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ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

By  John  Drinkwater 


QRlHKW/RTcR 

j T .  CouuJCuOw      foiu/x 

I.  ••  .  .**» 


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Abraham  Lincoln 


ABRAHAM 
LINCOLN 

A  Play 
By  John  Drinkwater 

With  an  Introduction  by 
ARNOLD  BENNETT 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

MDCCCCXIX 


COPYRIGHT,    I9I9,   BY   HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
ALL  DRAMATIC    RIGHTS   RESERVED   BY    THE   AUTHOR 


To 
THE  LORD  CHARNWOOD 


Note 

In  using  for  purposes  of  drama  a  personality  of  so  wide 
and  recent  a  fame  as  that  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  I  feel  that 
one  or  two  observations  are  due  to  my  readers  and  critics. 

Firsts  my  purpose  is  that  not  of  the  historian  but  of  the 
dramatist.  The  historical  presentation  of  my  hero  has  been 
faithfully  made  in  many  volumes;  notably,  in  England,  by 
Lord  Charnwood  in  a  monograph  that  gives  a  masterly 
analysis  of  Lincoln' 's  career  and  character  and  is,  it  seems 
to  me,  a  model  of  what  the  historian's  work  should  be. 
To  this  book  I  am  gratefully  indebted  for  the  material  of 
my  play.  But  while  I  have,  I  hope,  done  nothing  to  tra- 
verse history,  I  have  freely  telescoped  its  events,  and  im- 
posed invention  upon  its  movement,  in  such  ways  as  I 
needed  to  shape  the  dramatic  significance  of  my  subject. 
I  should  add  that  the  fictitious  Burnet  Hook  is  admitted 
to  the  historical  company  of  Lincoln's  Cabinet  for  the 
purpose  of  embodying  certain  forces  that  were  antagonis- 
tic to  the  President.  This  was  a  dramatic  necessity,  and 
I  chose  rather  to  invent  a  character  for  the  purpose  than  to 
invest  any  single  known  personage  with  sinister  qualities 
about  which  there  might  be  dispute. 

Secondly,  my  purpose  is,  again,  that  of  the  dramatist, 
not  that  of  the  political  philosopher.  The  issue  of  secession 
was  a  very  intricate  one,  upon  which  high  and  generous 
opinions  may  be  in  conflict,  but  that  I  may  happen  to  have 


viii  Note 

or  lack  personal  sympathy  with  Lincoln's  policy  and 
judgment  in  this  matter  is  nothing.  My  concern  is  with 
the  profoundly  dramatic  interest  of  his  character,  and  with 
the  inspiring  example  of  a  man  who  handled  war  nobly 
and  with  imagination. 

Finally,  I  am  an  Englishman,  and  not  a  citizen  of  the 
great  country  that  gave  Lincoln  birth.  I  have,  therefore, 
written  as  an  Englishman,  making  no  attempt  to  achieve 
a  "local  colour"  of  which  I  have  no  experience,  or  to 
speak  in  an  idiom  to  which  I  have  not  been  bred.  To  have 
done  ^otherwise,  as  I  am  sure  any  American  friends  that 
this  play  may  have  the  good  fortune  to  make  will  allow, 
would  have  been  to  treat  a  great  subject  with  levity. 

J.  D. 

Far  Oakridge, 

July- August,  191 8 


Introductory  Note 

This  play  was  originally  produced  by  the  Bir- 
mingham Repertory  Theatre  last  year,  and  it  had 
a  great  success  in  Birmingham.  But  if  its  author 
had  not  happened  to  be  the  artistic  director  of  the 
Birmingham  Repertory  Theatre  the  play  might 
never  have  been  produced  there.  The  rumour  of 
the  provincial  success  reached  London,  with  the 
usual  result  —  that  London  managers  magnifi- 
cently ignored  it.  I  have  myself  spoken  with  a  very 
well-known  London  actor-manager  who  admitted 
to  me  that  he  had  refused  the  play. 

