
 crets shared. Even Willie didn't know them, Mrs. Keckley said. 
 That made Tad feel good. 
 
 Christmas was different from Christmas in Springfield. It 
 didn't feel like Christmas. No snow that stayed. Last Christmas 
 
Willie Writes a Poem 67 
 
 at home the snow had been nearly over the fence, and his pa had 
 to carry him to the stores when they went shopping. 
 
 Then Tad was worried this year about the place to hang his 
 stocking. There were four fireplaces in the East Room alone. How 
 would Santa know? He had decided to hang up a stocking at 
 each chimney, but Willie kept bringing up instances of the ill 
 fate that had occurred to piggish boys in the past. Each boy com- 
 promised on one stocking in the south parlor. 
 
 The staff, Tad noticed, grew decidedly more pleasant as the 
 day approached. Andrew Martin's rosebushes were all tied up in 
 straw, so he had nothing to make him disagreeable. Even Goatie 
 McManus managed a smile as Tad passed. Silas Thompson handed 
 out ginger cookies without any of his customary complaints. 
 
 Tad's senses all sharpened. He became more observant. He 
 noted the packages that well-wishers and prospective office seek- 
 ers brought to the White House. Some of the personnel of the 
 armed forces, anticipating promotion, sent gifts. 
 
 As the pile grew, Lincoln worried. et I think we should return 
 them with letters of appreciation," he said to his wife the day 
 before Christmas. 
 
 " Nonsense! It would only offend! " Mrs. Lincoln's voice was 
 sharp. 
 
 " Well, I don't care much for bribes, mother." 
 
 Mary Todd was furious. All her life, it seemed, she had been 
 starving for happiness. Now when things were coming her way, 
 when she could luxuriate in everything, provide her boys with 
 mounds of gifts, she did not intend to give in to a few silly scru- 
 ples. Men were idiotic at times. They loved to strain at gnats, 
 for principle's sake, as they called it, and then would swallow 
 camels. She said all this to her husband now in one rapid flow of 
 language. 
 
 Lincoln was abstracted. With the weight of the Rebellion 
 crushing his mind he had small interest in these domestic matters. 
 But almost anything was better than strife with Mary. " Well, 
 
6$ Tad Lincoln 
 
 mother," he tried to say lightly, " whenever you see me swallow- 
 ing a camel, tell me and I'll spit her out." 
 
 This perpetual vulgarity! Mrs. Lincoln shivered. " Either you 
 are blind or a humbug! " she cried. " You have a Cabinet full of 
 camels you've swallowed. Seward cannot contain his contempt 
 for you. Chase is after your Presidency. And the Secretary of War 
 is growing rich in corruption. I hear a great deal you choose to 
 close your ears to." 
 
 " Now, mother! " Lincoln's patience was strained. " You stick 
 to your housekeeping and I'll stick to mine." 
 
 ct Very well! " Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed triumphantly. " I have 
 always arranged for the boys' Christmas and shall continue to 
 do so." 
 
 Lincoln turned away. He had, in truth, not the heart to de- 
 prive Tad and Willie of the joy of opening the presents. Perhaps 
 something was owing to them for taking them out of their whole- 
 some home life and putting them in the nation's show window. 
 If the change was injuring his wife, a grown woman, what must 
 it be doing to their tender years! Lincoln groaned aloud. Life 
 was difficult beyond computation. Mary was right about his Sec- 
 retary of War, but he could not tell her so. She would crow all 
 over the lot. He must wait until Cameron, the adroit manipu- 
 lator, had manipulated himself out of the Cabinet. You did not 
 need to set a thief to catch a thief; he caught himself. Cameron 
 too was trying to undercut him, go behind his back. Lincoln 
 smiled. He would send Cameron to Siberia, or at least part way, 
 by making him minister to Russia. Stanton was the man. 
 
 Lincoln reached his office and heard voices. Tad was laughing, 
 teasing. Lincoln entered and saw his son racing around the table 
 followed by the not so agile Hay. Tad had something in his hands, 
 something Hay wanted. Tad threw himself at his pa screaming: 
 " Save me! Save me! " 
 
 M I see," Lincoln said with a whimsical look at his secretary. 
 M Hay is bullying you, as usual." 
 
 " It's the Stanton file, Mr. Lincoln," said the panting Hay. M I 
 
Willie Writes a Poettt 69 
 
 asked Tad not to finger it. He's not allowed in this office when 
 you aren't here." 
 
 " Well, I'm here now," Lincoln remarked. He was incapable of 
 punishing Tad for mischief. He could as well spank a cherub. He 
 picked up the Stanton file and began to leaf it through. " There 
 are a few things you haven't got in this file, Hay." 
 
 " Yes, sir? " Hay stopped picking up papers that Tad had 
 brushed on the floor. 
 
 " I see you've omitted Stanton's remarks when I was engaged 
 to assist in the McCormick Reaper case in Cincinnati." 
 
 " I never knew about them, sir." 
 
 :t Well, I'll tell you. There was a door with a large glass in 
 it between the anteroom and Stanton's office. I was wearing a 
 suit that Stanton considered hardly befitting the grandeur of the 
 law and especially his office. He saw me coming, and I heard him 
 say to the chap who had engaged me, e If that giraffe appears in 
 the case, I will throw up my brief and leave.' " 
 
 Lincoln slapped his leg and laughed at the memory and Tad 
 laughed. 
 
 " Well, sir, you've got the tables turned on him now, if you 
 still intend to make him Secretary of War. I don't believe I'd be 
 big enough to do it if I were in your shoes." 
 
 Mr. Hay would look funny in his pa's shoes, Tad thought. 
 Lincoln kept on turning the pages of the file and said: " I'll tell 
 you some other things you haven't got in here, Hay. Edwin 
 Stanton, at the age of thirteen, which is only two years older than 
 my Willie, took care of his widowed mother and a family of five. 
 He worked his way through college. He built up a practice single- 
 handed. When he was retained to defend a man under the charge 
 of murdering a family with poison, Stanton swallowed some 
 of the poison in front of the sheriff. Fortunately the sheriff had 
 seme emetics handy. But you see the man's grain. When he was 
 sent to California to fight land sharks, he resisted bribery, cun- 
 ning, and intimidation . . ." 
 
 " Pa," Tad interrupted. " What's a land shark? " 
 
jo Tad Lincoln 
 
 " A sharper, sonny. A thief equal in rapacity to a politician." 
 Lincoln looked at Hay. " I need a man like that, Hay. Stanton's 
 tough. He's learned in the law. He's experienced with men. He's 
 the sort I have to have to run the war machine properly, and if 
 it still eases his mind to call names, it's a small price, I reckon, 
 for getting something done. Maybe he can force McClellan to 
 fight or throw up his command; I can't." 
 
 " From what I hear, sir, Mr. Stanton's mighty strong-willed. 
 It's considered not safe to have him around if he wants what you 
 have. I guess Mr. Cameron's mighty sorry he ever got Mr. Stanton 
 for his legal adviser. You know what I mean, sir," with a look 
 at Tad. 
 
 Lincoln nodded. Stanton was crafty as well as fussy, peevish, 
 and in love with power. He was domineering, tempestuous, stub- 
 born. He suffered from asthma and ambition about equally. But 
 he wanted to get on with the war. He assured Lincoln that he 
 could make McClellan move. The President was willing to risk his 
 rambunctiousness for the satisfaction of having Stanton's burly 
 shoulder at the wheel. 
 
 " I know all that," Lincoln said. " He's like a steam engine in 
 pants. He'll either run over you or pull your freight, and I in- 
 tend to have him pull my freight." 
 
 They heard a shy knock on the door. It was Willie. " Tad, ma 
 wants you," was his message. 
 
 " Maybe pa wants you," Tad said. He had no desire to leave. 
 
 " You'd better go to ma," Willie persisted. 
 
 " Pa, do I have to? " Tad begged. Then to Willie, M I only obey 
 the President of the United States." 
 
 " Ma's President too," Willie said. 
 
 " She is not! " 
 
 " Yes, she is, because she's pa's wife, and it says in the Bible that 
 a man and his wife are one." 
 
 " That's silly." 
 
 " Pa, Tad says the Bible is silly," Willie said in triumph. 
 
Willie Writes a Poem yi 
 
 " If ma's President, then the United States has got two Presi- 
 dents," Tad said, " and that's mighty silly, ain't it, pa? " 
 
 " It certainly don't sound legal," Lincoln said. " I'm under the 
 impression that I was elected President of this country. But I've 
 handed over some of my authority to your mother. She has my 
 permission to see that you are properly clothed and fed and go 
 to bed in good time, and when she sends for you, the person sent 
 for is, in a way, obeying my orders, and so must act at once 
 without question. Is that clear? " Lincoln looked at Tad. 
 
 " I s'pose so," Tad said, wondering how he had got argued into 
 this position. He edged to the door regretfully. It was like having 
 a tooth pulled to leave his pa. Then he remembered something 
 that he had on his list for Christmas. " Pa, if I go can I have a real 
 pistol? A real one? " 
 
 " That is not in my department," Lincoln said. " You'll have 
 to ask the new Secretary of War." 
 
 tc I bet he'll let me," Tad said, and went down the hall singing: 
 
 " Old Abe Lincoln, 
 a rail splitter was he, 
 and that's the way 
 he'll split the Confederacee' — • ee-ee—e-e" 
 
 Willie looked at his pa. ** I've told him that it's disgraceful to 
 sing that song. But he says everybody knows you used to split 
 rails for a living." 
 
 lt Well, I reckon he's right. You're like Bob," Lincoln said after 
 a long scrutiny of Willie. " You've got a lot of Todd in your 
 veins." 
 
 Secretary Hay at his desk choked and cleared his throat. 
 
 At Christmas breakfast the Lincoln family was all together. 
 Outdoors a soft red sunrise promised another balmy day to be 
 overcast later. The President had scarcely slept. The Rail Splitter, 
 accustomed to much walking in Springfield, was the prisoner of 
 
jz Tad Lincoln 
 
 his desk. His mind went on working after he retired. And in 
 whichever direction it turned, it met enigma, dilemma, a bram- 
 ble patch of passionate controversy. Now General McClellan 
 was down with typhoid. The army was stalled. The costs were 
 going on and mounting. The North was critical. Britain was 
 taking an ominous stand in favor of the cotton-producing Con- 
 federacy, since spinning in Manchester must not stop. As Lin- 
 coln walked downstairs to the Christmas greetings, misery gushed 
 up in his spirit. This might be the way Satan would celebrate 
 Christmas, the birthday of the Prince of Peace, in his infernal 
 regions. 
 
 Tad and Willie had already been celebrating. They assaulted 
 their pa with news of what they had found in their stockings, 
 Bob, now dignified by college, was the only one who did not kiss 
 and embrace his father. Like the mist that rose in Eden, the fam- 
 ily joy obliterated the forebodings in Lincoln. 
 
 " Fve got a million presents to open after breakfast! " Tad 
 cried. 
 
 " Pa said not to zadgerate like that," Willie cautioned. 
 
 te What have you got, two hundred thousand? " asked Bob 
 with a smile. 
 
 " I'm reminded of a man who was sometimes careless with the 
 facts," Lincoln said. u He asked his wife to nudge him whenever 
 he seemed to be carried away by his enthusiasm. One day when 
 he was telling about a building he had seen in Paris, a mile long 
 and a half-mile high, he felt a vigorous nudge, and stopped short. 
 His listener asked how wide the building was and he replied, 
 c About a foot! * " 
 
 It was a happy breakfast, and after it the boys came forward 
 with their gifts for their parents. Tad was praised for the chamois 
 watchcase that Mrs. Keckley had helped him to sew. Mrs. Lincoln 
 was delighted by the purchases made for her. If Lincoln noticed 
 that Willie had nothing for him, he made a father's excuses for 
 the oversight. He had said a hundred times there was nothing he 
 wanted but the end of the war. 
 
Willie Writes a Poem 73 
 
 Finally, Tad urged and pulled to go back into the parlor and 
 start opening the other gifts. He and Bob and his ma did go. Then 
 Willie shyly handed his pa a thin parcel. Lincoln was prepared 
 for something special, but not for what he found: a poem neatly 
 printed and pasted on a dark card. 
 
 " What's this, sonny? Did you write it? I used to write poems 
 myself." 
 
 Willie had brooded over the loss of his pa's friend, Ned Baker, 
 at the skirmish of Ball's Bluff down in Virginia. Stars had fallen 
 that day — a grandson of Paul Revere, a nephew of James Rus- 
 sell Lowell; Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., was among the wounded. 
 Willie knew that his pa had been so fond of Ned Baker that he 
 had borrowed his name for his own second-born son, who had 
 also died. Lincoln cleared his throat and read: 
 
 " LINES ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL EDWARD BAKER 
 
 " There was no patriot like Baker, 
 So noble and so true; 
 He fell as a soldier on the field, 
 His face to the sky of blue. 
 
 <c His voice is silent in the hall 
 Which oft his presence graced. 
 No more he'll hear the loud acclaim 
 Which rang from place to place. 
 
 " No squeamish notions filled his breast, 
 
 The Union was his theme; 
 e No surrender and no compromise/ 
 
 His day-thought and night's dream. 
 
 M His Country has her part to play, 
 To'rds those he left behind; 
 His widow and his children all, 
 She must always keep in mind." 
 
74 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Lincoln's cavernous eyes held two unshed tears. His emotion 
 was only partly for Baker. He looked at the serious-faced boy 
 before him and thought, "' This is my son, more grown than I 
 thought." To Willie he said: "I will keep and value this gift, 
 sonny. Those are true and feeling lines. Ned would have been 
 proud of them. And I'm proud of them." 
 
 Willie was aglow with his pa's praise. He was liberated by it, 
 and ran out to enjoy the other gifts with Tad. 
 
 Secretary Hay came in to give the President a dispatch and 
 wish him a pleasant Christmas. Lincoln showed him Willie's 
 present. 
 
 " Would you suspect it! " Hay exclaimed. " That's good, sir! 
 He's a quiet one, that boy. You never know what's going on in 
 his head." 
 
 ct He has rare lights . . . rare lights," Lincoln said slowly. 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 The Marine Band Plays for Willie 
 
 SOMETIMES ONE WAR WAS NOT ENOUGH. SOON AFTER THE 
 New Year, 1 862, came in, it snowed heavily and the four boys 
 played Valley Forge on the flat roof of the White House. Tad 
 and Willie were the Continental Army and made breastworks 
 of snow to protect themselves from the British — Bud and 
 Holly. 
 
 Tad, the realist, insisted that Washington's troops go barefoot 
 in the snow, and he did take off one shoe and stocking on condi- 
 tion that Willie did. The Tafts said that the British knew how 
 to clothe their armies and kept their shoes on. Tad got as close 
 to reality as one bloody nose. When Mrs. Keckley heard of the 
 barefoot troops, she put her own foot down on such nonsense. 
 :t Yo' pa an' ma have enough tuh worry 'em widout yo' boys 
 fixin' tuh git yo' deaths," she said. " An' besides, Ah ain't happy 
 wid yo' fightin' on dat roof. Lak as not one army or anuther'll 
 fall off an' bust its brains out." 
 
 et We'll be right careful, Mrs. Keckley," Bud Taft said. 
 
 " Where's dat army yo' done got collected? " Mrs. Keckley 
 asked. 
 
 " That was only a regiment," Tad said scornfully. 
 
 " It wasn't even a regiment," Willie said. " We tried to get up 
 a regiment, but we didn't know enough boys. So then we tried 
 to muster a battalion, but that broke up. Then Jackson Beane 
 stated that he commanded a company and asked us to join it. 
 But we found that he didn't speak the truth, so we set to work 
 to raise a company of our own. And we've got as far as a squad. 
 
7 6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 We're going to call it Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves, because ma is mak- 
 ing us a flag." 
 
 "Now dat's somethin' lak! " Mrs. Keckley exclaimed. "An' 
 Ah don' doubt yo' pa will review de troops. Dat'd make it real 
 honorary an' troublesome, lak a real army." 
 
 The boys were enthusiastic. Tad was appointed to see the Com- 
 mander in Chief regarding a review. And so it came about that in 
 a week Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves enjoyed an honor which whole 
 Union Armies had to do without: The President of the United 
 States reviewed them in person. Recruiting had been easier when 
 his willingness was known. The officers, Bud and Willie — Tad 
 was a drum major — had been helped in the drilling by Malaria, 
 the White House Guard, and on the afternoon set Bud Taft 
 marched his sixteen Zouaves before the reviewing stand, the south 
 porch, where the President towered. 
 
 Lincoln made the presentation of the flag, and said: " Officers 
 and men of Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves, it is an honor for me to ad- 
 dress you this bright afternoon, because you represent the future 
 of our country. Not so many miles south of this Potomac River, 
 boys scarcely older than you are guarding railroad bridges, help- 
 ing to get in wood, and taking their view of this war seriously. 
 We know it is a mistaken view, because they are trying to break 
 up our Union. But they will not do so, for boys like you are 
 growing up all over the North with the determination to prevent 
 that very disaster. I take pleasure in presenting to you this flag 
 as the symbol of your country's demands on each growing boy 
 to do his best for it. 
 
 " I have watched you drill from the windows of this nation's 
 Executive Mansion. Your early efforts were awkward and un- 
 skilled. But you have rapidly acquired experience and precision, 
 and if anyone mistakes your company for something not very 
 important, you may know that he is not very wise. Fellow sol- 
 diers, remember this: Enthusiasm that is being disciplined to a 
 serviceable end is a fine and worthy thing. I commend your 
 spirit and your patience. 
 
 
The Marine Band Plays for Willie yy 
 
 " One point more. I have heard it said that the first duty to be 
 learned by a soldier is how to draw his rations. If your officer will 
 march you to the Commissary Department of this Mansion, you 
 will receive further practice in this important duty. In behalf 
 of Mrs. Lincoln, I thank you and regret that I cannot join you." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves applauded their Commander in Chief 
 and the prospect of cookies and hot chocolate, and Bud Taft 
 marched them away. Tad was particularly cheerful at the sight 
 of Silas Thompson handing out delicacies in abject capitulation. 
 
 Tad's request for a real pistol had brought no pistol. Tad liked 
 a thing done at once. He was his ma's son in that. So one miserable 
 February morning when Willie was sick in bed and the Tafts 
 kept at home by the sleet, Tad decided to beard the new Secre- 
 tary of War in his den and ask for the pistol as his pa had once 
 suggested. He said nothing to anybody, for he was uncertain of 
 the outcome and didn't want to be teased about it. 
 
 Tad knew the way across the road to the War Department 
 Building. His pa had taken him several times to the telegraph 
 room. He liked to hear the ticker, and admired the young men 
 who received and sent the messages. Best of all, his pa was his 
 real old self in the working company of these young men. He 
 slouched around there easiest of any place this side of Mr. Hern- 
 don's office. He would take off his coat, and his shoes too, if they 
 were hurting him. Tad liked particularly David Homer Bates, 
 who was manager of the telegraph office and supplier of puzzles. 
 He could always pull a new puzzle out of his pocket. Major 
 Eckert, the chief of staff, was nice too, but he didn't go in for 
 puzzles. If he wanted to be puzzled, he said, he could go into the 
 decoding room. He took Tad in and showed him how to decode 
 a message. Tad decided he would stick to being a messenger boy 
 when he was older until he was old enough to be a jockey for Mr. 
 Fisk. 
 
 The guard at the door of the War Department was new. He 
 
7% Tad Lincoln 
 
 stopped Tad and asked for identification. Luckily Mr. Bates hap- 
 pened along and took in the situation. " Coming upstairs to see 
 me, Tad? " he asked, and informed the guard that he would as- 
 sume responsibility. 
 
 " I'm going to see Mr. Stanton and get a real pistol," Tad 
 confided as they entered the telegraph office. 
 
 Charley Tinker, one of the cipher operators, looked up. " You'd 
 better give the old man a wide berth today, Tad," he cautioned. 
 " He's like an underfed lion." 
 
 " I don't wonder Mr. Lincoln calls him Mars," Bates said. " The 
 original god of war couldn't slam thunderbolts around any bet- 
 ter." 
 
 " You missed a good fracas, Dave," Major Eckert said. " Young 
 Tilden has just been graduated from the War Department on the 
 toe of Stanton's boot." 
 
 M Serves him right, probably," Bates commented. " Tilden's as 
 slow as McClellan. How'd it happen? " 
 
 " You remember the telegram from Harper's Ferry asking for 
 big guns? I took it over especially as it was a rush demand. Stan- 
 ton ordered Tilden to see that those guns got off the same day. 
 They hadn't gone the next day. Stanton asked why. Tilden said 
 it hadn't been convenient, but he'd look into it. So Stanton went 
 down to the arsenal himself and picked them out and had them 
 sent. When Tilden gets around to looking into it, Stanton roars 
 out, ' The guns are now at Harper's Ferry, and you, sir, are no 
 longer in the service of the United States Government.' ' 
 
 " Pity the President couldn't put him in command of the Army 
 of the Potomac," Bates said. " It's going to be some while before 
 Mr. Lincoln puts bricks in his pockets." 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " Tinker asked. 
 
 " You weren't in here yesterday when Mr. Lincoln told about 
 his Methodist preacher. He got so wrought up when he preached 
 and prayed that they were obliged to put bricks in his pockets to 
 keep him down. But Mr. Lincoln said as how he allowed he'd let 
 
The Marine Band Plays for Willie 79 
 
 Stanton jump awhile first. I reckon he's right happy to have a 
 man who can rumpus around over there," and Bates nodded in the 
 direction of Stanton's office. 
 
 Tad saw that they had forgotten him, and he stole across the 
 hall into the waiting room. Every chair was taken by Congress- 
 men, claim agents, contractors, or relatives of soldiers, so Tad 
 stood by the window. Presently he saw the bespectacled Secretary 
 of War emerge from his inner sanctum and stand by a high desk 
 at the doorway. His eyes glaring through the steel-rimmed glasses 
 and his long beard gave him the fierce air he wished to achieve. 
 
 Stanton's first objective was to quell the roomful of petition- 
 ers. He desired to scare them to the point where none would in- 
 terrupt or leave their seats except to scurry from his presence for- 
 ever. Tad was thrilled. It was like going to a play with Bobby 
 Grover. fr You! " Stanton roared at an Army officer. " What are 
 you doing in this city? " The way he pointed his thick finger 
 at the erring soldier indicated that he might be discharged from 
 the service before night. If anybody had anything faulty with his 
 reason for taking the Secretary's time, it came to the top of his 
 conscience, like dynamited fish to the surface of a river. In three 
 minutes the jobbers were trembling, and those with superfluous 
 errands sneaking out. No jokes were told. 
 
 Suddenly Stanton saw Tad. " What are you doing here? " he 
 roared at the boy. " Has your father run out of messengers? Into 
 my office with you! I'll be there in a few minutes." 
 
 Even though this was what Tad desired, the bulldozing man- 
 ner tempted him to run the other way. Then the fierce longing 
 for a real pistol, like Malaria's, drove him into the office. 
 
 Maps covered the wall, fascinating maps of many colors. He 
 had never seen such large maps, and many had flags pinned on 
 them. Tad soon made out what they meant. The temptation to 
 move the Union flags forward was strong. Mr. Stanton would be 
 surprised to find that McClellan's army had moved at last. He 
 would be delighted to find that it had taken Richmond, swept 
 
8o Tad Lincoln 
 
 into Georgia, and captured New Orleans. But some cautionary 
 voice inside Tad held back his hand, and luckily, for even as he 
 started to make just one slight change, Stanton was standing in 
 the room, thundering, " What are you doing to my map, you 
 rascal? " 
 
 " Nothing," Tad jumped. " I was j-j-just looking at it." 
 
 :t That's fortunate," Stanton said heavily. " See that pair of 
 tongs? " and he pointed to the fireplace. " I use 'em to drop boys 
 out of the window when they're bothersome. Now, what can I 
 do for you? " 
 
 " Pa says I can have a real pistol," said Tad, distantly skirting 
 the exact. " So can I get one now? " 
 
 Stanton garumphed in his throat. " I suppose you would like 
 a real cannon in addition? " 
 
 Tad brightened. " Yes, sir. Do they come . . . little ones? " 
 
 " And I presume you have some rifle pits dug, in case I throw 
 in a few rifles? " 
 
 Tad's eyes widened for joy. Nothing like going around on your 
 own to have your horizons broadened. " No, Mr. Stanton, but I 
 will. And if Andrew Martin won't let me and Willie dig 'em, 
 we'll go over to Bud and Holly's and dig 'em. All the Mrs. Lin- 
 coln's Zouaves would like rifles. When will you send them? How 
 soon? " 
 
 " How soon? When you're living on hardtack and salt horse, 
 I'll see that you're supplied with rifles. Until then my rifles are 
 going to the front. If your father wants you to have a real pistol, 
 get him to send his affidavit." Stanton peered nearsightedly at 
 this petted, attractive boy and in a lonely corner of his heart was 
 conscious of his own child who had died. 
 
 " What's that? " asked Tad in bitter disappointment. " What's 
 an afterdavid? " 
 
 " Your father will know. And now, if you will run along, I 
 shall proceed with the war." 
 
 Tad knew that he was through. This hateful man had led him 
 
The Marine Band Plays for Willie 81 
 
 to believe he was going to have a pistol and cannon and rifles, 
 and now was telling him to be off. Tad was furious, but he looked 
 at the tongs. It might hurt to be picked up by the seat of the 
 pants. And it was a long way to the sleet-covered ground. He 
 said, " Good day," the way his pa said it sometimes to people he 
 was tired of. One thing was certain. He'd pay back this disagree- 
 able old rebel. 
 
 Tad did not look into the telegraph office again, as he would 
 have liked, because Mr. Bates would ask him about the pistol. 
 Nor did he want to go back into the house. Willie was too sick to 
 want to play anything at all. It made his pa worn and anxious. 
 His ma took turns sitting with Willie when Mrs. Keckley had to 
 sleep. Bud Taft came too. He sat up awful late, just so that when 
 Willie woke he could see Bud there. Everybody went around like 
 they'd been bad and wanted to keep out of sight. 
 
 Tad saw men carrying a lot of extra chairs into the East Room. 
 Another reception! His ma never seemed to get tired of them. 
 Suddenly Tad had a thought that gave him new life. As soon as 
 Willie got better, Tad would get his pa to tell Mr. Stanton he 
 had to provide Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves with rifles and cannon and 
 everything. They could promise not to fire them. 
 
 Tad set off to the greenhouse to see Andrew Martin about 
 where they could dig rifle pits. He felt certain that Andrew 
 would object, but this was wartime and his pa could tell An- 
 drew off. 
 
 The greenhouse smelled good. Tad had not entered it since his 
 first difference with Andrew. It felt good too, coming in out of 
 the sleet into summertime. There were water lilies in a tank, and 
 an aquarium as long as a glass bathtub, with frogs and goldfish. 
 
 Tad opened a door and came out on another room, a forcing 
 place red with strawberries! Tad was ravenous, since it was get- 
 ting on toward dinnertime. His conscience feebly warned him 
 to go away. It was like asking a hungry cat not to interest itself 
 in a nestful of tender mice. 
 
82 Tad Lincoln 
 
 At first Tad roved around, parting the rich green leaves, find- 
 ing a scarlet succulent strawberry, picking only the largest on 
 this plant and that in the hope the loss would not be noticed. 
 His appetite seemed to grow, feverishly. He decided to leave three 
 berries on each plant and eat the rest. Then he calculated that two 
 would grow bigger than three, and so he ate the retarding berry. 
 Then he thought of Willie. Poor Willie, in bed for two weeks and 
 living on medicine, would certainly like to bite into a rich red 
 strawberry. Tad felt ashamed that he hadn't saved the big ones 
 for his brother. 
 
 What to put them in? The only thing he could find was a bowl 
 with some pebbles and an old root in it. He washed the bowl in 
 the aquarium and filled it with beautiful berries. He had to strip 
 the patch to fill it and turned the white sides down so that they 
 couldn't be seen. He had set the bowl on the edge and now it 
 crashed and the berries that weren't mashed flew over the floor. 
 
 The blow unnerved Tad. He had forgotten Andrew Martin. 
 He wished he hadn't eaten so many. When he stooped down to 
 clear up the mess he didn't feel at all well. Then he heard a sound. 
 The door opened. Andrew's taciturn Scottish face glowered down, 
 took in the worst. 
 
 " Now what be ye doin' wi' my precious strawberries? " An- 
 drew cried. " I could bash in your fool turnip for this! Me-a-my! 
 Your mither will be sore vexed, and them the berries I've been 
 nursin' along for the seelect dinner this evenin'! " 
 
 Tad drew back before such grief. Then he shivered as Andrew 
 gave a fresh moan. " Me bulb! Me bulb! He's destroyed the royal 
 gift from the House of Orange ! " Andrew's loamy fingers grasped 
 Tad by the shoulder and shook him. " Where is it? Where's me 
 tulip? " 
 
 Luckily Tad had not injured the bulb. Andrew loosed his grip 
 and said: " How can ye be sich a devil and lookin' so innocent! 
 And your guid brother a deein'! If me heart wasn't wrung wi' 
 pity for your poor mither, I'd learn ye not to deestroy another 
 
The Marine Band Plays for Willie 83 
 
 man's handiwork. There's sorrow aplenty in this hoose wi'out 
 your makin' more. Now git out of me sight." 
 Tad fled into the cold. 
 
 He woke and decided that it must be the same night, for the 
 Marine Band was still playing downstairs. He felt better. The 
 weight wasn't on his stomach any more but in his head. He 
 wanted to cry for nothing at all. It was a kind of loneliness, ev- 
 erybody so strange and acting so far off, their minds on things 
 they did not mention. They were so strange that when he had 
 been sick, in the hallway, and anybody could see it was straw- 
 berries, nobody had scolded him or even asked him a question. 
 Mrs. Keckley had put her hand across his brow and held him. 
 * Po' lamb," she had murmured, " po' li'l lamb." 
 
 " I picked some for Willie," Tad had said, " but they got 
 mashed." 
 
 " O honey, honey," Mrs. Keckley had said. 
 
 " Tell Willie I'll pick some more for him as soon as they get 
 ripe." 
 
 " Dat's right, precious," but Tad knew then that something 
 was very wrong. Mrs. Keckley tucked him in bed and went out, 
 but he knew she was crying to herself. He faded off to sleep, but 
 the door of Willie's room was opposite and voices came to him 
 through thin places in his sleep and the opening and shutting of 
 doors. Then it was night, and the reception was going on, for the 
 Marine Band was playing, softly and far away. 
 
 The night went on and on. Tad tiptoed to his door to find out 
 what the strange sounds were. His ma was being led out of Wil- 
 lie's room by a strange man who looked like the doctor. His ma 
 was crying. The music had stopped. The man led her into her 
 own room down the hall and Tad heard shrieks through the door. 
 They terrified him. He ran back to bed and pulled the covers 
 over his head. 
 
84 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Willie must be awful sick. Poor Willie, and tomorrow was his 
 pony's birthday, Willie had said, and he wouldn't be able to get 
 up and have the pony's birthday party. Tad lay and thought 
 about the good times he and Willie had had together, and he 
 wished Willie would hurry up and get better. Then this strange- 
 ness in everyone would go away. 
 
 Tad decided to go in and ask Willie where he would like the 
 rifle pits dug. Maybe Bud would be sitting by Willie, and they 
 could all plan. Tad put on his slippers and looked out. At that 
 moment his pa came out of Willie's room. He had that strange 
 look too. " Pa," whispered Tad, " can I go in and speak to 
 Willie? " 
 
 His pa picked him up in his arms. "They don't want us in 
 there, Taddie." His pa laid him down on the bed and tucked the 
 covers about him tenderly. Tad wanted to ask the question, but 
 some fear held him back — the question about Willie. It sat on 
 him and weighed him down. " Thanks, pa, for looking after me," 
 Tad said sleepily. 
 
 " You and I will have to look after each other a lot now, 
 Taddie." 
 
 Tad held in until his pa had gone, then he cried. His pa had 
 answered the question, and he knew why his ma had been taken 
 from Willie's room. He cried softly, hopelessly, until sleep bore 
 him away like arms, like his pa's arms. Once he roused and cried, 
 " Willie! " And then he was sunk in merciful sleep. 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 (Ta d Celebrates a Victory 
 
 THE SNOW HAD TURNED TO RAIN AGAIN AND TAD WAS NOT 
 allowed out. He had been sick too, after the funeral. If you 
 wanted everybody to be as nice as pie to you, the way was to be 
 sick. His pa haunted the room. 
 
 The trouble was, Tad thought to himself, you expected to see 
 Willie come running in from the stable. You expected to see him 
 at the supper table. You woke up in the morning to realize all 
 over again that he wouldn't be there all that day, or the next, or 
 the next. That was when the hurt came in your throat. 
 
 This was the second time. Colonel Ellsworth hadn't come back 
 since he had torn down that rebel flag and got shot. Willie wasn't 
 anywhere. The minister came and talked to him about Willie and 
 said he was in heaven. It sounded a considerable distance away, 
 to hear the minister, and he patted Tad's head so long that Tad 
 wanted to bite his finger. 
 
 Tad watched Mrs. Keckley darn his stockings. She'd rummage 
 in a big flowery bag and bring up a stocking and skin it back 
 over her arm and hand. She was most his ma, now, Tad consid- 
 ered. His ma took on so about Willie that Mrs. Keckley was the 
 one to be with him most. His ma didn't even want Willie men- 
 tioned. She wouldn't go into the room where he had died. Mrs. 
 Keckley didn't make his teeth grind the way his ma did some- 
 times, and she liked to talk about Willie. Tad wanted to get it 
 settled where Willie was. 
 
 M Is he really in heaven? " Tad asked Mrs. Keckley. 
 
 The colored woman nodded, for she had the needle between 
 her lips. 
 
86 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " Is he living there? " Tad continued. 
 
 Mrs. Keckley nodded again and made a Yes sound. 
 
 " Can he fly all about like an angel? " 
 
 Mrs. Keckley took the needle out. " Honey, yo' gettin' a mite 
 beyond what Ah got grounds fo' statin* right out." 
 
 " Say yes or no" Tad demanded. 
 
 " Ah spec yes, honey." 
 
 " Then why don't he come see us sometime? " 
 
 Mrs. Keckley looked at Tad. " Now, precious, it ain't no use 
 worryin' yo' head 'bout dat. It ain't meant tuh know, or Jesus'd 
 done tol* us. Willie's mighty happy, 'cause he done right while he 
 was livin' here. Dat's enough, ain't it? " 
 
 " If Willie's living, what's dying? " persisted Tad. 
 
 " Lan's sakes! " the persecuted Mrs. Keckley exclaimed. " How 
 does Ah know? Am Ah dead yet? " 
 
 Tad shook his head. 
 
 " Well den," Mrs. Keckley went on, " Don' ask livin' people 
 dead people's questions. It ain't sensible. An' don' take dere an- 
 swers, nuther, fo' dey don' know no mo' 'bout it den Ah do." 
 
 " Not even preachers? " 
 
 "Ah ain't a preacher, so Ah ain't answerin' fo' preachers," 
 Mrs. Keckley replied astutely. " All Ah know is Willie's happy, 
 an' dat makes me contented. Ah wish yo' po' ma could see it dat 
 way." 
 
 " How do you know he's happy? " Tad was insatiable. 
 
 " 'Cause Ah was wid him when he died, honey, an' his face 
 took on happy, de minute he got his message. Ah neber seen it so 
 peaceful an' happy. Now don' pester me how Ah know all dese 
 fac's, honey. All Ah know is de Almighty does things up right 
 when He do 'em, an' He ask us tuh trust Him tuh know what's 
 right. An' now ef yo'll put dem mended stockin's in de right- 
 hand corner ob de secon' drawer, yo'll save me takin' steps." 
 
 Tad reached for the rolled -up stockings with a comfortable 
 feeling. 
 
Tad Celebrates a Victory Sj 
 
 Now began a new life for Tad, a life without an older brother 
 to play with, make up games with, contend with. He felt like the 
 soldier with one leg amputated. He had to get used to a different 
 life without Willie. 
 
 At the beginning everybody was so kind that they all seemed 
 sort of starched up, even Andrew Martin. Mr. Bates and Major 
 Eckert and the others over in the telegraph office made him feel 
 very welcome. Francis Burns let him look after Willie's pony. 
 Goatie McManus tried not to look sour and was tolerable suc- 
 cessful the first time or two, Tad had to acknowledge. Malaria 
 came to say good-by. He was being transferred. He was melan- 
 choly at leaving. " A so'ger's just like a bug on your sleeve," he 
 told Tad. " His sergeant sees him and flicks him off, and it don't 
 make no more diffrunce to Old Stripes than if he was a real bug. 
 He can land in the mud — it's all right. I'd give a leg to flip 
 even a corp'ral off 'n me. I reck'n I'll never see you again, Taddie. 
 You could've met a handsomer article, but no one who enjoyed 
 crackin' round with you more. I'm glad this here war'll be done 
 with before you have to be a so'ger." He held out his hand, and 
 Tad took it, feeling almost grown-up, and then Malaria had to 
 spoil it by saying, te You're mighty good company for a nine- 
 year-old pup, Taddie." 
 
 Tad was sorry to see him leave, but there were lots of soldiers 
 left, and he saw a good deal more of them now. Those quartered 
 at the White House led a life mainly of waiting. They waited for 
 chow, for taps, for reveille again, for transfer, for the war to 
 end. They liked having Tad around. They carried him on their 
 shoulders, the older ones thinking of their boys at home. They 
 tickled him to hear him laugh to the verge of hysterics. 
 
 Tad was a quick learner of things he wanted to be taught. His 
 ma had requested Mrs. Taft not to let Bud and Holly come to 
 the White House any more since they reminded her of Willie 
 too strongly. So the Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves were disbanded. This 
 new gap in his life induced Tad to frequent the soldiers' quarters 
 
88 Tad Lincoln 
 
 even more constantly and gave him an incentive to learn the 
 Manual of Arms which his Uncle Elmer had not lived to teach. 
 
 Tad grew fond of his new masculine world. He loved the smell 
 of a cavalryman's leather, the shine of his saber, the deadly look 
 of his carbine, the rough talk, and the quick heartiness of his 
 laugh. He was his pa's son in having an at home feeling with 
 natural people, the nameless people of street and field. He took 
 to people who were plain and coarse and easy laughers. In return 
 the soldiers liked Tad. They liked to see his good spirits return- 
 ing. They became accustomed to having him around at all hours. 
 
 Tad picked up words that pranced out of the soldiers' mouths 
 almost unawares. One day he shocked his ma out of her mourn- 
 fulness by referring to Mr. Stanton lightheartedly as a cockeyed 
 something or other. She threatened to wash his mouth out with 
 soap and water if she ever heard him repeat such a word again. 
 So he was careful not to indulge in any soldier talk before her. 
 
 Then on another day something ripped out that Mrs. Keckley 
 overheard. Mrs. Keckley looked kind of shattered for a moment. 
 Then she exclaimed: " Goodness me, Taddie, where yo' been tuh 
 ketch dat word? Ah reck'n yo' feelin' kinder sick an' need a mite 
 ob castor oil." She walked over to the closet where the medicines 
 were kept. 
 
 " No, no, no! I'm well. I'm not sick, Mrs. Keckley." 
 
 " Yes yo' is, honey. Yo's all broke out wid bad words. If yo* 
 ketch 'em from de so'gers, Taddie, Ah's gwine tuh ask yo' pa 
 not tuh let yo' go wid dem an' take sick wid 'em. Bad words is 
 mighty ketchin'." 
 
 " Don't tell him, Mrs. Keckley," Tad begged. " Please don't. 
 I won't catch one more." The dismay of separation from his new 
 friends stood in his eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Keckley appeared to ponder this. M Well den, honey, Ah'll 
 consider. Ah'll watch out close an' see ef yo' break out wid any 
 mo' ob dis loose talkin'. It's de carelessest kind ob talk dere is an* 
 Ah ain't gwine tuh hab de President's son talk lak he's a low- 
 
 
Tad Celebrates a Victory 89 
 
 down field hand. Dere's only one cure dat Ah know — castor oil, 
 an' mo' castor oil, until an angel c'd listen widout blushinV 
 
 Mrs. Keckley could be impressive when she wanted, and Tad 
 left her resolved on one thing: he would never let on he heard a 
 word his pa wouldn't say. 
 
 His pa was Tad's real refuge from loneliness, just as Tad was 
 Lincoln's solace in the disaster of Willie's going. Each sought the 
 other whenever possible. Tad sat for hours through earnest con- 
 ferences just to be near his pa. The Cabinet grew accustomed to 
 his presence. 
 
 Tad had no patience with books. His ma had engaged a Mr. 
 Williamson to come after Government office hours to tutor Tad. 
 Tad let him live. The boy saw that the man was harmless, if dull. 
 He knew that if he cut up and his ma got another tutor, the 
 change might be for the worse. Mr. Williamson was sufficiently 
 tired after his work in the office to be willing to put up with Tad's 
 inattention, his stubborn refusal to learn from books. 
 
 Tad's schooling, his real schooling, lasted from breakfast time, 
 when his pa talked over the day's appointments with Mr. Hay, 
 until the sandman. arrived. It cost the nation $25,000 a year, for 
 this school Tad learned in was his pa, and all the people who came 
 to talk to him, and all the bloody events going on from Virginia 
 to the Mississippi River. Tad's schooling cost the United States 
 about a million dollars a day. The boy sat in his pa's office or went 
 with him to the War Department, and the maps and telegrams 
 and oral lessons which educated him began to cost a million dol- 
 lars for a morning, every morning. 
 
 Tad sat in his pa's lap while Mr. Eads, of St. Louis, talked gun- 
 boats. He said he could build eight iron-plated, steam-propelled 
 gunboats to open up the Western rivers held by the Confederacy. 
 He wasn't so exciting as Mr. Ericsson, but Mr. James Eads told 
 Tad lots of things about the Mississippi. 
 
90 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Tad heard too about Commodore Foote, who had used this 
 flotilla to escort Grant and his eighteen regiments up the Ten- 
 nessee River. He knew exactly how they blew up Fort Henry. 
 He wished he could have seen it, like a million Fourths of July 
 all at once. 
 
 Tad heard also more and more talk about this General Grant 
 who had taken Fort Donelson and given his pa the first happy 
 news in an age. Tad was for Grant because his pa was. But nearly 
 everybody else was down on him. 
 
 " Why, do you know," a visitor said, " that Grant is so lazy 
 that when he got to West Point and found himself registered by 
 the wrong name, he didn't bother to have it changed? He was 
 christened Hiram Ulysses Grant and they listed him Ulysses Simp- 
 son Grant, and he just let it go. Shiftless. Never could be on time 
 for roll call at the Point. Drunk himself out of the army. Built 
 himself a log cabin and called it " Hard Scrabble." Imagine that 
 — knew he was licked. Couldn't even keep that going, and had 
 to move in on his father. Trying to support his wife and four 
 children on $800 a year when this war broke out. The army must 
 be hard up for officers to make him a brigadier general." 
 
 M All I know is that Grant is the first general to bring me a 
 victory," Lincoln said. " I'll have to have something worse than 
 that against him before I please his enemies by sacking him." 
 
 The visitor shriveled a bit at Lincoln's emphasis on M enemies," 
 and said, " Well, if the people who've known him all his life call 
 him Useless S. Grant, there must be something in it." 
 
 " The country's calling him ' Unconditional Surrender ' Grant 
 now," Lincoln retorted. " It might 've been fate that juggled those 
 initials at West Point, don't you think? " Then Lincoln stood 
 up to dismiss his visitor. " You can't know how grateful I am to 
 a general who can fight. Without naming names, I have spent 
 most of this war dealing with generals who ask continuously for 
 more reinforcements, with generals who are perpetually under 
 the delusion that the enemy outnumbers them. If I gave General 
 
 
Tad Celebrates a Victory 91 
 
 McClellan all the men he asks for, they couldn't find room to lie 
 down. They'd have to sleep standing up. Yet he does nothing. 
 The Army of the Potomac eats its head off in an idleness that the 
 famous lotus-eaters of legend would envy. This Grant whom you 
 call lazy and lethargic, however, is given a few thousand men, 
 and he surprises the enemy, now here, now there, captures them, 
 saves Kentucky for the Union, puts the clamps on Tennessee, 
 drives our lines two hundred miles deep into enemy territory, 
 and gives us something to rejoice over at last. If only my other 
 generals would go to school to this so-called upstart, I'd give 
 them furloughs for that purpose! When you speak to others of 
 General Grant, I give you permission to quote my opinion of him. 
 Good day." 
 
 It made Tad feel crawly with pleasure when his pa opened up 
 on somebody like that. It didn't happen often. The shadows left 
 his features. The sadness vanished from his eyes. They had spear 
 points of light in them. His voice was firm and full. And there 
 grew a warmth in it that thrilled Tad like the bugles or the 
 rhythm of marching men. 
 