When  Nigel  Playfair,  in  conjunction  with  my- 
self as  a  sort  of  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
started  the  Hammersmith  Playhouse  {for  the 
presentation  of  the  best  plays  that  could  be  got)  we 
at  once  began  to  inquire  into  the  case  of  Abraham 
Lincoln.  Nigel  Playfair  was  absolutely  deter- 
mined to  have  the  play  and  the  Birmingham  com- 
pany to  act  it.  I  read  the  play  and  greatly  admired 
it.  We  secured  both  the  play  and  the  company.  The 
first  Hammersmith  performance  was  a  tremendous 
success,  both  for  the  author  of  the  play  and  for 
William  J.  Rea,  the  Irish  actor  who  in  the  role  of 
Lincoln  was  merely  great.  The  audience  cried. 


x  Introductory  Note 

/  should  have  cried  myself,  but  for  my  iron  re- 
solve not  to  stain  a  well-earned  reputation  for 
callousness.  As  I  returned  home  that  night  from 
what  are  known  as  uthe  wilds  of  Hammersmith" 
{Hammersmith  is  a  suburb  of  London)  I  said  to 
myself:  "This  flay  is  bound  to  succeed?  The 
next  moment  I  said  to  myself:  "  This  play  cannot 
possibly  succeed.  It  has  no  love  interest.  It  is  a 
political  play.  Its  theme  is  the  threatened  separa- 
tion of  the  Southern  States  from  the  Northern 
States.  Nobody  ever  heard  of  a  play  with  such  an 
absurd  theme  reaching  permanent  success.  No 
author  before  John  Drinkwater  ever  had  the 
effrontery  to  impose  such  a  theme  on  a  London 
public? 

My  instinct  was  right  and  my  reason  was 
wrong.  The  play  did  succeed.  It  is  still  succeeding, 
and  it  will  continue  to  succeed.  Nobody  can  dine 
out  in  London  to-day  and  admit  without  a  blush 
that  he  has  not  seen  Abraham  Lincoln.  Monarchs 
and  princes  have  seen  it.  Archbishops  have  seen 
it.  Statesmen  without  number  have  seen  it.  An  ex- 
Lord  Chancellor  told  me  that  he  had  journeyed  out 
into  the  said  wilds  and  was  informed  at  the  the- 
atre that  there  were  no  seats  left.  He  could  not  be- 
lieve that  he  would  have  to  return  from  the  wilds 
unsatisfied.  But  so  it  fell  out.  West  End  managers 
have  tried  to  coax  the  play  from  Hammersmith  to 


Introductory  Note  xi 

i 

the  West  End.  They  could  not  do  it.  We  have  con- 
trived to  make  all  London  come  to  Hammersmith 
to  see  a  'play  without  a  love-interest  or  a  bedroom 
scene,  and  the  play  will  remain  at  Hammersmith. 
Americans  will  more  clearly  realize  what  John 
Drinkwater  has  achieved  with  the  London  public 
if  they  imagine  somebody  putting  on  a  play  about 
the  Crimean  War  at  some  unknown  derelict  the- 
atre round  about  Two  Hundred  and  Fiftieth 
Street,  and  drawing  all  New  York  to  Two  Hun- 
dred and  Fiftieth  Street. 

Abraham  Lincoln  has  pleased  everybody,  and 
its  triumph  is  the  best  justification  of  those  few 
who  held  that  the  public  was  capable  of  liking 
much  better  plays  than  were  offered  to  the  public. 
Why  has  Abraham  Lincoln  succeeded?  Here  are 
a  few  answers  to  the  question:  Because  the  author 
had  a  deep,  practical  knowledge  of  the  stage.  Be- 
cause he  disdained  all  stage  tricks.  Because  he 
had  the  wit  to  select  for  his  hero  one  of  the  world1 s 
greatest  and  finest  characters.  Because  he  had  the 
audacity  to  select  a  gigantic  theme  and  to  handle 
it  with  simplicity.  Because  he  had  the  courage  of 
all  his  artistic  and  moral  convictions.  And  of 
course  because  he  has  a  genuine  dramatic  gift. 
Finally,  because  William  J.  Rea  plays  Lincoln 
with  the  utmost  nobility  of  emotional  power. 