 One Sunday morning Secretary of the Navy Welles slammed 
 into the office where Tad and his pa were waiting for Church 
 time. Mr. Welles looked like the picture of Elisha in the big 
 Bible, Tad thought. But now his wig was twisted around some and 
 his beard was blowing out one side as he hustled in the door, 
 crying out: " The Merrimac's on the loose, Mr. Lincoln. She's 
 rammed the Congress and the Cumberland and sunk both of 
 them." 
 
 Tad was delighted. That was just what Mr. Ericsson said would 
 happen, and now it had, and Mr. Ericsson was right and the peo- 
 ple who wouldn't let him have his way were wrong, and it served 
 them right, though it was pretty steep. 
 
 M Frightful news! " Tad heard his pa say. " I shall call a meet- 
 
92 Tad Lincoln 
 
 ing of the Cabinet at once. While they are assembling, I shall 
 drive to the Navy Yard and consult Admiral Dahlgren." 
 
 " Can I go, pa? " Tad felt his pa's intense energy communi- 
 cated. 
 
 " It is nothing to interest little boys," Welles said to Tad. 
 
 " On the contrary, it interests him directly," Lincoln rebuked 
 his official. " He knows the Monitor as well as you do. Where was 
 that vessel by last report? " N 
 
 " She arrived at Hampton Roads only last night, thank Provi- 
 dence! " 
 
 " And John Ericsson," Lincoln added dryly. M I note that Prov- 
 idence makes use of human plans — if they are well-drawn." 
 
 Tad could hardly wait for the carriage to be brought around. 
 Secretary of War Stanton rushed into the room. This brusque, 
 burly man who gored people with his words kindled Tad's re- 
 sentment at a look. Stanton was in one of his overpowering 
 moods. " I suppose Welles has told you no details of the sink- 
 ings," he began after a good glare at Tad for going along. 
 
 " No," Lincoln said. " I don't imagine that he knows them." 
 
 M He wouldn't! " Stanton bellowed. " But I do. I make it my 
 business to be informed. The Merrimac tore the Cumberland's 
 hull to pieces by her big guns. Then the Merrimac charged in and 
 shattered the Cumberland with her prow. She splintered the 
 wooden frigate like a matchbox. The Cumberland went under 
 rapidly, her men and guns sinking with her. Her flag was the last 
 remnant of her to be seen above the water, and the dastardly 
 rebels were shooting at it. Next the Merrimac destroyed the Con- 
 gress. The Minnesota attacked, but was no more a match for the 
 Merrimac than a child for a Texas longhorn. She ran aground 
 trying to escape. The Merrimac is likely chewing her up at this 
 moment. The Roanoke is the sole remaining vessel of the fleet, 
 and the Roanoke is hugging the walls of Fortress Monroe, her 
 shaft broken. Nothing intervenes between the Merrimac and this 
 city, nothing whatever! " 
 
 
 
Tad Celebrates a Victory 93 
 
 " Except the Monitor" Lincoln reminded. 
 
 M Pah! That tin can on a shingle! " 
 
 M Mr. Ericsson doesn't think it's a tin can on a shingle! " Tad 
 interrupted. 
 
 Stanton glowered at the boy. M You know nothing about it. 
 The inventor was selling something. He naturally didn't disclose 
 that contraption's faults." 
 
 " Now, Mars," drawled Lincoln disarmingly. " Tad was pres- 
 ent when Ericsson explained the Monitor's innards. I'll wager the 
 Tadpole's faith is better grounded than your fears." 
 • " Nonsense! My fears are grounded on counted facts. Do you 
 know how many guns your Monitor mounts in that cheesebox 
 turret? Two! Just two! The Merrimac has ten, and bigger, taking 
 bigger charges." 
 
 M He wanted bigger guns, Mr. Ericsson did! " Tad said hotly. 
 " It wasn't his fault. They wouldn't let him have them bigger." 
 
 Stanton gave every sign of exploding at being buzzed at by 
 this midge. Lincoln came to his son's rescue. M What's done is 
 done, Stanton. Our job is to get out of the scrape. What do you 
 suggest? " 
 
 fr / suggest? " Stanton's sarcasm would have sunk the Merri- 
 mac, " The Navy- hardly favors suggestions from the War De- 
 partment." 
 
 Tad shivered with a lively anticipation of the encounter as 
 they went into Admiral Dahlgren's room. Tad had never seen 
 his pa so wrought up, even when he was elected President. Stan- 
 ton was like a bear in a swarm of bees, sitting down, jumping up, 
 swinging his arms, shouting at the old Admiral: " I demand to 
 have sixty canalboats loaded with rocks and sunk in the chan- 
 nel. It's this city's one hope. Suppose they shell us? Suppose they 
 land a party and set fire to the White House as those scoundrels 
 did in '14? Suppose they loot the Treasury? The Merrimac draws 
 twenty-two feet. You have a chart of the channel, I presume? " 
 
 n Don't talk through your hat! " the now angry Admiral ad- 
 
94 Tad Lincoln 
 
 vised the Army interloper. " Where do I find sixty canalboats on 
 a Sunday morning? " 
 
 ff Make them! " Stanton thundered, crashing his fist down on 
 the desk. " You have shops? yards? The Merrimac must be 
 stopped, and I see no other way to stop her. I have telegraphed to 
 the governors of the seacoast states and the mayors of the cities to 
 obstruct their harbors. Surely we must do as much to keep the 
 dome from being blown off the Capitol." Stanton flung himself 
 into a chair. 
 
 Tad hugged himself. It was like a thunderstorm in the room. 
 He hoped Stanton would be struck. The furious Admiral turned 
 to Lincoln. " Is this man now directing the Navy? " he asked. 
 
 " No, but I, as Commander in Chief of both Army and Navy, 
 do," Lincoln said with some severity. " Each of us is working for 
 the good of all, Admiral. I would like your opinion. Is the canal- 
 boat proposition practicable? " 
 
 te No, Mr. President. The Potomac is broad, and any obstruc- 
 tion we can devise could be removed." 
 
 te Admiral Dahlgren believes the Merrimac will run anywhere 
 the ground is a little moist! " Stanton said sarcastically. " If we do 
 not obstruct the channel, how can we prevent her from devas- 
 tating this city? The blow would be fatal to our cause." 
 
 te No," said Lincoln with force and solemnity. " We are fight- 
 ing on God's side in this war. I have not the slightest fear of any 
 catastrophe which might fatally impair our strength. God will 
 take care that our enemies do not push us too far. He always has 
 a David up his sleeve. You two do not take the little Monitor into 
 account. I place great reliance on her and her commander. The 
 Merrimac may be a Goliath, but I feel sure that Captain Worden 
 carries the sling that will smite that Philistine in the forehead." 
 
 Tad gazed with admiration at his pa. When his lower jaw 
 jutted out and his hands rubbed his knees round and round, it was 
 a sign his pa was very sure. Tad had seen him this way at home 
 
Tad Celebrates a Victory 95 
 
 when a man had come to his law office for advice, and when his 
 pa rubbed his knees this way and said: "You're in the wrong. 
 Don't bring suit," it kept the man from going to law. And now 
 it kept the Admiral and Mr. Stanton from striking each other in 
 their rage. His pa was boss when it came to a pinch, and Tad knew 
 he was the best man in the world, even better than Colonel Ells- 
 worth. 
 
 Pretty soon they drove back to the Cabinet meeting. By this 
 time the news had got out and Washington, his pa said, was 
 scared as a rabbit three feet in front of a hound. Tad did his best 
 to help. He told Andrew Martin, his pet enemy, that the Merri- 
 mac would be shelling his greenhouse by next morning. He ad- 
 vised Goatie McManus to hide in the basement right away because 
 any minute now the Merrimac would be leveling the White 
 House. He added that his pa was moving the Government to 
 Philadelphia and wouldn't need his services any more. 
 
 When Tad saw how nicely the hearers took these stories, he 
 doubled them in scope and variety, adding fancy bits of imagi- 
 nation each time, until he began to wonder, as twilight fell, what 
 was going to happen. What was worst, he couldn't find his pa, 
 and nobody could tell him where he was. By bedtime his fears 
 began to creep closer, turning noises into cannon shots. Suppose 
 it should begin in the night? His ma had set Mrs. Keckley to 
 packing up her best things. 
 
 :t Yo' go lay down, honey. Yo' know Ah call yo' ef dere's de 
 slightes' soun'. Dis here 'sturbance is all foolishment. Yo' know 
 yo' pa wouldn' let any old rebel boat up de ribber, not by a long 
 chalk. Now yo' undress an' don' pay no attention tuh wot dey 
 say." 
 
 Tad was ready and went to bed. But soon he heard voices out- 
 side his door. Goatie McManus was trying to persuade somebody 
 to leave. " I've got to see the President, I tell you! " the stranger 
 shouted. " Where's his room? The Merrimac' s only ten miles 
 
$6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 away. It'll be opposite the city by dawn and shell the hospital. 
 My boy is in it and can't be moved. I . . ." Then Tad heard Sec- 
 retary Hay's voice breaking in, stopping the disturbance, 
 
 " What is it? " Tad called through the door. " Who was it? " 
 
 " Just another fool," croaked McManus. " Got past me." 
 
 "Where's pa, Mr. McManus? " 
 
 " It's none of my business where he is," replied the grumpy old 
 Irishman and went down the hall. 
 
 Wild fears surged up in Tad. He could fairly see the Merrimac 
 steaming up through the night, aiming at the White House. He 
 could almost feel the shot crashing through the walls of his room. 
 He couldn't stand it. He got up and opened the door a crack, 
 then wider, and listened. Nobody was in the hall. In his white 
 nightgown he scuttled across the hall like a rabbit and dived into 
 his pa's room. It was dark and scarey. He felt for the bed and 
 jumped into it, and pulled the sheet up to his chin. His pa 
 wouldn't shoo him out. His pa would let him sleep next to him, 
 and then let the old Merrimac come and scare everyone! His pa 
 would look after him. It was so comforting a thought that he fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Bright sun woke him. It was very late. His pa hadn't been to 
 bed, but he came in now and there was rejoicing in his face. He 
 told Tad how the Monitor had outmaneuvered the Merrimac. 
 The Southern ram had been able to strike only glancing blows at 
 the well-steered Monitor. The Merrimac fired her ten guns, and 
 they did no more damage to the Monitor than if the gunnery 
 officer had snapped his thumb at the little ironclad every two 
 minutes. The Monitor's shots knocked over the Merrimac 3 s crew 
 by concussion and made them bleed from nose and ears. After six 
 hours of it the Merrimac fled. If not sunk, she was at least in- 
 timidated. The South's plans for wiping out the North's Navy 
 had been themselves wiped out by John Ericsson's invention. The 
 harbors of the North were safe. Washington and the White 
 House were safe. 
 
 I 
 
Tad Celebrates a Victory 97 
 
 Tad was jubilant. He danced and tumbled about in his night- 
 gown until it threw him. He heard crowds outside cheering in the 
 streets. The Capital was in the grip of revelers. Tad enjoyed the 
 merriment as much as he had enjoyed the dreads and rumors of 
 the day before. His pa was involved in waves of callers. 
 
 The mercurial Tad wanted movement, somebody to celebrate 
 the frenzy of relief with. He thought of Bud and Holly who 
 could not come to see him. He longed for Holly to laugh with 
 him at some new trick. By jings, he had one! He ran up into his 
 ma's room. He knew where she kept the flag that Colonel Ells- 
 worth had pulled down in Alexandria. Tad had been fond of 
 playing with it, pretending that it was flying from some rebel 
 flagstaff, and he would rescue it, getting wounded or not as he 
 felt like. Finally his ma had hidden it, and, as this was a chal- 
 lenge, he had not rested until he had found where — in a bureau 
 drawer in her room. He hid it in paper and escaped with the big 
 bundle unnoticed. He and Holly would have something to laugh 
 about. 
 
 The streets were alive with men blowing horns and beating 
 drums. No work was being done. Flags flew from half the win- 
 dows. As Tad neared the Taft residence, he saw the Stars and 
 Stripes catching the sunlight from the second-story window. Tad 
 had never rung the bell, and now he slipped in through the front 
 door and listened. He hoped to locate Holly without being seen 
 by Mrs. Taft or Julie or the old colored butler. Not a sound, not 
 a voice, from upstairs. He tiptoed up quietly. If Bud or Holly 
 had been at home, he would have heard them. Everybody, ap- 
 parently, was out reveling too. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to go to work alone. Tad blocked 
 the chair against the room door, opened the window, and after 
 some trouble had replaced the American flag with the Confed- 
 erate. Colonel Ellsworth's banner was large and there were dull 
 blood stains on one corner. For a moment Tad's conscience al- 
 most overcame his urge to mischief — almost, but not quite. He 
 
98 Tad Lincoln 
 
 slid out of the room and down the stairs unnoticed and ran across 
 the street. The Stars and Bars waved insolently. As the bunting 
 flicked backward and forward in the breeze it seemed to wink at 
 Tad. He laughed aloud to think of what Judge Taf t or Mrs. Taft 
 would say. Julie would be simply furious. She would run after 
 him and get both hands in his hair. He deemed it better to edge 
 away. He had not gone a dozen yards, however, before he heard 
 a shout. He looked around. Some elderly man was pointing up 
 at the flag and shouting. 
 
 Tad turned and drifted back. Other men had joined the first 
 and their voices sounded angry. " Tear it down! " " Who lives 
 there? " " Who do they think they are? " " Get a ladder, boys, 
 and rip the dirty rag off that pole quick! " 
 
 It seemed to Tad as if people couldn't come fast enough. In a 
 couple of shakes he was shoved back against a fence by the crowd. 
 There must've been fifty people in one knot, and more running 
 up all the time. Several had entered the Taft yard. One was 
 pounding on the door. Tad began to wish he had not been so 
 bold. The voices were angry. "Whose house is it, Jeff Davis'? 
 Bust in that door! They've got gall, they have! " 
 
 Two men were pounding on the door now, putting their 
 shoulders to it. Tad guessed the butler had been scared and locked 
 it. " Make 'em open up, or burn the house down! " shouted the 
 most ruffianly voice yet. Tad was frightened and worried. He 
 started to back out of the mob. As he reached the corner, he saw 
 Mrs. Taft coming hurriedly along the other street, nearing him. 
 He hid behind a broad back. She came so close that he could have 
 grabbed the little bag she was carrying. Someone who knew her 
 reached her and screeched: " Mrs. Taft! The most awful thing has 
 happened. The Confederate flag is flying from your house! " 
 
 " Why, no! " gasped Mrs. Taft. " How can that be? " 
 
 " That's why this crowd's here. They're going to break in and 
 pull it down! " 
 
 lt Mercy me! How dreadful! " 
 
Tad Celebrates a Victory 99 
 
 Tad saw Mrs. Taft start to push her way through the crowd 
 saying: " Let me by, please! Let me by, please! " 
 
 Tad swallowed and ducked ahead. Maybe, he thought, it was 
 a good thing that the Taft boys and he weren't playing together 
 any more. He did not wait to see more, but ran. 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 
 Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 
 
 MRS. LINCOLN WALKED INDIGNANTLY INTO HER HUSBAND'S 
 room, letter in hand. The President of the United States in 
 a calico dressing gown, on hands and knees, was bearing Tad on 
 his back the way an ill-trained saddle horse would. He reared at 
 times, and Tad squealed in ecstatic terror. He kicked, and had al- 
 ready lost one old leather slipper, disclosing a homemade sock. 
 At the sight of his wife, he shied violently sideways and Tad 
 hung to his neck, screaming. 
 
 " Stop it! Enough of this! " Mrs. Lincoln stooped and pulled 
 Tad from his mount. 
 
 Tad clung rebelliously and the horse, looking up, said, " Now 
 mother, we're not doing any harm, are we? " 
 
 " Look at this letter and you'll see. Now do get up from the 
 floor, Mr. Lincoln. You have no dignity. No wonder your son 
 runs off and does such things! Mrs. Taft has just sent her servant 
 with the Confederate flag that Elmer Ellsworth gave his life for, 
 and her note contains the most in/o/erable insinuations." 
 
 Lincoln took the note and read it while one hand absent- 
 mindedly pulled his cravat from under his ear. " Now, mother, 
 that is a very nice letter, I think. Mrs. Taft is a devoted friend." 
 
 " Devoted! " Mrs. Lincoln snatched the paper. " She says: * I 
 do hope Taddie got back to the White House safely after his 
 mischievous errand. I return your flag. As ever, sincerely yours 
 . . .' " Mrs. Lincoln's piercing gaze was one of triumphant wrath. 
 
 Lincoln was puzzled. " But, mother, what fault can you have 
 to find with that note? I think it very forgiving. Taddie says he 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 101 
 
 was sorry he caused so much fuss, and he is going to write to 
 Judge and Mrs. Taft saying so. Now let's forget it all, mother." 
 
 M Forget that insult? Never! You are so lackadaisical, Mr. Lin- 
 coln, that you don't care who tramples on you. But I do. I have 
 some pride left, I should hope." 
 
 Lincoln was now alarmed. His sad eyes slipped from hers, took 
 in her soft brown hair, her smooth soft skin, her plumpness, and 
 memory flooded him. He glimpsed the girl, Mary Todd, ten years 
 his junior. He saw again the young vivacious wife, whose sharp 
 words were part of her intensity and vividness. Now she was a 
 twice-bereaved mother, at whose composure grief gnawed with 
 an incessant tooth. Was it true, as some said behind his back, that 
 there was something wrong with the balance of her mind? Fright 
 seized him. " There is no insult in that note that I can see, 
 mother." 
 
 :t You are very blind, Mr. Lincoln, and I wonder why." There 
 was the rasp of agony in her tone. M Do you always intend to 
 take sides against me? " Her voice ro:e shrilly. "You overlook 
 the barb in this note. J return your flag. Your flag. She calls the 
 rebels' flag mine. She is hitting at you, though you do not see it. 
 But I see it. I see side glances every hour. I hear whispers back of 
 hands. They know I am Kentucky-born. But can I help that? 
 They know that my three half brothers are Confederate officers, 
 and my own brother a surgeon in Jefferson Davis' army. Did I 
 ask them to fight against the Union and you? What Mrs. Taft 
 and her like do not choose to remember is that I have as many 
 kin in our Union army. They never mention my Porter cousins, 
 or the son-in-law of my sister, and other relatives of the Todds 
 in Northern service. Oh, not on your life they don't! It is always 
 I return your flag. You are a spy in the White House. You com- 
 municate Union secrets to the rebels. You are disloyal, and we all 
 know it, and someday we shall accuse you of treason and spirit 
 you away from your husband and the White House and dear 
 iittle Taddie! " 
 
102 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln's voice had grown shriller and shriller. Now it 
 broke in heart-rending sobs. Tad's mouth was open in horror at 
 this tirade. He could not follow the meaning of his ma's words, 
 but her tone cut him. It tore at his heart, and he saw that his pa 
 kind of withered up under the furious gust. 
 
 Someone knocked. Lincoln motioned for Tad to see who it was. 
 The President had his arms about Mrs. Lincoln. It was Secretary- 
 Hay in the hall. " He says Mr. Stanton is cooling his heels in your 
 office, pa," Tad relayed. 
 
 " Tell him that I'll be over right away," Lincoln said. 
 
 " Not in that rig you won't," Mrs. Lincoln cried. " You're a 
 sight." She emerged from his arms to straighten his cravat, brush 
 back a lock of hair, and point to his shoeless foot. The storm was 
 over, but Tad had seen the alarm in his pa's eyes and felt that 
 something had happened to all of them. 
 
 Tad followed his pa down the hall in speechless misery. They 
 had not gone ten steps before they were stopped by Congressman 
 Lovejoy. He had been to the Secretary of War with the sugges- 
 tion that Eastern troops mingle with those from the West. They 
 would get to know each other better, knit the North together, 
 and profit by a broadened knowledge. Lincoln concurred in Love- 
 joy's views, and backed them with a letter. te Well, how did Mars 
 take it? " he asked the Congressman now. 
 
 " He refused to consider it, Mr. President." 
 
 " You showed him my letter? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir, and he said . . . well, it wasn't complimen- 
 tary." 
 
 " Out with it," coaxed Lincoln. " Stanton's called me every- 
 thing under the sun. I'm merely curious to know if he's got some- 
 thing new." 
 
 " Not very new, sir," Lovejoy replied. " Stanton glanced at the 
 letter and said, ' The President is a blamed fool.' ' 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 103 
 
 M Did he say that? " Lincoln asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 u Well, if he said so, I reckon I must be, for Stanton is nearly 
 always right. I'm on my way to see him now, and will take the 
 matter up." 
 
 Tad heard his pa chuckle as Lovejoy dropped away. 
 
 Edwin M. Stanton was standing up, his legs braced far apart, 
 and annoyance on his face. Tad paused in the doorway to see if 
 anything promised fun. Stanton began at once, " I came over 
 about your irregular request to appoint Jason Bell chaplain." 
 
 " That was not a request, Mars. It was an order." 
 
 M But he is not a preacher." 
 
 M He is now," Lincoln retorted drily. 
 
 Stanton looked up at his gaunt adversary. " There is no va- 
 cancy in my army." 
 
 M Appoint him chaplain at large, then." 
 
 :t There is no warrant in law for that, Mr. President." 
 
 M Appoint him anyhow." 
 
 " I will not! " 
 
 Tad turned away, angry and disappointed. He was disap- 
 pointed because his pa was willing to take anybody's lip, as he 
 had heard Francis Burns say. His pa would give his ma a pile of 
 new dresses, and then she'd sass him till it most froze you to hear 
 her. He had made Mr. Stanton Secretary of War and given him 
 armies to order around, and then Mr. Stanton called him a blamed 
 fool. And his pa didn't hit back. It wasn't fair. It made Tad sore. 
 He shuffled down the hall. Sometimes he hated the White House 
 and wished they'd never come. He wished he had some way of 
 getting back at Mr. Stanton. Maybe he could go over to his office 
 and move all the pins in the big map. Then Mr. Stanton wouldn't 
 know where his armies were and he'd have to get Major Eckert to 
 telegraph all over the nation to find them. And that'd make him 
 look like a fool if it ever got into the papers. 
 
 It was blinding hot outdoors. Andrew Martin was watering the 
 
104 Tad Lincoln 
 
 lawn. He was making the water go in a funny way, like feathers 
 of water, then spider webs of water, and then like an apron of 
 glass. Tad had never seen a hose sprinkle and spurt and spray like 
 this. He drew near enough his mortal enemy to ask, M Why's it 
 do that, Andrew? " 
 
 " It's a variable nozzle newly invented, Master Thomas," said 
 Andrew, who had divined that Tad hated to be called Thomas. 
 
 ct Can I use it for a minute? " Tad demeaned himself to ask. 
 
 " Ye'd get it out of order. It's a highly sensitive apparatus." 
 
 " I'd do it just as you say," Tad begged. 
 
 " Then ye'll let it alone," remarked Andrew dryly, pleased at 
 catching the boy up so easily. " Stand back, now. I'm going to 
 water that turf, and in another hundred years it will be looking 
 somewhat." 
 
 Tad obeyed, for once. His whole being cried out to hold that 
 nozzle and produce such elegant fantails of water alternating 
 with far-springing white serpents. His begging of Andrew was 
 as vain as his heated commands. His only resource was to retreat 
 along the lengthy hose and turn off the water at the spigot. Then 
 he hid beneath a dense bush. In a few moments he had the satis- 
 faction of seeing the fuming Andrew come back to turn on the 
 spigot again. 
 
 Tad cheered up a little. This was going to prove a better game 
 than pulling out Mr. Stanton's pins. He waited until the hose 
 was spouting again, then turned it off, and this time he ran to a 
 farther bush, figuring that after Andrew had turned on the 
 water and while he was walking back the hose would be his to 
 play with. The only loss here was in not being able to overhear 
 what Andrew would be muttering to himself. 
 
 Tad reached the nozzle and presently the gush began. At the 
 same time he saw Mr. Stanton come stamping down the stairway 
 to the south lawn. He was brandishing a paper under the nose 
 of the President who was following him. 
 
 This fresh insult to his pa rekindled Tad. But now he had a 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 10$ 
 
 weapon. Tad ran forward dragging the hose. Bzzzt! — a stream 
 through the effective nozzle wilted the paper in Secretary Stan- 
 ton's hand. Bzzzt! — a second stream struck the astounded dig- 
 nitary in the face and sent his spectacles flying off into the grass. 
 Tad saw his pa stoop for the spectacles, while Stanton made a 
 rush at him for the hose. 
 
 Tad started a retreat, playing the water up and down Mr. 
 Stanton's portly figure. Tad dodged, Stanton sputtered. Tad 
 caught him in the mouth, Stanton gurgled and gasped and had 
 to swallow some of the vivid language he was directing against 
 Tad. Stanton charged nearer and, after a final complete flushing 
 of the man, Tad dropped the hose and ran. And just in time, for 
 Andrew had caught up. Tad, weak with laughter, stumbled and 
 fell and rolled over, and Lincoln stood between his boy and the 
 enraged, dripping Secretary. Just then a soldier of the newly ar- 
 rived Company K, drawn to this strange pantomime, caught the 
 President's attention. " Here, Joe, take this boy into the house 
 and see that his clothes are changed." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Private Joe West. 
 
 Et The house! " shouted Stanton. " The calaboose! That's where 
 he belongs! Look at me! Drenched! Now I shall have to go home 
 and change from the skin out. I can't see. My glasses . . ." 
 
 M Here they are, unbroken." Lincoln handed them to Stanton, 
 and a handkerchief for drying them. He signaled to Andrew to 
 leave with his hose. 
 
 * He's not safe to have around! " resumed Stanton. " He's 
 spoiled to the point of insanity. Look at my shoes! If you don't 
 whip that rascal within an inch of his life, I will, President's son 
 or no." Mr. Stanton finished swabbing one side of his face and 
 began on the other. Water still dropped from his bushy eyebrows. 
 
 u No, Mars, you won't touch him," Lincoln said, quietly but 
 firmly. " You've done enough to the boy now." 
 
 "I . . . /? What have I done?" 
 
 " You've kept his blood boiling for weeks. He can't under- 
 
106 Tad Lincoln 
 
 stand why you swear at me and block my requests. He thinks 
 you're my enemy and he doesn't like it. He resents your tone, 
 which is all he can comprehend, and he has it in for you. This 
 accident of the hose's being handy is simply a result of all that's 
 gone before." 
 
 Edwin Stanton stared at the man who had elevated him to the 
 Cabinet. Lincoln's charge was as unexpected as the hosing. " I 
 never considered it in that light. It never occurred to me . . ." 
 
 " Taddie's not the only one," Lincoln went on in a friendly 
 tone. ft Others don't take your name calling and heated talk very 
 kindly. You and I get on because we understand each other. We 
 know we're up to the neck in this job. But my friends who don't 
 understand resent this apparent friction, and you get yourself 
 disliked needlessly." 
 
 " I believe you're right," Stanton said. " There's enough f ric 
 tion as it is." 
 
 " That's my view." 
 
 " I'll begin with Tad," Stanton announced. M I'll make him see 
 I'm not just an ogre. I'll . . . What do you think he'd like? In 
 the way of a peace offering, I mean." 
 
 Lincoln looked over Stanton's head at the stub of the half- 
 finished Washington Monument, considering. " Do you remem- 
 ber the day he called on you to get the pistol? " 
 
 " Yes, but you wouldn't want him to have one, would you? " 
 
 w Without ammunition, yes. A few blanks will satisfy him. 
 Partly, that is. I don't think anything would wholly satisfy him 
 but a commission in the regular Army. You see he has some 
 friends in this Company K which you've foisted on me. He'd like 
 to be on the same level. In uniform, at least." 
 
 The Secretary of War was beginning to shiver in his wet gar- 
 ments. He eyed his gaunt superior, wondering if there was some- 
 thing deranged in that sloping skull. No wonder that Tad was 
 spoiled. This time, however, Stanton did not utter his thoughts. 
 
 " That's the short cut to his heart," Lincoln was saying, as if 
 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 107 
 
 to himself. " If you really want to win a boy, meet him on some 
 level you both have in common. In your case, it's the Army." 
 
 " I'll do it! I'll be hanged if I won't! " Stanton vociferated. 
 " I'll go the whole hog. Send him over to be measured for the 
 uniform. He can have a lieutenancy in the United States Volun- 
 teers. That's got all the trappings." 
 
 w That ought to fill the bill," said Lincoln, and he sped his Sec- 
 retary to a change of clothes. 
 
 Meanwhile Tad was giving his version of the fray to Private 
 Joe, the soldier he liked best of all the somewhat older boys of 
 Company K of the 150th Pennsylvania Volunteers. 
 
 Private Joe had lived his seventeen years in the backwoods of 
 Pennsylvania's most mountainous county. He was avid for life, 
 experience. It was the fashion for some of the more ambitious in 
 Company K to complain that they were nurses, housemaids, goat- 
 herds — for Tad had tired of the more menial tasks in connec- 
 tion with his pets — and that they ought to be sent to the front. 
 Private Joe was in no hurry for the front. He considered it the 
 greatest honor to be part of the President's bodyguard, and the 
 greatest luck to be stationed at the Capital of his country. He 
 liked the glitter and importance of riding escort to the Presiden- 
 tial carriage. He admired the thin, bronzed face of the Com- 
 mander in Chief drawn down into strong, corded lines. As a fron- 
 tiersman himself, Joe could appreciate that Kentucky character, 
 could laugh at the jokes at which so many pretended to be 
 shocked. Joe missed little. He was a sharpshooter of life, able to 
 knock over small joys at great distances and put them in his bag. 
 And he had become attached to Tad, partly at first from policy of 
 advancement, because Tad was the President's son. But there 
 was no cheating in Joe's make-up. He was soon honestly Tad's 
 friend. 
 
 Tad, missing Willie, and deprived of Bud and Holly, soon 
 sensed Joe's genuineness and began to spend the time he was not 
 with his pa with Joe. Tad liked the all-masculine atmosphere of 
 
108 Tad Lincoln 
 
 the barracks. There were no aunts, mothers, nurses, or female ad- 
 mirers to bother — simply young men of many manners but all 
 lively. Unless Willie, in heaven, had a whole army to take care 
 of him and play with him, he was missing something, Tad re- 
 flected. 
 
 Not that Private Joe was easy on Tad. He was a rigorous dis- 
 ciplinarian, and now he was giving Tad a lecture on the impro- 
 priety of hosing members of the Cabinet. " You sure did snake 
 that squirt on the old duck," Joe said as he helped Tad to take 
 off his wet shoes. M If he'd been a duck, he c'd 've swum off." 
 
 Tad laughed. Joe didn't, but went on: " It was mighty funny 
 all right. But when you want a friend, you might as well look 
 where the partridges was last year as look in the War Depart- 
 ment, Tad. Mr. Stanton's boss over a mighty lot of people, and 
 if he went plain ugly about your little joke, I wouldn't be sur- 
 prised." 
 
 Tad sobered at Joe's tone. Joe continued: " Supposin' he sees 
 you and me is friends? He can say to himself: * I'll stop that. I'll 
 slam Company K to the wolves so fast that even the President 
 won't know what's happened.' And the next day when you come 
 for me to take you to the shootin' gallery, why I ain't here. I'm 
 gone to the sausage machine there at the front. You see, Taddie? " 
 
 " Then I'll get pa to bring you back," Tad said. 
 
 " Maybe your pa won't bother. Maybe he'll give in to Mr. Stan- 
 ton like he did about us sentries and escorts. I heerd your pa tell 
 the old man that making him have a guard was like asking a 
 healthy boy to wear skirts. I was waiting to deliver a message and 
 I heerd your pa. He didn't want no escort. He said he couldn't 
 hear himself and Mrs. Lincoln talk, what with the rattle of the 
 spurs and sabers. He said he was a lot more scared of being shot 
 by some green hand with a gun than by any attempt on his life. 
 And he meant it too. Your pa don't fear dog nor devil. He's a 
 walking target for anybody who kin shoot squirrels and he knows 
 it. But he don't like to fuss with escorts. That didn't faze Stan- 
 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 109 
 
 ton, though. He just said your pa had to have an escort and a 
 guard and sentries for the White House and any other dern thing 
 he — Mr. Stanton that is — thought fit, and your pa kind of 
 shucked back into his shell. And that's the fellow you turned the 
 hose on. More 'n like you've got him down on me for even talk- 
 ing to you. More 'n like you've got Company K in trouble just 
 because we let you come around." 
 
 Tad was silent and worried. Joe saw that he had accomplished 
 what he wanted without even raising his voice. He had made Tad 
 reflect more in ten minutes than Mr. Williamson, the tutor, could 
 achieve if given a millennium. It was time to taper off. " But I 
 reck'n you're enough man to act like a man about this, Tad." 
 
 n How's that? " Tad inquired. 
 
 " Why, march in to Mr. Stanton and say you've thought it over 
 and you're mighty sorry for playing that monkey-mean trick 
 and you'd like to save up and pay for any clothes you ruined. 
 Something like that. And if you like, I'll go as far as the room 
 door with you." 
 
 Tad thought he could go anywhere if Joe backed him up. And 
 Joe said: " I knew you would. Now what do you say if we get a 
 pass and go down town and see the sights? " 
 
 Mrs. Keckley had been packing for days. The household was to 
 summer out at the Soldiers' Home. It was only three miles from 
 the White House, but ret in a wood and grassland of five hundred 
 acres, high over the Potomac. 
 
 Tad loved this place the moment he reached it. He had a pony 
 now, and he and Joe explored on horseback, went swimming to- 
 gether, stopped in at farms for fruit and buttermilk. 
 
 One day a special mecsenger brought Tad's equipment from 
 the War Department. Mrs. Keckley helped him to unpack the 
 impressive garments and then sent for Private Joe. He came and 
 gasped. Tad had been given a colonel's commission! " Well, I'll be 
 
no Tad Lincoln 
 
 dogged, if you ain't my superior officer! " Private Joe exclaimed. 
 " Come on now, climb into that uniform and let's see how you 
 look." 
 
 Tad donned the long trousers with awe. Joe adjusted the sword 
 correctly on his left side, set his cap on his head in smart military 
 style, and stood him up. " Now," Joe said, " being as you're my 
 colonel, I have to salute you, and you have to salute back. It's 
 lucky I came up here to learn you right, for now you've got to 
 do right, or your men will laugh at you behind your back. Now 
 this is the salute, sir. Right hand to side of your head, here, stiff 
 — like this, see — just at your eyebrow. Now bring it down like 
 you was killing a fly, not just lackadaisical — that's better." 
 
 Mrs. Keckley gazed in deepest interest. Taddie was being 
 changed before her eyes, and mainly through his respect for Joe. 
 In the month he had known this volunteer from the backwoods, 
 Tad had grown much less the recklessly childish tease into a boy 
 of better balance. Now he was to become an officer, to whom 
 men must say Sir and whom they must salute. The colored woman 
 put jealousy away. She liked Joe and wanted to encourage Tad in 
 his growing. M Ah declare, Colonel Lincoln," she said, " yo' sure 
 got growed up quick." 
 
 " Now, we'll go out and inspect your troops," Joe suggested. 
 
 Tad wiped the sweat off his face with his arm. M No, no, dat'll 
 neber do! " Mrs. Keckley said, " Yo' got tuh be folks now an' use 
 yo' handkerchief." 
 
 For an instant Tad could hardly see the advantage in losing so 
 much freedom just to wear a uniform. But when his hand felt its 
 place on the hilt of his sword, when he looked in the mirror and 
 noted the nine shining buttons down his tunic, the shoulder straps 
 that proclaimed him Colonel Tad, the elaborate belt, the stripe 
 down his long pants, he knew that no sacrifice was too great. 
 
 And if the mere appearance in a mirror was so satisfying, the 
 next hour made a return to private life intolerable. Joe was his 
 true friend. Joe took him as seriously as he did himself. So ap- 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War in 
 
 parently did Captain Derickson. They were so tactful about it 
 that Tad actually felt as if he had drawn the men up, put them 
 through their drill, and accomplished the review himself. His 
 earlier struggles in the Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves had not been lost. 
 
 It was later that the full wonder of the privilege of power 
 burst over Tad. tc Can I do like I want now? " the colonel asked 
 his private. 
 
 " That's right," Joe said. " Anything that's all right for your 
 rank. Of course if a brigadier general turns up, you've got to 
 come to time and do as he commands." 
 
 M But I can order you around and Captain Derickson and 
 everybody? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 M Can I tell Mrs. Keckley to go down to the store and buy me 
 candy? " 
 
 " That's right, if you give her the money first." 
 
 That plunged Tad into thought. It was the first hitch. 
 " Why? " 
 
 " Well, suppose you wanted a barrel of things, candy and such, 
 you couldn't just command me to go out and buy 'em without 
 you give me the money. Where'd I get it? Out of my pay when 
 it ain't enough to keep me in smokes? No sirree. You got to say: 
 1 Here, Private Joe, is ten dollars gold. I want for you to go down 
 to Pioneer Pete's and buy me a barrel of chewing gum, or what- 
 ever.' See? You're no little boy no more. You're a thinkin y per- 
 son now. You got to think up orders and tell us men how to 
 carry 'em out. You got to stick by the rules. You can't even 
 wriggle and scrunch up when you set down. You got to think 
 first of your uniform, and how you're an officer, and you can't 
 cry and yell no matter what happens. See? First of all you got to 
 look after your men, or they won't think much of you, and after 
 that you can think of yourself. Of course when you want to be 
 a boy, as is natural, you can climb out of your uniform and cry- 
 baby around like you used to. But when you're in your uniform, 
 
ii2 Tad Lincoln 
 
 you got to act your rank, and you can't swap heads for tails no 
 more than a horse can." 
 
 Tad drew his sword and waved it around his head. " Now I 
 can kill rebels! Now I can kill that old Lee! " 
 
 M That's another thing," Joe went on. " You don't hear offi- 
 cers taking wallops at General Lee, and you mustn't do it." 
 
 M Why not? " Tad was astounded. He had heard so much talk 
 of Lee that he seemed like the whole Confederacy in one. " Ain't 
 he a mean old rebel? Don't he kill pa's soldiers? " 
 
 " Sure he kills 'em. That's his job, ain't it? We wouldn't re- 
 spect him much if he didn't, would we? Natcherly he's a rebel, 
 but he's not a mean one. As I heerd, he didn't even want to be 
 one. But he couldn't draw his sword agin his own kin, and I 
 don't blame him. I wouldn't want to go shooting my own folks 
 either." 
 
 Tad was silent. He wanted to think as Joe thought, but it 
 jammed up against everything he had heard. Joe said: " Now I 
 reckon, Colonel, you'd better dismiss me co I can go eat. And it 
 don't take much guessin' to reckon you'd like to crawl out of 
 that uniform and sweat a bit, comfortable." 
 
 So Joe saluted and left Tad, happy, and even thoughtful, as 
 he walked into the summer cottage. 
 
 That night at supper Tad said, " Private Joe likes Gener'l 
 Lee, pa." 
 
 Lincoln looked at his soldier son. " Then I think all the more 
 of Private Joe." 
 
 " But we're fightin' him, ain't we? " Tad was puzzled. 
 
 " We're fighting an idea that the South can leave this Union 
 sight unseen and no questions asked," Lincoln said. " It so hap- 
 pens that General Lee's conscience directs him to fight for the 
 South instead of for us. Yet there is nobody, after my own fam- 
 ily, with whom I'd rather sit down at this table, Taddie." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln had finished cutting up Colonel Tad's roast beef. 
 " Yes, and your attitude is attracting criticism. Only yesterday 
 
 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 113 
 
 Miss Kate Chase wondered how you could speak so kindly of the 
 Southern gentlemen, as you call them, when you should be de- 
 stroying them." 
 
 " The surest way to destroy an enemy is to make him your 
 friend," Lincoln said. " I see I shall have to have a talk with the 
 beautiful Miss Chase." 
 
 "Indeed you need do nothing of the kind! " Mrs. Lincoln 
 exclaimed. " You do try to be provoking, Mr. Lincoln! " 
 
 " Now, now, I was only explaining to Taddie how I felt about 
 Robert E. Lee." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln's attention had been drawn to Tad who was eating 
 mashed potatoes with his knife. Her jealousy of Miss Chase's so- 
 cial success had warmed her, and now she had to see her son eating 
 in backwoods style in the White House! " When will you learn 
 that you must not eat with your knife! " she exclaimed tartly. 
 " It isn't polite." 
 
 " But, ma, is it polite to stare at folks when they're eating? " 
 
 Tad's pa laughed at this sally and Mrs. Lincoln was still more 
 incensed. " I think you might help me with Tad's manners. 
 They're shameful and yet you encourage him by laughing when- 
 ever he says anything pert. You think it so smart! " 
 
 te Well, mother, you married into a family of lawyers, and I 
 reckon you'll have to make the best of it." 
 
 Lincoln had brought Mrs. Keckley a button to sew on, and 
 they were talking about Tad. " The boy's growing older," Lin- 
 coln said. 
 
 " Nuthin' c'd hinder it," Mrs. Keckley observed. " When he 
 useter be wid de chillun, he was a chile. But now he's a kurnel in 
 de Army an' he an' dat Joe are thick as hops an' he see de wounded 
 go by, night an' day in dem wagons, groanin' an' moanin'. How 
 c'd he help but grow up, 'specially as he hears de so'ger-talk? 
 So'gers don' trifle wid dere words, Mr. Lincoln, dey outs wid dem 
 
ii4 Tad Lincoln 
 
 plain as yo' finger. Dey's right keerful ef dey see Taddie aroun', 
 but he overhears 'era when dey don* know he's aroun'." 
 
 te I saw him comparing his muscle with Joe's today," Lincoln 
 said. " It's good for a boy to have a young man like Joe for his 
 friend." 
 
 " Dat's right. Joe will neber do Taddie no harm," Mrs. Keck- 
 ley said. " He don' come cheap, dat Joe. He's fur makin' some- 
 thin' ob hisself. Ah'm not sayin' he don' put Joe first. Dat's 
 natcheral. But at least he wunt kick de ladder ober when he's 
 dumb up by it." 
 
 Lincoln found Mrs. Keckley's penetration useful. He could 
 leave Tad in her hands safely. She loved the boy, and would see 
 to it that the soldiers' talk and Joe's ambition and the shadows 
 of the fearful events going on around them should not damage 
 his impressionable personality. It was inevitable that he would 
 be matured faster than the ordinary boy of nine; it was fortu- 
 nate that he lived in a summer of affection marred by not fre- 
 quent storms. He loved nature. Compared with the city, bursting 
 at every seam with people, the Soldiers' Home was a retreat. Tad 
 pressed flowers for his ma, hunted four-leaf clovers for Mrs. 
 Keckley, acquired a tan, ate sometimes with the soldiers, and 
 learned something about birds by accident. 
 
 He saw a young man prowling through the orchard, holding 
 things to his eyes that looked at nothing a long while. At first 
 Tad thought he was a spy. But then he decided that he couldn't 
 get much news from the top of an apple tree. Then Tad played 
 his own game. He pretended this stranger was a buffalo, and 
 that he, Tad, was an Indian. He crawled through the long grass 
 toward the buffalo, then rose up and charged, giving his version 
 of the redskin war whoop. 
 
 John Burroughs turned in vexation. " Now you've done it! 
 "Why can't you go play somewhere else? I've been studying the 
 orchard starling, and now I'll have to wait till tomorrow for 
 another." 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 115 
 
 te What's that? What's an orchard starling? " Tad was curious. 
 " Can you see them through those things? " He reached for the 
 birdman's glasses. 
 
 Burroughs let him look through them, and Tad remembered 
 the spyglass and told the man of his looking at the squirrels and 
 the wrens that nested in the White House cannon, and Bur- 
 roughs not only learned Tad's identity but something of his 
 eagerness. The Treasury Department clerk was taking a day off, 
 and suggested that they stalk birds together instead of buffalo, 
 which appeared scarce. " From my window I often see your father 
 stepping over piles of lumber on his way to our building," Bur- 
 roughs said. M I guess he comes that way to avoid the crowd." 
 
 " Would you like to shake hands with my pa? " Tad asked. 
 
 <l I have. When his great hand got a hold of mine and pulled 
 me along to make room for the next in line, I thought a team of 
 horses had me." 
 