Every  audience  has  the  same  experience  at 


xii  Introductory  Note 

Abraham  Lincoln,  and  I  laugh  privately  when  I 
think  of  that  experience.  The  curtain  goes  up  on 
a  highly  commonplace  little  parlour,  and  a  jew 
ordinary  people  chatting  in  a  highly  commonplace 
manner.  They  keep  on  chatting.  The  audience 
thinks  to  itself:  "I've  been  done!  What  is  this 
interminable  small  talk?"  And  it  wants  to  call  out 
a  protest:  "Hi!  You  fellows  on  the  stage!  Have 
you  forgotten  that  there  is  an  audience  on  the 
other  side  of  the  footlights,  waiting  for  something 
to  happen?"  {Truly  the  ordinary  people  in  the 
parlour  do  seem  to  be  unaware  of  the  existence  of 
any  audience.)  But  wait,  audience!  Already  the 
author  is  winding  his  chains  about  you.  Though 
you  may  not  suspect  it,  you  are  already  bound. 
.  .  .  At  the  end  of  the  first  scene  the  audience, 
vaguely  feeling  the  spell,  wonders  what  on  earth 
the  nature  of  the  spell  is.  At  the  end  of  the  play 
it  is  perhaps  still  wondering  what  precisely  the 
nature  of  the  spell  is.  .  .  .  But  it  fully  and  raptur- 
ously admits  the  reality  of  the  spell.  Indeed  after 
the  fall  of  the  curtain,  and  after  many  falls  of  the 
curtain,  the  spell  persists;  the  audience  somehow 
cannot  leave  its  seats,  and  the  thought  of  the  worry 
of  the  journey  home  and  of  last  'busses  and  trains 
is  banished.  Strange  phenomenon!  It  occurs  every 

nizht. 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 
April  191 9 


Abraham  Lincoln 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

Two  Chroniclers: 

The  two  speaking  together:  Kinsmen,  you  shall 
behold 
Our  stage,  in  mimic  action,  mould 
A  man's  character. 

This  is  the  wonder,  always,  everywhere  — 
Not  that  vast  mutability  which  is  event, 
The  pits  and  pinnacles  of  change, 
But  man's  desire  and  valiance  that  range 
All  circumstance,  and  come  to  port  unspent. 

Agents  are  these  events,  these  ecstasies, 

And  tribulations,  to  prove  the  purities 

Of  poor  oblivions  that  are  our  being.  When 

Beauty  and  peace  possess  us,  they  are  none 

But  as  they  touch  the  beauty  and  peace  of  men, 

Nor,  when  our  days  are  done, 

And  the  last  utterance  of  doom  must  fall, 

Is  the  doom  anything 


Abraham  Lincoln 


Memorable  for  its  apparelling; 
The  bearing  of  man  facing  it  is  all. 

So,  kinsmen,  we  present 

This  for  no  loud  event 

That  is  but  fugitive, 

But  that  you  may  behold 

Our  mimic  action  mould 

The  spirit  of  man  immortally  to  live. 

First  Chronicler:  Once  when  a  peril 
touched  the  days 
Of  freedom  in  our  English  ways, 
And  none  renowned  in  government 
Was  equal  found, 

Came  to  the  steadfast  heart  of  one, 
Who  watched  in  lonely  Huntingdon, 
A  summons,  and  he  went, 
And  tyranny  was  bound, 
And  Cromwell  was  the  lord  of  his  event. 

Second  Chronicler:  And  in  that  land 
where  voyaging 
The  pilgrim  Mayflower  came  to  rest, 
Among  the  chosen,  counselling, 


Abraham  Lincoln 


Once,  when  bewilderment  possessed 
A  people,  none  there  was  might  draw 
To  fold  the  wandering  thoughts  of  men, 
And  make  as  one  the  names  again 
Of  liberty  and  law. 