 Tad chuckled. " Would you like to shake hands again? " 
 
 " Well, I came out here to meet some of my feathered friends, 
 Tad. Perhaps I'd better stick to that this time. Now, do you 
 see that little bird? The one that's singing, * Teacher, teacher, 
 teacher '? " John Burroughs pointed low. tc That's an ovenbird. 
 His nest is one of the very hardest to find. If we hunt and find it, 
 will you promise to let it alone? " 
 
 That evening when Lincoln came home for supper, Tad's eyes 
 were bright. " Pa, we found an ovenbird's nest today. Mr. Bur- 
 roughs found it first. Then he couldn't find it again and I found 
 it. It's awful hard to see. Mr. Burroughs is nice, but he's funny 
 too. He likes birds better than people." 
 
 M Well," Lincoln said, " at least birds don't run for office." 
 
 The hired girl was sick and Joe waited on table. " Your ma 
 sure is nobody's fool," Joe confided to Tad. He had kept his ears 
 open, and had to talk about it to somebody. Tad was safe. " When 
 

 116 Tad Lincoln 
 
 your pa married her, he knew what he was about. She won't let 
 anybody pull the wool over his eyes." 
 
 " Ma reads pa's letters," Tad communicated, on the theory that 
 one confidence deserves another. 
 
 M Oh, sure, they're a great hand for news, some women," Joe 
 said, " specially if it's private. Tell me, Tad, have you seen Miss 
 Chase, the Secretary of the Treasury's gal? " Tad nodded. M Is 
 she pretty? " Tad nodded again, and Joe said: " She'd better look 
 out then. I reckon your ma riggers that Mr. Chase expects to hook 
 your pa's job. Your ma also figgers that if she can pull Mr. Chase 
 off his pedestal, he'll come a-crashin' down on Miss Chase and 
 spoil her popularity, which is her main crime. She gets a lot of 
 presents and attention, your ma hears. 'Tain't patriotic in war- 
 time to forge ahead of your ma like that." 
 
 " Ma don't like Mr. Seward either," Tad said. 
 
 ct I cottoned on to that. Remember tonight when your pa men- 
 tioned him? * That old reptile! ' your ma says. * I detest the very 
 looks of that man. He can't be trusted. I beg of you to have 
 nothing more to do with him.' Well, that was kind of a stumper 
 for your pa, seein' as he has to see Mr. Seward about every day." 
 
 c< Ma wants pa to get rid of Mr. Stanton too." Tad laughed — 
 he and Joe understood each other so well. " She says he's a cow- 
 ard." 
 
 " Mr. Stanton? A cotuard? " Jce looked incredulous. " Now if 
 she can see that in him, she's smart." 
 
 " Ma don't like people to shout at her," Tad said. M She says 
 he's a bully." 
 
 " I wish she'd get her claws in General McClellan, the blame' 
 humbug," Joe said hotly. ff He's a coward. The slickest dawdler 
 on earth. That circus man, Barnum, ought to put him in his show. 
 Let him run a race with molasses. I'd bet my head molasses would 
 beat. You got to put up with stupid people, but there's no law 
 saying you got to put up with humbugs, and I don't see why 
 your pa babies along with him the way he does." 
 
 " What's a humbug? " Tad asked. 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 117 
 
 <e A humbug? A humbug's a person who can deceive you with- 
 out turning a hair. He's just a natural fraud." 
 
 M Pa says General Lee deceived Pope at Bull Run Creek t'other 
 day. So General Lee's a humbug too." 
 
 "Not on your life! " Joe said quickly. "Lee deceived Pope, 
 granted. But that don't make him a humbug; it makes him a 
 good general. Lee deceived Pope honest. That's war. But McClel- 
 lan's a born sham and deceives his friends." 
 
 w I'm going to name my goat for somebody better than Mc- 
 Clellan," Tad said. " McClellan's got the slows, pa told ma." 
 
 " I wish that was all it is," Joe shook his head. " You wait a 
 while before you name your goat, Tad. A real fightin' general's 
 bound to come along one of these days." 
 
 Robert Lincoln turned up unexpectedly at the summer's end. 
 Tad knew Private Joe a lot better than he knew his older brother. 
 Bob was talking to their pa in an impatient, serious way, and Tad 
 was trying to find out more about this grown-up stranger. " Bob, 
 what's college? " Tad now asked. 
 
 Bob ignored Tad and said: " But this can't go on indefinitely, 
 father. Lee's marching north. What if he reaches Harrisburg? It 
 might finish us. And McClellan still does nothing." 
 
 " McClellan shan't be so libeled! " Lincoln rubbed his knee. 
 M McClellan is immensely busy — calling for reinforcements. He 
 calls for 50,000 at a time. We collect them, after great pains, and 
 send them. And they desert so fast that half of them have disap- 
 peared by the time they are due there. As I tell Stanton — it's like 
 shoveling fleas across a barnyard." 
 
 " Bob, what's college? What's Harvard? " Tad repeated. 
 
 [t The whole country complains about that very thing, fa- 
 ther. Why do you keep him? Why persist in trying to do busi- 
 ness with such a dolt? Besides, I hear that he is openly discour- 
 teous to you." 
 
 " It's a battle I want from McClellan, not deference," said 
 
1 1 8 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Lincoln quickly. " I'd hold his horse for him, if only it would 
 bring us success. That's not the question. The question is who 
 can do better? The answer doesn't seem to occur to anyone." 
 
 " Bob, what's Harvard? " Tad persisted. 
 
 " It's the place you get sent when you want to go into the 
 Army," Bob retorted. He was nettled by all he had seen and 
 heard in Washington, and most of all by his mother's desire to 
 keep him safe. " You don't know how difficult it is, father. Peo- 
 ple are starting to talk. I feel it. Why is the President's son kept 
 out of harm's way when our sons are dying? That's in their eyes, 
 and clearer with every new battle and fresh losses. These new de- 
 feats make it intolerable to go back. Cold Harbor . . . Second 
 Bull Run . . . How can I apply myself to books when every- 
 thing's going up in smoke? I tell you we're losing this war." 
 
 Tad sat quietly for once. He had never seen his brother so 
 savage. " Why don't you go see Mr. Stanton, Bob? " Tad now 
 advised. " Maybe he'll let you be a sergeant, and then you'll have 
 to salute me! " Tad leaned over backward in his mirth. 
 
 " I'll salute you . . . with a shingle," Bob said. " I know how 
 mother feels, father. Willie's death hit her hard. But I don't sup- 
 pose many mothers are exactly rejoicing." 
 
 Lincoln put his hand on Bob's shoulder. " Your mother has had 
 a lot to put up with, son." 
 
 " What? " Bob glowered. " She's had everything her own way. 
 She wanted to be the wife of the President — and she is. She 
 wanted to swell it around in the White House, and I read all 
 about it in Leslie's. At least others read it and tell me. She's such 
 a good thing for that store of A. T. Stewart's. I hear of that, too. 
 The bills must be . . ." 
 
 " Bob, nobody knows enough about another to judge him. Now 
 you go see your mother and tell her how much it means to you to 
 be in there fighting. There's lots of ways of asking for something 
 you want. I'm reminded of the time Bill Herndon was stranded 
 ten miles out of Springfield and wanted to get home quick. But 
 
Tad Disciplines the Secretary of War 119 
 
 he didn't know just how hospitable they might feel out there. 
 So when he stopped a man with a team and a pair of spanking fine 
 horses, he began easy. He asked the man if he'd mind carrying his 
 overcoat to town. * Not at all,' said the driver, ' but how am I to 
 get the coat to you? ' * Oh,' said Billy. * That's easy. I have every 
 intention of remaining inside it.' " 
 
 Tad laughed. Robert did not even smile, but said: " If giving 
 in to mother ever did any good, I wouldn't object. But she's im- 
 mediately unhappy over something else." 
 
 " You go see her. You've got time." 
 
 Robert left. Lincoln looked after him for so long after the 
 door had closed that Tad said, " What you looking at, pa? " 
 
 tc I was thinking of Aaron, sonny. Aaron was excusing himself 
 for being weak. He said, * I put my gold in the fire and there 
 came out this calf.' I was thinking how unreasonable parents can 
 be. They deny a son his desire and then feel disappointed when 
 he acquiesces. Self-impetus, that's the thing. Kick over the traces. 
 Get rid of the generals that do nothing, if it means running the 
 show oneself. Learn from one's children." 
 
 A knock on the door. Lincoln looked up, surprised. Secretary 
 Hay came in and silently handed the President a paper. Lincoln 
 read aloud, " Stonewall Jackson has trapped our garrison at 
 Harper's Ferry and taken 11,000 prisoners." 
 
 Tad watched his pa get up and start for the door. His gait had 
 a staggering motion. " Pa! " Tad cried. 
 
 Lincoln did not hear, did not stop. There was a ghastly pallor 
 on his face, on its staring lines. 
 
 Tad was intimidated by new fears. He wanted comfort. He 
 went out of the door quietly, and then ran . . . ran fast to Mrs. 
 Keckley, as he had done once before after the Battle of Bull Run. 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 *A Boy at Loose Ends 
 
 COLONEL TAD WAS ON FURLOUGH. HE HAD GIVEN HIMSELF 
 leave. There was something confining in a uniform. Why, 
 blame it, it was worse being a colonel than a private, because it 
 meant showing your sword and saluting about fifty times a min- 
 ute! It made you itch to do something useful, once in a great 
 while. 
 
 Tad hung around Company K barracks, feeling strange in 
 civilian clothes, waiting for a chance to be useful. He was saying 
 over the last lesson Joe had taught him: squad . . . section . . . 
 platoon . . . company . . . battalion . . . regiment . . . divi- 
 sion . . . Army. Tad envied Private Joe who was part of some- 
 thing. They were back in Washington, and Tad was homesick 
 for summer. He would have given forty White Houses to be back 
 in the freedom at the Soldiers' Home. Now there was nothing to 
 do but look at strangers and listen to Mr. Williamson, his tutor. 
 
 Tad loathed Mr. Williamson, particularly his nose. It came 
 down long, like Mr. Seward's only bonier, and it had a bump on 
 the end. His eyes kind of crossed, only they didn't, and his voice 
 went along levelly. It reminded Tad of a long, dusty road across 
 an endless plain. It gave him the fidgets just to listen to it. 
 
 Joe was mad at Mr. Williamson too. The tutor had told Mrs. 
 Lincoln that he could not improve Tad's vocabulary while he 
 associated with soldiers. Joe had been carrying in wood for the 
 fireplace while Mr. Williamson was having tea with Mrs. Lin- 
 coln, and heard that bit: te Taddie owes it to his station to spend 
 his leisure hours with improving companions." 
 
 " So we're not good enough for him! " Joe had exploded to 
 
A Boy at Loose Ends 121 
 
 Tad. " Only to keep him safe from the Johnny Rebs. I'd like to 
 show him what an improving companion is — with that," and 
 Joe doubled a fist and brought it within an inch of Tad's jaw. 
 " Fd learn him and his high collar. Know what he looks like in 
 that collar? Like one of Martin's lilies, down there in the green- 
 house." 
 
 After that they referred to Mr. Williamson as Lily, Tad dou- 
 bling up each time Joe said it. Tad hadn't called Mr. Williamson 
 Lily to his face yet, but he would, and then he'd get mad and 
 leave, like Mr. Lyons. 
 
 M What's he learnin' you? " Joe asked. And when Tad told 
 him, Joe set about teaching Tad the things he considered he ought 
 to know — practical things, how to use a hammer and hatchet 
 and plane. " I could learn you how to build a house while Lily's 
 boundin' the States of the Union — which we're savin'," Joe 
 said. " Which reminds me, Tad. Mr. Burns says we can have the 
 stable loft for them pigeons if we'll do the fixin' up, and I've got 
 permission from Captain Derickson to rig the place up for you, 
 if you still want them." 
 
 So it happened that when Mrs. Lincoln suggested that perhaps 
 it might be better if Tad did not associate so much with the com- 
 mon soldiers, she found that she had been outflanked by a flock 
 of pigeons, Private Joe commanding. Also Tad found himself 
 the possessor of some new tools — a whole box of them — saw, 
 nails, files, chisels, gimlets, everything. Joe had indignantly re- 
 ported Mr. Williamson's opinions, and Company K had chipped 
 in and bought Tad this opposition present. Tad was wild with 
 pleasure. 
 
 One overcast day when it was too cold to work in the stable 
 and too lonely in the attic, Tad took his tools into the big Cabi- 
 net Room, which was rarely used. He began making a pigeon 
 nest. Private Joe had marked the board the way it was to be 
 sawed. No sooner had he started to saw than Mr. Williamson 
 darted into the room. 
 
122 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " Look! " he exclaimed. " Aren't you ashamed of yourself! 
 That table's historic. Madison sat at that table, and Andrew Jack- 
 son, and other great Presidents, and now you use it as a sawhorse. 
 You have no reverence for anything. You're the most careless, 
 thoughtless, maddening, spoiled brat I ever saw. I'll end this. 
 Give me that saw. Hand it here." 
 
 " Will not," Tad said, struggling to hold on to his saw. 
 
 " Yes, you will." Mr. Williamson forced the saw from Tad's 
 grasp. " I'm going to keep these tools until you learn to obey 
 me." He slung the saw into the box and picked it up. 
 
 Tad jumped upon the oppressor like a reckless tiger. The box 
 fell with a crash onto the floor. They heard a voice outside. It was 
 Goatie McManus. He was as angry as Mr. Williamson at the dese- 
 cration: " You ought to be whipped. If you were my boy . . ." 
 
 Tad saw himself outnumbered. He darted out of the door and 
 ran to his pa. Lincoln was talking with Senator Sumner. Tad, 
 who was rarely awed by anyone, looked up at these towering 
 figures and thought of giants. His pa was six feet four, Sumner 
 six feet two, with shoulders broader than Lincoln's. Tad knew 
 his story, for Washington still talked of the day that Sumner 
 had been attacked by Congressman Brooks with a cane and 
 beaten until unconscious. Tad had made his own picture of Sum- 
 ner fighting back, nearly tearing his screwed-down desk from 
 the floor to use as a weapon. He had the air of a hero, this man 
 of power and elegance, and Tad could not help noticing his 
 fawn gaiters, the cape over his shoulder, his high silk hat and 
 gold-headed cane. 
 
 They were talking about slaves. Tad was much interested in 
 slaves because Mrs. Keckley was reading him a chapter every 
 night from Uncle Tom's Cabin. Tad had been electrified by 
 Eliza's escape over the ice of the Ohio. He hated Mr. Shelby bit- 
 terly for selling Tom. He laughed at Topsy and sympathized 
 with her troubles. He was glad that the slaves had Little Eva 
 handy to be good to them, though when he told Joe about her, 
 
A Boy at Loose Ends 123 
 
 Joe said it wasn't reasonable for anybody to be that good day 
 in and day out. Tad, however, took Little Eva's view that all 
 the slaves should be freed, instantly. Consequently he was hardly 
 less than horrified when he heard his pa say to Senator Sumner, 
 M Do you recall the day you told me I was the largest slaveholder 
 in the United States? " 
 
 M I do, sir. And when you signed the bill freeing these three 
 thousand slaves of the District of Columbia, you made me your 
 slave." 
 
 Tad was worse than mystified. How could a white man be his 
 pa's slave? 
 
 ct Thank you," and Tad saw his pa bow stiffly. " You have been 
 a lighthouse in the darkness, Senator Sumner. Now I propose to 
 take you into my confidence. When the McClellan campaign 
 went to pieces this past summer, I felt we had to do something 
 . . . something better than drift. I decided that the biggest thing 
 we could do by proclamation was to free all the slaves." 
 
 M Magnificent! Splendid! " Sumner shook his handsome mane 
 like a war horse. " That is the moral thing to do, and therefore 
 the right one, practically speaking. I congratulate you." 
 
 Tad saw that the Senator was greatly excited, and so was he, 
 for this fitted in exactly with Little Eva's wish. M Pa, are you 
 going to? " he asked. 
 
 Lincoln drew Tad to his side, and went on speaking to Sum- 
 ner. " But there's a right way to do the right thing, Senator, and 
 I wasn't sure how to go about it. I called the Cabinet and pre- 
 sented them with the subject matter, not to ask their advice — 
 for I was resolved on the subject — but to gather ideas for im- 
 proving the proclamation." 
 
 w Yes? " Sumner leaned forward in his eagerness. 
 
 " Chase wanted me to use stronger language about arming the 
 Negroes. Blair was afraid it would cost the fall elections . . ." 
 
 " Blair is a disappointment," Sumner injected. 
 
 M Seward," Lincoln continued, " Seward made the telling criti- 
 
124 Tad Lincoln 
 
 cism. He questioned the timing. He was afraid it would be re- 
 garded as desperation, our last shriek in recoil from so many re- 
 verses, if issued now. It was a point well taken." 
 
 " Yes, I see," Sumner said disappointedly. " But I trust you are 
 not going to delay until we have won the war." 
 
 " No, I agreed to wait for the expedient moment, and I think 
 it has come. Pennsylvania is no longer in danger of invasion. The 
 Confederate Army has been driven out of Maryland. I had made 
 a promise to myself and . . ." — Tad noticed that his pa paused 
 slightly — " and to my Maker, that when that happened I would 
 issue the proclamation, a preliminary one which is to be made 
 final on January i, next. Well, now I intend to fulfill my 
 promise." 
 
 Tad clapped his hands. He heard the ring in his pa's voice, saw 
 the determination in his face. The indescribable light in Lincoln's 
 eyes was reflected on the strong-willed features of the Senator 
 from Massachusetts. " This is the turning point, Mr. President," 
 he said in a moved voice. " Something evil is dying, something 
 moral being born. I have felt all along that we are engaged in 
 morals rather than politics. No army can fight the Lord for long 
 and succeed. January i, 1863, will be a towering date in our his- 
 tory. I congratulate you, sir, from a full heart." He held out his 
 hand. " I shall respect your confidences, Mr. Lincoln, though I 
 cannot promise to control the happiness in my face." 
 
 The door closed. Lincoln sat down and said: " What you have 
 heard, Taddie, is a secret, a particular one. You won't mention it: 
 to anybody, please." 
 
 " Not even if I meet a slave, pa? " Tad was happy and wanted 
 to tease. " Even if I just whispered that he was free? " 
 
 " Not till he sees it in the paper, sonny." 
 
 " But suppose he can't read, pa? " Then suddenly the reason 
 he had come obtruded, and Tad said, " Mr. McManus says I ought 
 to be whipped." 
 
 ct Then I'd keep away from him." 
 
A Boy at Loose Ends 125 
 
 " But I can't keep away from Mr. Williamson. Do I have to 
 have a tutor any longer, pa? " 
 
 M We decided that yesterday, Taddie." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 Lincoln reached forward and pulled Tad up in his lap. " You're 
 getting heavy as all get out, Taddie. And with every pound you 
 put on you add another pound of persistence." 
 
 " What's that, pa? " 
 
 M Persistence? It's keeping at it, pushing ahead. Sometimes you 
 remind me of myself when I was your age, Taddie. I reckon you 
 come by it honestly. Did I ever tell you of the time I carried home 
 my little striped pig in my town shirt? " 
 
 " No, pa. Tell me about it now." 
 
 u Well, a neighbor had a litter of little striped pigs and I was 
 crazy about them. Nobody could get me away from the sty. I 
 hung over the rail and wouldn't go home. Finally the pig's owner 
 said, * Abe, you can have one of that litter, if you can tote it 
 home.' That was a stumper, but I managed it. My mother had 
 made a shirt that reached almost to my feet, and I made a sack 
 of it and carried my pig home. I put corn shucks in a hollow log 
 for its bed and prepared to enjoy my pet, but I didn't know 
 much about pigs. The little critter squealed all night for his 
 mother. I tried to make him eat, but he still squealed. Finally my 
 mother said, ' If you don't take that pig back, Abe, he'll die." 
 
 Lincoln paused and Tad said, " Did you take him back, pa? " 
 
 tl Yes, we didn't argue with our parents in those days. I carried 
 him back to his mother, and the way he sniffed and snorted and 
 grunted was full pay. But when my pig had been given his din- 
 ner, he looked so pretty and snug I couldn't stand it, and I begged 
 my neighbor to let me take him home once more." 
 
 Tad laughed, for he could understand this story. Lincoln went 
 on, " Mother was surprised but finally let me keep him one more 
 day. I had to carry him back and forth to his meals for a couple 
 of weeks until I'd taught him to eat and he was mine for good. 
 
126 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Then he got friendly. He became my companion. I taught him 
 tricks and we used to play " hide-and-go-seek " together. I can 
 see his face now peeping around the corner of the house to see 
 whether I was coming for him. He got too heavy for me to carry 
 him around, but he followed me everywhere — to the barn, over 
 the plowed ground, in the woods. I used to brush the leaves away 
 to help him find the acorns. Sometimes he would take a lazy spell 
 and rub against my legs or stop in front of me and lie down and 
 say, e Abe, why don't you carry me like you used to do? ' 
 
 Tad twisted around to look into his pa's eyes. M How did he 
 say that, pa? " 
 
 " Oh, he said it in a language I understood." 
 
 Tad knew. One language underlay another. The feel of his pa's 
 arms about him and the sound of his pa's voice were just as much 
 a language as the words. Then his mind jumped back to his tu- 
 tor's taking the tools and Tad said: " Pa, do you really think I 
 have to have a tutor? Private Joe could tutor me better than 
 Lily." 
 
 " We'll see, Taddie. I must go over to the War Department 
 now. Want to come? " 
 
 " Yes, but do I, pa? " 
 
 When Lincoln strode, Tad had to run to keep up. It did not 
 make for conversation. He had no breath when he reached the 
 top of the stairs. " Good day, Major," Lincoln greeted Eckert. 
 " What's the news? " 
 
 " Good news because there is none, sir." 
 
 " That rule doesn't always hold good, my young friend. Do 
 you believe that a fisherman considers it good luck when he can't 
 get a bite? " 
 
 Major Eckert smiled. " You have me there, as usual, sir." He 
 handed the President a yellow tissue copy and said, " A telegram 
 about one of General McClellan's skirmishes." 
 
 Lincoln read it aloud, ending with, " Our opposing troops 
 fought the enemy to a standstill." 
 
A Boy at Loose Ends 127 
 
 " It's not very heartening, sir," Eckert said. 
 
 " No," said Lincoln. " It's not exactly the sort of performance 
 that is going to get us anywhere. It reminds me of two dogs I saw 
 once barking through a paling fence. They were ferocious. They 
 couldn't wait to tear each other limb from limb. They sidled along, 
 hunting for an opening through which they could get at one an- 
 other. They continued their bloodthirsty barking until they came, 
 unexpectedly, to an open gate, when both ran off as fast as pos- 
 sible in opposite directions! " 
 
 The room laughed, Tad loudest of all. Meanwhile Lincoln had 
 picked up another telegram from McClellan. tf What's this mean: 
 * No firing has been heard since sunset '? Does anybody know if 
 any firing had been heard before sunset? " 
 
 M None reported, Mr. Lincoln," David Bates said. 
 
 Lincoln laughed dryly. " This reminds me of a man who spoke 
 of a supposed freak of nature, saying, e The child was black from 
 his hips down.' And on being asked the color from the hips up, 
 replied, * Why black, of course.' " 
 
 The President stretched out on an old haircloth lounge. Tad at 
 once pushed on beside him, but presently he wriggled off again, 
 for the talk in that office was of tenest about strategy. Tad did not 
 understand it. He could see, in imagination, the telegraph wires 
 running right down to General McClellan in Virginia, and over 
 the mountains to Kentucky, and far, far off to St. Louis. He knew 
 they brought the dot-dot-dash-dot-dash which the instruments 
 ticked off. But when the men drew chairs nearer his pa, and got 
 maps out, and said, " Now if he moved his right wing here," or 
 some such stuff, Tad got a very confused notion. An army had 
 flanks like a mule, and wings like a bird, and once Mr. Bates said 
 it moved on its stomach. Tad didn't wonder McClellan had diffi- 
 culty. It wasn't surprising that he sent curious telegrams. 
 
 Suddenly a loud laugh came from the group of men around his 
 pa. Tad ran over, not to miss anything, but the story was done. 
 Presently Lincoln left for a Cabinet meeting. Mrs. Lincoln met 
 
128 Tad Lincoln 
 
 them in the hall. Mr. Williamson had been to her with the tale 
 of Tad's naughtiness. M I really don't know what to do with you, 
 Taddie," she said. 
 
 Tad had almost forgotten his tutor in the fun at the telegraph 
 office and the excitement of hearing his pa talk to Mr. Sumner 
 about freeing the slaves. He felt a sort of pity for his ma. She 
 never had fun. She was always stewing around, seeing that the 
 curtains were being put up right, or dressing for receptions, of 
 complaining about his pa. 
 
 " I think Taddie is old enough to go to school now, mother," 
 Lincoln advanced. 
 
 " You know, Mr. Lincoln, that such a course is impossible." 
 
 " Very well, let him run. Time enough yet to learn his letters 
 and get poky." 
 
 w I do not agree with you," Mrs. Lincoln said decidedly. She 
 caught sight of Tad's hands. " Now look at you! You are the 
 son of the President of the United States, and dirty as a street 
 urchin! " 
 
 " I wish I was a darky! " Tad said. " You can't even see when 
 their hands are dirty." 
 
 " Run now to Mrs. Keckley and ask her please to . . ." 
 
 Tad was off, but not to Mrs. Keckley. He had a superior idea. 
 
 The Cabinet had convened. Opposite the Cabinet Room was 
 another room with two doors. Stealthily, through a crack of the 
 door, Tad had watched the Cabinet members assemble. The 
 word M Cabinet " bothered Tad. At home his ma had a cabinet 
 on the wall, full of funny old things she called curios. Now his 
 pa had a Cabinet, full of funny old men that his pa didn't touch, 
 yet when Tad had once called them curios, everybody had looked 
 quickly away. 
 
 Stanton came last. Tad looked out into the hall. The open door 
 gave scope to his birthday-present cannon. The game was clear 
 
A Boy at Loose Ends 129 
 
 to him. He would bombard the Cabinet until it surrendered, and 
 then his pa, who had so often complained of it, could go it alone. 
 Tad now trained the cannon on the opposite door and pulled the 
 chain that released the spring that sent the cannon ball — a sphere 
 of hardest rubber — BOOM against the august shelter of the 
 Cabinet. Only the sound was BOOM, boom, r-r-r-r-rattle, as the 
 door shook. 
 
 Tad darted into the hall, recovered the charge, darted back to 
 his hidden battery, closed the door, then ran to the second door 
 and peeped out through a tiny crack. The Cabinet door opened 
 and a broad, bearded face peered sourly into the hall. That was 
 old Mr. Bates, the Attorney General, who came over to see his 
 pa and tell stories about his own pa who had been in Washington's 
 Army. He looked surprised at seeing nobody in the hall. It was 
 all Tad could do to hold in. 
 
 Mr. Bates went back, and Tad reloaded his cannon and fired. 
 He pulled the spring so hard that the cannon ball went BOOM 
 and rolled right back to the cannon. Tad quickly shut that door 
 and ran to his observation post. This time the Cabinet door 
 opened fast. Mr. Bates was angry now and suspicious. His eye 
 caught the door crack Tad was peeping through. He strode over, 
 took Tad by the shoulder, and marched him into the Cabinet 
 Room. Tad was conscious of two rows of outraged dignity staring 
 at him and his pa listening to Mr. Bates's outburst. 
 
 " Well, well, Colonel," Lincoln said with camel-like gravity, 
 " what's your side of this? What's going on? " 
 
 Tad was very quick at reading his pa. He knew now that he 
 was in a high good humor, so Tad ventured: " I'm attacking the 
 Cabinet, pa. The army is. It's going to make them surrender and 
 do as you want." 
 
 :t They have surrendered. Come here, sonny." As Lincoln gath- 
 ered the boy into his arms, he said to the grumpy-faced old men: 
 w The patience we learn in one way we often have to exercise in 
 another, gentlemen. I am reminded of the time I was postmaster. 
 
130 Tad Lincoln 
 
 An old man just out from Ireland came to the counter and said, 
 ' I want me letter, Mr. Postmaster.' c What is the name? ' I asked 
 him. l Sure,' said the Irishman, ' and me name's on the letter.' ' 
 
 Tad was surprised that nobody laughed with him. Mr. Stanton 
 was still scowling as he said, " Let's get on with the business, Mr. 
 President." 
 
 " Very well," his pa said. " It is agreed then, and on January 1, 
 next, it shall be done. The slaves will be free. I think, gentlemen, 
 that never in your lives will you have authorized so far-reaching 
 an act of justice." 
 
 Tad noticed Seward's dignified nod. " Sooner or later, Mr. Pres- 
 ident, this proclamation will find and reach a weakness in every 
 nook and corner of the insurrectionary region. The very violence 
 with which it will be met, probably will, after a while, increase 
 its efficiency." 
 
 Tad ceased to hear Seward. He was thinking of black Uncle 
 Tom and Topsy and all the rest. 
 
 Tad had had a gay time all morning. He had been playing 
 " Noah's Ark," but with real, live animals. It was his pa's New 
 Year's morning reception and his pa was Noah. The East Room 
 was the Ark. All the admirals and generals and chief justices and 
 such lined up, in two's, and entered the Ark to shake Noah's 
 hand. Tad spotted tapirs and boars and elephants and seals and 
 some animals he didn't even have names for. 
 
 His brother Robert stepped into line. He complained that he 
 never saw his father for five minutes running. As he passed Tad, 
 he winked as if to say, ff Watch this." Tad watched Bob bow to 
 his pa, in stiffest formality, like a foreign diplomat, and say, " My 
 profoundest respects, Your Excellency." The President did not 
 at first take Bob's hand, but fetched him a gentle slap on the face 
 with his open hand, accompanied by an affectionate smile, then 
 passed his son along, calling back, M You will find an invitation to 
 
A Boy at Loose Ends 131 
 
 dinner in the mails." Tad laughed. He loved to see his pa happy 
 like that. 
 
 And in the afternoon Lincoln was still happy, though his hand 
 was sore from thousands of grasps and wrenchings by thoughtless 
 admirers. Tad was in his pa's office. He intended to stay there, for 
 his ma was having one of those fidgety tea parties in the Blue 
 Room. Tad had gone to one once. That was the most dismal thing 
 he had ever done. All the ladies exclaimed how nice he looked, and 
 how much he resembled his ma, and what wouldn't they give to 
 have a little boy like that, so dear and obedient and thoughtful 
 of his ma, until he almost got sick hearing it over and over and 
 eating fancy cakes. 
 
 In his pa's office it was different. No ladies. Just Mr. Seward 
 and his son Fred. They had come from the State Department 
 bringing a duly engrossed draft of the Emancipation Act for the 
 President's signature. Tad watched while Mr. Seward, almost rev- 
 erently, spread out the broad sheet before his pa. Tad held one 
 corner down and Fred Seward the other. 
 
 " Never in my life have I felt more certain that I was doing 
 right than in signing this paper," Lincoln said to Mr. Seward as 
 he dipped his pen in the inkwell. " But I've been shaking hands 
 since nine this morning and my arm is numb. Suppose, when they 
 examine this signature, they find that my hand trembled? They'll 
 say, * He had some compunctions.' " He looked at the pen and 
 then said, te But anyway, it is going to be done." 
 
 Tad watched his pa write " Abraham Lincoln " at the bottom 
 of the sheet. " Are the slaves free now, pa? " he asked. 
 
 " From this moment onward," Lincoln said, " they're free and 
 entitled to that life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness guaranteed 
 to all men by the Declaration of Independence." 
 
 " But how'll the slaves know, pa? " Tad asked, after Seward 
 had signed and affixed the great seal, and mentioned that the his- 
 toric paper would be stowed in the archives of the State Depart- 
 ment. 
 
132 Tad Lincoln 
 
 M By newspaper and telegraph and pony express, my boy," said 
 Seward. " And by the alarm in the countenances of their former 
 masters. This day you have seen civilization take a step forward, 
 thanks to your father." 
 
 " What's civilization? " Tad asked. 
 
 " Now, Seward, how would you answer that? " Lincoln smiled. 
 " Shall we say original sin dressing itself up in a few frills? " 
 
 " I should say that we could begin to define civilization after 
 we have got rid of wars," boomed Mr. Seward. " I wish you good 
 afternoon, Mr. Lincoln, and much happiness in the coming year." 
 
 Cold weather, bitter cold for Washington, made the moon- 
 light blue. Tad had sat up late at the telegraph office with his pa, 
 but the wind jabbed him awake. It was nice, like winter in Illi- 
 nois. 
 
 At the gustiest corner of the White House a sentry stepped 
 forward, recognized the President, and saluted. 
 
 " You've got a cold job tonight, young man," Lincoln said. 
 et Step inside and stand guard there." 
 
 " My orders will not permit that, sir." 
 
 " But your duty can be performed equally well inside as out, 
 and you'll oblige me by going in." 
 
 " Sorry, sir," the sentry replied, M but orders is orders," and 
 he began to pace his beat again. 
 
 " Hold on there! " Lincoln called. " It occurs to me that I am 
 Commander in Chief. I order you to go inside." 
 
 Tad was shiveringly happy. The military life had a tang and 
 snap to it that pleased him. He suddenly remembered that he was 
 a colonel and could have ordered the sentry inside. 
 
 " You're cold, sonny," Lincoln said as they entered. M Hustle 
 into bed now and get warm." 
 
 Tad knew a better trick. He wriggled out of his clothes and 
 into his long woolen nightgown, raced across the hall into his 
 
A Boy at Loose Ends 133 
 
 pa's room, and jumping on his pa's bed, shrieked: M Hurry up, pa. 
 It's cold. It's awful cold." 
 
 Lincoln was drawing off one of his enormous shoes. The dark, 
 brown face, with its deep-cut lines, softened with affection for 
 this round-faced boy, his son — the only little son left to him 
 now, and he not so little. If those fathers stretched across the 
 land from Atlantic to Mississippi loved their little sons at home 
 as much as he loved this imp, this cherub-faced Tadpole — Lin- 
 coln almost groaned aloud in sympathy with their terrible long- 
 ings and the interminable waiting. 
 
 " Pa, hurry! Why don't you shuck out of your clothes quick? " 
 
 Lincoln resumed undressing and finally disposed his length in 
 the nine-foot four-poster he had had specially made. Tad nestled 
 close to him. " Pa," he said, " a man learned me a recruiting piece 
 today." 
 
 Lincoln let the grammar go; time enough for that. " Let's have 
 it, Taddie." 
 
 " He was talking to Private Joe. He's a nice man, kind of un- 
 dersized. Joe says he's crazy. He walks in the moonlight so much 
 he's got turned by it, Joe says. He'd been around the White House 
 the night before, and said he saw the hazy, thin blue moon lake 
 hanging in the air. Joe says only a crazy person'd talk like that. 
 He nurses the soldiers and writes their letters for them." 
 
 " Well, he can't be entirely crazy then," Lincoln drawled. 
 "What's the recruiting piece? " 
 
 Tad was growing sleepy. " He said it was a poem. But it 
 wasn't — 
 
 « « 
 
 Beat! beat! drums! — blow! bugles! blow! 
 Through the windows — through doors — burst like a ruth- 
 less force, 
 Into the solemn church and scatter the congregation, 
 Into the school where the scholar is studying; 
 Leave not the bridegroom quiet . . .' " 
 
134 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Tad's voice sagged with sleepiness. 
 
 " That's good. That ought to fetch 'em running, sonny. What's 
 this poet's name? " 
 
 " I've forgotten, pa. Anyhow it wasn't a poem like Willie's." 
 
 Lincoln's arm tightened at the mention of that name. Tad was 
 asleep. Lincoln envied his easy dropping away into slumber. He 
 often had to rise sleepless and talk the hours away with Slade or 
 whomever he could find around. 
 
 " Walt Whitman, pa," Tad murmured. " That was his name. 
 Joe says . . ." The voice trailed away. The long lashes had closed. 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 Tad Goes to the Front 
 
 Tad's visit to bobby grover's house resulted in a new 
 zeal for decorating his room. Bobby's father owned Grover's 
 Theater, and Bobby had his pick of posters, autographed photos 
 of actors, and exciting stage scenes. So Tad set to work nailing 
 up his treasures. He had the carpenter frame his commission in 
 the Army, and also a striking signed photograph of Colonel Ells- 
 worth with his Zouaves. He had begun to like maps, and covered 
 much of the wall space with these informing papers, the largest 
 being a map of Washington, showing the forts that encircled the 
 city. He pasted up cartoons of the people he did not like — Sec- 
 retary Seward, Jeff Davis, and Horace Greeley, who wrote nasty 
 things about his pa. 
 
 Mrs. Keckley complained amiably. M Ah declare, honey, dis 
 here room is sure kinfolk tuh a clutter. How'm Ah gwine tuh 
 redd it up ef yo' haul de hull Army an' Navy in here? " 
 
 The Navy was represented by a beautiful ship model of the 
 Monitor, a present from the inventor. Captain Derickson had 
 given Tad two armies of lead soldiers, one army Union, the other 
 Confederate. They usually occupied most of the floor, being en- 
 gaged in the maneuvers Tad heard of in the telegraph office, and 
 must not be touched. Needless to say, they put McClellan's le- 
 thargic Army of the Potomac to shame. Then came the happy 
 day when McClellan was out. Tad tacked the notice of his dis- 
 missal prominently on his wall: 
 
i}6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 GENERAL ORDERS WAR DEPARTMENT 
 
 No. 182 Adjutant General's Office 
 
 Washington, Nov. 5, 1862. 
 
 By the direction of the President of the United States, it is 
 ordered that Major General McClellan be relieved from the com- 
 mand of the Army of the Potomac, and that Major General Burn- 
 side take the command of that Army. 
 
 By order of the Secretary of War. 
 
 E. D. Townsend, 
 
 Assistant Adjutant General 
 
 Tad felt the high hopes his pa entertained of his new general 
 He had followed the progress of Fredericksburg in the telegrapl 
 office. Even Tad realized, from the talks in undertone, that vague, 
 enormous forces were in conflict. He knew by the way his pa 
 acted, walking the floor, reaching for the telegrams as soon as 
 they were decoded, that he was growing terribly anxious. Tad 
 had sense enough to keep still, unnoticeable, or he would have 
 been sent away. The battle had turned into a horrible butchery. 
 Twelve thousand Union men would never fight again. Burnside 
 had had 113,000 men against Lee's 72,000, and still had lost. His 
 soldiers had done everything they were asked to do with mag- 
 nificent and reckless courage, but the asking had not been skillful. 
 Tad was wrung with fear. He had never seen his pa in such an- 
 guish. He was excluded from his pa's heart. It was closed, nearly 
 crushed by sorrow and disappointment. 
 
 Tad listened as Lincoln said to Major Eckert, " If the same 
 battle were to be fought over again, every day, through a week 
 of days, the Army under Lee would be wiped out, the Army of 
 the Potomac would still be a mighty host, the war would be over, 
 the Confederacy gone." 
 
 " That is an awful arithmetic, Mr. Lincoln." 
 
 " Yes. No general yet found can face that arithmetic. But the 
 end of the war will be at hand when he is discovered." 
 
 Tad had never heard his pa talk like that, his face gray with 
 
 
Tad Goes to the Front 137 
 
 fatigue, yet lined with a new sternness. For the first time in his 
 life Tad was afraid while in his pa's presence. The steel was show- 
 ing through. The North was fighting now for its inner life, 
 stirred by the endless lists of killed sons. His pa was becoming 
 its leader. On him sat every care. To him came every woe. 
 
 Then, on New Year's Eve, the North lost another 12,000 men. 
 What to do? What to do? How long would the North stand for 
 such slaughter? General Burnside, hooted by his troops, was re- 
 lieved, and General Hooker put in command. 
 
 Tad had had Fighting Joe Hooker up in his room once. He had 
 got down on his knees and, taking a Confederate Army half the 
 size of Tad's Union Army, had outgeneraled Tad in an exciting 
 battle of flank movements, ambushes, and bloodless slaughter. 
 Hooker was tall, blue-eyed, a West Pointer, full of cheer and en- 
 thusiasm. As they shook hands after the battle, he said to Tad, 
 " Will you come down with your father and inspect my Army, 
 Colonel? " After that it was, " Pa, when do we go and inspect 
 the Army? " or, " I told General Hooker I'd visit him, pa, and 
 you always say a person has to keep his promises." 
 
 February went, March went, then in April they went. When 
 Mrs. Lincoln announced that she was accepting General Hooker's 
 invitation, Tad's sky clouded. She would fuss about his getting 
 his feet wet and shame him before the soldiers. If troops were 
 praised for sleeping in the mud, Tad couldn't see why a colonel 
 should have to change his stockings every time they got the least 
 little bit damp. 
 
 They started in an April snowstorm on a little steamer. Old 
 Mr. Attorney General Bates, with the beard, and young Mr. Noah 
 Brooks, who wrote for the papers, were with the party. It tickled 
 Tad to have a real Noah on board. He knew the boat's name was 
 the Carrie Martin, but began calling it The Ark and laughed 
 whenever a sailor asked why. 
 
 The snow increased, and Tad's excitement soared to the ad- 
 venture point when the captain decided that it was too danger- 
 
138 Tad Lincoln 
 
 ous to proceed in the small craft. They anchored for the night in 
 a little cove. Tad was eager to try his berth, never having slept 
 on a shelf before. But he was too keyed up to sleep. Presently two 
 sailors halted outside his door and Tad heard one of them say: 
 " I don't like it. We haven't set a guard even. Them rebels may 
 be asleep, but again they mayn't. A dozen of them sons o' guns 
 could swarm aboard and make off with Old Abe in a jiffy." 
 
 :t This is no night for raids. Snowin' too thick. I jes' been on 
 watch and like to smothered." 
 
 " The very time to make one," the first voice said. " And 
 where'd we be then with the President of the United States in 
 Jeff Davis' paws, not to mention his wife and boy? " 
 
 Tad kicked out of the blanket and felt for the floor. This 
 would be the most fun that ever happened, to have the rebels 
 attack. His pa would make out all right, but there'd be some 
 fight to tell about. He could dress it up till Mrs. Keckley would 
 be scared to death. He opened the door. The two men were lean- 
 ing over the rail. M How soon do you think the rebels will come? " 
 Tad called softly. 
 
 " Who said they were comin'? " asked one surprised sailor. 
 
 " There ain't a rebel within twenty mile," the other said. 
 
 Tad was disappointed. " You said there was a good chance of 
 their coming." 
 
 " Naw, you're dreamin', Master Lincoln. Jack, did you hear 
 me say anything about the rebs? " 
 
 " Nary a word, George. Now you crawl back in your berth 
 'fore you catch cold, my boy." 
 
 " I heard you." Tad hated to be treated young. " I'm going to 
 tell pa what you said. You said there's not even a guard out." 
 
 tc Go ahead, tell what yer like, only don't mix me up in it," said 
 the first sailor. " There's a double watch on and nary a rebel in 
 twenty mile. But go tell what yer like." He began to move along 
 the narrow deck, and the other sailor with him. Tad heard him- 
 self called a curious name, and guessed the sailor was mad at some- 
 
Tad Goes to the Front 139 
 
 thing. It certainly was cold. He got back into the berth, only 
 hitting his head once. 
 
 Tad had never gone from one excitement to another like this. 
 He moved among thousands of fighting men. Fifes shrilled in his 
 ears, drums beat, and then whole bands broke into marching 
 music that whipped the blood along in his veins. 
 
 He was surrounded by reckless males, instead of the careful 
 petticoats he was so used to. He felt a blood unity with their 
 youth and exuberance. They were older, but that did not seem 
 to matter. They talked older, did things he wasn't allowed to do, 
 swaggering in the April sun, carrying rifles, flags, wearing uni- 
 forms so close-fitted that Tad wondered how they could bend 
 over. 
 
 Everybody, Tad noticed, took pains to please his ma. She was 
 excited too, the blood color up in her cheeks. She talked sprightly 
 to the officers and looked lots gayer than even when she was all 
 dressed to kill in the White House. It made him feel good that she 
 was happy, for when she was wretched it made him unhappy. 
 Now she almost never said, " Taddie, . you mustn't do that! " 
 though he still had to be tactful and keep out of sight when he 
 was with Bugler Bill. 
 
 Tad's squirrel-quick eyes had seen Bugler Bill within fifteen 
 minutes after they had disembarked at Aquia Creek. In a world 
 of men he was a boy, hardly five years older than Tad, still 
 smooth-faced. He had flourishing pumpkin-red hair that the blue 
 of his uniform made gayer still. His eyes were blue and knowing, 
 already sobered by a vaster experience than comes to many men 
 in all their lives. 
 
 He had no living father or mother, and had come down from 
 the hills of Vermont with men he knew. At first he was a for- 
 lorn camp waif, a trench orphan. He had learned to pucker his 
 mouth to the mouth of a trumpet and blow truly, and General 
 
140 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Planter had heard and made him his bugler. From that day Bill 
 Fairlee's face lost its look of not belonging. He lived in the loud 
 and sober dangers of the front lines. He was not ten feet from 
 General Planter when that officer fell with a jugular vein severed 
 by a bullet. General McMaster noted his courage and useful- 
 ness, and made him a corporal. He had so distinguished himself 
 in the last fighting that now his arm showed a sergeant's stripes. 
 His experience of perilous hours, of idleness among tough sol- 
 diers, had given him, at fifteen, a contempt for the easy days of 
 civilians. M Gabbies," he called them, because such people talked 
 with their cheeks. 
 
 It was to this veteran that Tad appeared on pony back, booted 
 and spurred, in his colonel's uniform, beside his dark and lanky 
 pa. Bill, standing at his tent opening, saluted. General McMaster 
 reined in his horse and notified Sergeant Fairlee that he had been 
 appointed orderly to the Commander in Chief's son. Colonel Tad 
 returned the salute, then dismounted. The two boys looked at 
 each other searchingly. The rest rode on. 
 
 *' How'd you get to be that rank? " Bill asked. He was used to 
 seeing promotions given for unusual valor or great service. 
 
 " Mr. Stanton said I was a colonel. He's Secretary of War." 
 Tad knew what lay behind Bill's question, and wished he had 
 dashed across a battlefield and captured a thousand rebels. 
 
 " Can you use a lance? " Bill asked. He wanted to put this up- 
 start deftly in his place. He could then go back to his friends and 
 say, " That hand-pulled colonel couldn't lay anything over me, 
 even if he is the President's son." 
 
 " No. Let's go somewhere and you show me," Tad suggested. 
 
 M "Will they let you? " Thus Bill delivered his next insult by 
 implying that Tad was still on apron strings. 
 
 " I can do anything I want," Tad countered. " My pa's Presi- 
 dent and can do anything he wants and he lets me. He could have 
 you shot, if he wanted." 
 
 " He could not. Not without I'd done something agin the rules 
 
Tad Goes to the Front 141 
 
 and regulations that says a man's to be shot." Bill spoke with no 
 show of his awareness that he had slipped an inch or two. 
 
 M He could so. Pa's Commander in Chief, and all he has to do 
 is sign a paper, and you'd be shot." 
 
 u Blamed if he could. You don't know much, I reck'n. I'd have 
 to a done something vicious, like deserting, or spying, or sleeping 
 on duty. Then I'd have to be tried regular. Then the papers goes 
 to "Washington and your Secretary Stanton signs 'em, and when 
 they come back, then they'd march me out before the firing 
 squad, and they'd have to ask me if I wanted to be blindfolded 
 or no, and I'd say no, and then I'd be shot by the squad, not be- 
 fore or later. I know because I've seen 'em." 
 
 Tad writhed before this blow. " You have? " he asked weakly. 
 
 Bill nodded, with all lost ground recovered. *' That's nothin'. 
 An execution's only one man, mostly. Why, in just a skirmish 
 they'll pile up eight or eighteen dead in one spot, in no time at 
 all. And in a battle! Whew! " 
 
 Tad knew he had to take a brace. " My pa pardons soldiers," 
 he said proudly. " I'll bet you've never seen a man get pardoned." 
 
 Bill was forced to admit this by silence and Tad went on: 
 M Well I have. And I've got a man pardoned myself." 
 
 tr You have! " Bill could only be skeptical. M Like fun you 
 have." 
 
 u I've got soldiers pardoned just as they were going to be shot," 
 Tad said, stretching it just a little. M Mr. Stanton don't like to 
 pardon people, but I take 'em in to pa and he does it." 
 
 Bill remembered something and nodded. M So I've heard. He 
 pardons such heaps of 'em, a fellow gits to thinking he can do 
 most anything and still find a pardon waiting for him. That don't 
 do no good. It's got so that men on furlough just stays to home, 
 stragglers gets lost a-purpose and stays lost. This army ain't but 
 half of what it is on the roster. Did you know that? If your pa 
 don't quit pardoning deserters, he won't have any army left. 
 They'll all be home in their kitchens eatin' pie." 
 
142 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " Pa don't hold to shooting men," Tad said stubbornly. " He 
 claims it don't do 'em any good, but when he pardons them, they 
 go back and fight like sin. And there's another thing I'll bet 
 you've never seen — a midget." 
 
 Bill was completely flanked by this sudden change. M What's 
 that? " 
 
 " You haven't heard of Tom Thumb? " Tad asked crowingly. 
 
 te Oh, him. Who hasn't? I seen pictures of him in the papers. 
 Him and his wife. Runts, both of 'em." 
 
 " I've shaken hands with them," Tad said. " So did pa. He had 
 to reach down till his back broke most. Tom Thumb weighs just 
 twenty-one pounds. He only came up to here." Tad indicated 
 a level four inches less than three feet. 
 
 " I don't take much stock in freaks," Bill said. 
 
 In spite of Bill's attitude, Tad could tell that he was interested. 
 " Ma says a full-size man'd do well to make as much money as 
 General and Mrs. Tom Thumb." 
 
 tl They can have it," Bill said. " I'll bet their children ain't as 
 big as pigeons. Who wants to be a runt if he can grow right? Let's 
 go and I'll show you how to hold a lance proper." 
 
 With this preliminary sparring done, the boys became quick 
 friends. The bugler was relieved of his duties so that he could 
 pilot Tad around, and Tad enjoyed his first unsupervised free- 
 dom. He slept in the same tent as Bill with the grown-up soldiers. 
 He never saw his ma long enough to be hugged in public. He 
 heard much he would never have learned in the White House, 
 and rejoiced in being tough and not being bothered about table 
 manners. 
 
 But Bill didn't tell him everything he wanted to know. Bill 
 was like a friendly hill you couldn't quite see over. Tad wanted 
 to know whether he had ever shot a rebel, and Bill shut up. Tad 
 wanted to ask other things, but was afraid of being reminded 
 that he was too young to know. This hurt. There was but one way 
 
Tad Goes to the Front 143 
 
 to make good in Bill's eyes, to do something brave. He wished 
 there was a battle on. But there was a scarcity of fighting right 
 then. Between the two armies lay the half-desolation of the Fred- 
 ericksburg countryside. Trees rose to half their height, decapi- 
 tated by shot. A farm stood with only one wall of the house 
 remaining. Only the river, which separated the graybacks from 
 the men in blue, flowed unconcerned with war. Across its level 
 sounding board the soldiers called, against orders, impelled by 
 that deeper brotherhood unreachable by war. 
 
 M I want to see a rebel," Tad told Bill. " Can't we sneak out to 
 the front line and hide behind a tree to watch? " 
 
 M We'd only get turned back by a picket. Why don't you get 
 an order to let us through? " Bill suggested. " Then I'll take you. 
 I'll borrow a spyglass and we can see them washing clothes." His 
 voice lowered. " Promise you won't tell if I tell you something? " 
 
 Tad promised eagerly, for he scented a confidence coming, and 
 that meant that Bill really trusted him. 
 
 :< There's a private in my tent who trades newspapers and 
 things with their pickets when he's a picket. You got something 
 to trade? Maybe I could fix it up so's we could swap with a Johnny 
 Reb. But if you spill a word, I'd lose my stripes and get chucked 
 in the guardhouse!" 
 
 Tad quivered with delight. " Sure, I could trade them," and he 
 showed his spurs. 
 
 " They're no good. They're boys' spurs." 
 
 w Well, this then." Tad hauled out his knife, and showed the 
 various blades. 
 
 Bill shook his head. " Too small. The rebs wants things to eat 
 most, like coffee. They grind up nuts for coffee. The blockade's 
 startin' to squeeze 'em. Maybe you could make up to the q.m. 
 and . . ." 
 
 M What's the q.m.? " Tad interrupted. 
 
 Bill looked his amazement overbearingly. M And you a colo- 
 
144 Tad Lincoln 
 
 nel! " He spat distantly and accurately. " He's the supply officer, 
 of course. I could take you to him, or I could take you to the . . . 
 That's what I'll do! Come on." 
 
 As they neared the cook tent they heard a gruff voice bawling 
 out: " Pitch in there, you nearsighted goat, and get on with them 
 spuds. . . . Le's see. . . . That's a mighty sickly-lookin' batch 
 for an hour's work. . . . Do you want to go to your own fu- 
 neral? . . ." The voice got farther away. 
 
 There was nobody in the tent. Tad soon located the coffee bin. 
 There was a convenient shovel in it and he filled the seegar-box 
 Bill had given him. As he was going out of the tent, rejoicing, he 
 bumped into the cook. " Now, this is nice," said the big man, 
 taking a grip on each arm. " Stealin' my seegars, eh? You know 
 you're too young for them, sonny. Hand 'em over." 
 
 " There's no seegars in it," Tad said. 
 
 " I see! " the cook opened the box. " Tryin' to shin out with 
 my coffee beans. Startin' thievin' young, ain't ye? " 
 
 " I'm Tad Lincoln." 
 
 " And I'm Nick Murray. And I've a mind to put you in the 
 guardhouse. You've got a blemished character in one so young. 
 I suppose yer pa sent you to steal coffee beans, eh? " 
 
 Bill appeared. " I was huntin' for you, Colonel. You'd better 
 hustle with that coffee. The President and his party are waitin'." 
 
 :t Then it is for the President! " the cook said, letting go of 
 Tad. " Why didn't you tell me? Here let me do it up proper. Who 
 wants coffee out of a seegar-box? " 
 
 " It's all right." Tad grabbed the box and ran, Bill after him. 
 
 " You're going to have your wish," Lincoln said. " Major An- 
 drews is going to give us a view of the rebels." 
 
 " Can Bugler Bill come, too? " Tad asked. 
 
 " Rebels are no treat to Bill," Major Andrews laughed. " Now, 
 if you'll climb in, Mr. President," and he pointed out an ambu- 
 lance. " There's less risk in this. They don't fire on ambulances. 
 . . . Not that I expect to encounter any firing." 
 
 
Tad Goes to the Front 145 
 
 Bill quietly relieved Tad of the seegar-box and vanished. 
 
 The ambulance prepared Tad's mind for front-line dangers. As 
 the road got rougher and he jolted higher, he imagined himself 
 lying on the floor, wounded. He almost screamed when one wheel 
 dropped into a hole, the imaginary pain was so great. Finally they 
 emerged into a clear space of road by the river. A Union picket 
 stepped out from behind a shrub oak, saluted, and said, " All 
 quiet, sir." 
 
 M The President wishes to show his son a rebel or two." 
 
 M There's a Confederate picket," he pointed to a willow. M He's 
 sitting down, sir. Take my field glasses." 
 
 The glass brought the soldier in gray very close. Tad saw that 
 he too was inspecting them through a glass. Suddenly Tad saw 
 the rebel wave his arms. They heard his shout. Other rebels ran 
 down to the riverbank. Tad heard one of them call: M Hello, Abe, 
 come on over! Who've yuh made general this mawnin'? We're 
 lickin' you, Abe! " 
 
 Tad was excited as the enemy lined the bank, waving. Tad 
 waved back. He didn't feel in the least hostile to them. 
 
 M You'd better take the glass," Major Andrews said to the 
 picket. " We don't want any sharpshooter practicing on the 
 President." 
 
 " Oh, they wouldn't do that, Major," the picket said earnestly. 
 M They're good boys." 
 
 " Aren't we trying to shoot them? " Tad was puzzled. 
 
 M There are unwritten understandings between gentlemen, 
 even in war, Tad," the Major explained. " Gentlemen don't do 
 things that hurt their self-respect, any more than you'd cheat at 
 marbles. It's that flag we're fighting. See? " and he pointed at a 
 distant flutter of bunting. Tad borrowed the glass again, and saw 
 it blowing out on the chill north wind, pointing straight at the 
 south, the Stars and Bars. 
 
 Lincoln took the glass and looked long. " In the end it's always 
 a flag we fight, an idea, a bogus idea," he said slowly. " And how 
 
146 Tad Lincoln 
 
 preposterous to shoot at an idea! How insane to believe that a 
 bayonet is a civilized man's argument! We must change their 
 viewpoint but how utterly childish to think that we can do it by 
 blowing off their arms and legs! I see something of the boys in 
 the hospitals, Major, and a legless Confederate is as heartbreak- 
 ing a sight as a Union boy who has made the same sacrifice." 
 
 Tad wanted to stay, but the President had to be back in time 
 for a great review, so he waved good-by to the rebels and climbed 
 back into the ambulance. He had never had fun like this. It beat 
 the election days all hollow, and the inauguration days. He wished 
 Willie had not died so soon. It was a terrible pity he could not 
 have come. Tad was silent on the trip back. 
 
 Tad stood up and stretched. " Pa, how much more is there? " 
 he asked. It seemed as if he had been looking at this parade for- 
 ever. 
 
 " You don't have to stay, Taddie." Mrs. Lincoln pulled down 
 his tunic. 
 
 " Yes I do too. I've got to help pa." But the Army of the 
 Potomac was as long as the river. Tad was tired of bands that 
 played te Hail to the Chief," tired of drums without music, tired 
 of horses and clanking artillery. He had watched until his eyes 
 ached, seeing regulars, volunteers, drafted men, bounty men, sub- 
 stitutes for the richer men who were paying them to be killed 
 instead. He had seen lancers and Zouaves and mere boys march- 
 ing, marching. Now a forest of bayonets was passing, now row 
 on row of portentous cannon muzzles, now a wall of flags, show- 
 ing the holes of rebel shot. And always the tramp . . . tramp 
 . . . tramp . . . tramp . . . tramp . . . tramp ... on and 
 on. He was dog tired and his back ached, but Tad could xiot bear 
 to be away from anything that was going on. Why didn't they 
 take Richmond? These oceans of troops, each company a wave, 
 should be able to drown the South in men. Surely there couldn't 
 
 
 
Tad Goes to the Front 147 
 
 be men enough left to stop them! The sun, thank goodness, was 
 nearly down. The parade wouldn't go on in the dark. The pres- 
 ence of his orderly, Bill, was the only thing that kept Tad at the 
 review. He could not show Bill that he was tired. Presently he 
 heard General Hooker say to his pa, " We shall be in Richmond 
 before summer." 
 
 Tad was not so tired that he couldn't laugh out loud. Gen- 
 eral Hooker sounded like General McClellan then. They all said 
 that they were going to get to Richmond and they never did. 
 
 The Carrie Martin had steam up. Sergeant Bill was suddenly 
 very shy. His Commander in Chief was holding out his hand and 
 saying: " Thank you for looking after my son. When next on 
 furlough, come to Washington and present yourself at the White 
 House. Tad will show you around, tit for tat." 
 
 Bill blushed and hunted for a word. Tad helped him out. 
 M When pa says something, that's an order." 
 
 M Very good, sir," Bill blurted out, " and thank you." 
 
 The whistle shrieked. Bill stood very erect on the dock and 
 saluted, then left. Tad felt desolate. He missed Bill. He even 
 missed Bill's superiority and jumping on him. It would be fun 
 showing Bill his goats and Congress and the vaults he and Holly 
 Taft had got lost in. He'd make Bill's eyes bulge out all right. 
 
 Tad wandered along the deck of the chugging boat. His pa 
 was talking to the newspaperman, Noah Brooks. Tad knew his 
 pa was going to make a joke because of that look in his sunken 
 eyes. 
 
 :t That man's the biggest liar in Washington," his pa was say- 
 ing. " He's worse than the old fisherman who always caught 
 bigger fishes than anybody else. He proved it, of course. He'd 
 get out a pair of scales and weigh each fish before witnesses. But 
 one day the local doctor borrowed the scales to weigh a new baby, 
 and the baby weighed forty-seven pounds! " 
 
148 
 
 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Tad liked the way Noah Brooks laughed. It was worth while 
 telling him jokes. Tad didn't mind when Mr. Brooks put his arm 
 around him and said, " You're probably the most fortunate boy 
 in the world." 
 
 Tad nodded. He had thought of something nice. He would 
 send a present to Bugler Bill the minute he got home. 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 Tad Hears of Gettysburg 
 
 TAD WANDERED IN AND OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE LOOKING 
 for something, hardly knowing what. But Mrs. Keckley 
 knew, for when Tad had told her of his trip, Bugler Bill's name 
 had been in every other sentence. Thanks to Bill, Tad had been 
 given a new picture of himself, older, taller, his days alive with 
 purpose, his nights wrapped up in the blanket of danger. Mrs. 
 Keckley knew too how best to ease his loneliness. She would have 
 given an eye to be able to write to her George. Now she got out 
 her paper and pen and asked Tad why he didn't write to his ser- 
 geant friend. 
 
 So Tad, after a few false starts, wrote: 
 
 THE EXECUTIVE MANSION 
 
 April 19th, 1863. 
 Dear Bill, 
 
 Please write soon what you are doing, as you said you would. 
 I have a bugle now. Mr. McManus says to stop playing it in the 
 house. I wish you was here to learn me more pieces. I play revelly 
 in bed to wake myself up. 
 
 I hope you will get that furlow soon. We can get a pass and 
 go see the forts. We can also raid enemy territory (the kitchen) 
 and have a goat race. So hurry up and come. 
 
 Pa has taught me some secret signals. When I knock on his 
 door with these signals he has to let me in. He has to no matter 
 who's talking to him. The signals is like this - - - quick, and 
 - - slow. It sounds like tap, tap, tap for the quick ones, and top, 
 
150 Tad Lincoln 
 
 top, for the slow ones. Yesterday Mr. Stanton was with pa when 
 I gave the signals and it made him mad. He hoisted up his eye- 
 brows and grump-grumped in his throat, but pa didn't care a bit 
 about that. 
 
 Write soon when you are coming, Bill, so I'll know. 
 
 Sincerely your friend, 
 
 Col. Tad. L. 
 
 Tad mailed the letter as soon as written. By afternoon he was 
 ready for an answer. By the next morning he was impatient for 
 an answer. After that one of Mrs. Keckley's daily chores was to 
 explain to him why an answer had not arrived. Fortunately Pri- 
 vate Joe was at hand, in the flesh, and gradually Tad forgot that 
 Bill had broken every promise. No answer ever came. 
 
 One day Tad found Private Joe panting in his tent. " What's 
 the matter, Joe? Been running from a ghost? " Mrs. Keckley had 
 convinced Tad of ghosts. 
 
 " Worse 'n that, Tad. I just butted my head into the President's 
 stomach." 
 
 Tad laughed aloud. " Were you playing goat, Joe? " 
 
 " Do I look like a goat. Do I smell like a goat? " Joe demanded. 
 " No, your pa had left his glasses hanging up on a chair back, 
 and Slade found them and asked me to take them over to him 
 in the War Department. Well, you know that miserable dark, 
 winding staircase in the War Department building? Well, I was 
 charging up that — something like a goat, I admit — and your 
 pa was coming down, and I butted right into his vest buttons, 
 smack! " 
 
 Tad bent over laughing. Joe went on, " There was a brigadier 
 all tied up in gold braid behind and I thought he was going to 
 have a fit. c I'm sorry. I didn't go to do it, Mr. President,' I said. 
 * I wish the whole army could charge ahead like you,' your pa 
 said, and he wouldn't let gold braid cuss me out. I swear, Tad, 
 your pa's the whitest man ever made. If there's anything he wants 
 me to do sometime, all he's got to do is say it." 
 
Tad Hears of Gettysburg 151 
 
 Abraham Lincoln was sitting in the hot May darkness, one leg 
 thrown over the arm of the big chair, the unshod foot swinging 
 slowly to the sadness of his thoughts. It was a rare hour in this 
 third war year that he could be alone with his thoughts. He still 
 held in his hand the figures on the calamitous battle of the cross- 
 roads called Chancellorsville. General Hooker had lost another 
 11,000 men killed and wounded and 6,000 made prisoner. An- 
 other startling victory for General Lee. 
 
 The heavy darkness had soaked up the walls and pictures and 
 even the table, but it could not keep the gaunt man from seeing 
 the rows of dead, the patient shapes of the wounded. His sensi- 
 tive mind could picture the ever- widening circle of new woe as 
 the casualty lists were posted. It hurt him, like an amputation, to 
 reflect that he must go on ordering slaughter and more slaughter. 
 
 Resolve tightened the lines in his brown cheeks. The Union 
 must be saved. It must be saved at whatever cost. This resolve 
 had become the center, the very core, of his will. God had given 
 humanity a glimpse of democracy in this experiment of the 
 United States of America — democracy, the way of the people, 
 the one upward way, for the heart of the people was sound. 
 
 He, Abraham Lincoln, knew about the people. He was one of 
 them, though he sat in this noble Mansion like a potentate. He 
 knew their longings for owned homes and chosen work and peace 
 and plenty. He knew that the common man must be free, to 
 think for himself, to act for himself, to be safe from tyranny, 
 even as he had been free while the Union was unthreatened. 
 
 In that darkness, had there been anyone to see, the expression 
 of Lincoln's face took on new determination. The men who had 
 died at Chancellorsville, and before that at Murfreesboro, and 
 before that at Fredericksburg, should not have died for nothing. 
 He would accept this awful challenge. The Union should be 
 saved, for all human time. 
 
 In that darkness the large nose loomed, the brow impended, 
 the mouth was set. His long, bony fingers ran through the stiff, 
 
152 Tad Lincoln 
 
 bushy black hair. What if it meant woe for himself — he would 
 not waver. God would give him strength. . . . 
 
 Lincoln was startled from his reverie by the opening of the 
 door and his wife's voice. " Mr. Lincoln, are you there? " 
 
 " Yes, mother. Come in and join me." 
 
 " Why are you sitting like this in the dark? You wouldn't call 
 a servant if you were dying." She pulled a bell cord as Lincoln 
 struck a match. 
 
 The yellow light revealed the First Lady in the richness of her 
 evening dress. It revealed too her look of irritation at her hus- 
 band's attire. The rusty black frock coat was wrinkled. His tie 
 was under one ear. His enormous feet wore no shoes, and there 
 was a hole in one sock. 
 
 " It's unpardonable! " Mary Lincoln cried. " You are the Chief 
 Magistrate of this nation, and you dress like an ordinary dray- 
 man. Where are your shoes? " 
 
 " I think better with them off, mother. I have received ter- 
 rible news from Hooker. He has been badly beaten, and is with- 
 drawing his army." Lincoln clasped his hands behind him and 
 walked up and down the room. " What will the country say! 
 What will the country say! " 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln straightened the shade on the lamp. She was half 
 distraught by this new defeat. Where would it end? Then she re- 
 membered that the bell had not been answered. She gave the cord 
 another imperious pull. " Where are the servants? " she demanded. 
 " We pay twenty men to discharge the duties of this house and 
 not one of them . . ." 
 
 " Mother, mother, please leave me! " was torn from Lincoln 
 in his agony of spirit. " Our cause is lost, and you worry about 
 shoes and servants." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln was alarmed. Never before had she seen the man 
 she had married utterly despair. u Nonsense! " she cried sharply. 
 " It is but one more battle." 
 
 " Mother, you do not understand. This defeat leaves the front 
 
 li 
 
Tad Hears of Gettysburg 153 
 
 door open. Lee can walk right into our house. He can cross the 
 Susquehanna, invade Pennsylvania, cut us into pieces." 
 
 [t Then if you know all that, why don't you stop him? Put 
 somebody in his way." 
 
 Lincoln said nothing. Armies did not grow on bushes. 
 
 " I should certainly oust General Hooker," Mrs. Lincoln con- 
 tinued. " I never liked that man. He's like McClellan. I told you 
 that after our visit to his army. Put someone who can fight in his 
 place. Bring Grant East. Everything we have heard of him is 
 good." 
 
 :t Yes, Grant's a slogger. He makes a plan and sticks to it. But 
 the papers don't treat him very kindly, mother. They implore me 
 to remove him. I'll have to let him worry the Vicksburg bone a 
 little longer." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln did not argue this point. Already her husband 
 sounded less despairing. No servant had yet obeyed her sum- 
 mons. Her impulsive temper slipped its controls. She gave the 
 bellrope an angry yank. The rope came loose and fell on her 
 hands. This slight interference with her will touched off a frenzy. 
 :t This is insubordination! " she cried. " I'll teach them. I'll dis- 
 miss every one of them! I'll let them know who is mistress of 
 this Mansion." She ran out of the room calling: " McManus! Mc- 
 Manus, where are you? " 
 
 Lincoln strode after her when he had put on his slippers. These 
 scenes killed something in him. Poor Mary! She complained about 
 the frayed cuffs on his shirts. But what were they to frayed 
 tempers? If she was so eager to save him from embarrassing situ- 
 ations, she was taking a strange way to do so. Luckily the great 
 house was empty of guests. 
 
 Letting his wife run screaming with anger for one servant 
 after another, Lincoln went downstairs. It was strange that no 
 servant was to be seen. Had they heard the fatal news and cleared 
 off the sinking ship? That was like none of them. 
 
 Lincoln went out onto the lawn. There was no guard. This was 
 
154 Tad Lincoln 
 
 alarming. Had insurrection come at last? Then he heard a voice 
 he knew. Hup . . . hup . . . hup . . . hup . . . right face ! 
 . . . March . . . left . . . left . . . 
 
 Tad's boyish voice, intent, even commanding in a taut, shrill 
 way, came through the still air. Lincoln, wondering, stole closer. 
 Then the meaning of everything became plain. Colonel Tad Lin- 
 coln, in spickest uniform, was drilling the staff. In two squads 
 stood the guards, ushers, doormen, cooks, secret-service officers, 
 gardeners, and stable crew. They carried the weapons once used 
 by Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves. Tad was not doing too badly with his 
 maneuvers. It reminded Lincoln for a moment of his own un- 
 couth captaincy in the forgotten Black Hawk War. Tad was 
 better, and certainly more masterful. He had seen a hundred 
 drills and was a lad of faultless memory. 
 
 " Company, halt! " 
 
 Lincoln did not let himself be seen. For a blessed moment he 
 had forgotten Chancellorsville. v 
 
 " Chin in, McManus! " he heard his son say. Then, " Martin, 
 'tenshun! You ain't smelling a pink rose! " 
 
 Lincoln suppressed the chuckle and decided not to disclose his 
 presence. Company K may have had a hand in this. Lincoln 
 thought he detected the accents of Private Joe. As he edged away, 
 he saw Captain Derickson observing from the dark shadow of 
 a bush. 
 
 Lincoln retreated to get his wife. She would forgive the servants 
 now. He found her lying down, and Mrs. Keckley administering 
 to a stabbing headache. He described Tad's occupation and praised 
 his abilities. " As Commander in Chief, I could override the Colo- 
 nel's orders, mother. But I'll let him play it out." 
 
 " Ain't he de beatingest boy! " Mrs. Keckley exclaimed admir- 
 ingly. " He'll dress his bride in satin, sure." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln murmured her relief and closed her eyes. Pres- 
 ently Lincoln stepped soundlessly from the room. He chuckled 
 again at the picture of his boy disciplining, for a change, instead 
 
 
Tad Hears of Gettysburg 15$ 
 
 of being disciplined. It was refreshing to see the important Mc- 
 Manus right facing at Tad's bark, the same McManus who too 
 often was short with undistinguished callers. It served Martin the 
 gardener right for being snappish with the boy. Let the White 
 House get along without guards. Tomorrow would be time 
 enough to tell the young Colonel that he had better get permis- 
 sion from the Commander in Chief for such goings on. 
 
 Lincoln entered his office to find Secretary of War Stanton, 
 fuming. " What's this mean? " he blurted out. " I walk into this 
 house unchallenged. Have the sentries lost their minds? Suppose 
 some crazed ruffian had chosen this evening to assassinate you? 
 I'll have every guard up before a court-martial tomorrow, and 
 I'll shoot them too." 
 
 Lincoln put a hand on the angry man's shoulder. " Mars, Colo- 
 nel Tad Lincoln is running things here tonight. Pretty soon he'll 
 know better. He's dismissed the regulars and lined up the servants. 
 He'll be sound asleep soon, and as his superior I can dismiss the 
 awkward squads. I reckon we can survive without the regulars 
 until morning." 
 
 Stanton snorted and said that he would send other sentries. 
 Then, " You received my message about Chancellorsville? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lincoln with a return of his gravity, " and for a 
 while I was nearly out of my head. This escapade of Tad's has 
 taken my mind off this fresh catastrophe for half an hour and 
 perhaps saved my reason. On that account I desire you not to be 
 harsh with the boy. Now, an idea comes to me. Let us forget 
 Hooker for the moment and discuss General Meade. I believe that 
 we shall have to rely on him to act as breakwater to the incoming 
 tide of rebellion. We can throw him across Lee's northward 
 course. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, probably, before Lee reaches 
 Harrisburg." 
 
 " I have been mulling over the same matter," Stanton said. 
 Et This is going to be a help." He pulled a dispatch from his pocket. 
 M Stonewall Jackson's dead. Killed by his own men." 
 
i $6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Lincoln started. " You don't mean revolt? You can't mean 
 that." 
 
 " No. Accident. The result's the same. Lee has lost his right 
 hand." 
 
 Lincoln's voice was less tense as he said: " It goes against the 
 grain to rejoice in the death of a gallant man, Stanton. Mis- 
 guided, but certainly gallant. I'm thankful he died this way 
 rather than at our hands. The South would never forgive if we 
 had shot him." 
 
 " Now," snorted Stanton, and spread a map before the Presi- 
 dent. " Meade is here . . ." Once more the two began to consider 
 fresh means of saving the now desperately threatened Union. 
 
 Tad was joyous at moving out again to the Soldiers' Home. He 
 would find Dan Ripley and play with his collie, Tarn. He had 
 remembered Dan through the winter, though he had seen him 
 only once. Tad had been stalking a sheep and Tarn had come 
 leaping out of a small wood lot. When the collie had seen Tad, 
 he stopped short as if he had been caught at doing something he 
 should not do. In a moment Dan Ripley and his brother Will had 
 come running up. 
 
 Dan was thirteen then, but big for his age, and lively. Will 
 was of soldier age, but had stayed on his farm to help his father 
 to wind up the crops. Tad told them about Tarn's actions. 
 
 " Don't tell father," Dan had begged of Will. 
 
 " I won't if you'll promise to beat him, hard," Will said. " If 
 he ever nips a sheep and tastes blood, that's the end of Tarn's 
 usefulness. He'd have to be shot." 
 
 The gorgeous collie slunk at Dan's heels, knowing he was in 
 disgrace. " Thanks for stopping him," Will said to Tad. " He's 
 Dan's dog and Dan's awful fond of him." 
 
 " You can play with him if you want to," Dan said magnani- 
 mously. 
 
Tad Hears of Gettysburg 157 
 
 " Where do you live? " Tad had asked. 
 
 Dan pointed up the road. " About a mile back. There's a board 
 saying ' Ripley ' at the lane end." 
 
 Tad had intended to go. He liked Will best. Will was mild- 
 tempered and thoughtful, and it was a little like having his own 
 brother back again. Dan was nice too, though you could see he 
 was hasty and impetuous and probably not so easy to get along 
 with. 
 
 This summer Tad fully intended to hunt up that farm, but 
 again something stopped him. This time it was General Lee. Lee 
 was surging north with a great army and many cannon. He had 
 driven the Union troops out of Hagerstown, Maryland, seizing 
 cattle and early crops and paying for them in Confederate money. 
 This paper would have value if he took Washington. He was cap- 
 turing town after town on the circuitous road to Washington. 
 
 In this excitement Tad wanted to be with his pa, and Lincoln 
 had to be close to the War Department. To Tad it was a sort of 
 terrific game. By now he was experienced with maps and pins 
 and advancing lines of the foe. He never doubted for an instant 
 that his pa would win in the end, and he was not averse to a little 
 suspense meanwhile. Every morning Tad went over to the tele- 
 graph office with his pa to see what Lee had captured last. It was 
 a blue day for everyone when the mayor of York surrendered to 
 the rebels, giving them tons of beef, tons of corn, $30,000 in good 
 money and shoes for Lee's men. 
 
 That morning Tad was silent. He knew tragic worry when he 
 saw it in his pa's face, in Major Eckert's low voice, in Mr. Stan- 
 ton's subdued manner. He was present when Horace Greeley, 
 half-crazed with apprehension, stated the situation more clearly 
 than Tad had heard before. 
 
 Et The country demands to know what you are doing to stop 
 Lee," Greeley had shouted. " Fear is running over the North like 
 a tidal wave before an earthquake. What shall I tell them? Lee's 
 army has beaten the Army of the Potomac twice when it was 
 
158 Tad Lincoln 
 
 strong. Now that that Army is weakened, Lee will beat it for the 
 third time. And, gentlemen, that will be the last. Lee will take 
 Harrisburg and its ammunition. He will take Baltimore and cut 
 off this Capital. He will take Washington, take command of the 
 government, take the country, and accept the recognition of the 
 kingdoms of the world." 
 
 " No," said Lincoln. " For we shall stop him. General Meade 
 has been put in command, and told to find and fight Lee to the 
 death." 
 
 " Meade! " screamed Greeley. rr Meade! That caps all previous 
 insanity. Meade has never planned a battle. Meade has never 
 fought a battle. I have reason to know that fifty regiments who 
 fought through the slaughters of Fredericksburg and Chancel- 
 lorsville have gone home, their time being up. Are you utterly 
 crazy? Are you entrusting our cause to such inexperienced 
 hands? " 
 
 Tad thrilled with little shivers at the man's violence and then, 
 suddenly, to cap it, Mr. Bates came in and announced dramati- 
 cally that Lee's soldiers had cut the last wire to the west. Lincoln 
 became sterner than Tad had ever seen him, telling Greeley 
 to go home and not communicate his panic to the readers of his 
 Tribune. He ordered a cot made up in the telegraph office. When 
 Tad begged to stay, his pa compromised, insisting only that he 
 sleep soundly in his own room in the White House until the 
 coming battle should be over and they could both go back to the 
 Soldiers' Home. 
 
 Now began a vast and perilous game of te hide-and-go-seek." 
 General Lee surrounded himself by the silence of cut wires and 
 captured messengers. Tad was at the telegraphers' elbows all day, 
 watching them improvise connections, running to his pa with 
 the latest messages. There were great questions to be answered: 
 Where was Lee's main army? Could he cut his way through to 
 Harrisburg before Meade intercepted him? Must the great stores 
 of ammunition there be destroyed? 
 
 
Tad Hears of Gettysburg 159 
 
 Then the final tension in the telegraph office began. General 
 Lee rode over a hilltop to find Meade athwart his line of advance. 
 There he sat, where Lee did not want him, and he had, for re- 
 placements of the veterans, men from near-by homes who were 
 fighting for their families, homes, and fields. 
 
 Now Tad lived as in a dream. He had instinctively curbed his 
 liveliness and mischief, knowing that if he wanted to stay with 
 his pa, with these sober shirt-sleeved men, he must be grown-up. 
 Meals came in on trays. He had his own tray and sat by his pa. 
 He was in and out of Stanton's office with the big wall maps 
 without reprimand. He followed the battle, knowing its serious- 
 ness. 
 
 If Lincoln had never loved his son before, these days would 
 have knit Tad to him — these leaden, hot, oppressive, overhang- 
 ing days: July 1, when Lee battered Meade's left; July 2, when he 
 smashed at Meade's right; July 3, when he threw all he had at 
 Meade's center. These actions, as they became known, were talked 
 of in low voices in that telegraph office, and Tad understood in 
 great part. He vaguely understood that this day of fury men- 
 aced his pa, the White House, himself, his friends. 
 
 It was the day of Pickett's charge, up a slope of land a mile 
 long, in a driving hail of shot. He started with 1 5 ,000 troops. 
 Seven thousand fell on that long slope. The rest were shot and 
 clubbed and bayoneted to a standstill at the last, and strongest, 
 line of Union men. When the word of this desperate attack came 
 in, Stanton, who was standing, feet braced wide apart, said 
 hoarsely, " This is it." 
 
 Then for a nervous hour the watchers were without news. 
 Finally the ticker started to click out its dots and dashes. 
 ". . . Repulsed at Cemetery Ridge . . . Confederate line wav- 
 ers . . ." 
 
 On the Fourth of July, 1 863, the defenders of slavery were or- 
 dered by a saddened Lee to retreat. On the day set apart for the 
 independence of Americans, all of them, white, black, red, brown, 
 
160 Tad Lincoln 
 
 or yellow, it looked as if the most vicious attack on the Union had 
 been vanquished. The Union Army had lost 23,000 in killed, 
 wounded, and missing, but the Confederate Army had lost 28,- 
 000, its impetus, and its legend of invincibility. 
 
 " A battle without parallel on this continent," Stanton said, his 
 eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. 
 
 " Pray God its like need never be seen again," said Lincoln. 
 Then he put his arm about Tad and said: " You have been a good 
 soldier, sonny. Now I want you to go get some country air and 
 sleep. Please take this dispatch to your mother. She will want to 
 hear of the North's greatest victory in two and a quarter years." 
 
 Tad did not argue. He only said, " When are you coming, 
 pa? " 
 
 " After I have announced this great success to the country, 
 Taddie, and seen to some other matters." 
 
 " All right." So Tad mounted his pony and, with Private Joe 
 for escort, rode out to deliver his letter and take a nap. Then, he 
 decided, he would hunt up Dan Ripley and see Tarn. 
 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 "*As We Forgive Those 79 
 
 TAD WAS HOT BUT HE KEPT ON THE ROAD AHEAD OF HIS DUST. 
 The sign " Ripley " stood, as Dan had said, at the end of a 
 lane. 
 
 Tad had suddenly become shy. He disguised this by deciding 
 to surprise Dan by walking up the lane on the field side of the 
 hedge. Then he could jump out or not. 
 
 The hedge gave him hiding nearly to the farmhouse. Empty 
 milk pails on a bench caught the sun and almost blinded him. All 
 at once he was startled by a pistol shot coming, it seemed to him, 
 from the barn direction. He stopped moving. Another shot and 
 a third. 
 
 A girl rushed to the back door. <z What was that shot, 
 mamma? " she called. An older woman peered over her shoulder, 
 saying nothing. 
 
 Presently Tad saw a man walking up from the barn carrying 
 a gun. The girl ran out to him. " Was that you shooting, papa? " 
 and instantly, on hearing his answer, gave a shriek and ran back 
 to her mother, crying: " Papa's shot Tarn! O mamma, papa's 
 shot Tarn! " 
 
 Tad was ashamed to show himself now. Mrs. Ripley had come 
 out in the yard: " Why couldn't you wait, Enoch? I begged of 
 you to wait till Dan got back." 
 
 " He's killed another, Sarah. The most merciful course was to 
 have it over with before Dan came." 
 
 " Do you think so! " Mrs. Ripley cried. " Then you don't know 
 your boy. He loves Tarn next to Will, and now Will's letters have 
 
1 62 Tad Lincoln 
 
 stopped, Dan's sick with worry, and this will be the last straw, 
 I'm afraid." 
 
 " He'll go away now, papa," Molly added accusingly. 
 
 " Go away? Don't say such a thing," Mr. Ripley said angrily. 
 
 " He will! He will! He was wild to go before, whenever he 
 saw soldiers marching. It was only Tarn held him." Molly burst 
 into tears and ran into the house. 
 
 " Now what ails the girl! She's overwrought! " said Mr. Ripley. 
 
 " She's as worried as the rest of us, Enoch. And now this! " 
 Mrs. Ripley wiped her eyes with her apron. " You could at least 
 have shut the dog up." 
 
 " And keep Dan in torment? That's three sheep gone. The dog 
 would never have been trustworthy again." 
 
 Mrs. Ripley started toward the house. " Dan will be here any 
 minute now, and you can break it to him. I don't envy you 
 that." 
 
 Mr. Ripley sat down dejectedly on the bench. Tad did not want 
 to go away before he saw Dan, yet he did not want to talk to 
 Mr. Ripley either. He hated Mr. Ripley for shooting Tarn. Tad 
 was tired standing and sat down in the long meadow grass to 
 wait for Dan. Almost at once he heard a horse trotting up the 
 lane. It was a man in uniform, a colonel. He stopped within a 
 few yards of Tad, and Mr. Ripley came to him quickly. " Any 
 news, Harry? " he asked. 
 
 " No, Enoch. Not a trace," Tad heard the rider say. " This 
 much is certain. Will is not listed among the dead, wounded, 
 prisoners, or missing. Of course the War Department's like a 
 flock of chickens with their heads chopped off with this bloody 
 Gettysburg on top of everything. But I did find one item of 
 importance. Will's pay has been stopped." 
 
 ct Stopped? " Mr. Ripley's voice shook. " Why would they do 
 that, unless he's been killed? " 
 
 The soldier lowered his voice. " When I can find out, I'll tell 
 you. For the time being keep it to yourself, and don't tell Sarah. 
 
rr As We Forgive Those " 163 
 
 She has a keen mind and might guess that it means he's under 
 arrest." 
 
 Mr. Ripley's anger was quick. " You know it's not that. It can't 
 be. Will is no soldier at heart, but he obeys. He would never do 
 a thing to warrant arrest. He's as mild-tempered as a spring 
 morning, and honest as daylight. No, no! Will's not the sort. 
 . . . Now, don't go yet, Harry. Sarah will want to see you." 
 
 " I don't want to see her. Sarah's too keen. Now don't worry 
 too much, Enoch. It may all be a mistake in the general mess. I'll 
 not stop till I clear the matter up. How's Molly? And how is 
 Dan? " 
 
 :t There's Dan coming across the pasture now." 
 
 Tad started. The colonel swung into his saddle, said something 
 that Tad didn't understand, and trotted off. Tad heard Dan's 
 whistle. He was ashamed to get up now and disclose that he had 
 been listening, so he lay still, watching. Mrs. Ripley came out of 
 the house. " Didn't I see Harry Scott riding in a minute ago, 
 Enoch? " 
 
 :t Yes, he could stay but a moment. He's very busy, Sarah." 
 
 " Did he have no word of Will? " 
 
 " He hasn't seen the adjutant yet, Sarah." 
 
 Dan's whistle was followed by his call, " Here Tarn . . . Tarn 
 . . . Where are you, Tarn? " Tad felt like crying to hear the joy 
 and expectancy in Dan's voice. He was a lot taller than last year, 
 Tad saw with respect, a little thin but brown and nice-looking. 
 
 Mrs. Ripley had taken pity on her voiceless husband. te Come 
 here, Dan," she said gently. " I have something to tell you." 
 
 Dan had pulled a dog collar from inside his shirt. " Look, mom, 
 a new collar for Tarn! I bought it with my egg money. See, 
 there's a place for his name. Shall I put Tammas Ripley? Or just 
 Tarn? " 
 
 His mother put an arm about Dan's shoulders. " It's about 
 Tarn I wanted to speak to you, dear." Her voice wavered. 
 
 Tad clenched his hands to keep from crying, Dan's face was so 
 
1^4 ^W Lincoln 
 
 heartbreaking in its growing anxiety. " What's wrong with him, 
 mom? Is he sick? " 
 
 Mrs. Ripley nodded, unable to go on. Mr. Ripley cleared his 
 throat and said: " Tarn's dead, Dan. I'm sorry, son." 
 
 ff Dead! He can't be. Are you sure? " 
 
 " Tarn killed another sheep today, Danny." 
 
 Dan's white, set face stared at his father and, for the first time, 
 he noticed the gun. " And you killed him," Dan said slowly, ac- 
 cusingly. " You killed Tarn." 
 
 " I had to shoot him, son. He never knew." 
 
 Dan's kindling resentment sounded now. ** You shot Tarn." 
 
 " When a dog becomes a killer, he's never safe again with sheep, 
 son. You know that." 
 
 " You did it without my knowin'! " Dan said accusingly. 
 
 " O Danny, don't take it that way! " Mrs. Ripley cried. 
 
 Dan didn't hear her. " You did it without my knowin'," he 
 said again to his father. " Where is he now? " 
 
 tc I buried him by the black cherry tree," Mr. Ripley said. 
 
 The pain of sympathy that had been gathering in Tad now 
 wrung him with noiseless sobs. He wept for Dan, for Tarn, for 
 his own unhappiness. When he looked up again, Dan had gone, 
 and Mr. Ripley was rubbing his head. " Now what? " he asked 
 Mrs. Ripley. 
 
 " He wants to be alone with his grief, Enoch. Let's go in." 
 
 " If I'd known he was going to take it so plaguey hard . . ." 
 
 " It's not only Tarn, Enoch," Mrs. Ripley said. " It's Will too, 
 and the wagonloads of wounded he sees going by, and the whole 
 weight of this dreadful war. Come in now. You did what you 
 thought best. We'll have to be very patient with Dan. . . . Now 
 tell me, what was the real reason for Harry Scott's visit? " 
 
 Tad lay in the grass until Mr. and Mrs. Ripley had vanished 
 into the house. He would have liked to hunt Dan and tell him 
 how sorry he was and how mad at his father, but Tad felt shyer 
 than ever now, and he did not want to show himself anyway. So 
 
rr As We Forgive Those " 165 
 
 he crept along the hedge until he reached the road again. He was 
 empty, but not hungry, and hot clean through. 
 