And  then,  from  fifty  fameless  years 
In  quiet  Illinois  was  sent 
A  word  that  still  the  Atlantic  hears, 
And  Lincoln  was  the  lord  of  his  event. 

The  two  speaking  together:  So  the  un- 
counted spirit  wakes 

To  the  birth 

Of  uncounted  circumstance. 

And  time  in  a  generation  makes 

Portents  majestic  a  little  story  of  earth 

To  be  remembered  by  chance 

At  a  fireside. 

But  the  ardours  that  they  bear, 

The  proud  and  invincible  motions  of 
character  — 

These  —  these  abide. 


Abraham  Lincoln 


Scene  I. 

The  parlour  of  Abraham  Lincoln's  House  at 
Springfield,  Illinois,  early  in  i860.  Mr. 
Stone,  a  farmer,  and  Mr.  Cuffney,  a 
store-keeper,  both  men  of  between  fifty  and 
sixty,  are  sitting  before  an  early  spring  fire. 
It  is  dusk,  but  the  curtains  are  not  drawn. 
The  men  are  smoking  silently. 

Mr.  Stone  {after  a  pause):  Abraham.  It's  a 
good  name  for  a  man  to  bear,  anyway. 
Mr.  Cuffney:  Yes.  That's  right.    / 
Mr.   Stone  {after  another  pause):  Abraham 
Lincoln.  I've  known  him  forty  years.  Never 
crooked  once.  Well. 

He  taps  his  pipe  reflectively  on  the  grate. 
There  is  another  pause.  Susan,  a  servant- 
maid,  comes  in,  and  busies  herself  lighting 
candles  and  drawing  the  curtains  to. 
Susan:  Mrs.  Lincoln  has  just  come  in.  She 
says  she'll  be  here  directly. 
Mr.  Cuffney:  Thank  you. 
Mr.  Stone:  Mr.  Lincoln  is  n't  home  yet,  I 
dare  say? 


Abraham  Lincoln 


Susan:  No,  Mr.  Stone.  He  won't  be  long,  with 
all  the  gentlemen  coming. 

Mr.  Stone:  How  would  you  like  your  mas- 
ter to  be  President  of  the  United  States, 
Susan  ? 

Susan:  I'm  sure  he'd  do  it  very  nicely,  sir. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  He  would  have  to  leave  Spring- 
field, Susan,  and  go  to  live  in  Washington. 

Susan:  I  dare  say  we  should  take  to  Wash- 
ington very  well,  sir. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  Ah!  I'm  glad  to  hear  that. 

Susan:  Mrs.  Lincoln's  rather  particular 
about  the  tobacco  smoke. 

Mr.  Stone:  To  be  sure,  yes,  thank  you,  Susan. 

Susan:  The  master  does  n't  smoke,  you 
know.  And  Mrs.  Lincoln's  specially  particular 
about  this  room. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  Quite  so.  That's  very  consider- 
ate of  you,  Susan. 

They  knock  out  their  pipes. 

Susan:  Though  some  people  might  not  hold 
with  a  gentleman  not  doing  as  he'd  a  mind  in 
his  own  house,  as  you  might  say. 
She  goes  out. 


Abraham  Lincoln 


Mr.  Cuffney  (after  a  further  pause,  stroking 
his  pipe) :  I  suppose  there's  no  doubt  about  the 
message  they'll  bring? 

Mr.  Stone:  No,  that's  settled  right  enough. 
It'll  be  an  invitation.  That's  as  sure  as  John 
Brown's  dead. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  I  could  never  make  Abraham 
out  rightly  about  old  John.  One  could  n't  stom- 
ach slaving  more  than  the  other,  yet  Abraham 
did  n't  hold  with  the  old  chap  standing  up 
against  it  with  the  sword.  Bad  philosophy,  or 
something,  he  called  it.  Talked  about  fanatics 
who  do  nothing  but  get  themselves  at  a  rope's 
end. 