 Tad wiped his face with his sleeve and hoped no one could see 
 he had been crying. He hoped too that Mrs. Keckley wouldn't 
 notice how late he was. The shadows were long. She was in a flut- 
 ter, like a netful of fishes, when he stayed away too long. That 
 was because his ma was up to New York and Mrs. Keckley was 
 acting like his ma. 
 
 Dust settled on Tad's face after some wagons went by. It 
 didn't taste good. Why didn't God make dust taste like sugar? 
 The minister said God could do anything he wanted. The idea 
 pleased Tad. He shuffled his feet through the brown sugar. When 
 it rained it would be molasses, and Mrs. Keckley would say at 
 breakfast time, " Run out into the road, Taddie, and scoop me 
 up a cupful of sweetenin' for these hot cakes." He wished he 
 was God. He'd show him how to do things! He'd hand Tarn 
 back to Dan good as new and shut up Mr. Ripley. 
 
 As Tad darted into the Soldiers' Home grounds, he heard hoof- 
 beats, the lighter sounds of swords in scabbards and spurs and 
 bridle chains. It was his pa's cavalry escort. Flinging off his dread 
 of a scolding, Tad beat the horsemen to the porch. His pa was 
 not riding Old Abe, as Private Joe called the big horse, but in a 
 carriage. He had never seen his pa look so tired. To Tad's annoy- 
 ance, Mr. Stoddard, the head secretary, was in the carriage too, 
 with bundles of papers. Tad knew what that meant: his pa 
 would be busy all night. 
 
 Mr. Bates had come too, to take down the ticker talk and tell 
 his pa what was happening on the Mississippi River. It beat 
 witches and ogres. Mrs. Keckley knew a lot about witches, and 
 there wasn't anything much they couldn't do, give them time. 
 And a good ogre could scare a whole county out of its wits. But 
 none of them could tell what General Grant was doing down 
 Vicksburg way, and Homer Bates could. He beat all the witches 
 in the United States, besides getting paid for it. 
 
166 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Supper was waiting. Tad's lateness, the dust on his clothes, his 
 eagerness to tell about Tarn and Dan, were not noticed. The men 
 were gray with fatigue. For four days and nights, with the brief- 
 est snatches of sleep, they had followed the fortunes of a crucial 
 battle. And now they were talking about another. Tad heard 
 Vicksburg mentioned again and again. And General Grant. 
 
 " Now there's a man," Lincoln said near the end of the meal. 
 " He's not one to spend his time writing letters about the slights 
 heaped on him. People complain that he's slouching and back- 
 ward in his ways. But I notice he doesn't go in for pulling and 
 hauling of favors. The big word for him is duty rather than 
 glory." 
 
 " I can imagine how you appreciate that, sir," Mr. Bates said. 
 
 " Noah Brooks is with Grant now, and everything he writes 
 me makes me respect the General more," Lincoln said. 
 
 " Do you think I would like General Grant, pa? " Tad asked. 
 
 The men smiled. Lincoln said: " He has a boy, Fred, you might 
 envy. Mr. Brooks was writing about him. He's about three years 
 older than you, Tad, and he's on his father's staff and is seeing the 
 Vicksburg campaign through. Would you like that? Sleeping out 
 in the rain, skipping meals, being shelled? " Lincoln smiled at his 
 indulged one. 
 
 " The boy must be as tough as his father," Mr. Stoddard com- 
 mented. 
 
 After dessert, Lincoln was closeted with his helpers, and Tad, 
 now thoroughly weary after his excitements over Gettysburg 
 and Tarn, went soon to bed. 
 
 It was late. " Do you want anything more of me? " Lincoln 
 asked. 
 
 " There's only the matter of those deserters, sir," Stoddard re- 
 plied. " And that can wait." 
 
 Lincoln passed his hands over his deep-lined face. ft Only! " he 
 
f f As We Forgive Those " 1 67 
 
 murmured. " Only! . . . How wicked this war is! We get to 
 considering men's sacred lives in wholesale lots ... by the bale. 
 Wicked! . . . How many in this batch, Stoddard? " 
 
 " Twenty-four, sir. You remember General Scanlon's insist- 
 ence." 
 
 * Yes I remember. . . . Twenty-four! Scanlon insists that 
 lenience to the few is injustice to the many. He's right, no doubt." 
 Lincoln's long hand reached for the papers and then drew back. 
 " Not now, Stoddard. I can't dispose of twenty-four lives this 
 way." 
 
 " You're worn out, sir." 
 
 M I'm a weak man, Stoddard. Scanlon is strong. He can snuff 
 out the lives of twenty-four young men without a qualm, be- 
 cause he is confident that his act is actually one of justice to the 
 rest. But I ... at any rate I want to thresh this over a little 
 longer. I'll take a walk. The grass will rest me." 
 
 " Let me call an orderly, sir." 
 
 " No, ferocious as the moles and crickets are, I'll take my 
 chances. Go to bed and get your rest." 
 
 The two men, each concerned for the other, said good night. 
 Lincoln walked on the dark lawn. It was refreshing to stretch his 
 legs. There was a guard at the gate, but the President had no 
 notion of disturbing him, so he cut across to the road. Distant 
 lightning glimmered in the west. It was sultry and starless, but 
 what of it? He was neither sugar nor salt, and nature in any mood 
 was as restful as childhood's sleep after such a strain. The lone- 
 liness and the long swing of his stride reminded him of those 
 summer evenings long ago when Ann Rutledge worked on James 
 Short's farm and he had walked over to court her. He had been 
 twenty-six then, and she twenty-two, and even now he could 
 not bear to be alone when the full moon rose over the prairie. He 
 still could not bear to think of her lonely grave in Concord, 
 If Taddie, the child of Mary Todd, could be so sweet, what would 
 Taddie, the child of Ann Rutledge, have been? On he strode, lost 
 
1 68 Tad Lincoln 
 
 in the night, far from the Soldiers' Home when the first rain 
 started falling. He stopped, recalling a shed he had passed. Light- 
 ning revealed it as he neared it again. 
 
 In the following darkness Lincoln stumbled over something 
 soft and almost fell. He heard a sleepy voice mumble: " Who is 
 it? . . . What you doin'? " 
 
 " I appear to be intruding," Lincoln said. " And making a bad 
 job of it," he added as he almost stepped on the source of the 
 voice. 
 
 A new glow of lightning revealed the boy, the bundle Lincoln 
 had stumbled on, and the clutter in the shed. There was nothing 
 for Lincoln to do but sit where he was and wait for the worst of 
 the downpour to be over. He wondered if General Meade was 
 hindered in the pursuit of Lee by rain. He had time to be thank- 
 ful that his wife was not at the Soldiers' Home, for he had made 
 it a practice to go to her and soothe her in thunderstorms, for she 
 feared them above anything. He was barely conscious, in the 
 noise of the big drops on the roof, that the boy had said some- 
 thing. " What? " Lincoln asked. " I didn't hear." 
 
 " I said you didn't come to take me, then? " 
 
 " No. Were you expecting someone to come for you? " Lin- 
 coln asked. 
 
 " Maybe. But I wouldn't 'a' gone, anyways," the boy said de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 " There's a misunderstanding here," Lincoln said. " Do you 
 mean you don't want to be rescued, or you don't want to be cap- 
 tured? " 
 
 " I don't want to be taken back home. I'm goin' to the war. 
 Are you? " 
 
 " You are? You're pretty young for that, aren't you, sonny? 1 
 For lightning had given Lincoln a glimpse of a tense, tear-stained 
 face. M Does your father approve? " 
 
 " He doesn't know yet," confessed the boy, assured by the tall 
 
rp As We Forgive Those " 1 69 
 
 man's gentle manner. " You see, he killed my dog without my 
 knowin' and so I've lit out without his knowin\" 
 
 Lightning illumined the boy's face and etched its passion on 
 Lincoln's mind. " I'm going to find my brother Will too. He's 
 off at the war. He hasn't sent a letter in an awful long while, and 
 mom's terrible scared something's happened to him. But I'll find 
 him, and I don't care if I never come back, except to see mom. 
 It'd never be the same without Tarn." 
 
 Something stirred in Lincoln's memory, some word of Tad's 
 about a dog and a boy and a young soldier named Will. It had 
 made him think of his Willie. Then Stoddard had interrupted and 
 he hadn't heard. Lincoln said, " So Tarn was your dog, Dan? " 
 
 The boy was instantly suspicious. " How'd you know my 
 name's Dan? " and he was ready to run for it if this stringy old 
 man tried to grab him. 
 
 " We're neighbors, Dan," the old man said disarmingly, " and 
 bad news gets around." 
 
 " Pop shot Tarn because he killed sheep, but he shouldn't have 
 shot him unbeknownst to me. I'll never forgive him for that — 
 never." 
 
 " Quite right, and don't ever forget this wrong he's done you 
 — under one certain condition." 
 
 Dan was puzzled by this compliance with his intention. 
 Grownups usually preached at you. " What's that? What's a 
 condition? " 
 
 M Why, that you never forget all the kind and just things your 
 father has done for you. How old are you, Dan? " 
 
 " Fourteen next week, July 11. That's a week from now." 
 
 M Fourteen," Lincoln said musingly. " A father can pile up a 
 lot of good deeds in fourteen years. But I suppose he's done a lot 
 of mean ones to balance? " 
 
 " No," Dan admitted. 
 
 This frankness pleased Lincoln. " I congratulate you, Dan. It's 
 
170 Tad Lincoln 
 
 no small trick to be honest while you're mad. Now I can be hon- 
 est with you and tell you something that's on my mind." He 
 paused in the darkness loud with slapping rain. " I'm in the Army, 
 in a way." 
 
 " That so? What regiment? " 
 
 M Well . . ." again that pause. " They call me Commander in 
 Chief." 
 
 " That's a funny nickname," Dan said. " What do you do? " 
 
 " Occasionally the officers let me meddle a little with things. 
 Not much, though. And when I do meddle, they yell. There's a 
 case I'm meddling with now. A few hours ago I nearly had 
 twenty-four men shot." 
 
 :t Whew! " Dan had never met anybody like this man. How 
 could he have men shot? Yet he didn't sound as if he were telling 
 a whopper. 
 
 et That's the reason I came for a walk, at this time of night. I 
 couldn't decide whether or not to sign those boys' lives away. 
 I'm glad I did come, for you've helped me to decide." 
 
 fr I have! " Dan was astonished. " To shoot them? " 
 
 " No. Not to. You've shown me the case in a new light." 
 
 " How's that? " Dan knew that this stranger wasn't telling 
 whoppers now. He wished the lightning would come so he could 
 see. 
 
 " Well, here you are, deserting your father, bringing sorrow 
 to your family, as if they hadn't sorrow enough with your brother 
 Will in danger. You're punishing your father for one deed he 
 could not very well help doing, just as if he'd been a mean man 
 all his life. And it's like that with my twenty-four deserters, Dan. 
 They've served years, some of them, and faithfully. Then can 
 they be so bad that one reckless deed blots out all the rest? I 
 think not." 
 
 The lightning came and Dan saw a face with cavernous eyes, a 
 solemn face to match the serious voice. 
 
 " I tell you what I'll do, sonny," the voice continued from the 
 
fp As We Forgive Those " 171 
 
 blackness. " I'll make a bargain with you. If you'll go home and 
 forgive your father, I'll go home and forgive my deserters. How's 
 that? " 
 
 Dan was shaken by struggle. It was hard to give up a grudge 
 burned in so deep. M I dunno," he said slowly. " I dunno as I 
 could. It's hard to forgive . . ." 
 
 " Someday," said Lincoln slowly, " you will find it hard not to, 
 Dan. Now think my offer over. Isn't it a pretty good bargain? 
 By going home like a dutiful son and ceasing to be a deserter 
 yourself, you'll save the lives of twenty-four men. Perhaps the 
 Almighty will chalk that down to your credit and forgive you 
 some trespass even as you forgive those . . ." 
 
 M How did you know about that? " Dan interrupted. " I . . . 
 I tried to say that before I went to sleep and I couldn't . . . not 
 that part." 
 
 " Well, you can now, Dan." Lincoln was touched. " You can 
 now, if you decide to be merciful. Will you shake on it? " 
 
 Lincoln's hand touched Dan's arm, followed it down to the 
 small hand. Dan grasped it. He couldn't help it. Something in 
 the other compelled him, something that he did not want to re- 
 sist. " All right," Dan said. " That's a go." 
 
 u Yes, a go home," Lincoln said. " We'll both remember this 
 night, Dan, and I reckon a little warm rain won't hurt either of 
 us." Lincoln rose. 
 
 M Where's your home? " Dan asked. 
 
 " It's called the White House," Lincoln said, and a flare of 
 lightning revealed him towering up into the shed. 
 
 Dan was on his feet. Even in the previous flashes the man's 
 face had reminded him of pictures in the newspaper. But he 
 hadn't believed his eyes. It couldn't be that it was the President 
 sitting in that shed talking to him, Dan Ripley. But there couldn't 
 be two of them in the White House. " Is it ... I mean, you 
 really are President Lincoln? " he asked. 
 
 The same . . . and your servant, don't forget," Lincoln said. 
 
iji Tad Lincoln 
 
 :t You've been a help to me in a hard hour, Dan. Generals or no 
 generals, I intend to let those boys off. Any time I can be of use 
 to you, drop in, now that you know where to find me," he added 
 whimsically. " But you'd better " — Lincoln began hunting 
 through his pockets — " you'd better let me give you a latchkey. 
 The man at the door is a stubborn old fellow. The folks do pester 
 the life out of him." Lincoln struck a match. M Now if you'll 
 hold that, Dan, I can see to write." 
 
 Dan held the little flame, his eyes devouring the shape and 
 lines of the homely, shrewd, long-faced man writing on a card on 
 his knee. Lincoln held it to him and Dan read: 
 
 Please admit Dan'l Ripley on demand. 
 
 A. Lincoln. 
 
 The boy gazed up in awed delight. " I guess the folks wouldn't 
 believe me if I didn't have that, sir. It's easy now to go home." 
 
 " I can say the same. Good-by, Dan." 
 
 " Good-by." Dan watched the President of the United States 
 walk out into the slackened rain toward a graying east. Then, 
 picking up his bundle, he started in the opposite direction, run 
 ning. 
 
 Tad slept late the next morning, and found that his pa had al- 
 ready been driven in to the White House. Tad wanted him. Dan 
 was on his mind. 
 
 After the shower the morning was glistening, but Tad found 
 no pleasure in his usual purposes. General Meade, the rechristened 
 billy goat, was just as tame as when he was General McClellan. 
 Tad kept thinking about Tarn, and how lonely Dan must be with- 
 out him. He decided to get Dan and bring him to the Soldiers' 
 Home to play. 
 
 This time it did not seem so far to the Ripley lane. Tad had 
 almost reached the house when an Army officer galloped past him. 
 
 
 
fp As We Forgive Those " 173 
 
 The man tied up his panting horse and went into the kitchen. 
 Tad went on, but stopped outside the door as he heard a woman's 
 shriek. At the same time he saw Dan coming from the barn with 
 some pails. The two boys looked at each other, each shy with all 
 he knew and heavy with it. Dan nodded at the horse and said to 
 Tad, " Whose horse is it? " 
 
 " He's in there," Tad motioned toward the kitchen. 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Ripley looked out. Tad was embarrassed, 
 for she was weeping. " O Dan . . . Dan . . ." She put her arms 
 about Dan and tried to speak, but her grief choked her. 
 
 " Is Will dead? " Dan asked, almost stolidly, so numbing was 
 the thought. 
 
 M He was found asleep on duty. . . . Uncle Harry's sent Ma- 
 jor Ames to tell us. Uncle Harry's trying to see General Scanlon 
 about it." 
 
 The major was backing out of the door, saying good-by to 
 Mr. Ripley still in the kitchen. Dan stepped to him and got his 
 attention. tc Was Will sentenced to be shot? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, my boy. I'm sorry to say, he is." 
 
 " Then it's all right," Dan said to the major's amazement. 
 " The President is going to let him off." 
 
 The officer looked at Dan as if sorrow had turned his head. 
 te I'm afraid not, Dan. Colonel Scott hoped that would be the case, 
 but was assured only two hours ago that no pardon could be 
 hoped for." 
 
 " Wasn't Will in a list of twenty-four . . ." Dan began, then 
 stopped and dismay filled his face. It was deserters that the Presi- 
 dent had promised to pardon, not sleeping sentries. Dan turned 
 to his mother. lt Quick, mom! I've got to go see the President. 
 He said I could." 
 
 Major Ames and Tad looked surprised. The major said: " No- 
 body can see the President today. Colonel Scott was told that 
 very definitely." 
 
 M But Will has only a few hours to live! " Mrs. Ripley cried. 
 
174 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Tad had stayed silent from shyness, but the agony in Mrs. Rip- 
 ley's voice made him forget himself. He darted to Dan. " Come, 
 Dan, you come with me. Pa'll see you. I'll make him see you." 
 
 Major Ames was sure that he was surrounded by crazy people. 
 " Who do you think your pa is? " he asked. 
 
 " The President! " Tad said. M I'm Tad Lincoln, I'm a colonel 
 too. If I had my uniform on, you'd have to salute." 
 
 This was the last straw. " You are mad! " he exploded. " If I 
 weren't pressed for time, I'd take you to the asylum, personally." 
 He had untied his horse and was bowing to Mrs. Ripley. " I am 
 very sorry, madam. Colonel Scott asked me to hasten back at 
 once." He was on his horse and galloped down the lane. 
 
 Mrs. Ripley looked at Tad. " Where are you from, dear? " 
 
 M The Soldiers' Home," Tad said. 
 
 " That's right," Dan cried. " That's where Will and I saw him." 
 
 " Pa comes there to sleep nights because it's cooler," Tad ex- 
 plained. 
 
 " You don't look anything like your father," Mrs. Ripley said, 
 "but I shall believe you," then she called, "Enoch! Enoch! 
 Where are you? " 
 
 " I was talking to your pa last night," Dan said to Tad. 
 
 Enoch Ripley's drawn face appeared in the doorway. " Enoch," 
 cried Mrs. Ripley. " Hitch up the pair. This is President Lincoln's 
 son, and he says he can help us about Will." 
 
 It was nearing noon when Mr. McManus felt his hard soul 
 harden still more, as Tad dragged before him a farmer woman by 
 the hand, followed by a farm boy and his rustic father. 
 
 " Where's pa? " Tad demanded imperatively. 
 
 " He's engaged," Mr. McManus said stonily. " He's given or- 
 ders he's not to be disturbed on any account." 
 
 Mrs. Ripley looked distressed but Tad said: " I don't care. I've 
 got to see him. Where is he? " 
 
pr As We Forgive Those " 175 
 
 " Fm not at liberty to tell you," McManus said with satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 :t You're mean! " Tad shrilled. " I'll find him anyway. Come 
 with me," he said to the Ripley trio. 
 
 Mr. McManus stepped in front of Mrs. Ripley and said se- 
 verely: " It is not permitted. Join the rest in the anteroom there, 
 if you please." 
 
 Tad took Dan's hand and pulled him past Mr. McManus, ob- 
 livious of his scowl. " I'll come back for you," he called to Mrs. 
 Ripley. 
 
 Dan, thankful to be past the sour-faced doorkeeper, kept on 
 after Tad, across the slippery floor, up the astonishing staircase, 
 past a row of chairs that were not being used that day. Tad 
 stopped before a door and, after giving his tap-tap-tap — top — 
 top, opened it. His pa was standing by the window. General 
 Scanlon, who was addressing the President, had a red face, which 
 now turned a shade redder at this interruption by two boys. He 
 expected the President to dismiss these intruders. Instead, Lin- 
 coln's eyes lighted at the sight of his son and beamed at Dan. 
 " Why, Dan," he exclaimed, " I'm glad to see you so soon. You're 
 just in time to back me up. Sit down, both of you, on that couch 
 for a moment." 
 
 General Scanlon simmered. " Mr. President, I request privacy 
 for this matter." 
 
 " It's all right, General. These boys won't talk if I ask them 
 not to, and one of them is an accomplice of mine, anyway. Be- 
 sides, as I have told you, my mind is clear on this matter." 
 
 M Then I beg of you to change your mind," General Scanlon 
 said with a minimum of respect in his tone. " The armies are 
 melting away because of the widespread desertion. And, if I may 
 speak freely, you, sir, are aiding this laxity of discipline by your 
 undue lenience. If carried farther, sir, it may be fatal to the dis- 
 cipline of our arms." 
 
 Lincoln, somber and harassed, hesitated before the seriousness 
 
iy6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 of this charge. It was true. He looked at Dan on the couch, sitting 
 tense. He wondered why the boy had come. " Did you go home 
 as you promised, Dan? " Lincoln asked. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Lincoln." 
 
 " Then," and Lincoln wheeled to the general, " I shall keep my 
 half of the bargain. This boy and I met last night, Scanlon, each 
 of us in something of the same fix. We didn't know whether or 
 not to forgive those who had wronged us. We decided that it was 
 selfish and stupid and destructive not to forgive if we had even 
 a loophole for forgiveness left. So we made a bargain. Dan, how 
 did your folks take it? " 
 
 " It would 'a' killed them, sir, if I'd run off for good, Mr. Lin- 
 coln. They just got word that Will — my brother you know, I 
 told you about him — is to be shot for sleeping on watch. I just 
 know he was tired out. He didn't go to sleep on purpose, you can 
 bet your boots on that. I told mom that you wouldn't let him 
 be shot, if you knew. And now Tad's brought me here so you can 
 sign the paper saying he's to be pardoned. He was to be shot this 
 afternoon." 
 
 Lincoln groaned audibly and turned away to the window. The 
 faith in this boy's voice and eyes were unbearable. Yet could he 
 keep on plunging himself into this hot water of mercy without 
 a revolt of his staff? General Scanlon snorted and said: " You 
 see, Mr. President, it's endless. If this keeps on, I can't promise 
 there will be any army left." 
 
 A silence. " I brought pop and mom in to see you," Dan went 
 on, " being as they couldn't quite believe what we said. About 
 our agreement, I mean." 
 
 Lincoln turned back from the window and his eyes glistened. 
 " I agreed for twenty-four lives, Dan, but I don't mind throw- 
 ing in an extra one for you on the same principle." 
 
 At this a vivid exclamation escaped General Scanlon. Lincoln 
 paid no attention. He said: " We must lose no time, if the execu- 
 tion is to be this afternoon. Do you know where he's held, Dan? " 
 
ff As We Forgive Those " 177 
 
 Dan shook his head. Then Lincoln said to his secretary: " Stod- 
 dard, stop whatever you are doing and locate Will Ripley. If you 
 haven't found him by noon, let me know, and I'll prevent any 
 military execution from taking place until further orders." 
 
 " Now, Mr. President! " began the general at this new horror. 
 
 Lincoln could be abrupt if sufficiently tried. M General, you 
 have heard me and know my decision. If I pardon these erring 
 young men, they will have learned their lesson, and surely become 
 a better investment for our country than if I had them shot — 
 live fighters in the ranks, instead of as many corpses under ground. 
 There are too many weeping mothers now. Don't ask me to add 
 to the number, for I won't do it." 
 
 Stoddard interrupted. " I've the Ripley file, sir. * William 
 Rowan Ripley, Soldiers' Home Road, 18, single. Stationed now at 
 Harrisburg, with 119th Pennsylvania Regulars. Court-martial 
 held June 23. Charged with serious neglect of duty, asleep at his 
 post. Defense brought extenuating circumstances of previous ex- 
 ertion, but not admitted. Convicted. Sentence . . .'" Stoddard 
 looked at Dan and forebore to go on. 
 
 " Clear the wire to Harrisburg," Lincoln ordered. et Send this 
 message: 'Will Ripley, of 119th Pennsylvania Regulars, not to 
 be shot until further orders from me.' Sign, ' A. Lincoln.' Get 
 confirmation of this order before releasing wire, and bring it 
 to me." 
 
 Tad clapped his hands and ran out of the room. General Scan- 
 Ion had been packing papers into a leather case. " I see it is use- 
 less for me to intrude further." 
 
 " One moment, General. I want you to understand me, and I 
 can best make my motives clear by a little story. Have you time? " 
 The general bowed stiffly and Lincoln went on, " One of my 
 neighbors back home was a Quaker named Silas Greene, a very 
 mild and forgiving man. He was so gentle that his wife could not 
 induce him to shoot the chickens which persisted in scratching up 
 her garden. l Consider, dear,' Silas used to say, e consider the hen. 
 
178 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Any creature that is so useful before it is born and after it is 
 dead deserves a little consideration during its short lifetime, 
 doesn't thee think? ' " 
 
 Dan laughed from the couch, but the general did not smile. 
 Lincoln went ahead. " And that's what I feel must be our policy, 
 Scanlon. We must let what these soldiers have done and what 
 they will do weigh our consideration of the wrong of the mo- 
 ment. It isn't mercy but plain justice, and if the rules of war 
 don't allow for it, then let us look into the rules of war. Good 
 day." 
 
 As the general left the room, Tad burst in with Mrs. Ripley 
 and her husband in tow. " Pa, I made Mr. McManus let them in." 
 
 Lincoln, accustomed to the unexpected, took Mrs. Ripley's 
 hand. " I have just given orders, Madam, that your son Will is not 
 to be executed until further orders from me." 
 
 Dan's mother looked at the President, and her lips quivered. 
 " Is . . . that a pardon, sir? Does it mean he won't be shot at 
 all? " 
 
 " I see you do not know me well, Mrs. Ripley," said the Presi- 
 dent with the glimmer of a twinkle in his eye. " If your son 
 never looks on death till orders come from me to shoot him, he'll 
 live to be a great deal older than Methuselah." 
 
 Tears were running down Mrs. Ripley's face. " Oh, thank you, 
 sir. How can we ever thank you properly? " 
 
 " Thank Dan, here," Lincoln replied kindly. " If he had not let 
 the warmth of forgiveness soften his heart, your son might have 
 died, and perhaps I might have gone into eternity with the blood 
 of these other boys on my hands. Dan was a great help to me in 
 an hour of indecision. And now I must bid you good-by. May 
 God unite your family. Dan, you and I shall both remember to- 
 day with easy consciences." 
 
 " Yes, sir. Good-by, sir." 
 
 " I'm going to show Dan around, pa," Tad said, as they went 
 out. 
 
ff As We Forgive Those " 179 
 
 The reflection of the Ripleys' joy was still shining on the face 
 of the man who had indulged himself in mercy, when Stoddard 
 came back. " I've Meade's reply as to Private McCarthy, sir." 
 
 M Read it." Lincoln settled back with his long legs crossed. 
 
 M I find that Private McCarthy deserted the third day after 
 being drafted into the army. He was apprehended by our pick- 
 ets while trying to pass our lines toward the enemy. When ar- 
 rested, he attempted to bribe the pickets to allow him to pass. I 
 cannot recommend any mitigation of the sentence in this case. 
 
 te Respectfully, General George A. Meade." 
 
 Stoddard looked up at Lincoln. " Any further action, sir? " 
 The happiness had passed from Lincoln's face. " None," he 
 
 said. Then he added dryly, " Unless you wish to notify Scanlon 
 
 that I'm letting this man be shot." 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 Two Sons of Pillars Meet 
 
 M 
 
 A, WILL YOU MEASURE ME? TAD HANDED HER A THIN 
 
 book and opened the door of his bedroom closet. He stood 
 against the edge. 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln leveled the book on her son's head and he slid 
 from under. She drew a line to mark his new height and then 
 marked the date, November 13, 1863. 
 
 " Look, ma, I'm taller than Willie, and I ain't eleven yet." 
 
 " I know it, I know it! " Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed. She looked 
 at the marks made the very day they entered the White House 
 when her precious Willie was alive. A year and a half had passed 
 since he had left them and his loss was as a sharp knife in her 
 bosom. Her darling Taddie was indeed growing up. He was 
 understanding so much more. Perhaps someday he would under- 
 stand her better and not look at her so when the dreadful head- 
 aches drove her to saying unkind things. " Come sit down, Tad- 
 die, and talk to me. The photographer won't be here for half an 
 hour. I almost never see my little boy who is little no longer." 
 
 Tad wavered. He had wanted to hunt up Private Joe and talk 
 to him about Africa. He and Joe were close friends by now, and 
 they were making plans to go to Africa after the war to hunt 
 wild beasts. But he looked at his ma and read the longing in her 
 eyes for him. So he went over to her. She was costumed for a 
 formal portrait. Her very round white arms embraced him. Her 
 animated manner made her seem to Tad more like the ma he had 
 had in Springfield. It helped him to be confidential, which is 
 
 
Two Sons of Pillars Meet 181 
 
 what he knew she liked, as if there were only they two, as if he 
 loved only her. 
 
 As they talked, about his goats, his pigeons, she marveled at the 
 rapid deepening of his nature. It was not surprising, for he lived 
 daily in an environment of richness and drama. " You're like a 
 prince, Taddie, but no king's son I ever heard of lived so close 
 to power. You're treated better than the kings' sons I've read 
 about." 
 
 M How so, ma? " Tad asked. The princes he knew lived in fairy 
 tales. 
 
 " Kings' sons are kept away from knowing the history that their 
 fathers are making, Taddie." She smiled at the contrast. What 
 small prince of history could burst into a council of the royal 
 ministers and be taken on the royal lap to listen? What prince 
 was ever allowed to wander the streets of the Capital by himself, 
 playing with Negro children, going to the theater unaccom- 
 panied? 
 
 " If I'm a king's son, ma, you must be a queen." 
 
 This pleased Mary Todd of Kentucky. " No queen ever had 
 so darling a prince, nor so wise and brave and kind a king, sweet- 
 heart." There was only one shadow: it might end. Already that 
 unspeakable McClellan, the serpent nourished by her blindly gen- 
 erous husband, was scheming to be President. She must stay in 
 the White House! Impulsively she kissed her son and exclaimed: 
 :t Taddie, Taddie, be always like this to your mother! You do 
 not know how she adores you, darling. Now I must go and look 
 my prettiest for the photographer. If you go out, Taddie, be sure 
 to wear your scarf under your coat." 
 
 Tad scampered, forgetting coat as well as scarf, in his anxiety 
 to see Private Joe. It wasn't cold out, anyway. Joe was doing 
 sentry duty. As Tad reached him, he saw Count Gurowski ap- 
 proaching. This inflammable Pole amused Tad. His high, explo- 
 sive voice was forever sneering at democracy, at the Administra- 
 tion. For Tad the high polish had been worn off the Presidency 
 
1 82 Tad Lincoln 
 
 long ago. He knew now that his pa could not accomplish every- 
 thing by mere command. He was aware of people who hated his 
 pa. Tad laughed at them, but Private Joe hated them and he had 
 no use for this Polish count with the windmill arms who was glad 
 to have a berth in the State Department and could revile the 
 President. 
 
 :t Your pass, please," Joe said belligerently, as the count indi- 
 cated that he was edging into the grounds. 
 
 " I have no pass. This is a democracy," Gurowski sneered. " Ev- 
 erybody is as good as anybody else." 
 
 M But you think you're a dern sight better." Joe read the 
 count's mind accurately. M You don't go in without you can 
 show me a pass." 
 
 ff So! I'm not good enough to go in, and I have the blood of 
 sixty generations of Polish aristocracy in my veins! " The count 
 drew himself up. " There's democracy for you! There's your 
 honest Abe! It's hypocrites who talk one way and act another." 
 
 " It's lucky for you I'm in uniform," blazed Joe. " If I wasn't, 
 I'd take and bust that busy jaw of yours, talking like this about 
 the President and right in front of his son! " 
 
 " Of course," sneered the count. " The low and the ignorant 
 always fall back on force when they have no argument." 
 
 " Why do you hang around us if we're so low and ignorant? " 
 demanded Joe, while Tad snickered aloud. " What do you want 
 to come in for, if it's so much nicer outside? " 
 
 " I want to lay certain facts before the President. Then I shall 
 have done my duty." 
 
 " Go hunt up a nest if you want to lay anything," Joe said, 
 and Tad laughed. " You're just a troublemaker, and you can keep 
 away from these grounds, for the President's got trouble enough." 
 
 " Such impudence from a servant! I won't listen to another 
 word of it! " and Count Gurowski stalked away. 
 
 Joe winked at Tad. " Don't he beat all for unreasonableness? 
 
 
Two Sons of Pillars Meet 183 
 
 Over to his country, he'd get shot for cussing out the king. But 
 here, just because he's allowed to do it, he gets riled and looks 
 down on him. I guess there's no pleasin' some people. Want to do 
 something for me, Tad? " 
 
 Tad had been enormously impressed by Joe's outburst. He 
 didn't know Joe could make speeches. He nodded at Joe's re- 
 quest. " It's this way," Joe went on. " I hear they've made a big 
 cemetery over to Gettysburg and your pa's going to dedicate it." 
 
 M What's that mean, dedicate? " Tad asked. 
 
 M I dunno exactly. It means sort of make it special. Lay it aside 
 for special feelings, I reckon. Take that Washington Monument 
 behind the house. If it ever gets finished, it'll be dedicated to 
 George Washington. It'll stand for him special, see? " 
 
 Tad laughed. The little stub of a monument had always amused 
 him for some reason. " They'll never finish that, I reckon. Pa 
 says they've been at it ever since Washington died." 
 
 tl I know. I was talking to your pa about it," Joe said. " I don't 
 understand it. Everybody knows that General Washington made 
 this country and admires him. He hadn't been dead two minutes, 
 according to your pa, before they got started talking monument. 
 Yet here it is 1863, meanin' he's been dead sixty-four years, and 
 so far they've got his monument only up to 120 feet, and it's 
 supposed to go up to 600 feet. Mr. McManus says the reason is 
 politicians. It got in their hands. He says no politician worth his 
 salt'd ever spend money on a dead man. There ain't any votes in 
 a monument. Gen'ral Washington's past the voting stage, so no 
 monument. Unless politicians change or the people take hold, I 
 reckon that there monument'll have to wait till the Day of 
 Judgment. That's how grateful we are to the Father of our Coun- 
 try. But how did I get off on that? Now about Gettysburg. You'd 
 like to go there and see where all the soldiers got shot, wouldn't 
 you? " 
 
 Tad nodded enthusiastically. " Well, so would I," Joe said. " I 
 
184 Tad Lincoln 
 
 thought maybe you could kind of hint it around to your pa. If 
 you went, being a colonel, you'd need an orderly, and I could 
 go as it." 
 
 Tad agreed and Joe went on, " You want to do it right soon, 
 because the party's next Thursday, I hear, and this is . . ." 
 
 !< The 13th," said Tad remembering the date on his measure- 
 ment. 
 
 " Friday the 13th! That's bad." Joe looked alarmed. 
 
 " What of it? " Tad asked. M Why's it bad? " 
 
 " Don't you know better than to plan anything on Friday the 
 13th? " asked Joe. " It's unlucky. It's worse'n a black cat crossin' 
 your path, or breathin' in smoke from a match. Forget it. For- 
 get what I said, Tad. You come back tomorrow and I'll tell you 
 all over again." Joe looked around him guiltily. " Now you go in 
 or you'll catch cold. You're shiverin'. Why didn't you wear a 
 coat? " 
 
 Tad ran. But the weight of Joe's superstition was on his mind. 
 If Joe was afraid of something it must be mighty powerful. Lin- 
 coln was signing papers when Tad entered the office. " Pa, did 
 you know this is Friday the 13th? " 
 
 u That's what I've been dating my letters, sonny." 
 
 " But it's unlucky, pa. Joe says it's worse'n a black cat crossing 
 your path." 
 
 Lincoln smiled at his boy's seriousness. " Well, if it's no worse 
 than that, Taddie, I reckon I'll go right on signing the proper 
 date." 
 
 " Pa, what happens if a black cat crosses your path? " 
 
 " She gets out of your way." 
 
 " Did a black cat ever cross your path, pa? " 
 
 M Many a time, sonny." 
 
 " And nothing bad happened? " 
 
 Lincoln laid down his pen. M Taddie, if I call a donkey's tail a 
 leg, how many legs will he have? " 
 
 " Five." 
 
 
 
Two Sons of Pillars Meet 185 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Calling a tail a leg doesn't turn it into a leg, 
 Taddie. It's still a tail. And calling a black cat bad luck doesn't 
 make it bad luck. It's just words, idle talk, empty shadows. 
 There's no bad luck lying in wait for you, sonny, unless you put 
 it there. Remember that." 
 
 " I bet there is too," Tad exclaimed. " What if a bee stings 
 you? You didn't put the bee there." 
 
 !t That's not luck. That's cause and effect. You put yourself 
 in the bee's path and you were afraid he'd sting you. If you 
 hadn't been afraid, he mightn't have stung you." 
 
 Tad was stumped, but at least he didn't have to be afraid of 
 asking on Friday the 13th. "Pa, can I go to Gettysburg with 
 you? " 
 
 M I'll make a bargain with you," Lincoln said slowly. " If you 
 won't believe any more of Joe's superstitions, you can go." 
 
 " Can Joe go too? " Tad asked quickly. " He's aching to 
 go, pa." 
 
 "Well, then, I guess we'll have to stop his ache and take him." 
 
 But when it came time for Lincoln to board the train the fol- 
 lowing Wednesday, Tad was sick in bed. Mrs. Lincoln was so 
 wrought up by his sudden illness, which the doctors could not 
 diagnose, that she could not be allowed in Tad's room. Mrs. Keck- 
 ley did what she could to keep the misery of Willie's fatal illness 
 out of her worried face when she carried lemonade in to Taddie, 
 but the fear was ever present. If this one had typhoid and should 
 go the way of the other, it would be unendurable. It would drive 
 Mrs. Lincoln insane and kill the President. 
 
 Even with the door closed Mrs. Keckley and Tad could hear 
 Mrs. Lincoln's hysterical commands not to go to Gettysburg. She 
 could not be left alone. He must call off his speech. Surely there 
 were plenty of people to make speeches, but there was only one 
 Taddie. 
 
 Mrs. Keckley could not hear what Lincoln said to his wife, but 
 the strain of the necessity was to be read in his face when he came 
 
1 86 Tad Lincoln 
 
 to say good-by to Tad. Duty was the word chiseled in that coun- 
 tenance. Duty. The President looked positively ill himself. 
 
 :t Tell Joe to bring be some bullets," Tad murmured. 
 
 " Joe will come and tell you all about it," Lincoln said, and 
 leaned over to kiss the hot and precious brow. Then he looked up 
 into the devoted eyes of the colored woman. Her lips said, " Ah'm 
 a-prayin'," without sound. Her eyes said it. Lincoln stepped 
 quietly to the door. What he had to do was far above an indi- 
 vidual's privilege to hinder. Boys had died, by the thousand, at 
 Gettysburg too. He must prove to the country that they had not 
 died in vain. 
 
 Tad, greatly improved, was sitting up in bed two days later, 
 eagerly looking at the treasure Joe was pouring on the counter- 
 pane. 
 
 " Bullets, all you want," Joe said. " I dug 'em out of a stump 
 in the line of fire. Young Rummel — he's the son of the farmer 
 whose ground they fought over — had a whole shelff ul of things 
 he picked up in their lane, muskets and sabers and pistols and 
 knives and what all. I traded him a scrap of paper your pa wrote 
 on and threw away for a bayonet. It'd been used too." 
 
 Tad laughed at that trade. " What'd he want pa's writing 
 for? " 
 
 " I dunno. He's only fourteen." 
 
 " Did he see the battle? " 
 
 " He seen enough of it." Joe was still taking things out of 
 his pocket. " He wouldn't talk much about it. I guess it made 
 him kind of sick hearing fellers dying like that, like so many 
 steers, and the guns going off without any letup. It was awful 
 afterward, he said. He walked around some, stepping over the 
 dead, piled up in drifts like snow, at the stone walls, and some 
 of 'em wasn't quite dead yet, he said, groanin' and moanin' and 
 oozin' out blood. He got so he couldn't stand it and lit out far 
 
Two Sons of Pillars Meet 187 
 
 away from the battlefield. He's sore at the rebs for drivin' off his 
 folks' cows." 
 
 " What'd you do? " Tad asked. 
 
 u What didn't I! It was lucky they'd saved a place for me and 
 your pa. That town was crammed to the gills. We were serenaded. 
 The crowd came to play band music for your pa and yelled: 
 ' Speech! Speech! ' but your pa said they'd have to get along 
 without one. He was busy writin' the little one he gave from the 
 platform, though I don't see how he could've needed much time 
 for that. 
 
 " I moseyed down to the Courthouse where they was celebrat- 
 in\ You never seen such a crowd as there was at the cemetery 
 next day. Mayors and Odd Fellows and governors and firemen 
 and women dressed out to kill, like it was a party they'd come 
 to instead of a buryin'. Your pa rode a horse in the parade to the 
 stands. He set up straight at first, and then he got to thinkin', I 
 reckon, and his head bent over. The horse didn't mind the guns 
 a bit." 
 
 " What guns? " Tad asked. 
 
 M The salutes. Mr. Everett was late. Can you trade that? He was 
 the head orator, but he oughtn't to've kept your pa waitin' a 
 whole hour there in the cold. But he made up for it, I'll say. I 
 never heerd the words come from a person so steady. I was wedged 
 in and couldn't move, but I caught up on my sleep some. I'd 
 wake up and the words was still a-comin', all about glory and 
 gallant boys and the eloquent silence of nature, though he didn't 
 let up long enough for anybody to hear it. I got kind of bogged 
 down in the middle, not having et, but finally he run out of 
 words and Mr. Lamon got up. 
 
 te Golly, I thought, another one of 'em! But all he said was, 
 1 The President of the United States,' and then your pa wound 
 the thing up in no time at all. I guess he reckoned the crowd 
 was hungry, for he hadn't got goin' for fair before they was 
 clappin' his sittin' down. I had to laugh at a man taking these 
 
1 88 Tad Lincoln 
 
 newfangled pictures. He stuck his head under a black shawl, and 
 jerked it out, and stuck it in again, and before he was done fid- 
 dim' with it, your pa had quit, and he didn't even have time to 
 get his picture." 
 
 Mrs. Keckley entered the room with a tray — lemonade and 
 cake for both the boys. " Well, Joe, how yo' lak Mr. Lincoln's 
 speechifyin'? " 
 
 " I was just tellin' Tad about it, Mrs. Keckley — how Mr. Lin- 
 coln give up almost as soon as he got started. But Mr. Everett laid 
 himself out proper and mighty sad. You could tell by his dispo- 
 sition he liked speakin' in a graveyard. It sort of went with his 
 way of thinking, but I wouldn't like to live with him long the 
 way I live with Tad's pa." 
 
 Mrs. Keckley was disappointed. " Yo' went all dat way, Joe, 
 an' can't tell us a word de President said? " 
 
 " No'm." Joe got up. " I can't say as I can, pertikerler. It 
 wasn't like it was news. It was just things anybody with good 
 sense'd know, anyway." He looked down at Tad. " I'll bring you 
 that bayonet tomorrow, soon as I can get it cleaned. It's got blood 
 on it." 
 
 " No, no, no, don't clean it! " Tad squealed. " I want it that 
 way." 
 
 Mrs. Keckley shuddered. " Savages to de life! " she exclaimed. 
 
 It was the evening of a Presidential reception at the White 
 House. March had come in like a lion, and was still growling in 
 the bare trees. Tad had been sent to bed, and bed appealed to him, 
 but going to bed straight without putting it off even a little was 
 flat. He was trying to decide how to put it off with the least 
 trouble to himself. He could paste into his album the animals he 
 had cut out from Mr. Barnum's advertisement, but it was a nui- 
 sance making flour paste, and Mrs. Keckley was in church. If 
 he went to the reception, his ma would have an orderly fetch 
 him to bed. 
 
Two Sons of Pillars Meet 189 
 
 Of course, he might dress up so they wouldn't know him. But 
 what as? He could dress up as Willie and pretend he was Willie 
 come back. Willie's best suit would fit him and he knew where 
 his ma kept it. He could write his name on a card, " Willie Lin- 
 coln," and pin it on. That would make the women scream! 
 
 He decided to creep downstairs and see if the reception was 
 worth all the bother. He found there was a crush. It reminded 
 him of the mob in the street when he had put the rebel flag on 
 Mrs. Taft's house, only all the men wore white gloves and the 
 ladies' clothes didn't meet in the back. Something was attract- 
 ing them. Tad wormed his way farther into the East Room, and 
 all at once he saw what everybody was looking at. A soldier with 
 a weathered face was standing on the crimson sofa. The stars on 
 his shoulders said he was a general, and his faded blue uniform 
 showed that he wasn't just an ornamental one. 
 
 But why stand on the sofa? Tad was puzzled. ff Isn't he a 
 dear! " exclaimed a woman who was pushed against Tad. 
 
 M If that's the appropriate word for the hero of Vicksburg and 
 Chattanooga," the man with her said. 
 
 tc They could use his head for a bullet! " the woman laughed. 
 
 " His head is worth whole armies," the man said respectfully. 
 
 The rather short man with the somewhat scrubby look wiped 
 his face with a handkerchief, and said something. Tad didn't hear 
 but those near by clapped and cried: " Bravo! Bravo! " 
 
 Tad wiggled closer. It was funny to see his ma. This was the 
 first time when people were not staring at her and his pa, and 
 she didn't know whether she liked that. Tad found himself stand- 
 ing by a boy who was a couple of years older than he, several 
 inches taller, and a lot older in the eyes. " Who's that man? " Tad 
 asked. 
 
 " General Grant," the boy said. 
 
 M Oh! That's why they're looking. Why's he standing on the 
 sofa? " 
 
 " Everybody asked him to show himself." 
 
 H I'll bet he don't like it. He's as red as the sofa." 
 
190 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " He'd rather be in a battle," the older boy said. 
 
 " Look, pa's getting him down," Tad said. " General Grant's 
 pa's hero." 
 
 The other looked sharply at Tad. " Is President Lincoln your 
 father? " 
 
 Tad nodded and the boy said: " Then you're Tad. I've heard 
 of you. General Grant's my father." 
 
 :t Then I've heard of you! " Tad laughed excitedly. Noah 
 Brooks had written about Fred Grant. te Come on. Let's go some- 
 where. Let's get some ice cream. Want to? " 
 
 Fred Grant nodded and edged his way after Tad. He was taking 
 it all in — the gleaming dresses of the ladies, the uniforms of 
 foreign services, the high elaborate ceiling, the dazzle of chan- 
 deliers, the slippery floors. These elegances were as new to him, 
 straight from the West, as they had been to Tad three years 
 before. 
 
 :< You coming here to live? " Tad asked, after they had ex- 
 tricated themselves. " My pa has made your pa the head of all the 
 armies. I heard him say he had. Mr. Brooks said that your pa and 
 my pa were the two great pillars of the Union. If you live here, 
 I'll give you one of my goats and we can have races." 
 
 " Got any mules? " Fred asked. 
 
 " Pa'd get us some," Tad began, riding a flight of fancy. " Or 
 Mr. Stanton. He's the one who orders mules." They had reached 
 the dining room, where a buffet supper offered broad possibili- 
 ties. " We could ride them out to the forts," Tad said. 
 
 " Suits me," Fred answered absent-mindedly. He was looking 
 at the array of the caterer's staff assembled to serve him. The 
 spell of White House luxury was beginning to seep into his con- 
 sciousness. M Say, this is better than squatting in the rain and 
 eating mud cats and drippings." He looked at Tad, who was 
 piling into the fancy cakes while a waiter was cutting him some 
 varicolored ice cream. " Do you mind if I start in at the begin- 
 ning, Tad? This don't remind me of Army life, not a bit." 
 
Two Sons of Pillars Meet 191 
 
 Fred was taken to Grover's Theater, where Hooley's Minstrels 
 were splitting sides. '* Pa comes here all the time," Tad said. te He 
 likes Mr. Grover." 
 
 Fred had never sat in a theater box before, let alone the Presi- 
 dential box. Being his father's son, he did not say much. Tad took 
 care of that. Bobby Grover entered the box. " Father said you 
 were here, Tad. He's going to give us what we wanted." 
 
 Tad introduced Fred and said: M Bobby's got some devils' cos- 
 tumes from the wardrobe place. They're red, and have horns and 
 tails and everything. We're going to put them on and go up the 
 street and scare people." 
 
 :t We got a good show this week," Bobby, who was about Tad's 
 age, said professionally. M There she comes." 
 
 The curtain disclosed a camp in the forest, with some Negro 
 soldiers relaxing after a day's fighting. Two or three were strum- 
 ming on banjos and presently they sang te Come Where My Love 
 Lies Dreaming," and " Old Folks at Home " and " My Old Ken- 
 tucky Home." 
 
 " Say, Boss," one soldier said to his captain, " did someun make 
 up dat dere Kaintucky Home song, or did it jes' sprout from de 
 blue grass? " 
 
 " No, so'ger. A young man gib us dat song — all dese songs 
 we been singin'." 
 
 " Who is he, Boss? " 
 
 " He went by de name ob Stephen C. Foster, so'ger, an' he died 
 couple months ago up dere in N' Yawk City." 
 
 " He neber die, Boss. No feller kin make songs like dat dies." 
 
 M He died, so'ger, at de young age ob thutty-eight. He neber 
 make no mo' singin' songs for us." 
 
 1 'Scuse jes' a common so'ger for speakin', Boss, but someday 
 I'll bet you dis banjo dat de Norf an' de Souf'll be singin' dis 
 Steve Foster's songs to de moon lak what's we're doin' now." 
 
 M I spec' yo' right, so'ger. So let's sing a song any so'ger bound 
 to un'erstand, ' I've Been Workin' on de Railroad.' " 
 
192 Tad Lincoln 
 
 The rich, low voices chanted and faded and stopped. " Some- 
 body comin', Boss. Looks lak a couple dem Quaker ladies." And 
 that is who it was. They were dressed plainly, in bonnets and de- 
 mure shawls over gray shoulders, and they were engrossed in 
 argument, no less firm for being gentle. 
 
 " I tell thee, sister, Abraham cannot win." 
 
 " And why not, Prudence? Why does thee fear that Jefferson 
 Davis will win? " 
 
 M Because Jefferson is a praying man." 
 
 " And so is our Abraham a praying man." 
 
 " Yes, but the Lord will think Abraham is joking." 
 
 The audience burst into loud laughter, with Tad the loudest 
 of all. The soldiers edged forward, peering after the Quakeresses, 
 and the fun was on. 
 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 ^ad Under Fire 
 
 TAD WAS GROWING FAST, BUT NOT FAST ENOUGH TO SUIT HIM. 
 He wanted to match Fred Grant, inch for inch and pound 
 for pound. Unfortunately Fred was growing too. Tad looked up 
 to this solid, silent experienced son of his bulletheaded father. 
 Fred, on the other hand, did not look down on Tad. 
 
 M What do you think of him? " Grant had asked Fred. 
 
 " He's a lively canary. He can plan more tricks in a morning 
 than I could think of in a year. He's been mighty nice to me." 
 
 Unfortunately it was decided that Fred must join his family 
 in Burlington, New Jersey. The general was leaving for the south 
 to take command of the Army of the Potomac. Tad objected. 
 What about the mule races? Fred promised to visit Tad in the 
 summer. 
 
 Tad resumed the vigils with his pa in the telegraph office. It 
 was even more exciting now that he had met General Grant. 
 When he was very young, in Springfield, Tad had seen a great 
 bull break away from the man leading it and dash into a cornfield. 
 Men ran in to get it. He had heard their shouts, and a distant 
 bellowing, but he never saw the bull again. The way General 
 Grant had disappeared into the wilderness reminded him of that 
 bull. Things were going on in that one hundred and fifty square 
 miles of scrub oak and jack pine, but nobody knew what. Tad 
 heard Major Eckert and Mr. Bates discuss General Hooker, who 
 had led his army to defeat in those dense tangles of cedar and 
 swampland. Tad could almost see the skulls of slain soldiers star- 
 ing in unwinking welcome at their on-marching brothers. The 
 
194 Tad Lincoln 
 
 great question was what General Grant was accomplishing with 
 his 120,000 men in those mysterious shades. Anxiety grew. 
 
 Suddenly a flash of light: te Everything pushing along favor- 
 ably." Tad felt the telegraph office come alive. Mr. Stanton 
 rushed in, fuming. Harry Wing, a cub reporter on the New York 
 Tribune, knew what was doing and intended to keep the news 
 for his paper. The Secretary of War did not even know where 
 Grant was. Tad tingled at his rage. " Do you think I'm going to 
 stand for this? " he roared to Eckert. " Where is he now? " 
 
 " He gave that message to our telegrapher at Union Mills, 
 Virginia." 
 
 " Then send this to him there." Stanton hastily scribbled down 
 a threat to arrest Mr. Wing as a spy unless he revealed what he 
 knew to the War Department. 
 
 Lincoln had come in as Stanton dictated a still terser revision. 
 " No, no, Mars, you can't do that," he said, to Tad's delight. 
 
 M Why not? Are we to sit in the dark while a boy sells news 
 of the utmost importance to this nation to a private newssheet? " 
 
 " Are we to throw a boy into jail because he has had the initia- 
 tive to gather news that nobody else has been able to gather? 
 Telegraph him asking if he will tell the President of the United 
 States where Grant is." 
 
 Stanton whuffed in his beard. There was no limit to Lincoln's 
 spinelessness, he thought. The most powerful man in America 
 going down on his knees to a boy to beg for his rights! But he sent 
 the message. 
 
 Tad begged to sit up until he heard the answer. It came. Mr. 
 Wing bargained for a hundred-word dispatch to his Tribune 
 first. 
 
 This time Stanton reared back and pawed the air. But Lincoln 
 kept calm. et Don't you see, Mars? The boy is keeping faith with 
 his employer. Accept the offer. Tell him we are sending a loco- 
 motive for him." 
 
Tad Under Fire 195 
 
 M Pa, can I go in the locomotive? " Tad begged. That was im- 
 possible. " Then can I sit up till the boy comes? " 
 
 " Make him promise to," Eckert said with a smile. 
 
 So Tad waited. His eyes grew heavier, his mouth grimmer, but 
 at two o'clock he was rewarded. Henry Wing was very young, 
 and fairly muddy, but a reservoir of news. Even Tad forgot his 
 tiredness as the youth told Lincoln of the battle. Grant had lost 
 over a tenth of his army in killed, wounded, and missing, in two 
 days of fighting. But Lee, it was surmised, had lost heavily too. 
 
 " And he can't stand it, Mr. Lincoln," Wing said. " And Grant 
 is ordering his army to push on. The General has promises to keep. 
 He has promised Sherman, in Georgia, to keep Lee engaged. Gen- 
 eral Grant told me that if I did see you, sir, I was to see you alone 
 and tell you that there will be no turning back." 
 
 " I thank you," Lincoln said to the boy, and he took Wing's 
 hand in both of his. M This is almost unutterable relief. I trust 
 your message through your paper will bring as great relief to the 
 country." 
 
 The President looked at Tad. He was asleep. It was four in the 
 morning. 
 
 Private Joe had seen General Grant in course of duty and it had 
 wakened him. te Now there's a fellow your pa can count on," Joe 
 had said to Tad. Nor had the weeks that followed shaken him. 
 Spotsylvania was fought, and Grant lost a fifth of his army. 
 Cold Harbor was fought, and Grant lost 7000 men in a few 
 hours. Petersburg was fought. In a few weeks Grant had lost 
 54,000 men, almost as many men as Lee commanded, but the 
 Army of the Potomac moved ahead. 
 
 " It's a funny thing," Joe mused to Tad. " The more that 
 army gets cut up, the more unbeatable it feels. I reckon Grant's 
 done that. And you notice now that the country don't squawk 
 
1 96 Tad Lincoln 
 
 so much. That's because it sees where it's coming out at. Some- 
 times, Taddie, I don't feel right sittin' here keepin' my feet dry." 
 
 And another time Joe said : " Know who the big recruitin' 
 agent in this country is? It's your pa. It's a caution how he keeps 
 'em movin' into the hopper." 
 
 Tad did not realize the mood behind Joe's words, or he would 
 have felt even lonelier than he was since his pa had become even 
 more immersed in the great current of work on which victory 
 was carried. In addition Mr. Carpenter was painting his pa's pic- 
 ture. Tad disliked Mr. Carpenter intensely. Mr. Carpenter had 
 called in some stereoscopic photographers to help him with his 
 painting of the portraits in The Emancipation Proclamation and 
 these men had usurped Tad's attic theater for their workshop 
 without consulting him. 
 
 Mr. Carpenter was a serious, middle-aged man. He worshiped 
 Lincoln and likened him to the Angel Michael. He did not wor- 
 ship Tad. He was assigned the State Dining Room to work in. 
 Sometimes he sat in Lincoln's office with his sketchbook and Tad 
 smelled a rival. 
 
 The day that Tad found his theater turned into a studio was 
 also the day Joe said good-by. Joe had kept the news of his trans- 
 fer to himself. The blow knocked Tad half crazy with grief. It 
 reminded him of Willie's dying. " No, no, no, you can't go, Joe. 
 I won't let you. I'll get pa to stop you. Why do you want to go? " 
 
 " Everything fetches up at an end sometime, Taddie. Long as 
 they wasn't doing much down in Virginny, I didn't mind foolin' 
 around here. But it's different now. Gen'ral Grant's jammin' on 
 to Richmond and my feet get restless, so I put in to transfer." 
 
 Tad was trying not to cry. He had always tried to be soldier- 
 like with Joe. 
 
 " It ain't goin' to be long, Taddie," said Joe, seeing the strug- 
 gle, " and I'll be back with a couple of stripes on my arm here." 
 Joe fingered an imagined chevron. " Then we'll do as we said. 
 We'll take a boat and go to Africa and hire those darkies and 
 
Tad Under Fire 197 
 
 we'll catch lions and tigers and gorillas, and maybe a giraffe, and 
 bring them home and set up a circus like we said. So I'm not 
 sayin' good-by — not at all — for this war's pretty near played 
 out. Now I want you to be a good soldier and not make it hard 
 for Joe to go and do his lick like he ought, will you? " 
 
 Joe's hand went out, as between man and man, and Tad grasped 
 its horny solidity and squeezed all he could. " Now, Colonel," 
 said Joe, drawing himself up and saluting. " Till I see you . . . 
 and don't take no rebel money." 
 
 Tad saluted. Joe wheeled briskly and walked off, glad to avoid 
 showing his own feelings. He would never come back again. Even 
 if he survived he could never come back again, never again 
 mosey around with the President's son like he was an older 
 brother. A real boy, Taddie, but he couldn't lie in this bed of 
 roses any longer. He couldn't look in the President's face any 
 longer and stay comfortable in his mind. The gravity and sor- 
 row in that face were too much. They accused him unconsciously. 
 Joe had responded to the great recruiter without a word, and 
 now he was off. 
 
 Tad watched in utter hopelessness, then walked away. He 
 wanted to see no one — not even Mrs! Keckley — for he did not 
 want to cry. He wanted to be true to Joe and not cry, and his lip 
 twitched as he thought of Joe going. Only the thought of the 
 circus, of the long trip they were going to make to Africa helped. 
 He went upstairs to his theater. 
 
 For a moment he could not take in what had been done. Stage, 
 curtains, orchestra pit, all had been meddled with, folded up, and 
 set aside. In their place the photographers had set up their ap- 
 paratus. It was an outrage. Coming upon his raw sensitiveness, it 
 was an unforgivable outrage. Tad's grief about Joe turned into 
 fury. His first impulse was to smash everything, throw every- 
 thing out. But he was afraid. The next best thing was to lock the 
 door and let them whistle for the keys. This he did, and then stole 
 down to his pa. 
 
198 Tad Lincoln 
 
 The hateful Carpenter was there, sketching his pa, who was 
 dictating to Mr. Hay. Tad sat down, holding the key in his 
 pocket. Presently one of the photographers looked in most apolo- 
 getically, whispered to Carpenter. That creature beckoned to 
 Tad. Tad turned away. Carpenter tiptoed to Tad and whispered, 
 " Have you the key to the room where my men are working? " 
 
 " It's my room," Tad said angrily. " You've no right to mess 
 it up." 
 
 " What is it, Taddie? " Lincoln asked. 
 
 Tad started a tirade against Carpenter. He had no words to 
 say what was really the matter — Joe's going, and this man tak- 
 ing up all his pa's time. Even Lincoln could not fathom this tem- 
 pest over so small a reason. " Tad, go and unlock the door for Mr. 
 Carpenter, please." 
 
 Tad left the room on the edge of tears. If Carpenter had not 
 followed, he would have done as his pa wanted. But the painter 
 by a few tactless words steeled Tad to disobedience. Carpenter 
 returned from a fruitless errand. 
 
 Lincoln left the room and caught up with Tad. " Don't you 
 know that you are making your father a deal of trouble, sonny? " 
 
 Tad saw his pa standing there so mildly accusing and all the 
 woe within him burst into tears. He gave the key to his pa, but 
 the President knew now that far more than this was the matter. 
 He drew the boy to him. Tad's sobs were almost too heartbroken 
 for the older man to bear dry-eyed. " Joe's gone," Tad sobbed. 
 " He's gone away ... to the war. . . . He'll never come 
 back." 
 
 Lincoln carried his boy into his room. He understood so well. 
 He felt so understandingly the compound sorrow of these part- 
 ings, all over the broad land, throughout the North, yes, and the 
 South. Back in the Presidential office, Hay waited for a sentence 
 to be finished, Carpenter criticized the spoiling of modern youth. 
 Down the hall a boy's grief subsided somewhat in a worn man's 
 arms. 
 
Tad Under Fire 199 
 
 The heat came, and Fred Grant visited Tad at Soldiers' Home. 
 They shared the same room, the same bed. The night talks were 
 a continuation of the day's joys. Tad was past eleven now, Fred 
 fourteen. Few boys, Tad thought, could have so exciting a friend 
 as Fred Grant. The only trouble was that he didn't like to talk 
 about his exploits. He was large for his age, and self-contained. 
 If he had helped his pa to takes Vicksburg, Tad thought, he 
 couldn't help talking about it. 
 
 On this July night it was really too hot for anything but 
 conversation. " What did you do at Vicksburg? " Tad asked 
 again. 
 
 " Errands, anything father wanted. I was on his staff. It's kind 
 of like a family, but all men." 
 
 " I'd like that," Tad said. 
 
 " I wish you'd been there with us," Fred said sincerely, for 
 Tad's admiration had made Fred feel very friendly. " I wish you'd 
 been with father and me when we watched the gunboats run the 
 rebs' batteries. That was a lively time — the guns firing, and the 
 vessels snaking by, and anything likely to happen. Ever hear of 
 Yazoo Pass? The channel was all grown up, like a garden. Mr. 
 Dana, the newspaperman, kept poking jokes at it. He said you 
 couldn't tell whether it was a river that needed weeding or a 
 truck patch that had got too wet. The captain of the gunboat 
 we were on said he'd never seen vessels so good at knocking down 
 trees, and what they needed was a lot of good lumberjacks for 
 crew — that and a sawmill. 
 
 " Mr. Dana and I got lost once. We'd been sleeping on a gun- 
 boat. Father wanted to get away without us, for he was going into 
 a kind of tough spot at Grand Gulf. But I heard the firing when 
 the Battle of Port Gibson started, and Mr. Dana and I went ashore 
 and grabbed up the first horses we found. They were great big 
 cart horses, so old they were white, and we had ropes for bridles, 
 but we got to dad." 
 
 M Did you get wounded? " Tad asked hopefully. 
 
200 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " Yep. At Big Black. But it didn't come to much." 
 
 " Whereabouts? " 
 
 " At Big Black, I told you." 
 
 " I know, but where? " 
 
 Fred took Tad's finger in the dark and let him trace the scar 
 along a rib. " Just grazed me," the veteran said. 
 
 l< If I tell you something, promise you won't tell? " Tad asked. 
 w I'm going to be a drummer boy. I learned some on the bugle but 
 it's too hard, but I reckon I can hit a drum." 
 
 " It's not so easy as you think." 
 
 " Anyways, I can learn and I'll find out what regiment Pri- 
 vate Joe's with and run off and be its drummer." 
 
 tc Think your father will let you? " 
 
 " I'll change my name, and nobody '11 know but Joe." 
 
 " You won't like it much," Fred prophesied from observation. 
 " Drummers live with the men. When it rains they stay wet. They 
 march till even grown men fall down from being worn out. In a 
 battle they see things that'd make you sick — horses running 
 around screaming with their insides hanging out, men with their 
 faces shot away. It's horrible." 
 
 tc But . . . but other boys are drummers," Tad said manfully. 
 
 Fred felt responsible. For a boy who had not yet shaved, he 
 had had a long career at being responsible. " Let me know when 
 you get ready to be a drummer, Tad? " 
 
 " You like to go with me? " Tad asked hopefully. 
 
 " Might," Fred sounded sleepy. " We can talk about it to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Tad did not sleep soundly with so much hope on his mind. He 
 dreamed he was on a gunboat, and he heard a regular pounding 
 and Fred said it was just Niggers chopping out the channel. Then 
 suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. " Tad, get up . . . get 
 dressed. Quick." 
 
 Fred had a soldier's ear, and was instantly awake. " Who's that? 
 What's up? House afire? " 
 
 
Tad Under Fire 201 
 
 It was Mrs. Keckley, still struggling to wake Tad. " De rebels 
 are a-comin'," she said. " We done got tuh leave here right away." 
 
 " The rebels? How could they be coming? " Fred was puzzled, 
 sleepy, rawly worried. " That can't be." 
 
 " Ah don' know but de messengers ride up all clitterclatter an' 
 wake de President an' say de rebels come a-marchin' down Seb- 
 enth Street Road an' dey lak to carry him off ef he don* git out 
 mighty quick." 
 
 Fred pulled Tad out of bed and stood him up. " Hear that, 
 boy? You mayn't need to hunt the rebs. They're hunting us." 
 
 The boys dressed in different moods. Fred was apprehensive 
 for his father's sake. What had happened? Had the Army of the 
 Potomac had hideous reverses? How was it possible that a Con- 
 federate Army could reach the District of Columbia? Why, Sev- 
 enth Street Road led to the very heart of the Capital! What fatal 
 blow made it necessary for the President to be wakened in the 
 middle of the night and forced to flee for his life? It was a night- 
 mare that had nothing to do with sleep. 
 
 Tad got his clothes on wrong in a state of exaggerated joy. Ex- 
 citement! Excitement! Fun! He nearly crumpled up laughing to 
 think of his pa. Maybe the rebels would come before they got 
 away, and his pa would have to make a speech to them in his 
 nightgown. It never occurred to Tad that anything really serious 
 could happen to his pa. 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln bustled into the room without knocking. " You're 
 keeping us waiting, boys! Hurry now! " 
 
 M Yes, Mrs. Lincoln," Fred said. 
 
 " Leave everything, Taddie. Come! " 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln took her frivolous son by the hand, her jewel case 
 in the other. A squadron of cavalry surrounded a carriage dimly 
 visible in the soft starlight. Lincoln was saying to an army sub- 
 altern: " Telegraph the mayor of Baltimore that the rebels can't 
 fly. Every single soldier I have is being disposed for the best pro- 
 tection of all. It behooves the rest of us to be vigilant and cool." 
 
202 Tad Lincoln 
 
 M I'm afraid the wires are all cut, Mr. Lincoln," an officer said. 
 
 lt Well, horses were made before the telegraph," Lincoln re- 
 plied. " Get in, mother. We must be off." 
 
 Tad had never seen his ma so docile. This was adventure, to be 
 spinning along the road, with the clop-clop and jangle- jingle of 
 the horsemen ahead and behind. 
 
 te Do you consider the White House in danger, Mr. Lincoln? " 
 Tad heard his ma ask. Lincoln, sunk in thought, made no response. 
 
 " Do you, pa? " Tad chimed in. 
 
 M You know nearly as much about this as I do, sonny," Lin- 
 coln said. " The raid has taken us by surprise. I suspect General 
 Lee is at his old tricks again, playing a fearless game in order to 
 arouse our fears. So we must see that he doesn't succeed in 
 doing so." 
 
 " That is all very well to say," Mrs. Lincoln said tartly. " But 
 what is Stanton doing? " 
 
 te Stanton has already scraped together 20,000 men from the 
 training camps and hospitals. That's as many as General Breckin- 
 ridge and Early are reported to have. You will be kept safe, 
 mother." 
 
 " General Breckinridge? " Mrs. Lincoln shrieked. " He's my 
 kinsman! I shall die of shame." 
 
 Fred had been waiting to ask a question. " Is father responsible 
 for this surprise, Mr. Lincoln? " 
 
 " Not at all, my boy," said Lincoln with quick sympathy. 
 
 " No, no! " Mrs. Lincoln interrupted. " It's that Stanton, you 
 may depend upon it. I can't abide the man! " 
 
 " Now, mother . . ," Lincoln turned back to Fred. 
 
 But Mrs. Lincoln was launched. " If your father had had his 
 way, Fred, this humiliation would never have happened. He 
 wanted some proven general assigned to defend this city. But 
 Stanton insisted that Halleck be elevated to commander. That 
 goose! If Halleck commanded 50,000 troops, he wouldn't scare 
 three rabbits from their nests! " 
 
 
Tad Under Fire 203 
 
 " Now, mother, please! " Lincoln resumed. " Fred asked me a 
 question. Fred, it was this way, so far as I have been informed. 
 General Early has been marching his men thirty miles a day up 
 through the Blue Ridge Mountains. He has terrorized Hagers- 
 town and other cities in Maryland, and collected something like 
 a quarter million dollars. He has torn up the Baltimore and Ohio 
 tracks, burned mills and factories, and equipped himself with 
 supplies. He reached the outskirts of Baltimore and burned Gov- 
 ernor Bradford's home. Then he apparently turned south, and 
 now is at Silver Spring. Commander Lew Wallace was outnum- 
 bered, and Early routed him at Monocacy. So now it depends on 
 the forts. Your father is rushing reinforcements, and we'll keep 
 the Confederate flag off the Capitol dome yet." 
 
 " Which fort will Early attack first? " asked practical Fred. 
 
 " Fort Stevens. It's about five miles due north of the White 
 House." 
 
 " Imagine. At this stage of the Rebellion! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Lincoln. " One undermanned fort our sole protection! The only 
 thing that's to stop those fiends from sacking the Capital of the 
 United States, taking our gold, no doubt burning down our home. 
 I shall never live down this humiliation, Mr. Lincoln." 
 
 " Will Fred's pa bring the soldiers? " Tad asked. 
 
 " No, sonny. That's just what Lee would like him to do." 
 
 The cavalry escort swept into the White House grounds. Mrs. 
 Lincoln retired in high dudgeon because she, the First Lady of 
 the land, had been harried from one place to another like a rab- 
 bit. The boys got something to eat, talked, and went to bed 
 again, Tad hoping for some new excitements. They slept late. Tad 
 found that his pa had left after an early breakfast for Fort 
 Stevens. This roused him. " I'm going too," he told Fred when no- 
 body could overhear. " I'm going to put on my uniform and 
 they can't stop me. I allow pa'd let me see the battle." 
 
 :t You don't want to see men shot, Tad," Fred said. <e You never 
 forget it. I've seen it and I know." 
 

 204 Tad Lincoln 
 
 A stubborn set look came into Tad's face. " I'm going to be 
 with pa. You needn't come if you don't want to." 
 
 The excitement and confusion everywhere were a help. Tad's 
 uniform helped. Fred Grant's experience, backed by his amiable 
 smile, negotiated ticklish places. It took the two boys hours to 
 reach Fort Stevens. They had been sent back twice, only to double 
 and outflank the fussy officer who was too engaged to see whether 
 he was obeyed. 
 
 Tad's excitement grew with each whiff of smoke, each rever- 
 beration, as they neared the low palisades and earthwork com- 
 prising the Fort. Only subterfuge took him the last hundred 
 yards. The boys saw an ammunition wagon being driven for- 
 ward. Here was the danger spot for them, because any soldier 
 now, observing two boys making for the Fort, would order them 
 back. The mules were nervous. Tad and Fred held on to the rear 
 of the wagon and were pulled ahead while keeping out of sight. 
 It might not have appeared decorous in a colonel to scoot from 
 the wagon, dodging officers and men, and make a run for it to the 
 tall figure on the ramparts. A shell exploding at his feet could 
 not have surprised Lincoln more than that small hand thrust into 
 his and the boyish voice saying: " Pa, I got here! Is that the 
 battle? " 
 
 " Taddie! " Lincoln was as disturbed as surprised. 
 
 " Fred came too! " Tad announced triumphantly, safe from 
 the staring soldiers he had eluded. " He said you wouldn't want 
 me, but I thought you would." 
 
 Lincoln's greatness rested, partly, in his respect for another, 
 even now for his mischievous, trusting son. But an occasional 
 bullet from some rebel sharpshooter sang past like an angry bee, 
 and he could not risk so blind an ending to the life of his dearest. 
 He looked at Fred. General Grant would find it hard to forgive if 
 his boy was killed so uselessly. Officers had already expostulated 
 
Tad Under Fire 205 
 
 at his exposing himself above the rampart. Lincoln's tact was 
 tried, for after his boy's initiative and struggle to reach him, he 
 could not bear to order him removed. 
 
 "Pa, where 's the battle? " Tad asked. He saw but few men 
 moving through the summer shimmer of heat up a rise of ground. 
 The broken line straggling thinly ahead looked very different 
 from the thick ranks of huzzaing men marching up Pennsylvania 
 Avenue. 
 
 Fred had been looking at the battlefield with an experienced 
 eye. " We're trying to dislodge the enemy from that orchard, 
 aren't we, sir? " he asked. " See, Tad," and he pointed toward a 
 farmhouse that seemed to sway in the haze of smoke. 
 
 K Yes, Fred. Your father got two divisions here from City 
 Point in the nick of time." 
 
 Tad could make out more now. He saw the distant irregular 
 blue line pushing back the rebel pickets. They acted like dust- 
 blurred boys playing " cops and robbers." He saw one figure 
 throw up an arm and lean forward and lie without moving. An- 
 other bent over him, straightened up and clutched at his throat, 
 and fell. Fred had seen these deaths too and glanced at Tad, say- 
 ing nothing. This was a small affair compared with the noisy 
 factory of death near Vicksburg, where corpses were turned out, 
 sometimes several to the minute, and where the marred but not 
 finished dead writhed in agony before his eyes. But it was Tad's 
 first. 
 
 " Are we beating, pa? " Tad asked. 
 
 :t Yes, our men have pushed back the Confederate pickets since 
 I arrived." 
 
 Surgeon Crawford, of the i02d Pennsylvania, was standing by 
 Tad. " We'll have them running before nightfall," he said to Tad. 
 At the same instant a bullet nicked the stone five feet from Lin- 
 coln and was deflected into Crawford's leg. The surgeon ex- 
 claimed. " It got me." In silence Tad watched the red blood stain 
 his trouser leg. The surgeon retired to attend to his wound. 
 
zo6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " Now, Mr. President," General Wright said testily, " may I 
 respectfully repeat what I said? You are running a needless risk 
 here, and I urge you to withdraw." 
 
 te I think that shot must have come from over there," Fred 
 suggested, pointing to a leafy tree at a forward point in the rebel 
 line. " I bet there's a sharpshooter in that tree." 
 
 General Wright paid no attention. He was waiting for Lin- 
 coln to speak. The President's face was grave and passive, as if 
 he accepted the common soldier's belief in the named bullet. te I 
 will thank you to provide someone to see these boys safely to the 
 rear, General." 
 
 et No, no, pa! I want to stay! Let me stay! " Tad cried rebel- 
 liously. 
 
 At that instant Captain Reid, standing at Lincoln's elbow, 
 exclaimed hoarsely, " I'm hit," and tottered. An orderly of the 
 General's stepped forward to catch him. Tad, in awe, saw the 
 telltale red spurting fatally from the severed vein in his neck. 
 Two soldiers were easing him to the floor. Tad could not bear to 
 look. It was as Fred had said. Lincoln bent over the dying cap- 
 tain. General Wright was saying to the President: " Sir, I insist. 
 You are too easy and valuable a target for these Southern squirrel 
 shooters. If you will not leave, at least sit here in the shade of the 
 parapet where you will be sheltered." 
 
 Captain Reid gave a last shudder and expired. Fred was looking 
 toward the sharpshooter's tree. " They're going for him! " he 
 cried. Lincoln drew Tad with him into the parapet's shelter until 
 the flurry of marksmanship should pass and called Fred. 
 
 Tad forgot his momentary horror at the captain's bloody end. 
 He was at the center of sound and motion. The locust buzz of in- 
 visible bullets, the crack of muskets, the loud hurrahs of the 
 smoothbore cannon, all stirred him to quickened feelings. He 
 heard drivers beating their mules and cursing, heard wagons 
 creaking with their loads, heard commands, and distant shouts. 
 Everywhere in the heat and smoke confusion strove for victory 
 
Tad Under Fire 207 
 
 against the incredible invaders. Gunners rammed and fired with- 
 out an instant to glance at the lanky man holding an eager boy by 
 the wrist with the older roundheaded boy watching through 
 glasses near by. 
 
 Just beyond earshot General Wright talked to the bandaged 
 surgeon. " One enemy shell rightly placed could wipe out the 
 hope of the nation," he complained. " But he's Commander in 
 Chief, and I can do no more than urge." 
 
 M Mr. Lincoln's the first President since Washington to be un- 
 der fire," said the surgeon. 
 
 " You can't blame him for wanting to see the rebs repulsed, I 
 suppose," the general said. " He's the man who ordered this war 
 and conducted it. He's groaned and suffered through scores of 
 bigger battles in the telegraph office, Eckert tells me. So I don't 
 wonder he came out to see one firsthand. It won't be much longer. 
 We've got the orchard and the farmhouse and they'll have to 
 retire or be flanked." 
 
 M Pa, can we go? " asked a weary boy as the first campfires be- 
 gan to blossom in the wood lots. 
 
 " You can report to Mrs. Lincoln that the District of Columbia 
 is saved," General Wright was telling the President. 
 
 M The South stopped in the very sight of the Capitol dome," 
 mused Lincoln. 
 
 M At the cost of only three hundred and eighty killed and 
 about three hundred wounded, sir," the general said. 
 
 To Tad, who had seen one man bleed to death, figures meant 
 something now. His quick imagination pictured three hundred 
 and eighty men laid in a long and terrible row. He said nothing. 
 Fred spoke up quietly, " When father attacked at Cold Harbor, 
 we lost three thousand men in twenty-two minutes." 
 
 That was too much awfulness for Tad to take in. General 
 Wright escorted them from the Fort and through the crush of 
 belated defenders. He was assuring Lincoln that Early could not 
 escape. 
 
208 Tad Lincoln 
 
 They found Mrs. Lincoln beside herself with anxiety. A long 
 search had been made for the errant boys. Nobody had thought 
 of looking on the ramparts of Fort Stevens. Tad tried to tell his 
 ma how important it was for a colonel to attend at least one 
 battle. She did not listen to him, but spoke to her husband, while 
 Fred had to pretend, in embarrassment, not to hear. 
 
 " You have no consideration for my feelings, Mr. Lincoln! " 
 she said heatedly. "Exposing yourself like that! Exposing Tad- 
 die! Letting me sit in anguish without information, fearing the 
 boys might be kidnaped, hearing that the White House was to be 
 captured any minute. Have the rebels been routed? Have they 
 been taken? You might tell me, now that you condescend to re- 
 turn, what has been done! Are we still in danger? Stop that! Put 
 it down! " she shrieked without control at Tad, who had nerv- 
 ously picked up an inkwell. 
 
 " Now, mother, quiet yourself," Lincoln said gently. " You've 
 your boy back safe. The enemy is retreating, and Halleck will 
 take care of him. So calm yourself . . ." 
 
 " Halleck! Halleck! " screamed the distraught woman. M He'll 
 do nothing but pull his ear until you give him orders." 
 
 " I have promised General Grant not to interfere, mother." 
 
 " Don't be a noddy! " cried Mrs. Lincoln. " Grant is too far 
 away to devise the required orders. You are Commander in Chief, 
 Mr. Lincoln. Surely you will not let these knaves come to our very 
 doorstep, defile it, and leave unpunished with their plunder? " 
 Mary Todd's hand clenched with a gesture of the old flaming 
 forcef ulness that had put her husband in the White House. Fred's 
 face was a study. He had just heard the President of the United 
 States called a noddy by a woman, yet a woman who sounded 
 right, who had the energy of his own father. 
 
 "You boys go down and forage for some supper," Lincoln 
 said. " I'll be down shortly." 
 
 
Tad Under Fire 209 
 
 w I knew it! I knew it! " Mrs. Lincoln said to Mrs. Keckley two 
 days later. " General Early has escaped. He's made off with boots 
 for Lee's men, clothing for their backs, wagon trains of plunder 
 half a mile long, and a quarter million gold in his hands. And 
 we sit and let him go like a pack of ninnies! " 
 
 " Looks lak yo' been right once mo* 'bout dem gen'rals," Mrs. 
 Keckley observed. 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 Tad Is a Comfort 
 
 IT WAS LIKE OLD TIMES, TAD THOUGHT, ONLY BETTER. FOR HE 
 was practically grown-up now, going on twelve, and his pa 
 talked to him about grown-up things, as if he were a man. His 
 pa needed him, and he needed his pa too. Private Joe had never 
 written, as he promised, and while he didn't think about this so 
 much anymore, it still hurt when he did. Then Fred Grant had 
 gone to school in New Jersey. His ma was busier than ever with 
 hospitals and fairs to raise money for the soldiers and buying 
 dresses or putting up new curtains. 
 
 If there was any word Tad was sick of hearing it was " draft." 
 At first he had thought the draft was something that gave you 
 a cold. Now he knew better. It was making people go into the 
 Union Army. The draft made people mad. Stories of the dread- 
 ful draft riots in New York scared Tad. Mobs had destroyed 
 streetcar lines, killed policemen, hunted Negroes like wolves, beat 
 them to death, hanged them from lampposts. When Tad thought 
 of this, he was terrified, and the talk he overheard worried him. 
 He could see that it was possible to fight the rebels or the people 
 who wanted to dodge the draft, but not both at the same time. 
 He couldn't understand why the people didn't see it. 
 
 Then Congress was, as his pa said, cutting up. Tad couldn't 
 understand Congress either. They were supposed to want to win 
 the war, but they voted against things his pa said were necessary 
 to win it. Noah Brooks, the newspaperman, kept saying, " Poli- 
 tics, politics — they're playing politics." Tad could not under- 
 stand why most people should be against his pa, when he wore 
 
Tad Is a Com fori itl 
 
 himself out doing things for them. Even the newspapers were 
 tired of him, and wanted that old snail McClellan in the White 
 House. 
 
 Tad remembered the first time he had really understood that 
 they might have to move out of the White House. He had been 
 standing on one leg, listening to his pa explain why he had to 
 put out this new call for 500,000 more volunteers. After fighting 
 the war ever since he, Tad, could remember, it seemed silly to have 
 to explain. But his pa was patient, and showed why they didn't 
 want to lose the war now, and Tad had been shuffling through 
 some newspapers when his eye fell on the headline: "Old Abe 
 Removed McClellan. Well Now Remove Old Abe." It wasn't a 
 Southern paper. The New York World and The Chicago Times 
 and The Detroit Free Press all were equally hostile. " Time to 
 Swap Horses, November 8." " No More Vulgar Jokes." 
 
 Tad was scared. He wanted to go on living in the White House. 
 He had never had so much fun. He could not imagine going back 
 to their little old home in Springfield, with his ma cooking dinner 
 instead of locking grandly at a roast offered for her inspection on 
 a silver platter and sending it back imperiously to the kitchen 
 with the butler acting as if his ears had been boxed. It would be 
 miserable without orderlies and guards and servants and a whole 
 army fighting for him and saluting. He was used to his pa run- 
 ning the country, and people bowing and applauding, and the 
 band playing and people getting up to sing the ct Star-Spangled 
 Banner." 
 
 Tad began now to search the newspapers for signs that some- 
 body was going to vote for his pa, and he found terrible lies. " By 
 whom hath the Constitution been made obsolete? By Abraham 
 Africanus the First. What is a President? A general agent for 
 Negroes. What is the meaning of an oath? To swear not to do 
 anything you promise. Was Mr. Lincoln ever distinguished as a 
 military officer? Yes, in the Black Hawk War. What high position 
 did he hold? He was the cook." 
 
212 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Tad threw down the paper in a fury. He had sat in his pa's lap 
 and heard about the Black Hawk War, and he wasn't the cook, 
 and if the paper could tell that lie it could tell others. Tad knew 
 that his pa kept his promises. He had sat for hours and heard his 
 pa talk over plans so that the country could be helped. He knew 
 how good and gentle and hard-trying his pa was. But suppose 
 people who didn't know him read these lies? They might believe 
 them. They might think his pa was a gorilla, as the South said, 
 who spent his time trying to destroy the Union, as the North 
 complained. 
 
 " Pa, you said it was bad to tell lies. You said anybody who told 
 'em got punished. But these papers tell lies every day and nobody 
 punishes them." 
 
 :e The lies punish them, sonny," Lincoln said. 
 
 :e Then why did ma wash my mouth out that time? Why didn't 
 she just let the lie punish me? " 
 
 " She didn't want to wait until the lie punished you with a big 
 wallop. She was trying to stop the punishment early." 
 
 M Pa," asked the mercurial Tad. " Is it true, or just another lie, 
 that you ain't going to be elected? " 
 
 Lincoln pondered his answer. That very day he had written, 
 " This morning, as for some days past, it seems exceedingly prob- 
 able that this Administration will not be re-elected." How to tell 
 the truth to this eager loyal boy and yet not quench his hope? 
 " Nobody knows, Taddie. I have done my duty, as I see it, and I 
 have prayed to see it rightly. I stand clear before my own con- 
 science. The rest is up to the people who do the voting." 
 
 tc When will we know, pa? " 
 
 M Election Day, November 8." 
 
 To Tad, whose every day was a long panorama of pleasure, that 
 was far, far away. He brightened. " I reckon something'll turn 
 up," he said with borrowed sageness. 
 
 In September, Robert Lincoln sent his father a copy of Harper's 
 Weekly, It listed some of the names McClellan's friends were call- 
 
Tad Is a Comfort 213 
 
 ing the President. At first glance every insult seemed to be in- 
 cluded, from robber to monster, from perjurer to tyrant, liar, 
 braggart, buffoon, and fiend. Lincoln showed the sheet to his 
 secretary, Hay, saying, " Well, at least they have not accused me 
 of parricide." 
 
 " If ingratitude is the sign of smallness, you couldn't find Mc- 
 Clellan under a microscope," Hay said. " What you didn't do and 
 endure for that man! And now he resorts to this! " 
 
 e< But these lies don't stick," Lincoln said. " The people aren't 
 changed by name-calling. They see that we're making progress 
 with this war. They see that the danger of foreign intervention is 
 past. In their hearts they approve of our freeing the slaves. It may 
 be a close shave, but the people will keep their heads. I remember 
 telling Dick Oglesby once, when he was running for governor of 
 our state, to keep close to the people. They are always right and 
 will mislead no one. They're the sum of experience. They know 
 when the time is ripe for a change, a lift to a new level. The sap of 
 progress rises in them as mysteriously as in a forest. They will have 
 the say in November, and I'm content to abide by their verdict." 
 
 Tad, who had been listening, was cheered. But Mr. Hay said, 
 " The solid people, yes, Mr. Lincoln. But there are so many shaky 
 ones, so many gullible. What I'm afraid of is that McClellan and 
 his gang of Democrats may fool fifty-one per cent of the people 
 up to and including the 8th." 
 
 " Did you ever see the ice go out of a northern river, Hay? One 
 day it looks solid and permanent; the next it has blackened, 
 broken up, and gone. It couldn't fight spring. And our opposition 
 is trying to do that very thing. We've got spring on our side." 
 
 Tad took his pa's hand. M Let's go, pa. You're feelin' good now, 
 so let's go," and he pulled at the long, bony hand. 
 
 Tad had never seen the White House so deserted. It was like the 
 day after Willie died, only quieter. To add to the dreariness, rain 
 
214 Tad Lincoln 
 
 streamed down a cold east wind. Tad stood in the East Room, 
 which was like a barn but not half so cosy as a barn, and watched 
 the rivulets run down the windowpane. He wondered what he 
 could do until night when the returns would be coming in. His 
 pa had promised that he could sit up as long as he liked, even 
 forever. 
 
 He thought of dressing up in his slicker and going out to fish 
 in the big goldfish pond, but it wouldn't be much fun without 
 Mr. Martin, the gardener, around to complain, and he knew how 
 big the biggest of the forbidden fish was, anyway. 
 
 He thought of making a barricade in his pa's room as he used 
 to do, by heaping the chairs in a row and hiding behind, and 
 then when his pa came in, jumping up, upsetting the chairs, and 
 scaring his pa into a fit. But that seemed kind of stale now. 
 
 In the hall he ran into William Crook, the White House guard. 
 " Where's pa? " he asked. 
 
 " Here, there, and everywhere. He can't settle at anything. 
 He's like myself in that." 
 