Mr.  Stone:  Abraham's  all  for  the  Constitu- 
tion. He  wants  the  Constitution  to  be  an  honest 
master.  There's  nothing  he  wants  like  that, 
and  he'll  stand  for  that,  firm  as  a  Samson  of  the 
spirit,  if  he  goes  to  Washington.  He'd  give  his 
life  to  persuade  the  state  against  slaving,  but 
until  it  is  persuaded  and  makes  its  laws  against 
it,  he'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  violence  in  the 
name  of  laws  that  are  n't  made.  That's  why 
old  John 's  raiding  affair  stuck  in  his  gullet. 


Abraham  Lincoln 


Mr.  Cuffney:  He  was  a  brave  man,  going  like 
that,  with  a  few  zealous  like  himself,  and  a 
handful  of  niggers,  to  free  thousands. 

Mr.  Stone:  He  was.  And  those  were  brave 
words  when  they  took  him  out  to  hang  him. 
"I  think,  my  friends,  you  are  guilty  of  a  great 
wrong  against  God  and  humanity.  You  may 
dispose  of  me  very  easily.  I  am  nearly  disposed 
of  now.  But  this  question  is  still  to  be  settled  — 
this  negro  question,  I  mean.  The  end  of  that 
is  not  yet."  I  was  there  that  day.  Stonewall 
Jackson  was  there.  He  turned  away.  There  was 
a  colonel  there  giving  orders.  When  it  was  over, 
"  So  perish  all  foes  of  the  human  race,"  he  called 
out.  But  only  those  that  were  afraid  of  losing 
their  slaves  believed  it. 

Mr.  Cuffney  (after  a  pause) :  It  was  a  bad 
thing  to  hang  a  man  like  that.  .  .  .  There's  a 
song  that  they've  made  about  him. 

He  sings  quietly. 
John  Brown's  body  lies  a  mould'ring  in  the 
grave,  •  .; 

But  his  soul  goes  marching  on.  .  .  . 

Mr.  Stone:  I  know. 


8  Abraham  Lincoln 

The  two  together  {singing  quietly) : 
The  stars  of  heaven  are  looking  kindly  down 
On  the  grave  of  old  John  Brown.  .  .  . 
After  a  moment  Mrs.  Lincoln  comes  in. 
The  men  rise. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Good-evening,  Mr.  Stone. 
Good-evening,  Mr.  Cuffney. 

Mr.  Stone  and  Mr.  Cuffney:  Good-evening, 
ma'am. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Sit  down,  if  you  please. 
They  all  sit. 

Mr.  Stone:  This  is  a  great  evening  for  you, 
ma'am. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  It  is. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  What  time  do  you  expect  the 
deputation,  ma'am? 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  They  should  be  here  at  seven 
o'clock.  {With  an  inquisitive  nose.)  Surely, 
Abraham  has  n't  been  smoking. 

Mr.  Stone  {rising) :  Shall  I  open  the  window, 
ma'am?  It  gets  close  of  an  evening. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Naturally,  in  March.  You  may 
leave  the  window,  Samuel  Stone.  We  do  not 
smoke  in  the  parlour. 


Abraham  Lincoln 


Mr.  Stone  {resuming  his  seat) :  By  no  means, 
ma'am. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  Has  Abraham  decided  what  he 
will  say  to  the  invitation? 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  He  will  accept  it. 

Mr.  Stone:  A  very  right  decision,  if  I  may 
say  so. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  It  is. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  And  you,  ma'am,  have  advised 
him  that  way,  I  '11  be  bound. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  You  said  this  was  a  great  eve- 
ning for  me.  It  is,  and  I  '11  say  more  than  I  mostly 
do,  because  it  is.  I'm  likely  to  go  into  history 
now  with  a  great  man.  For  I  know  better  than 
any  how  great  he  is.  I'm  plain  looking  and  I've 
a  sharp  tongue,  and  I've  a  mind  that  does  n't 
always  go  in  his  easy,  high  way.  And  that's 
what  history  will  see,  and  it  will  laugh  a  little, 
and  say,  "Poor  Abraham  Lincoln."  That's  all 
right,  but  it's  not  all.  I've  always  known  when 
he  should  go  forward,  and  when  he  should  hold 
back.  I  've  watched,  and  watched,  and  what  I  've 
learnt  America  will  profit  by.  There  are  women 


io  Abraham  Lincoln 

like  that,  lots  of  them.  But  I'm  lucky.  My 
work's  going  farther  than  Illinois  —  it's  going 
farther  than  any  of  us  can  tell.  I  made  things 
easy  for  him  to  think  and  think  when  we  were 
poor,  and  now  his  thinking  has  brought  him  to 
this.  They  wanted  to  make  him  Governor  of 
Oregon,  and  he  would  have  gone  and  have  come 
to  nothing  there.  I  stopped  him.  Now  they're 
coming  to  ask  him  to  be  President,  and  I've 
told  him  to  go. 

Mr.  Stone:  If  you  please,  ma'am,  I  should  like 
to  apologise  for  smoking  in  here. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  That's  no  matter,  Samuel 
Stone.  Only,  don't  do  it  again. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  It's  a  great  place  for  a  man  to 
fill.  Do  you  know  how  Seward  takes  Abraham's 
nomination  by  the  Republicans? 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Seward  is  ambitious.  He  ex- 
pected the  nomination.  Abraham  will  know 
how  to  use  him. 

i  Mr.  Stone:  The  split  among  the  Democrats 
makes  the  election  of  the  Republican  choice  a 
certainty,  I  suppose? 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Abraham  says  so. 


Abraham  Lincoln  i  i 

Mr.  Cuffney:  You  know,  it's  hard  to  believe. 
When  I  think  of  the  times  I  've  sat  in  this  room 
of  an  evening,  and  seen  your  husband  come  in, 
ma'am,  with  his  battered  hat  nigh  falling  off 
the  back  of  his  head,  and  stuffed  with  papers 
that  won't  go  into  his  pockets,  and  god-darning 
some  rascal  who'd  done  him  about  an  assign- 
ment or  a  trespass,  I  can't  think  he's  going  up 
there  into  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  I've  tried  for  years  to  make 
him  buy  a  new  hat. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  I  have  a  very  large  selection 
just  in  from  New  York.  Perhaps  Abraham 
might  allow  me  to  offer  him  one  for  his  depart- 
ure. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  He  might.  But  he'll  wear  the 
old  one. 

Mr.  Stone:  Slavery  and  the  South.  They're 
big  things  he'll  have  to  deal  with.  "The  end 
of  that  is  not  yet."  That's  what  old  John  Brown 
said,  "the  end  of  that  is  not  yet." 

Abraham  Lincoln  comes  in,  a  greenish  and 
crumpled  top  hat  leaving  his  forehead  well 
uncovered,  his  wide  pockets  brimming  over 


i  2  Abraham  Lincoln 

with  documents.  He  is  fifty,  and  he  still  pre- 
serves his  clean-shaven  state.  He  kisses  his 
wife  and  shakes  hands  with  his  friends. 

Lincoln:  Well,  Mary.  How  d'ye  do,  Samuel. 
How  d'ye  do,  Timothy. 

Mr.  Stone  and  Mr.  Cuffney:  Good-evening, 
Abraham. 

Lincoln  {while  he  takes  of  his  hat  and  shakes 
out  sundry  papers  from  the  lining  into  a  drawer) : 
John  Brown,  did  you  say?  Aye,  John  Brown. 
But  that's  not  the  way  it's  to  be  done.  And  you 
can't  do  the  right  thing  the  wrong  way.  That's 
as  bad  as  the  wrong  thing,  if  you're  going  to 
keep  the  state  together. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  Well,  we'll  be  going.  We  only 
came  in  to  give  you  good-faring,  so  to  say,  in 
the  great  word  you  've  got  to  speak  this  evening. 