 Tad, too, shilly-shallied at this and that through the gloom 
 of the day that early darkened into night, with the wind rising, 
 the rain beating on the windows. Tad found even the kitchen 
 uneasy. All under the White House roof, from President to the 
 cook's assistant, realized that they were living under a suspended 
 sentence. When Tad announced that he wanted to make molasses 
 candy, he found complaisant helpers. His ancient enemies be- 
 low stairs, through this day of doubt, were his friends. They 
 shelled walnuts for him, stirred when he tired, showed him how 
 to cool the candy quickly. He carried some to his pa, who was 
 sitting with Noah Brooks, the correspondent, in the library. 
 
 " It may not be the finest poetry, Mr. Lincoln," Mr. Brooks 
 went on, after complimenting Tad on his candy, " but it says 
 what I should like to have said, and says it for the country. May 
 I read it? " 
 
 Lincoln's mouth was gluey with candy. He nodded, and Brooks 
 read: 
 
Tad Is a Comfort 215 
 
 " To President Lincoln 
 " Proudest of all earth's thrones 
 
 Is his who rules by a free people's choice; 
 Who 'midst fierce party strife and battle groans, 
 Hears, ever rising in harmonious tones, 
 A grateful people's voice. 
 
 M Steadfast in thee we trust, 
 
 Tried as no man was ever tried before; 
 God made thee merciful — God keep thee just. 
 Be true ! — and triumph over all thou must. 
 
 God bless thee evermore! " 
 
 Even Tad was quickly touched, as much by Noah Brooks's 
 fine, deep voice as by having so much God and his pa in one 
 poem. After that the time went quicker. They had a cosy supper 
 in the family dining room, and his ma was completely sure they 
 would win, and then the adventure time arrived. 
 
 It was pouring cats and dogs, Mr. Crook said, but Tad had 
 learned to discount his elders' remarks and did not actually 
 expect to see a rain of animals. But it was pouring oceans. Tad 
 dragged on his gum boots and trotted beside his elongated pa, 
 splashing without correction. The sentinel was a pillar of wet 
 slicker. Lincoln, Tad, and Hay went up to the telegraph room. 
 Major Eckert handed his pa a telegram. " Just in, sir. You're 
 ahead by 10,000 in Philadelphia." 
 
 " Our man there is a little excitable," Lincoln said calmly. 
 
 Tad clapped his hands. "Pa's elected! Pa's elected! " 
 
 M Tad belongs to the one-swallow-makes-a-summer school," 
 Lincoln said to Eckert with an indulgent smile. 
 
 Homer Bates handed in a new tissue. " From Boston, sir. The 
 two Unionist Congressmen have four thousand majority." 
 
 M Boston don't often lose its head," Lincoln remarked. 
 
 tc The Almighty must be stuffing the ballot boxes," someone 
 remarked without irreverence. 
 
2i 6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 As the evening wore on and returns, still favorable, began to 
 come in from places farther west, the relief from anxiety turned 
 into a positive satisfaction, joy, mirth unpent. Stanton looked in, 
 and commented on his pleasure that two of the most malignant 
 men were getting their comeuppance. 
 
 M He has a very personal feeling about it," Eckert said, when 
 the Secretary of War had gone back to his quarters. 
 
 '\ Yes," Lincoln said. " I have never considered that personal 
 resentment pays. A man hasn't the time to spend half his life in 
 quarrels. If a man ceases to attack me, I never remember the past 
 against him. The malicious man only injures himself." 
 
 Tad was beginning to wish the election over. Sleep sat on his 
 eyelids, filled his head. Yet when the messengers took reports over 
 to his ma, he would not go. Oysters were brought in. Lincoln 
 shoveled out the fried delicacies for his faithful band. Newcom- 
 ers arrived. The storm was letting up, they said. 
 
 Tad was fighting now. Even eating had not helped much 
 against the flood of sleep. Suddenly a brass band opened up un- 
 der the windows, playing " Hail to the Chief " and " John 
 Brown's Body." There were cries of congratulations to the re- 
 elected President, demands for a speech. 
 
 A window was opened, and Lincoln thanked these men for 
 coming, for their labors. "I give thanks to the Almighty for this 
 evidence of the people's resolution to stand by the free democ- 
 racy and the rights of humanity." 
 
 It was true. The people had triumphed again. The storm of 
 balloting had cleansed the air of much contention like the great 
 aerial disturbance which had whirled across Election Day. The 
 North had told Lincoln to go on and guide them. 
 
 Tad could not watch until the end. He fell asleep, and in the 
 small hours was carried by his pa back to the White House and 
 the bed they now shared on most nights. 
 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 "Forever Free" 
 
 MRS. KECKLEY TRIED TO MAKE MRS. LINCOLN SEE. THE 
 seamstress had not forgotten how her own boy had passed 
 through this time. Mrs. Lincoln kept saying that Tad had got 
 beyond her. He was going the same way Robert had gone. 
 
 Mrs. Keckley kept reminding her that you couldn't have a 
 little boy and a big boy at the same time. It was true that Tad no 
 longer sat with them and knit ropes of yarn through a spool. He 
 no longer liked to cut out paper animals. While Mrs. Keckley used 
 to take him on walks, he now wanted to go alone or with Bobby 
 Grover. 
 
 How could he be content with such homely doings? Hadn't 
 he met half the famous people in one hemisphere? Hadn't he been 
 under fire like a veteran? Hadn't he grown to be responsible in 
 many ways? He knew what was proper. He would no more drag 
 the soldier talk into the White House than a dead cat. 
 
 Above all, he had access to the President, to his heart. Tad 
 could wind the greatest man in the world around his finger. He 
 was a boy to be proud of. Mrs. Keckley talked this way, as she 
 sewed, and Mrs. Lincoln admitted it, for Lizzie Keckley was now 
 her closest friend and only trusted confidant. But the jealousy 
 of time remained. " Po' soul," sighed Mrs. Keckley. " Miz' Lin- 
 coln's sick tuh her haid." 
 
 Mrs. Keckley was not afraid of Tad drifting too far from her. 
 She could know him better than anybody but his pa, for she 
 loved him better. Christmas was coming. She wondered what she 
 could give him that would make him think lovingly of her every 
 time he saw it. 
 
2i 8 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Then, as so often happens when love desires something, the 
 opportunity she craved came. Tad sought her and asked what he 
 should give his pa for Christmas. His ma wanted one of those 
 fancy fans from Paris. She had said so. But his pa never wanted 
 anything but the end of the war. 
 
 Mrs. Keckley's heart beat faster. He relied on her after all! He 
 and she would put their heads together, like old times. She and 
 Taddie! "Ah declare, honey, gittin' a present fo' yo' pa is lak 
 pintin' one ob dem guns. Ef yo' don' pint it jes' right, yo' don' 
 hit nuttin' at all." 
 
 The military figure pleased Tad. " But what can I get? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Ah know. Dere's on'y one way to please yo' pa, Taddie, an' 
 dat's tuh gib him a piece ob yo'se'f. Store fixin's don' do. Now 
 Ah tell yo' a secret. Ah'se been savin' tuh make a scrapbook 'bout 
 yo' pa an' ma, seein's Ah been so close from de fust day. Ah'se got 
 most a bushel ob pitchers an' newspaper haids. So how'd it be ef 
 we picked out a story from dem an' pasted it up grand? " 
 
 Tad thought awhile. " Could I put in that picture of Private 
 Joe and me? " 
 
 " Mercy me, yes! An' Ah allow it'd be de purtiest pitcher in 
 de whole book. Nobody else'd gib yo' pa a present lak dat, Tad- 
 die. He c'd neber look long enough into dat book. But mebbe 
 yo' couldn't keep it a secret, all de way tuh Christmas." 
 
 " I could too! " Tad said indignantly. " I've kept a million se- 
 crets. I bet I know two million now, and I wouldn't tell one no 
 matter who asked me." 
 
 M Ah know, honey. Yo' wouldn' tell on yo' pa no more'n a 
 dog'd bite his master. Now Ah'll get de pitchers, an' we'll go 
 buy us de biggest scrapbook dey is." 
 
 They found none to suit their fancy, and finally had a scrap- 
 book made with a handsome leather binding. Then began crea- 
 tion, and fun. They started with a beautiful picture of the White 
 House and those already far-off sad events of '61, the President's 
 
ff Forever Free " 219 
 
 inauguration amid the unfinished debris of the unfinished Capi- 
 tol, the firing at Sumter, the fumbling at Bull Run. 
 
 For '62 they had pictures of the capture of Fort Donelson 
 which Fred Grant had given Tad, and the taking of New Orleans, 
 the battles of Antietam and Fredericksburg, and the dismissal of 
 McClellan, taken unknown to him. Mrs. Keckley wasn't sure 
 about McClellan in a Christmas book, but Tad, with clearer head, 
 said that his pa would want the story complete. 
 
 The year '63 began with trumpets, the Emancipation Procla- 
 mation, sank to Chancellorsville, sank lower to the Draft Riots, 
 then rose on eagles' wings to Gettysburg and Vicksburg, thanks 
 again to Fred, with views of Lookout Mountain. Private Joe had 
 brought back evidences of his Gettysburg Address trip which 
 went in. 
 
 The year '64 was rich, with Grant's tremendous efforts at 
 Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, Petersburg. Tad spread himself on 
 the Wilderness and on the sea fights, and they had to go back and 
 insert the Monitor and Merrimac. He also used up pages on his 
 own battle at Fort Stevens, with a picture from the White House 
 roof showing its smoke. He included, over Mrs. Keckley's disap- 
 proval, several of the evilest campaign cartoons of his pa. " Pa 
 likes pickles, Mrs. Keckley," he said, with a squeal of pleasure. 
 " And he's sure in a pickle there." 
 
 They had filled the huge book to overflowing, and had tied it 
 up most beautifully, when it had to be opened again. General 
 Sherman, lost for over a month with an entire army in the South, 
 was found. Jubilation reached the White House. Sherman had 
 cut across Georgia, leaving a swath of ruin, and now he sent 
 President Lincoln his present by telegram: 
 
 I BEG TO PRESENT YOU AS A CHRISTMAS GIFT THE CITY OF 
 SAVANNAH, WITH ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY GUNS AND PLENTY 
 OF AMMUNITION, ALSO ABOUT TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND BALES 
 OF COTTON. 
 
 So Tad pasted in a picture of Savannah as a winder up. 
 
220 Tad Lincoln 
 
 On Christmas morning, Tad lugged the big package to his pa. 
 It was Sunday, as well as Christmas, and Lincoln had a double 
 portion of unaccustomed leisure. The two sat as of old and turned 
 the album's pages, never guessing that a proud colored woman 
 was the happiest of all concerned. To Lincoln's eyes came tears 
 as he looked at this pictorial record of his manifold labors. A 
 thousand poignant memories assailed him, and a few great joys. 
 But underneath lay a song of love, his love for Tad now reflected 
 back in this evidence of labor, this most persistent labor that Tad 
 had ever indulged in. M Sonny, if I live through this war, it will 
 be partly because you make my heart glad. I don't know what 
 I'd do without you." 
 
 Tad had never seen his pa so moved since Willie died. M You'd 
 have Bob," he ventured modestly. 
 
 " That reminds me, Taddie. General Grant has asked to have 
 Bob on his staff." 
 
 Tad was delighted. He knew that Bob had wanted to go to the 
 war, and his ma had put her foot down, and the papers had said 
 nasty things. " Will he shoot a lot of rebels, pa? " Tad asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 ce He will do what General Grant tells him to do. I pray God 
 on this day that His Son was born that the need for shooting will 
 soon be over." Lincoln looked longingly at the round, happy 
 face of his son. Its features made a piquant harmony under the 
 brown hair. There was mischief in the cut of his lips, and already 
 a determination in his chin. There would be room for rare thought 
 in the finely expanding skull above his ears, big for generosity. 
 His mouth was generously wide too, and in the liquid springs of 
 his blue-gray eyes there was quick penetration, true affection, 
 the spark of temper. When he talked of shooting rebels, it was 
 an expression, a quotation from the times. In Taddie's face lay 
 no hatred, no touch of all that waste of evil and violence and 
 corruption through which he had lived for four sensitive years. 
 Lincoln marveled at this miracle and was glad. 
 
 
(( Forever Free " 221 
 
 Secretary Stoddard entered. " A Merry Christmas, Tad, and 
 here's a present for you from the South." 
 
 " I don't want it. Take it back to the old South." 
 
 " You'll want this. It's a letter from a friend of yours. It came 
 in the official pouch by special messenger." 
 
 Tad took the battered envelope and gave a yell. " Pa, it's from 
 Private Joe! It's from Private Joe! " All his pretended indiffer- 
 ence to Joe's long silence melted into smiles. " Will you read it 
 to me? " 
 
 M Now, Taddie. That's a letter between friends. You ought to 
 see if it has any secrets in it first." 
 
 So Tad spread the close-written sheets out on a table, and 
 started slowly to decipher Private Joe's handwriting: 
 
 On the road to Savannah, Georgia. 
 
 Date unknown but sometime in December. 
 
 Col. Thomas Todd Lincoln 
 The White House, Washington. 
 
 Dear Tad, 
 
 Now you think I've forgotten you. Now maybe you've de- 
 cided you'll give your old friend what Katy got the night she 
 bumped into the door, a black eye. But you're full of weevils, for 
 I've been thinking of you most every day. I'm not Private Joe 
 any more, but Corporal Joe, but what's rank between friends, 
 and we're still going to Africa to hunt them circus lions, only I'll 
 know more how to do it than when we used to just sit and talk 
 about it. 
 
 I'm lucky as a nigger in a hen house, being with Gen'l Kil- 
 patrick's horse. Only at first I thought it was Kiljoe instead of 
 Kilpatrick. I was sore all over. If you ever been spanked you 
 know what it's like, only on horseback the spanking never stops, 
 and I sure cussed the South for ever getting me into such a fix. 
 Then my sitter got as leathery as the saddle and the fun began. 
 We made a bonfire of Atlanta. It sure looked cindery-looking. 
 Then we started cross-country for the sea. We was ordered to 
 
222 Tad Lincoln 
 
 clean up the land so clean even one little louse couldn't live on 
 it. We had 5000 riders and we scattered out on a ribbon 30 mile 
 wide each side the straight line to Savannah. 
 
 Well, you've heard of a bull in a china shop and how there ain't 
 much china left when they've caught the bull. And same with 
 this strip of country. We burned every house, barn, chicken coop 
 and wheelbarrow. We shot every dog that could trail a nigger, 
 drove off every horse, cow, sheep, or pig we could use, and wiped 
 out the rest. We destroyed every inch of railroad, every car, every 
 lump of coal. We gave the South a bellyful of its own war. Be- 
 tween you and me, Taddie, it was an awful thing to do. It sure 
 hurt to hold a torch to those wonderful fine mansions, looking 
 so proud and peaceful in the magnolias. It was a terrible waste to 
 shoot those thoroughbreds. Now everything's gone, destroyed. 
 Nothing's left but ruin and misery and hatred for us. I wouldn't 
 care much about coming back after the war and bragging I was 
 one of Sherman's army. But what else could we do? That's what 
 everybody says around the fire nights. Everybody's sorry, but 
 they wanted their way, regardless, and now all this damage. They 
 say the damage right here in Georgia adds up to a hundred mil- 
 lion dollars, gold, not greenbacks. If everybody who makes wars 
 was in this war up to their necks, like we are, they'd think twice 
 before having another. 
 
 Maybe I'll be seeing you again, soon. I'm not allowed to say 
 why. But don't forget I'm your friend, 
 
 Private Joe (Corp.). 
 
 P.S. The General's letting me send this letter official, seeing as 
 it's to you. So in case it gets to you by Christmas, I hope you have 
 a merry one, and don't do nothing you wouldn't tell me about. 
 Please give my wishes for a Happy New Year in 1865 to your 
 pa and ma. 
 
 Tad was thankful he had sent a Christmas present to Joe in 
 spite of not hearing from him. He was a little ashamed that Mrs. 
 Keckley had had to keep after him about it. All the excitement 
 and friendship he had ever felt for Joe welled back. He spent 
 much of Christmas Day thinking about him and their plans. 
 
rf Forever Free " 223 
 
 Tad decided that he would go with Mrs. Keckley because she 
 wanted to so much. For himself he had had enough of Congress 
 when he had had to take Aunt Lizzie. They did nothing but talk 
 — just spit and talk and say things they didn't mean. 
 
 Tad had watched these politicians come to visit his pa. They 
 didn't walk into the room like other men. They tried to look as 
 though they weren't going to ask for what they were intending 
 to ask for. They never came just to be friendly and crack jokes, 
 like people at home. They came to get something or to stop some- 
 body else from getting something. Tad had more respect for the 
 old rip who dug up things out of the refuse barrel openly than 
 he had for Congressmen. They were always talking behind their 
 hands about something. His ma didn't like them either. 
 
 Senators didn't spit so much, Tad noticed, and people let them 
 steam around, important. Senators had to be handled. Visitors 
 would come in and hint around to his pa that they could handle 
 this or that Senator if such and such were given to them to do 
 it with. Tad thought of Mr. Stanton's tongs. Tad almost was 
 fond of Mr. Stanton for the way he handled Senators. He hated 
 their flannel voices too, and when a Senator wanted to make a 
 friend of his a general, Mr. Stanton flattened the Senator out 
 proper. Even his ma, Tad saw, was politer to Senators than to 
 ordinary Congressmen. Mr. Stoddard and Mr. Hay and Mr. 
 Nicolay were always polite to everybody. Tad decided he could 
 never be a secretary. 
 
 Tad had been hearing more and more about this thing Mrs. 
 Keckley wanted to attend Congress to see. It was called a Con- 
 stitutional Amendment and was dull as cold porridge. But his 
 pa was excited about it. You had to scare up two thirds of the 
 votes for your side. Tad laughed his bones loose over the two 
 Congressmen who couldn't find the last two votes. His pa looked 
 like a thunderstorm as he told them, " Those two votes must be 
 procured." 
 
224 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " How? " squeaked one of the Congressmen. " The pitcher's 
 dry." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the President in a voice that made Tad 
 shiver with anticipation, " it is surely time now, nearly a century 
 after the Declaration of Independence, to show that we mean 
 it. It certainly is time to make all persons within the limits of 
 the United States actually equal before the law. No longer shall 
 one person anywhere in this land hold another person as a slave. 
 The abolition of slavery by Constitutional provision settles the 
 fate for all coming time, not only of millions now in bondage 
 but of unborn millions to come. It is a measure of such vast im- 
 portance that the votes of two ignorant or selfish men must not 
 be allowed to stand in the way of the ordained progress of the 
 human race. Two offsetting votes must be procured. I leave it to 
 you to determine how it shall be done. But remember that I am 
 President of the United States, clothed with immense power, and 
 J expect you to procure those votes." 
 
 So serious, so awful in its gravity, was his pa's voice that Tad 
 half expected the ceiling to part and God's voice to back up his 
 pa. God refrained from speaking, but the two Congressmen 
 didn't look as if they needed any second to that motion. They 
 understood that they had to dig up two votes somewhere, even 
 if they had to make a whole new state, as Lincoln had made Ne- 
 vada, for the express purpose of providing votes for this crisis. 
 
 So Tad's curiosity to see whether they had accomplished this 
 did away with some of the boredom he anticipated in visiting 
 Congress. As he and Mrs. Keckley took their reserved seats in 
 the gallery of the House of Representatives on that 3 1st of Janu- 
 ary, he saw that she was as excited as if she were going to be freed 
 from slavery all over again. 
 
 te Why do they call it the Thirteenth Amendment? " Tad 
 asked. " Ain't thirteen unlucky? " 
 
 "Mighty onlucky, Taddie," Mrs. Keckley whispered. " It's de 
 onluckiest thing dat eber come tuh dose wicked critters who don' 
 
ff Forever Free " zz$ 
 
 mind no Bible talk an' eat de bread earnt by de sweat ob udder 
 men's faces. Dat's why dis here is called de Thirteenth 'Mend- 
 ment. It's de crack ob doom fo' dem. But fo' my people, it's a 
 grand day. It's a Christian day dat's gwine tuh stop dis whole 
 wickedness, an' yo' an' me are gwine tuh see it stop. Ef yo' pa 
 got dem two votes, my people is gwine tuh be forever free, from 
 dis day on, amen." 
 
 The speeches began. The air soon got thick with words. Tad 
 couldn't keep up with them. He counted the baldheads instead. 
 Fresh arrivals crammed the galleries. The Senate stood on the 
 House floor. Somebody wanted the vote put off until the morrow. 
 Mrs. Keckley made a savage noise in her throat that Tad had never 
 before heard from her. The man was howled down. The voting 
 began. Tad's scalp began to tickle with excitement. The voters 
 said " Yea " or " Nay." " Lak de Bible says to," Mrs. Keckley ob- 
 served. Some Democrat unexpectedly shouted " Yea! " There 
 were hisses and applause. The Speaker slammed down his gavel. 
 
 Tad liked that. He hoped they would misbehave again and the 
 Speaker slam till he broke his gavel. " Nay . . . Nay . . . Nay 
 . . . Yea . . . Nay . . . Yea . . . Nay . . ." Mrs. Keckley 's 
 lips were pressed together. The voting ran down the R's, U's, 
 Ws. A sudden silence. Speaker Colfax asked that his name be 
 called. It was and he answered, " Yea," amid salvos of applause. 
 While the clerk counted, the stir of voices became a buzz, a hum, 
 a stream of sound. The clerk whispered the results to the Speaker. 
 He announced that the question was decided in the affirmative: 
 Yeas, 119; Nays, 56; not voting, 8. 
 
 Emotion lifted people to their feet on a wave of cheers. Tad 
 was caught up by the fervor and jumped up too, clapping, shout- 
 ing. Mrs. Keckley sat very still, two big tears rolling down her 
 cheeks. Tad put his arms about her. Outdoors, batteries thun- 
 dered to a waiting city: The XXXIXth American Congress has 
 abolished American slavery I To be sure, the states, three fourths 
 of them, had to ratify the Amendment; to be sure, it had been 
 
zi6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 a narrow squeak, for three M Yea " votes changed to " Nay " 
 would have lost the bill. But the cannon did not speak of these 
 things. Their loud-voiced triumph said: fr HOORAY, no more 
 slavery! HOORAY, Abraham Lincoln! " And Tad, seeing in 
 memory his pa tell those Congressmen that they had to procure 
 those two votes, thrilled that his pa was a man of such power. 
 He looked at Mrs. Keckley, still motionless and silent. " What're 
 you thinking like that for? " he asked. 
 
 " Honey, Ah'm too happy to bust out like dem folks. Ah'm 
 thinkin' I don' have to grieve over my people no mo'. Dat's what 
 Ah'm thinkin'. Now dey're nobody's Niggers but dere own." 
 
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 Tad Goes to Richmond 
 
 TAD HAD HIS SEAT TICKET FOR THE INAUGURATION IN HIS 
 pocket, and he and Fred Grant were enjoying the crowd. 
 They had declined his ma's invitation to go in the carriage, and 
 just as well, for Mrs. Lincoln became anxious and ordered it 
 whipped on ahead, in spite of the poor marshal's protests, and so 
 it galloped in regal impatience from White House to Capitol 
 Hill and wasn't in the parade at all. 
 
 Fred was delighted to be back where cannon were passing, 
 where Navy models lurched through the mud on wheels, and 
 the Inaugural Guards marched behind bands in Union blue. It 
 was raining, sure, but that only made the ladies look funnier in 
 their drenched finery. Tad and Fred laughed a good deal, being 
 healthy, happy, and surrounded by comic sights. 
 
 Tad had begged off sitting in the Diplomatic Gallery with his 
 ma, and just as well again. Andrew Johnson, the new Vice- 
 President, made so long and arrogant a speech that Hannibal 
 Hamlin had to pull at his coattails, and even then he would not 
 stop. People kept saying: " What wretched taste! " and, " Sup- 
 pose anything should happen to Lincoln, and we had him in 
 office! " 
 
 Tad and Fred stayed outdoors, preferring drizzle to dry words, 
 enjoying their freedom. They were strong and could push 
 through a crowd like vendors. It was wonderful, Tad thought, 
 to be twelve and permitted to do things. The last time his pa 
 was inaugurated he sure was young. He wanted to mention this, 
 but he was afraid Fred would say, " What are you now? " He 
 
228 Tad Lincoln 
 
 knew he wasn't like that now, but there were things you couldn't 
 explain very well. 
 
 As they reached their seats, the procession from within the 
 Capitol appeared. Senator Henderson escorted Lincoln on his 
 arm. His pa looked very kindly and grave. The scenes of the first 
 Inauguration began to come back to Tad. He remembered the 
 sharpshooters in the Capitol windows, and Aunt Lizzie, and his 
 ma so anxious that his pa should not look like a rail splitter. He 
 remembered his eagerness to get to the White House and see what 
 their new home was going to be like. He also remembered "Willie's 
 excitement, and how they tore around, and in the emotion of the 
 moment Tad's eyes got wet. He had not thought much about 
 Willie lately. 
 
 " Fellow countrymen . . ." The applause had died away, and 
 his pa was reading again. Tad determined to listen. Fred was lis- 
 tening. Everybody was stretched into a listening posture. His 
 pa's voice was steady and clear and high as ever when he made 
 speeches. 
 
 It was hard to keep your mind on speeches. Tad wondered 
 where Private Joe was at this minute. He thought how hungry 
 he was going to be for dinner, and wondered what they'd have. 
 The sun came out and shone on his pa, and suddenly he thought 
 of a conundrum and leaned over to Fred. " When is one man two 
 men? " 
 
 " Sh-h! " Fred didn't even look around. 
 
 " When he's the last President and the next one." 
 
 " Shut up, I want to hear this." 
 
 So Tad listened again and heard the clear voice ringing out: 
 M So still it must be said, c The judgments of the Lord are true and 
 righteous altogether.' 
 
 " With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness 
 in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to 
 finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to 
 care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow 
 
Tad Goes to Richmond 229 
 
 and his orphan — to do all which may achieve and cherish a just 
 and lasting peace among ourselves, and with all nations." 
 
 Tad saw his pa standing there like a gaunt, fatherly statue, 
 ringed around by silence as he finished; then came the sound of 
 the mighty assembly giving its deep-throated approval. His ma 
 touched her eyes with her handkerchief. Tad saw others wiping 
 their eyes. Seward leaned over to Welles and said, " A psalm from 
 a people's heart." A man behind Tad said: " From the ridiculous 
 to the sublime, in four years! What may we not hope for under 
 his continued leadership! " 
 
 Lincoln was taking his oath, bending to kiss the Bible, then 
 straightening up once more to assume the burden of responsible 
 authority. Tad looked at his ma. Four years ago she had said at 
 this place, " Your father is President of the United States! " Now 
 she need not say it. Her face was flushed with pride, with assur- 
 ance. She had learned to be Mistress of the White House. She was 
 safely ensconced for another four years. Who could tell the tri- 
 umphs in advance? What brilliance, what happiness . . . 
 
 Tad punched Fred quietly and said, " Let's slide." 
 
 Fred nodded, M And draw our rations." 
 
 " I heard a good joke today." Fred said, as they elbowed their 
 way up Pennsylvania Avenue. " Some fellow was telling mother 
 that father will be President after the war. He said victorious 
 generals always were. He said the people couldn't do enough for 
 them and so made them President." Fred laughed. " Can you im- 
 agine father in the White House? I can't." 
 
 Tad didn't laugh. He didn't like the thought of being ousted. 
 w You mean when pa's good and done with it? " he asked. 
 
 M Don't look so solemn," Fred said. " I told you it was a joke. 
 Father's going to raise horses after the war. He told me so." 
 
 Tad was relieved. The White House was home now. It was 
 where he had turned the world into a pony and ridden it. It was 
 
230 Tad Lincoln 
 
 where soldiers saluted him and the Cabinet had to let him listen 
 to important decisions if he wanted. It was where he saved sol- 
 diers' lives by dragging crying mothers to his pa. It was exciting 
 hours at the telegraph office, and funny hours, and snug hours 
 in bed beside his long and bony pa when they could really talk. 
 As Tad walked into this magnificent estate of theirs where it was 
 Christmas every day, he had no criticism to make of life. It suited 
 him. Gaiety forever! 
 
 At that instant a blare of music from a band in front of the 
 White House brought a squeal from Tad. " By jings! Look! Fred, 
 look! It's the rebs! Maybe Lee's taken Washington! " 
 
 Fred saw an entire band clothed in Confederate uniforms, but 
 he caught hold of Tad, saying with mock severity: " You take 
 that back! It's an insult to father and the whole Grant family. 
 Take it back, or I'll knuckle you! " 
 
 Tad squirmed from Fred's hold. " I'll take it back if they ain't 
 rebs!" 
 
 " They're deserters," Fred explained wryly. " They know 
 which side their bread's got butter on, but I don't think the bet- 
 ter of them for that. I don't see why the crowd cheers 'em." 
 
 " Because they're playing * Yankee Doodle.' " 
 
 " It's because they think the end of the war's in sight prob- 
 ably. Father gives Lee about a month." 
 
 The boys wandered back into the White House a little before 
 midnight. The Presidential reception was just through. Lincoln's 
 tired face lighted up all over as he saw Tad. M You two look as 
 though you'd had a good time." 
 
 " Bobby Grover let us go back and talk to the minstrels, pa," 
 Tad cried. 
 
 " How was the reception, sir? " Fred asked dutifully. 
 
 " Pison long, and mighty like a lynching at times," Lincoln 
 said. He held up a cracked and blackened glove. " There's the 
 corpse. I reckon it shook six thousand hands before it died." 
 
Tad Goes to Richmond 231 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln sailed back in her big skirt from the East Room 
 and looked reprovingly at Tad. " You look worn out, Taddie. I 
 thought ten o'clock was your bedtime." 
 
 " Now, mother," Lincoln put in. " Tad is grown-up now. He's 
 starting his second Presidential term." Lincoln gazed more search- 
 ingly at his wife. tc You're vexed over something, mother." 
 
 " I am indeed. You've been entertaining vandals! " Mrs. Lin- 
 coln spat out the word. " Come and I'll show you. They've cut 
 off tassels, torn out pieces of the lace curtains. It's far past over- 
 looking this time." 
 
 At Mrs. Lincoln's entreaty they walked into the great ball- 
 room. Even Tad was sobered by the sight. From one window 
 hanging a piece of brocade almost a yard square had been cut. 
 Lincoln shook his head in amazement. " Why should they do it? 
 How can they? " 
 
 " A regiment of rebel troops with permission to forage 
 couldn't've treated it worse," Fred said. 
 
 Lincoln wanted to cheer his wife, and said: " Well, mother, 
 you've carried off the day well. Remember four years ago? " 
 
 Mary Todd remembered — the crushing anxieties which must 
 be concealed, the slights, the hideous moments. Much that need 
 never be lived over lay behind. " I don't see how I can live through 
 another four years of it, Mr. Lincoln." 
 
 Lincoln smiled at this way that woman had of playing with 
 her happiness. " Now, mother, you can't have it both ways. If 
 we had not been retained in this Mansion, you would have been 
 provoked enough to divorce me! " 
 
 " You should be ashamed to allow your son to hear you pro- 
 nounce the vulgar word! " 
 
 Lincoln laughed aloud and Tad did too, although he had small 
 notion why. Lincoln turned to Fred and said: " Your father has 
 asked me more than once to pay him a visit. If Tad and I accept 
 his invitation, will you like to go too? " 
 
 " And what about me? " Mrs. Lincoln demanded. " I have no 
 intention of being omitted from any such excursion." 
 
23 2 Tad Lincoln 
 
 :t You would be more comfortable at home, mother. And I 
 doubt if the dispatch boats are fitted to accommodate ladies." 
 
 :t Then they can be arranged to accommodate us," Mrs. Lin- 
 coln remarked sharply. " How does Mrs. Grant get to City Point, 
 I should like to know? " 
 
 Tad tugged at Fred's sleeve and made a gesture as of feeding 
 one's mouth. 
 
 This trip was very different from the other time he had gone 
 to visit the Army. There was a new feeling in everybody. His pa 
 said spring was in the air. Tad knew he meant more than that. 
 He meant victory. Grant was crushing Lee. His pa felt the weight 
 beginning to lift and told Bob that he was going to be let out of 
 school. His pa's good spirits were like the old times, almost, when 
 he would skylark around Herndon's office, with Willie pulling 
 on one leg and he, Tad, on the other, and Herndon growling. 
 
 Colonel Tad took Captain Bob's salute at Grant's headquar- 
 ters like an old-timer. Tad admired his big brother and Bob loved 
 Tad, but the last six years, with Bob at Exeter and Cambridge, 
 had kept them practically strangers. The person Tad wanted to 
 see most was Bugler Bill Fairlee, but he was not with the Army, 
 nor was anything known of his fate. 
 
 To Tad's delight, General Sherman slipped into camp from 
 North Carolina. Tad was allowed to sit in the tent while his pa 
 asked questions about Sherman's march from Atlanta to the sea. 
 Unfortunately the General did not know Private Joe who was 
 a corporal, and could give no news about him. 
 
 General Sheridan came into camp to see the President. " Sheri- 
 dan is a regular demon in the flesh," Bob had said, and Tad looked 
 for some sign of horns. What he saw was a young cavalry leader 
 only a few inches taller than himself and not so tremendously 
 much heavier. He won Tad's admiration by the same dash and 
 cool charm that had won his toughest cavalrymen. 
 
Tad Goes to Richmond 233 
 
 Tad was present on the high-spirited morning when Grant, 
 compact, silent, direct in all he did and said, rode away to break 
 Lee's line at Petersburg. Fred had not been allowed to leave his 
 lessons, and Tad thought that the waiting for victory without 
 him or Bugler Bill or Private Joe would be humdrum. But he 
 found that he had duties. The wounded fathers who heard that 
 Lincoln's son was in camp asked to see him. So Tad, conquering 
 his shyness and fear of others' suffering, walked with his pa 
 through the long wards. The rebel wounded were being cared 
 for here also. " I left a little boy at home who takes after you," 
 said one Confederate officer whose arms had been blown off. 
 
 Tad was touched to the quick by the man's helplessness. He 
 could never lift or fondle his little boy again. " Pa says it won't 
 be long before you can see him," Tad said, and then his face 
 grew hot, for the rebel might not care to hear of the coming vic- 
 tory. 
 
 The soldier did not take it that way. There was elation in his 
 eyes, and Tad had learned something about reading eyes. He had 
 grown answering depths in his own. He had looked too often and 
 too long into his pa's not to favor them somewhat, to be quick 
 on the twinkle, and quick with compassion too. Tad promised to 
 come back and write down in a letter what the officer wanted to 
 say to his son, and Lincoln assured him it would be sent through 
 the lines. 
 
 In the next ward Tad saw a darky whose face was almost gray 
 with pain, but he wanted to shake hands with the President of 
 the United States who had made him free. " Ah's free, Ah's 
 free. When de pain come, Ah say dat an' it's lak a cool hand on 
 mah haid." His eyes rolled and met Tad's. " Ah'd know yo' was 
 yo' pappy's son sho' 'nuf, boy." 
 
 M How so? " asked Lincoln in mock concern. " Do you mean to 
 say my son is as homely as I? " 
 
 The startled soldier looked up into Lincoln's face and saw the 
 faint sign of joking which the President so often summoned to 
 
234 Tad Lincoln 
 
 avoid tears. " Ah don' know 'bout dat, suh. But ef yo' 'scuse me 
 a-sayin' so, ah sure feels at home wid him." 
 
 Tad aged in that week. On the ramparts of Fort Stevens he had 
 seen an incident of war; here at City Point he was aware of its 
 terrible impact. Soldiers, he noticed, tried to cram its horrors 
 into small words. A battle where there had been five hundred 
 killed and wounded was a " skirmish." Even his pa got the habit 
 and referred to a desperate flare-up of killing as " a little rumpus 
 up the line." It was not correct to make big mouths over such 
 affairs. 
 
 Also he had had to witness one of his ma's jealous rages against 
 the wife of General Griffin, who did not know that it offended 
 the First Lady to have any woman ride beside her husband, while 
 to chat with him was an outrage. His ma's face was contorted, 
 and her voice all but uncontrollable, as she screamed, " Do you 
 know that I never allow the President to see any woman alone? " 
 These scenes shook Tad terribly. His ma was not herself, he 
 knew. But he felt the unexpressed opinions of the onlookers. 
 They made him shrivel up with mortification. And the look on his 
 pa's face hurt him like a blow. 
 
 Then suddenly, on a Monday, all private distresses were swept 
 away in the vast exultation over Richmond's fall. Lee had with- 
 drawn, and General Weitzel marched into a burning, famished 
 city and received the surrender in the City Hall. Lincoln sent the 
 dispatch to the War Department that started a conflagration of 
 serenades, speeches, and jubilation across the North. Secretary 
 Stanton ordered a salute of eight hundred guns. Lifelong enemies 
 basked in each other's smiles. Tad, who overheard Noah Brooks 
 say that, tried to imagine two ferocious-looking lifelong enemies 
 basking mutually in these smiles, but gave it up. 
 
 Tad tore around the camp enjoying the cheers, the happiness 
 on the soldiers' faces. He came back to find his pa listening to Mr. 
 Brooks. " Mr. Stanton is right, sir, in begging you to desist. It 
 is venturing into the very heart of hostility. Those people con- 
 
Tad Goes to Richmond 235 
 
 sider you the source and reason for all their woe and loss. They 
 blame you for the ending of their comfortable way of living. 
 It was your signature that freed their four billion dollars' worth 
 of slaves. They lay the awful desert that Sherman created to you 
 alone. For four years we've been singing about hanging old Jeff 
 Davis on a sour apple tree. But the South has done no singing. 
 They are silent in their hatred of you, sir. Hanging would be too 
 easy. Killing is nothing. I implore you, sir, not to expose yourself 
 to the long-stored venom in their hearts. For you would never 
 return from Richmond alive. You can be sure of that." 
 
 " What is it, pa? " Tad asked in alarm. 
 
 " I am planning to visit the late capital of the Confederacy, 
 sonny, since I'm so near. It would be a sign to all, Noah," said 
 Lincoln to his friend. 
 
 M Pa, can I go? " Tad implored. 
 
 " Hasn't Noah here scared you out of it? " Lincoln asked with 
 a twinkle in his eye. " Well, run along and get your nightshirt 
 and tell Crook to bring you to the Malvern' 9 
 
 Tad tore away, launched on this new and towering excitement. 
 " I thank you for your solicitude, Noah," Lincoln said. " But my 
 life has been spared thus far, and I believe it will be spared to 
 the end. Has anyone since Nero been more hated than Napoleon? 
 Yet he did not die at an assassin's hand. The fatal thing is to 
 fear, to coddle oneself. A man must do that which he has to do 
 and leave the subject of his safety to the Almighty." 
 
 The Malvern steamed toward Richmond and Tad counted the 
 explosions ahead. The rebel ironclads were being blown up. The 
 channel was being cleared for the Presidential ship. This was bet- 
 ter than any storybook that Mrs. Keckley had read to him, better 
 even than Ivanhoe. 
 
 It wasn't tiresome when the Malvern ran aground, for Admiral 
 Porter ordered the sailors to man a twelve-oared barge. They 
 
256 Tad Lincoln 
 
 made it boil along, steering around wrecked boats, avoiding dead 
 horses. Richmond and adventure loomed ahead. Life without 
 conquered cities to enter, thought Tad, must be mighty dull. 
 
 Admiral Porter's face became professionally expressionless 
 when the Commander in Chief said that he would land regard- 
 less of the fact that the escort expected from General Weitzel 
 had not put in its appearance. A welcoming party of Negroes 
 was collecting. The sailors shipped their oars. Tad took his pa's 
 hand, and together they stepped ashore. A battered sign said, 
 " Rockett's Landing." Tad wondered where the danger was. 
 
 Tad had seen enthusiasm for his pa, but nothing like this. 
 Darkies in tattered clothes fell on their knees shouting: " Hyar 
 come Mas'r Linkum." " Hallelujah, bress de Lawd, hyar's de 
 Mas'r hisself ! " " Glory, O Glory, hallelujah, Mas'r Linkum's 
 come." " Lawd be praised, ef it ain't him! " " Marse Linkum! " 
 " Massa Linkum! " ce Mas'r Linkum come tuh wipe de tears 
 away! " Some cried, some shouted, some turned somersaults. Lin- 
 coln lifted them from their knees, telling them to thank God 
 instead. He shook hands right and left with his fellow Ameri- 
 cans. The mouths of some sagged at this unbelievable sight. 
 Starved for human respect, they could not believe that they 
 were now being greeted by the greatest, by their human savior, 
 in so humble and kindly a manner. And still General Weitzel's 
 escort had not arrived. 
 
 " Two miles to the center of Richmond, sir," Admiral Porter 
 replied to Lincoln's question. 
 
 " I reckon we'll have to walk it." The crowd was growing rap- 
 idly. All Richmond would soon know of the President's arrival. 
 The crush could become embarrassing. 
 
 " I await your orders, sir," Admiral Porter said correctly. The 
 tone of his voice conveyed the fact that the entire party could 
 be wiped out in a minute if any portion of the mob so willed. 
 
 Crook, the President's bodyguard, could not keep silence. 
 
Tad Goes to Richmond 237 
 
 M Mrs. Lincoln would be very much disturbed, sir. You are ex- 
 posing the boy as well," he added very quietly, in the hope that 
 this appeal might have weight. 
 
 Lincoln had on his Commander in Chief look, Tad observed. 
 w We cannot go back. It is awkward to wait further. So we must 
 go ahead," Lincoln said. 
 
 Admiral Porter arranged that six sailors walk in front with 
 carbines in their hands, and six in the rear. He and Captain Pen- 
 rose walked on the President's left, Tad and Crook on his right. 
 No conqueror had ever entered a fallen city so humbly, and this 
 simplicity pleased Lincoln. It was a triumphal entrance " with 
 malice toward none," and this harmony in his heart shone in his 
 face, and the onlookers, seeing it, found themselves lacking mal- 
 ice also. 
 
 M Was there ever a march so strange as this in history? " Cap- 
 tain Penrose said in an aside to the Admiral. 
 
 :e There's one thing," replied the Admiral, " if they fire at my 
 heart, they won't find it, for it's in my mouth." 
 
 e< There's enough mortal grievances in this city to sink a fleet, 
 let alone take a potshot at one man." 
 
 The Admiral did not care for this conversation. " You in- 
 spect the faces in the windows. I'll keep my eyes at street level." 
 
 Lines of watchers formed ahead, unpoliced lines, staring in 
 utter silence. Men climbed telegraph poles to see. Windows were 
 black with heads. No Negroes in evidence now to call blessings 
 on their Emancipator. Gaunt faces, ragged bodies, silent hundreds 
 becoming silent thousands as the tall, interested man, with the 
 little boy marching beside him in the uniform of a United States 
 colonel, passed. 
 
 Tad felt this silence. It reminded him of a storm whose up- 
 gathered fury had had this same silence before it broke. He looked 
 up at his pa's face. Lincoln's features were slightly strained. He 
 was too sensitive a man not to feel the tension of this gauntlet. 
 
2}$ Tad Lincoln 
 
 Yet he dared not feel alarm, not now, not here, where he had 
 committed the life of his child to his faith in human beings. Tad 
 squeezed his pa's hand. " Are we halfway yet, pa? " 
 
 The commonplace question helped. The growing warmth of 
 the sun made the situation more real. Once, to Tad's surprise, 
 Crook broke step and strode before him and his pa. Tad looked 
 where Crook was looking and saw hands raising a window, saw 
 a musket muzzle in somebody else's hands. Crook walked to 
 shield part of the President's body. No shot came. No shout of 
 defiance came. Captain Penrose mopped his brow. 
 
 They passed Libby Prison. Lincoln's face was somber at the 
 sight of the burned buildings, the razed home of anguish and 
 rotted flesh. Suddenly the cavalry escort appeared. The peril was 
 nearly over. They reached the Confederate Executive Mansion. 
 Lincoln set his tall hat down on the table, and wiped his face. 
 
 " Pa, is that Jeff Davis' chair? " Tad asked, for instinctively 
 the Commander in Chief had taken the head of the table. 
 
 " I reckon it is, sonny." 
 
 " Then let me sit in it, pa. You promised I could." 
 
 Tad, feeling gay after the solemn walk, sat in the chair, 
 pounded on the table, and cried, " I'm Jeff Davis and I order 
 General Lee to conquer the North." He looked at Admiral Por- 
 ter for want of a better Lee. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Davis . . ." 
 
 "President Davis! " Tad corrected. 
 
 " Well, President Davis," said the Admiral. " I've thought it 
 over, and I'm a-tellin' you, it can't be done." 
 
 M Then," ordered Tad, " I command you to cut down all the 
 sour apple trees in my country." 
 
 " It shall be done, sir." 
 