Mr.  Stone:  It  makes  a  humble  body  almost 
afraid  of  himself,  Abraham,  to  know  his  friend 
is  to  be  one  of  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  with 
his  yes  and  no  law  for  these  many,  many  thou- 
sands of  folk. 

Lincoln:  It  makes  a  man  humble  to  be  chosen 
so,  Samuel.  So  humble  that  no  man  but  would 


Abraham  Lincoln  13 

say  "No"  to  such  bidding  if  he  dare.  To  be 
President  of  this  people,  and  trouble  gathering 
everywhere  in  men's  hearts.  That's  a  searching 
thing.  Bitterness,  and  scorn,  and  wrestling  often 
with  men  I  shall  despise,  and  perhaps  nothing 
truly  done  at  the  end.  But  I  must  go.  Yes. 
Thank  you,  Samuel;  thank  you,  Timothy.  Just 
a  glass  of  that  cordial,  Mary,  before  they  leave. 
He  goes  to  a  cupboard.   ■ 

May  the  devil  smudge  that  girl ! 
Calling  at  the  door, 

Susan!  Susan  Deddington!  Where's  that 
darnation  cordial? 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  It's  all  right,  Abraham.  I  told 
the  girl  to  keep  it  out.  The  cupboard 's  choked 
with  papers. 

Susan  {coming  in  with  bottle  and  glasses) :  I  'm 
sure  I  'm  sorry.  I  was  told  — 

Lincoln:  All  right,  all  right,  Susan.  Get  along 
with  you. 

Susan:  Thank  you,  sir.  She  goes. 

Lincoln  {pouring  out  drink) :  Poor  hospitality 
for  whiskey-drinking  rascals  like  yourselves. 
But  the  thought's  good.  , 


14  Abraham  Lincoln 

Mr.  Stone:  Don't  mention  it,  Abraham. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  We  wish  you  well,  Abraham. 
Our  compliments,  ma'am.  And  God  bless 
America!  Samuel,  I  give  you  the  United  States, 
and  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Cuffney  and  Mr.  Stone  drink, 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Thank  you. 

Lincoln:  Samuel,  Timothy  —  I  drink  to  the 
hope  of  honest  friends.  Mary,  to  friendship. 
I  '11  need  that  always,  for  I  've  a  queer,  anxious 
heart.  And,  God  bless  America! 

He  and  Mrs.  Lincoln  drink. 

Mr.  Stone:  Well,  good-night,  Abraham.  Good- 
night, ma'am. 

Mr.  Cuffney:  Good-night,  good-night. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Good-night,  Mr.  Stone.  Good- 
night, Mr.  Cuffney. 

Lincoln:  Good-night,  Samuel.  Good-night, 
Timothy.  And  thank  you  for  coming. 

Mr.  Stone  and  Mr.  Cuffney  go  out. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  You  'd  better  see  them  in  here. 

Lincoln:  Good.  Five  minutes  to  seven.  You're 
sure  about  it,  Mary? 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Yes.  Are  n't  you? 


Abraham  Lincoln  15 

Lincoln:  We  mean  to  set  bounds  to  slavery. 
The  South  will  resist.  They  may  try  to  break 
away  from  the  Union.  That  cannot  be  allowed. 
If  the  Union  is  set  aside  America  will  crumble. 
The  saving  of  it  may  mean  blood. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Who  is  to  shape  it  all  if  you 
don't? 

Lincoln:  There's  nobody.  I  know  it. 

Mr s.  Lincoln:  Then  go. 

Lincoln:  Go. 

Mrs.  Lincoln  (after  a  moment) :  This  hat  is  a 
disgrace  to  you,  Abraham.  You  pay  no  heed  to 
what  I  say,  and  you  think  it  does  n't  matter. 
A  man  like  you  ought  to  think  a  little  about 
gentility. 