 Tad's eyes twinkled as they looked at his pa. " Who's this 
 strange man, General Lee? I've never seen him before." 
 
 " That man, President Davis, is President Abraham Lincoln. 
 You may have heard of him." 
 
Tad Goes to Richmond 239 
 
 Tad pretended to think. " No. What have you come to my city 
 of Richmond for? " 
 
 Lincoln fell in with the play. " I've come to tell you, sir, that 
 there will still be some sour apple tress in the North, and you'd 
 better run for it, Jeff Davis." 
 
 "Whereto?" 
 
 :t To Mexico, Jeff Davis. And as for the rest of your mis- 
 guided people, we have every intention of letting you up easy. 
 Yes, well let you up easy, if . . ." 
 
 Just then General Weitzel entered out of breath. " Thank 
 God! " he exclaimed. " Mr. Lincoln, this is a great relief. I would 
 have given an arm not to have this bungle happen." 
 
 " Pa wasn't scared," Tad said in the silence. 
 
 M In fact I can add something to Tad's remark," Lincoln said. 
 " As I was telling Mr. Brooks back at camp, I long ago made up 
 my mind that if anyone wants to kill me, he will do it. To betray 
 fear of this would only be to put the idea into their heads. As for 
 the crazy folks, General, why I must take my chances." 
 
 Lunch interrupted, and after lunch Lincoln held an informal 
 reception for Union officers. Tad was glad when they were riding 
 to the wharf to go aboard the Malvern, Being a triumphant con- 
 queror was fun only for a short time. 
 
CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 
 iiC Tad Wants Some Flags" 
 
 TAD HAD NO IDEA OF WHAT A MARQUIS WAS, BUT THIS YOUNG 
 Marquis de Chambrun was agreeable and inquisitive in a nice 
 way. Tad could tell much about people by the way they asked 
 questions as well as by the questions they asked. When he had 
 the marquis alone, he asked him to talk French. Chambrun smiled 
 and clicked off strange sounds for a minute as neat as a telegraph. 
 
 Tad laughed with pleasure at such efficiency. " That's a pow- 
 erful quick kind of talk. Now what was it you said? " 
 
 " I said: c There is no man in Europe to match Abraham Lin- 
 coln. He possesses that confident audacity so common among 
 Americans. He knows better than anyone the exact will of the 
 American people. The tendencies of his mind are liberal. I would 
 I could fathom his genius completely." 
 
 The nobleman's English was as precise as his French and his 
 manner as generous as his words. Tad, who had been with rough 
 people and gentle, had acquired some of his pa's acuteness. Nor 
 was he shy with the elect. A burly bumbling senator could cram 
 himself so into Tad's mouth that Tad could not speak, but not 
 because of his rank. Those in high places very soon become ac- 
 customed to altitude, and Tad was soon talking with this very 
 intelligent young Frenchman with freedom and interest. 
 
 As Tad walked the deck of the River Queen on its voyage back 
 to Washington, he engrossed Chambrun with his accounts of life 
 in the White House. When Tad mentioned his trip to Africa 
 with Private Joe for the purpose of stocking a circus, Cham- 
 brun exclaimed: "Then by all means you must travel by way 
 
 
ff Tad Wants Some Flags " 241 
 
 of Paris and allow me to show you my Capital. I am glad that 
 yours was designed by a Frenchman. It gives us a bond." 
 
 This was news to Tad. The new bond entitled him, he thought, 
 to ask a more intimate question. " Do Frenchman eat frogs? 
 Really? " 
 
 fr Incontestablementl " Chambrun said gravely. " But only the 
 legs — a luxury we have introduced into American society, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " But how do you catch enough? " Tad inquired. 
 
 Chambrun laughed. " You catch me napping. I have never 
 given that practical point a thought." Then, as Lincoln joined 
 them: " Sir, your son has an original mind, the typical mind of 
 America that goes straight to its object. He wants to know how 
 we in France fill the national larder with enough frogs." 
 
 Lincoln smiled. " I reckon it's easier with beef." 
 
 Chambrun changed the subject. " You were good enough, sir, 
 to promise readings from Shakespeare when you were rested." 
 
 Tad sighed. He knew that his pa could never resist a chance 
 to read Shakespeare. But he must equal the marquis in courtesy 
 and kept his regrets to himself. He decided to stay on deck. Yet 
 that was lonely after such warming company, so he followed and 
 curled up on the long seat by his pa, who was reading from 
 Macbeth. Tad knew his pa's favorite lines by heart. He liked 
 Macbeth. He thought that Lady Macbeth was like his ma. His 
 pa's voice was very still and clear as he read: 
 
 " Duncan is in his grave; 
 After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; 
 Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing 
 Can touch him further." 
 
 There lay a spell on those lines, as Lincoln read them. It 
 touched Chambrun deeply and he begged the President to read 
 
242 Tad Lincoln 
 
 them again. Then the spell was cloven by Mrs. Lincoln who en- 
 tered the cabin. " I've been looking all over for you, Mr. Lin- 
 coln. We shall dock in a few minutes and nothing is packed." 
 
 With fine tact Chambrun bowed slightly and said: " Thank 
 you, ma'am, for the reminder. My things are all over my state- 
 room." Another bow to the President. " And thank you, sir, for 
 an afternoon I shall never forget. Edwin Booth himself has not 
 read those lines with more portentous effect. I had the enormous 
 satisfaction of seeing Mr. Booth in New York." 
 
 " His Hamlet has a particular charm for my mind," said Lin- 
 coln. " Now that mother is chasing us into action, I hope you 
 will give us the pleasure of a call at the White House." 
 
 Chambrun murmured that he would be delighted, bowed, and 
 left. 
 
 Tad studied the bow and said, " He sure is uncommon polite, 
 ain't he, pa? . . . But I wish I knew how they caught them 
 frogs." 
 
 After the isolation of the boat trip, Lincoln's first act on 
 reaching Washington was to visit the War Department, and Tad 
 went with him. He had lots to tell Major Eckert about the front. 
 
 The air of great doings had extended from that advancing blue 
 line in Virginia into the telegraph room. The North, the boys 
 told the President, was gratified that he had gone to the front. 
 They liked the idea of his being in at the death of the Rebellion. 
 He deserved it. They saw now how steadily and surely, in the face 
 of all criticism, he had brought the great struggle to its imminent 
 end. 
 
 " Sir, the New York Herald has a new job for you when this 
 one expires," Dave Bates said, handing a newspaper clipping to 
 Lincoln. " Your war bulletins from the front make such good 
 reading that they offer you a situation as war correspondent in 
 Europe for the next big war over there." 
 
fr Tad Wants Some Flags " 243 
 
 " On what terms? " asked Lincoln. Tad saw the twinkle in his 
 eye. 
 
 M One hundred dollars a week and food, and a fresh horse ev- 
 ery six weeks." Bates laughed at this last thrust, Lincoln's views 
 on horses being well known. 
 
 Lincoln pretended to consider this. " I'll ask mother," he said. 
 " She rather likes her $25,000 a year and perquisites. I may have 
 to go on being President." 
 
 M Long may you be just that! " Eckert said emphatically. 
 
 " But not too long," rejoined Lincoln at once. " As I remem- 
 ber it, we came over here to get away from that. We came here 
 to let the people have the chair." 
 
 :t Through the people's representative, sir. Leadership will al- 
 ways be the most important item of progress." 
 
 " Let the people lead. They know," Lincoln said calmly, as if 
 he had long pondered this matter. 
 
 M But how, sir? It is you who have led public opinion, which 
 is the people, these past four years, and not they who have led 
 you." 
 
 " When I make a speech, Eckert, I always assume that my 
 audience is wiser than I am. And I have never found that they 
 do not understand me." Lincoln, who was sprawled out at full 
 length in his favorite chair, rubbed his knee, smiling at Eckert's 
 puzzled expression. M Someday there will be a common belief in 
 the common man. Someday we in this country will have a real 
 disposition to entrust the destiny of this nation to his honesty 
 and common sense. And on that day the true history of democ- 
 racy will begin." 
 
 " Pa, can we go back now? " Tad was a little bored with this 
 talk. 
 
 " In a moment, Taddie. We shall have to find a way to trust 
 the people, Eckert. They're sound, lazy perhaps, misguided often, 
 but when aroused they are sound and trustworthy. In my view, 
 leadership is not the act of a bellwether heading a dumb flock. 
 
244 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Leadership informs, makes the people aware of facts, then lets 
 them take hold. Would an informed people consent to theft? 
 No, but the politicians juggle words until the actual is swal- 
 lowed up by the fictitious and the thieving made to appear 
 righteous. Would an informed people let a situation drift into 
 war? I think not. It is so-called diplomacy that jockeys them 
 into it." Lincoln rose. " Come, Tad, your instinct to go was 
 sound." 
 
 The telegraph had started to clack. te Just a moment, sir," Bates 
 called. " Here's a message from Appomattox." 
 
 They waited and Tad said, " Where's that, pa? " 
 
 " Appomattox is a village on the sunset side of Richmond, Tad- 
 die, about a hundred miles west." 
 
 The telegraph stopped. " Here it is, sir." Tad heard a strange 
 and rich excitement in Bates's voice. 
 
 Lincoln took the paper, glanced at it, then read aloud in a sub- 
 dued and moving calm : " General Lee surrendered the Army of 
 Northern Virginia this afternoon on terms proposed by myself. 
 The accompanying additional correspondence will show the con- 
 ditions fully. Ulysses S. Grant." 
 
 Silence followed the dying away of Lincoln's voice. Tad was 
 quickest to respond. " Hooray! Hooray, pa! The war's over! 
 Isn't it? Isn't it? " and seizing a wicker basket of papers he held 
 it upside down above his head and bathed himself in a beautiful 
 cascade of memoranda. 
 
 Nobody said him nay. Each man in that room had seen re- 
 ported every move and detail and throbbing instant of the war. 
 He was slow to come out of his first stab of private elation into 
 speech. Major Eckert shook hands with the President. Tad went 
 rampaging around, yelling like a Sioux. Bates had rushed out to 
 convey the news to Stanton. Telegraphers settled to their work 
 of notifying a nation of the hoped-for, longed-for, prayed-for 
 tidings. 
 
 ct Come, Taddie," said Lincoln. " Mother will want to be let in 
 
tf Tad Wants Some Flags " 245 
 
 on this," and they strode out into the sounds of a beginning 
 jubilation. It was Palm Sunday that was coming to a close. 
 
 On Monday, Tad dressed more hurriedly, in more joyous ex- 
 pectation, than he had ever thrown himself into his clothes on 
 a Christmas morning. The Capital had gone crazy. Marching 
 crowds, singing crowds, brass bands, cannon, the roar of street 
 throngs, all bore a people's happiness and relief to the heavens. 
 
 Tad, as one infected by St. Vitus, was unable to see one phase 
 of celebration through before another called and pulled. Serenad- 
 es sang the family through breakfast. " Praise God from Whom 
 All Blessings Flow " came in one window, the " Star-Spangled 
 Banner " in another. The Government departments declared 
 holiday, swelling the streets to full flood. All thoughts converged 
 upon the President, the pilot through four awful years, and peo- 
 ple followed their thoughts to the White House. 
 
 After breakfast Tad felt that he must decorate. " More flags! " 
 he cried excitedly. " Pa, where can I get more flags? " 
 
 " I reckon Mr. Stanton's the fellow to tackle, sonny." 
 
 Tad wasn't so sure. Tad had not shown fear at being under 
 fire at Fort Stevens. Nor had he quailed before the perils of the 
 triumphal entry into hostile Richmond. But Mr. Stanton was a 
 different proposition, sometimes gruff, sometimes worse, but al- 
 ways puzzling. " Pa, will you write him to give me some? " 
 
 Lincoln obliged with a telegraphic note: 
 
 Hon. Sec. of War, 
 
 Tad wants some flags. Can he be accommodated. 
 
 A. Lincoln. 
 April 10, 1865. 
 
 Jt was assurance, not haste, that left off the interrogation 
 mark. Tad grabbed the note and ran over to Mars's headquarters 
 and galloped upstairs. Everything on this day of joyous aberra- 
 
246 Tad Lincoln 
 
 tion must be done at the double-quick, to fire -bells and shoot- 
 ing cannon and galloping horses and galloping hearts. All who 
 could draw breath exhaled it with whatever sounds of joy cap- 
 tured their imaginations. Pulses beat victory. Snare drums tat- 
 tooed it on the heart. And in the brief pauses the still small 
 voice in each grateful soul sang benediction and " Thank God! " 
 Stanton at his desk was working like a fire engine. For him the 
 war was not over at all. Decisions multiplied and bred orders like 
 rabbits. He prided himself on the exercise of virile faculties, the 
 dictator with eyebrows and beard to match. He glared up at Tad, 
 blinking as if a cinder had blown into his eye. The hose wetting 
 had never entirely ceased to rankle. 
 
 "Pa . . ." Tad gulped for breath. " Pa says can I have some 
 flags? " " 
 
 " I haven't time to bother about such things now." 
 " But pa wants me to have them now. Here's a letter about it." 
 Stanton read the note and said grumpily, " I'll look into it and 
 send them over." 
 
 " But I need them now. It'll all be over if I have to wait." 
 Stanton eyed the obdurate boy and pounded on a bell. An or- 
 derly looked in. " Adams, take this boy and see that he is sup- 
 plied with flags. . . . And you had better put on a lightning 
 rod while he's around." 
 
 The band was playing when Tad raced back with an armful 
 of flags, and it was playing " Dixie." Lincoln was speaking to 
 the crowd from a window of the White House, telling them that 
 the North had captured the tune. It was too good a tune, he said, 
 for the adversaries over the way to appropriate. He had consulted 
 the Attorney General, who had declared it a lawful prize. Where- 
 upon the band swung again into the lilt and fervor of that Dixie 
 tune. There never had been such a day of rejoicing in the whole 
 gusty history of America. 
 
ff Tad Wants Some Flags " 247 
 
 And the next day and the next. The celebration went on, los- 
 ing its wind, getting its second wind. Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, 
 Meade, were idolized as well as Lincoln. Tad, propping open his 
 eyelids, stayed awake while fireworks added their magnificence 
 to the grandeur of the cannons' sound. 
 
 Formality gradually gave shape to what had been exuberance. 
 Lincoln prepared the speech demanded of him with care, know- 
 ing that he must knit the future to the present. On Tuesday he 
 appeared at the upper-floor White House window from which he 
 always spoke and was met by an overwhelming reception of 
 cheers. There was awe and even something terrible in this mortal 
 acclamation. The vast emotions of a nation centered on this man 
 who had seen the war through with them. The fathomless heart 
 of an indomitable people were in those cheers, in that applause, 
 and finally in that silence. 
 
 Tad was just behind his pa, not seen by the crowd, but seeing 
 it, liking it for being so nice to his pa. Lincoln started to read his 
 speech, holding a candle to light the page at the same time. But 
 this was awkward and Noah Brooks, standing behind a drapery, 
 held the candle. The pages fell to the floor where Tad busied him- 
 self on hands and knees collecting them and calling to his pa, 
 M Another " . . . M another " • . . " faster, pa, drop another." 
 
 Senator Harlan followed the President and Lincoln sat listen- 
 ing while Tad played with some pens on the table. They heard 
 the Senator call out, " What shall we do with the rebels? " 
 
 ff Hang them! " shouted a voice from the crowd. 
 
 Tad looked around at Lincoln and cried: "No, no, pa! Not 
 hang them, hang on to them! " 
 
 " That's it, Taddie. You've got it! " and then, as the patness 
 of Tad's cry went deeper, Lincoln said again: " Tad's got it. We 
 must hang on to them." 
 
 Tad, liking this approval, went to his pa, whose arm went 
 about the boy. But Tad pushed it away. He was too old, too big. 
 " Pa, will Private Joe come back now? " 
 
248 Tad Lincoln 
 
 " I hope so. Why? " 
 
 " We're going on a trip. We're going to Africa to catch lions 
 and tigers and things for our circus." 
 
 Lincoln gazed into the face of his son, his best-loved. His 
 childhood, like the war, was almost over. 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY 
 
 Tad Faces the Mystery 
 
 TAD HURRIED DOWN TO BREAKFAST. CAPTAIN BOB WAS BACK, 
 with stories to tell. Tad had already heard how General Lee 
 looked at Appomattox, how General Grant had taken the vic- 
 tory, how it felt to lie down without fear of midnight forays and 
 gunfire. 
 
 Bob was already at breakfast. He was showing Lincoln a copy 
 of General Lee's order to his army and told Tad that he ought 
 to read it. " Lee beat King Solomon for sons, pa," Bob said. " Ev- 
 ery last soldier in Lee's command loves him like a son. The worst 
 of the surrender was the look of the men in the ranks. They were 
 in worse condition than Washington's at Valley Forge, I do 
 believe — shoeless, ragged, half -starved. Yet they would have 
 fought us till the last man fell if Lee had asked it. They wor- 
 ship him, and when he rode among them and told them it was 
 over, they couldn't believe it. It was the worst blow of the whole 
 war for them. And they still worship him." 
 
 " Oranges! Oranges! " Tad cried as the novel fruit appeared. 
 
 " Lee's life is in his face," Lincoln said to Bob. " It's the face 
 of the gentleman who lives by his principles, and they high ones. 
 You interest me when you say that about their worst blow. Ours 
 came before the war." 
 
 " What do you mean, Sumter? " 
 
 " No, not Sumter, nor Antietam, nor Fredericksburg. I am 
 thinking of the time before the first Bull Run when Lee resigned 
 from the United States Army and declined to take the command 
 I offered him." 
 
 Bob nodded agreement. " Yes, and if Lee had been less of a gen- 
 
i$o Tad Lincoln 
 
 tleman, the war would have ended in 9 6i" he said with some bit- 
 terness. " Lee's chivalry cost us a million lives, a billion dollars, 
 and bitterness that neither you nor I will see the end of." 
 
 " Judge not, that ye be not judged," Lincoln said gravely. M A 
 man cannot transgress his principles." 
 
 " He can change them, pa." 
 
 " Principles, I said, son, not views. Lee deprecated war. He 
 would have no truck with slavery. He opposed secession. He loved 
 the Union and its flag. You can imagine his heartsickness at hav- 
 ing to exercise his military genius for the purpose of burying 
 liberty and splitting the nation — as was necessarily his object. 
 But, if I have been informed rightly, he would not turn on his 
 kin. He could not secede from his own blood and fight his rela- 
 tives and his Virginia." 
 
 " Pa, can I go tonight? " Tad interrupted. 
 
 " Where is it tonight? " Bob asked impatiently. 
 
 " Mother wants us to go to see Our American Cousin at Ford's 
 Theater." 
 
 " No, no, pa, not there! " Tad cried. " It's Aladdin or the Won- 
 derful Lamp, at Grover's Theater. That's the one we want to see, 
 pa. Bobby Grover sees it every night." 
 
 Robert was eying his father. " You need your rest, pa. You're 
 thirty pounds underweight. And today is Good Friday." 
 
 " I'm disinclined to go for all these reasons you bring up, Bob," 
 Lincoln said. " But mother has set her heart on it. She's asked 
 General and Mrs. Grant. It's Laura Keene's last appearance, 
 mother says, and they're having a benefit for her. By this time 
 the newspapers will have announced our attendance, so the jig 
 is up." 
 
 " Pa, can't I go see Aladdin or the Wonderful Lamp with 
 Bobby? " Tad importuned. 
 
 " If your mother agrees to it, I'm willing, sonny." Lincoln 
 was finishing his toast and hot milk. M If I had my way — and 
 this lamp of Aladdin's — we'd fly to Charleston this morning, 
 
Tad Faces the Mystery 251 
 
 boys. The old flag is going to be raised over Fort Sumter. History- 
 is better than a play sometimes. This will be an impressive 
 wind-up." 
 
 u Unless Henry Ward Beecher manages to start another war 
 by his speech," Bob said. 
 
 " This same Charleston burned him in effigy thirty years ago," 
 mused Lincoln. " And now he goes there to preach peace. Fate 
 thinks in circles." Bob laughed and Lincoln rose. " Don't worry 
 about me, Bob. It rests me to talk peace after so much killing. 
 Planning for the restoration of good will between North and 
 South is no work at all. And hardly an hour passes that I don't 
 realize in my heart that the war is over. The war is over — that's 
 the great fact. It's better than any medicine. We are going to 
 have good times now and a united country. But this requires 
 policy and planning." He left Bob and Tad eating hot cakes and 
 molasses. 
 
 " It's going to rain tonight," Bob looked out of the window. 
 
 " I don't care. I'm going to see Aladdin" Tad said. " When he 
 rubs his lamp, Bobby Grover says, he gets what he wishes for. An 
 enormous tall man comes out of the smoke and Aladdin says, e I 
 want a barrel of dollars,' or something, and it all happens as he 
 says. If I had the lamp I'd say, c I want to be in Africa this min- 
 ute,' only first I'd wish Private Joe was here so he could go with 
 me." 
 
 Bob was amused but Tad gave him no time for disillusioning 
 comment. " Bobby Grover and I are going to borrow Aladdin's 
 lamp . . ." Tad's voice lowered and then ceased as Bob rose to 
 go. If Bob didn't want to hear of all the wonders that he and 
 Bobby were going to perform, he needn't. 
 
 tc Tell ma I'm bringing Miss Harlan over for dinner," said Bob 
 and left. 
 
 It was a funny secret, Tad thought. Miss Harlan was going to 
 be his sister, Mrs. Keckley told him, after making him promise 
 that he would never tell a soul, not even Bob. 
 
252 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Tad went m to have Mrs. Keckley tie his tie. He never could 
 get it right. His pa didn't care, but his ma made a fuss about it. 
 After pecking and pulling, Mrs. Keckley said, " Now yo' be a 
 good boy, Taddie, an' go wid yo' folks tunight." 
 
 " No," Tad said emphatically. He was tired to death of 
 the subject. " I've made an engagement with Bobby Grover, 
 and I ain't going to break it. Besides, I want to see Aladdin 
 most." 
 
 " It's not ebery boy kin go tuh de theater wid de President ob 
 de United States an' sit in de same box. An' when yo' pa wants 
 tuh hab yo' wid him, Ah does think yo' might oblige." 
 
 " Shucks, pa don't care, and I can be with him tomorrow." Tad 
 jerked away from the colored woman the instant she patted his 
 tie. 
 
 " Yo'U be sorry, honey," Mrs. Keckley called after him. " Yo' 
 go 'long an' do what dey as loves yo' wants." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln was waiting for her husband. She was irritated 
 because General Grant had sent word that he and Mrs. Grant 
 must hurry at once to Burlington. This was very provoking. It 
 took away from the brilliance of her party. She had counted on 
 basking between the two heroes of the people. Now she must be 
 content with Major Rathbone and his much too pretty fiancee. 
 Mr. Lincoln was certain to pay her attention and all the world 
 would be watching. 
 
 Why didn't he come? It was disappointing to have the weather 
 turn cold and drizzly after so lovely a day. Now she had to wear 
 this dress that had been seen instead of the elaborate new spring 
 toilette. 
 
 " Mr. Pendel," she called to the night man. " Will you see what 
 is keeping the President? " 
 
 " Yes, madam." And that reminded her of her new worry. 
 That very day she had heard that John Parker, the bodyguard, 
 had been on trial on several unbecoming charges. And she had 
 been responsible for his being detailed to look after their safety! 
 
Tad Faces the Mystery 253 
 
 Well, she would put up with him rather than admit she had been 
 wrong. 
 
 Then it was annoying not to have either of her sons with her 
 on this gala evening. She might as well get used to Robert's ac- 
 ceding to Miss Harlan's wishes, now that she had handed him over 
 to her, but it did not look well not to have them in the box. 
 Tad needed to be disciplined. He had refused outright to accom- 
 pany them, and his father had not insisted on the boy's obeying 
 her wishes. The war, thank heaven, was no longer an excuse for 
 everything. 
 
 How she abominated waiting! Then she saw her husband com- 
 ing down the stairs. He came slowly, reluctantly, and she recalled 
 his words on the drive that afternoon, " All right, mother, I'll 
 go with you, but if I don't go down in history as the martyr 
 President I miss my guess." 
 
 She watched him stride across the floor, thin, a little stooped 
 for fifty-six, more than a little tired. Momentarily her resolu- 
 tion wavered. Why not let him stay at home, let him off? He had 
 seen the play. Major Rathbone and Senator Harris' daughter 
 would enjoy shining in the Presidential box. But no! She was the 
 First Lady ... 
 
 Mr. Lincoln had beckoned Mr. Hay to him and her impatience 
 flared anew. They were late. Of course that made a more effec- 
 tive entrance, yet she wanted to be gone. " Mr. Lincoln! " she 
 called peremptorily. 
 
 :t Yes, mother. I was asking about Taddie." 
 
 M He went off with Bobby Grover long ago." 
 
 A swift shadow came and went across Lincoln's face, but all 
 that he said was, " He usually comes to me to say good night." 
 
 Mrs. Lincoln held her arm to be escorted to the carriage. 
 
 In Grover's Theater, their arms on the plush-covered rim of 
 their box, Tad and Bobby were lost in the entrancements of 
 
254 Tad Lincoln 
 
 Aladdin. There was no city of Washington, no world, no time, 
 nothing but the stage, half illumined by the baleful light that 
 accompanies djinns. 
 
 Tad was waiting breathlessly to witness the belated fulfillment 
 of Aladdin's wish, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He shrugged 
 it off. Then he became conscious of a head in the darkness speak- 
 ing to him in a whisper. 
 
 " What is it, papa," asked the also disturbed Bobby. 
 
 M Don't make a sound. Come," said the voice and it sounded 
 more terrifying for some reason than the djinns. 
 
 " But I don't want to. Why? " asked Tad. 
 
 " S-sh-h. It's about your father. He isn't well." Mr. Grover, 
 groping for Tad's hand led him out into the harsh, unwelcome 
 lighting of the passage. 
 
 " Is pa very sick? " asked Tad uncertainly, being still half in 
 the dream world of the djinns. 
 
 " I'm afraid so," Mr. Grover said. " The White House has sent 
 a carriage for you. Bobby, go into my office. I'll be right back." 
 
 Tad felt the cold of fear as he followed Mr. Grover out into the 
 chill damp of the night. He could make out Francis Burns sitting 
 forlornly stiff in the driver's seat. " In here, sweetheart," came 
 Mrs. Keckley's voice from within. It added to his fear. 
 
 Tad got into the carriage. lt What's the matter with pa? " he 
 asked. 
 
 The colored woman, who would have given her life a hundred 
 times over to spare Tad one syllable of the truth, put a maternal 
 arm about the alarmed boy and said, " Honey ... a ... a 
 wicked man shot him. . . . Oh . . ." Mrs. Keckley's sobs over- 
 came her words. 
 
 Tad sat rigid as the sense of what he had heard came more and 
 more clearly to his numbed brain. His pa was shot! His pa could 
 not talk — would not ever talk to him again. 
 
 He began to whimper with the cramp of pain gathering inside 
 him, at the bottom of his throat. As the carriage grated over the 
 
Tad Faces the Mystery 255 
 
 cobbles, as Mrs. Keckley held him and sobbed, he remembered 
 that he had not obliged his pa, had not gone to the theater with 
 him. That was the tearing and bitter center of the pain — that 
 he had gone without saying good night to his pa. Now his pa 
 would think he had not loved him. Tad's lips curled in agony 
 of remorse over this cruel obsessing thought. 
 
 He woke from the drug of sleep and the horror pounced on 
 him from all sides. His pa was dead, shot. He would never come 
 into the room again. Tad could never run and crawl into his pa's 
 bed and talk, could not tell him that he had not meant anything 
 by not saying good night. He burst into agonized soundless 
 crying. 
 
 A soft hand smoothed his forehead. Mrs. Keckley had sat by 
 his bed all night. Presently he quieted somewhat from weariness 
 of grief. " Now yo' lay quiet, honey, an' Ah'll bring yo' one ob 
 dem oranges yo' like." 
 
 Tad thought of yesterday's breakfast, with his pa talking about 
 Lee. M Where's ma? " he asked faintly. 
 
 " She's tuh her room, sick, sweetheart. She'll tell us when we 
 kin see her." 
 
 " The man didn't shoot her at all? " 
 
 " No, Ah reck'n he was too tangle-headed in de hurry. He 
 broke his laig in de flag, Col'nel Crook says, so he won' git far." 
 
 Tad's mind did not follow this wicked man now. He hardly 
 mattered. Nothing could bring back his pa. Tad snuffled for 
 breath, as his nose was all stopped up from crying, and tried not 
 to start again. It was no use, for the pain never left the bottom 
 of his throat. 
 
 It was Easter Sunday, and Tad was sitting upstairs in his room 
 with Mrs. Keckley. He had seen his ma and it had been awful. 
 
2j 6 Tad Lincoln 
 
 She cried so frantically and squeezed him so hard and talked so 
 fast that he was scared. Robert was there, thank goodness, and 
 brought him out again. His face was set. He took Tad to his room 
 and explained a little of what was ahead for them. 
 
 The East Room was being draped in black so that their pa 
 could lie in state. Robert explained what that meant, so that those 
 who wished to take a last look at his face could file past the bier. 
 They would do this on Tuesday. On Wednesday there would be 
 the funeral for the family and about six hundred dignitaries. 
 
 " Do I go? " Tad asked apprehensively. 
 
 " Yes, you and I will stand together," Bob said. " Ma won't be 
 well enough to go. So you and I will have to do our duty, Taddie." 
 
 Then, Bob went on, would come the journey back to Spring- 
 field. The train would follow the long route of their pa's com- 
 ing to Washington, a journey of seventeen hundred miles, that 
 the big cities might file past the bier. Tad's grief-swollen face 
 lost its drawn look for a moment. Like an instant's break in a 
 leaden sky, he remembered the high fun and excitement of that 
 same journey east four years ago. Perhaps there might even be a 
 little fun left in the world. 
 
 " We shall take Willie's casket with pa's," Bob said, as if he 
 had been talking to his equal in years. 
 
 On this same Easter Sunday came Edwin Stanton behind his 
 beard and sat down by Tad. Mrs. Keckley rose and left the boy 
 alone with the man who had so often been his pa's antagonist and 
 his own scolder. Tad noticed now that this stern Secretary of 
 War, who had signed the death warrants of hundreds, who had 
 lived in the writhe and torment of killing with a grim face, had 
 also been weeping. He was worn and gentle and fatherly as he 
 said with difficulty, " I want to talk to you, Taddie, as if you 
 were my own boy." 
 
 " Yes, sir," Tad said, wondering why. 
 
Tad Faces the Mystery 257 
 
 " My father died when I was just your age," Stanton began 
 somewhat stiffly. " I went to my weeping mother and said, 
 * Never mind, mother, I'll take care of you.' And I did. I worked 
 long, hard hours, and I helped to support my mother and the 
 five of us youngsters." 
 
 A new fear dawned on Tad. Perhaps Mr. Stanton had come to 
 say that he, Tad, must work and support his ma. What could 
 he do? 
 
 u You are more fortunate than I was, Tad. Your mother will 
 be well provided for. Your brother Robert is a coming young 
 man who will make a name for himself. All that you have to do 
 is obey your mother and your brother and study. You will not 
 even have to work your way through college, as I did. And you 
 will always have the advantage of your name, which your father 
 has made famous." 
 
 " Yes, sir," Tad repeated, not knowing what to say. 
 
 Stanton was in the same fix. He was totally unaccustomed to 
 comforting a forlorn boy at the center of an unparalleled trag- 
 edy. He stared through his spectacles and heaved out his chest as 
 if a new breath might bring him the suitable admonitions. " You 
 have, I repeat, the advantage of your name, now precious to mil- 
 lions. Your father, Tad, has made it the equal of Washington's. 
 As I said when I closed his eyes, he belongs to the ages, with the 
 greatest. You have had the inestimable advantage of his daily 
 company. You have known him better than any of us." 
 
 " Yes, sir." Tad wiped his eyes with his knuckles pressed hard 
 against them. 
 
 Stanton rose, looking almost severe. The boy he had come to 
 comfort looked no more comforted than when he arrived. He 
 held out his hand. " A wise person, Tad, makes the best of what 
 he can't help. Good-by. ... Be a brave boy now." 
 
 The Secretary of War beat a retreat. Perhaps it had been better 
 if he had not come. But it was his duty. He had always tried to 
 do his duty. 
 
2$$ Tad Lincoln 
 
 Tuesday, after ages, came, and the even blacker shadow of the 
 morrow's funeral began to loom over the slow hours. Tad had not 
 gone out of the house. The grounds were filled with the mourn- 
 ing and the curious. There were people everywhere in the halls, 
 usually hurrying, averting their eyes if they saw him or, worse, 
 stopping and being kind to him. Fortunately there were things 
 to be done — the sorting of toys to be sent to children's hospitals, 
 as Mrs. Keckley had suggested, and packing. 
 
 He had had one frightful experience. He had gone out to the 
 staircase, thinking he could creep to the stable unobserved and 
 be with his goats, when he heard, " This way, Mr. President." He 
 had stopped, with a cold chill racing over him, thinking the per- 
 son was speaking to his pa, and it was a strange man. He had 
 forgotten that Andrew Johnson was President now. He had 
 learned the whole story of the transiency of things in one stab. 
 
 He went back to his room, shaken. The people were passing 
 through the East Room, under the black-draped chandeliers, 
 moving before the great mirrors that reflected now only sad 
 faces, teary faces, inching past the long coffin under its canopy 
 of black silk, taking one indrawing look at the face they had 
 come to say farewell to. Sorrow had also said farewell to that 
 face. When Mrs. Keckley had taken him down before the doors 
 were opened, Tad had been surprised to see how rested his pa 
 looked. His face's life-tired lines had taken on the curves of in- 
 effable peace. A silver shield said: 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
 
 SIXTEENTH PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES 
 
 Born Feb. 12, 1809 
 Died April 15, 186$ 
 
 Now the sound of the thousands upon thousands of the people, 
 the convalescent soldiers, the children, the women, who were pass- 
 ing along the two sides of that coffin, crept up in a subdued ebb 
 and flow of tone into the room where Tad sat. 
 
Tad Faces the Mystery 259 
 
 A low knock on the door and in stepped a young man. In the 
 half dusk of the room Tad saw first the white sling for his arm 
 and then his face. It was Private Joe! With the first surge of joy 
 he had known in four days, Tad ran to him, put his arms about 
 him. Joe's free hand patted his back. 
 
 " I thought you'd be up here," Joe said with perfect natural- 
 ness, as if he had never been away. " I only got back last night, 
 Tad, or I'd been up before. Got nicked by a reb bullet down in 
 North Carolina. Right arm, see. So I couldn't write. That was a 
 jim-dandy letter you wrote me, though." 
 
 It scared Tad to think he could be so relieved of heaviness, with 
 his pa lying downstairs in all that white satin. He kept looking 
 at Joe. He seemed bigger and browner, and as if the corporal 
 chevrons on his sleeve had made him steadier. 
 
 M I seen your brother Robert downstairs and he said I could 
 come up," Joe went on. " He said you was pulling out day after 
 tomorrow." 
 
 :t Tomorrow. Isn't it tomorrow? " Tad asked with a sinking 
 heart. He didn't see how he could stand more waiting. 
 
 w No, tomorrow's the funeral here," Joe said, speaking with a 
 blessed matter-of-factness. " Then there's the procession to the 
 Capitol, where he's to lie in state again so's all the wounded can 
 see him easier. I asked your brother if there wouldn't be a sol- 
 dier guard, and he said, ' Yes, twelve sergeants.' And I said that, 
 seeing as how I'd gone to Gettysburg with your pa, and other 
 places, I'd give a lot to go the rest of the way. I said the sling'd 
 come off and I could be a temporary sergeant. He didn't like the 
 idea much, but Mrs. Keckley come up, like I'd posted her to do if 
 I got bogged down. And she said that you and me were the best 
 friends she ever seen and it'd be a sin if he didn't let me go. So 
 I'm going on the train with you, Tad, and how's that for fixin 5 
 things up like we used to, boy? " 
 
 Tad was almost unintelligible with relief. Joe started to move 
 toward the door. M No, no, don't go! " Tad was alarmed. 
 
260 Tad Lincoln 
 
 "I've got a lot of things to see to before that train goes, 
 Tad." Joe paused as if not knowing whether to say it or not, 
 then he decided to. " It's going to be mighty tough on you, boy, 
 at the funeral. I been there before, and I know. But don't you 
 listen to the sad things they'll be sayin'. You just be glad your 
 pa's got his ticket to the good place. He ain't dead, you know. I 
 don't know who started all that rubbage about people being dead 
 just because we can't see 'em. We can't see 'em in the next town, 
 far as that goes, let alone the next state. . . . Now I'm a dumb 
 one," as Tad sobbed. " I didn't go to make you cry, Taddie," and 
 Joe put his arm about the boy again. 
 
 " It ain't that, Joe," Tad sobbed. " It's . . . it's ... I didn't 
 go with him that last night when he asked me. I didn't . . . even 
 say good night, and maybe he thinks I don't love him . . ." 
 
 Joe was perplexed. He patted the boy's shoulder until he 
 quieted a little and then he said: " You know your pa ain't like 
 that one bit, Tad. You know better'n that. Why, even when a 
 soldier deserted, he wouldn't let him be shot. You got to be fair 
 to him like he was fair to everybody, and put that all out of your 
 head. You and your pa was mighty understandin' friends and 
 always will be. Now promise you won't grieve over that foolish- 
 ness any more? " 
 
 Tad looked up and nodded, a burden off his heart. Joe turned 
 at the door and said, " I'll be lookin' for you on the train." 
 
 "You bet, Joe." 
 
 The door shut, enclosing Tad in solitude again, but it was not 
 the same solitude as before, not endless loneliness. 
 
Postscript 
 
 TAD NEVER GOT TO AFRICA WITH JOE, BUT HE WENT TO 
 Europe with his mother. Grief and the violent emotions of 
 her life's vicissitudes accelerated a brain disease from which Mary- 
 Todd Lincoln had been suffering for years, perhaps from in- 
 fancy. It had been, in part at least, the reason for many unhappy 
 scenes during her husband's lifetime; now it caused her to be- 
 lieve herself in want, although Lincoln had left her an estate of 
 a hundred thousand dollars. She started to auction off his clothes, 
 and hers, an act that shocked her friends and Robert. She fled to 
 Europe to escape the talk and perpetual newspaper publicity. 
 Finally Congress yielded to entreaty and granted her a pension. 
 
 Tad studied with tutors in England and then in Germany and 
 he visited France. He grew handsomer as he got older, keeping 
 his quick humor and affectionate disposition. M Taddie has a 
 lovely nature and I have not the least trouble in managing him; 
 he is all love and gentleness," wrote his mother. It would be in- 
 teresting to know what he thought, felt, and did, during these 
 years of semiexile. Perhaps when the Lincoln papers still being 
 withheld by the direction of the late Robert Lincoln are opened, 
 we shall know. On coming back to Chicago in 1871, Tad caught 
 a cold. It developed into pneumonia, and he died on July 15, at 
 the age of eighteen. 
 
 Friends who saw this book in manuscript promptly asked how 
 much of it is fact and how much fiction. My reply was that the 
 incidents are all founded on recorded historic fact, while the talk 
 is necessarily as I imagined it. If the friends were still listening, 
 
262 Tad Lincoln 
 
 I went on: "Tad hosed Secretary of War Stanton. Tad was 
 granted his commision in the Army. He bedeviled the servants 
 and walked through hostile Richmond with his father. He raised 
 the Confederate flag on Judge Taft's home. I have not seen it 
 stated that he went to be with his father at Fort Stevens, but he 
 was quite capable of doing so. I can, if necessary, quote chapter 
 and verse for every major doing in this book, but I also have kept 
 my novelist's license renewed to date. I have shown only one side 
 of the literate colored woman, Mrs. Keckley, Mrs. Lincoln's 
 seamstress and confidante. Private Joe is one of Tad's friends, 
 unnamed in my sources. When somebody complained of Tad's 
 actions he would say, ' Pa don't care.' And if some too literal re- 
 searcher tries to put me on the carpet, I'll have some similar 
 reply. For the object was not a biography but an honest story." 
 
 It would be hard to name my sources for I've been reading for 
 this book, unknowingly, for thirty years. One chapter came out 
 in St. Nicholas twenty years ago and has been reeled and radioed. 
 But the one great source is Carl Sandburg's vast Abraham Lin- 
 coln (Harcourt, Brace and Company). This ocean, 3,465 pages 
 across, is the Atlantic of biographies, inexhaustible, magnificent, 
 and only differs from the Atlantic in that it is a pleasure to be 
 lost in it. 
 
 The other source to which I am especially indebted is Julia Taf t 
 Bayne's Tad Lincoln's Father (Little, Brown & Company, 193 1 ) , 
 now unfortunately out of print. Julia Taft and her brothers 
 played with Tad and Willie, during the first year of Lincoln's 
 stay in the White House, and so her anecdotes and memories are 
 firsthand. 
 
 Another pleasantly personal book is Lincoln in the Telegraph 
 Office (Century, 1907), by David Homer Bates. Six Months in 
 the White House with Abraham Lincoln (Hurd and Houghton, 
 1866) by Francis Bicknell Carpenter, furnished me with other 
 insights into Tad. I read also in Grant's Personal Memoirs for 
 news of his son Fred, and in Herndon for his various approvals 
 
Postscript 16 3 
 
 and disapprovals of the Lincoln family. The fact is that nearly 
 every life of Lincoln mentions Tad, and only Sandburg and Mrs. 
 Bayne enlarge on the boy. To my knowledge this is the first full- 
 length book about him and it has sprung from a suggestion made 
 by my editor. My acknowledgments would be far from com- 
 plete if I did not thank my friend, Earl Schenck Miers, for set- 
 ting me so happy a task. 
 
" 
 
(continued from front flap) 
 
 Dozens of scenes in this book are unforgettable 
 — Erickson's arrival at the White House with 
 plans for the building of the Monitor; Tad's visit 
 to the Front to see Confederate soldiers; Lin- 
 coln, in a dark barn, bargaining with a runaway 
 boy to go home to his father; Tad's reaction to 
 the news of his father's assassination. Charac- 
 ters like Private Joe, who wanted to take Tad 
 to Africa; tenderhearted Mrs. Keckly, who 
 taught Tad how great a triumph was the pas- 
 sage of the amendment freeing the Negroes; 
 Willy Lincoln, who liked to write poetry — 
 these and many others are not soon forgotten. 
 
 TAD LINCOLN, THE PRESIDENT'S SON is a 
 
 warmhearted, human, inspiring book that re- 
 veals, not only the heart of a boy, but also the 
 heart of a nation and its people. 
 
 The Author 
 T. MORRIS LONGSTRETH 
 
 T. Morris Longstreth was born February 17, 
 1886. He graduated from a Friends' boarding 
 school, Westtown School, Chester County, Pa., 
 and later from Haverford College. From 1907 
 to 1 914 he tutored boys in Europe, traveled to 
 the Olympic Games in Stockholm, and toured 
 most of the continent. His first short story was 
 written for The Youth ' s Companion in 1914, and 
 since then he has written books for young 
 people, and for older people too — books on 
 weather, travel, poetry, and the Mounted 
 Police. An incident from TAD LINCOLN, 
 THE PRESIDENT'S SON will be recognized by 
 many as the basis of a radio play in which 
 Mickey Rooney and Lionel Barrymore were 
 starred, and, which later was adapted for the 
 screen. 
 
 His most popular works for younger boys and 
 girls are JESS, IN SCARLET AND PLAIN 
 CLOTHES, MISSOURI CLIPPER, TROOPER'S 
 FRIEND. His most useful book, he believes, is 
 READING THE WEATHER . Today Mr . Long- 
 streth lives in Concord, Massachusetts, not far 
 from the home of Henry Thoreau, his own 
 favorite American author and philosopher. 
 
THE LAST CRUISE 
 OF THE JEANNETTE 
 
 by Everitt Proctor 
 
 The O'Hara men always went to sea when they 
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 and so completely. For the Jeannette was ' ' Navy ' ' — 
 a ship bent on a perilous mission, a ship with no 
 place for a sea-struck youngster. However, the 
 O'Hara men were used to getting their own way, and 
 when the Jeannette sailed, Danny was aboard — as a 
 stowaway. 
 
 Terrifying dangers of all kinds, imagined and real, 
 threatened the safety of the Jeannette and her crew. 
 Adventures in the unexplored regions of the arctic 
 North revealed a new, startlingly different world to 
 Danny — bringing new friends and amazing new ex- 
 periences to him and his comrades. Suspense, excite- 
 ment, and fast-moving action 
 make this tale (based on actual 
 
 history) one of the most thrill- ,mf 
 
 ing sea stories ever written for 
 boys and girls. 
 
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