Lincoln:  To  be  sure.  I  forget. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  You  don't.  You  just  don't  heed. 
Samuel  Stone's  been  smoking  in  here. 

Lincoln:  He's  a  careless,  poor  fellow. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  He  is,  and  a  fine  example  you 
set  him.  You  don't  care  whether  he  makes  my 
parlour  smell  poison  or  not. 

Lincoln:  Of  course  I  do  — 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  You  don't.  Your  head  is  too 


1 6  Abraham  Lincoln 

stuffed  with  things  to  think  about  my  ways. 
I  've  got  neighbours  if  you  have  n't. 

Lincoln:  Well,   now,   your  neighbours   are 
mine,  I  suppose. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Then  why  won't  you  consider 
appearances  a  little? 

Lincoln:  Certainly.  I  must. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Will  you  get  a  new  hat? 

Lincoln:  Yes,  I  must  see  about  it. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  When? 

Lincoln:  In  a  day  or  two.  Before  long. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Abraham,  I've   got  a  better 
temper  than  anybody  will  ever  guess. 

Lincoln:  You  have,  my  dear.  And  you  need 
it,  I  confess. 

Susan  comes  in. 

Susan:  The  gentlemen  have  come. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  I  '11  come  to  them. 

Susan:  Does  the  master  want  a  handkerchief, 
ma'am  ?  He  did  n't  take  one  this  morning. 

Lincoln:  It's  no  matter  now,  Susan. 

Susan:  If  you  please,  I  've  brought  you  one, 
sir. 

She  gives  it  to  him,  and  goes. 


Abraham  Lincoln  17 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  I'll  send  them  in.  Abraham, 
I  believe  in  you. 
Lincoln:  I  know,  I  know. 
Mrs.  Lincoln  goes  out.  Lincoln  moves  to 
a  map  of  the  United  States  that  is  hanging  on 
the  wall,  and  stands  silently  looking  at  it. 
After  a  few  moments  Susan  comes  to  the  door. 
Susan:  This  way,  please. 

She  shows  in  William  Tucker,  a  florid, 
prosperous  merchant;  Henry  Hind,  an  alert 
little  attorney;  Elias  Price,  a  lean  lay 
preacher;  and  James  Macintosh,  the  editor 
of  a  Republican  journal.  Susan  goes. 
Tucker:  Mr.  Lincoln.  Tucker  my  name  is  — 
William  Tucker. 

He  presents  his  companions. 
Mr.  Henry  Hind  —  follows  your  profession, 
Mr.  Lincoln.  Leader  of  the  bar  in  Ohio.  Mr. 
Elias  Price,  of  Pennsylvania.  You  've  heard  him 
preach,  maybe.  James  Macintosh  you  know. 
I  come  from  Chicago. 

Lincoln:  Gentlemen,  at  your  service.  How 
d'ye  do,  James.  Will  you  be  seated? 
They  sit  round  the  table. 


1 8  Abraham  Lincoln 

Tucker:  I  have  the  honour  to  be  chairman  of 
this  delegation.  We  are  sent  from  Chicago  by 
the  Republican  Convention,  to  enquire  whether 
you  will  accept  their  invitation  to  become  the 
Republican  candidate  for  the  office  of  President 
of  the  United  States. 

Price:  The  Convention  is  aware,  Mr.  Lincoln, 
that  under  the  circumstances,  seeing  that  the 
Democrats  have  split,  this  is  more  than  an  in- 
vitation to  candidature.  Their  nominee  is  al- 
most certain  to  be  elected. 

Lincoln:  Gentlemen,  I  am  known  to  one  of 
you  only.  Do  you  know  my  many  disqualifica- 
tions for  this  work? 

Hind:  It's  only  fair  to  say  that  they  have 
been  discussed  freely. 

Lincoln:  There  are  some,  shall  we  say  graces, 
that  I  lack.  Washington  does  not  altogether 
neglect  these. 

Tucker:  They  have  been  spoken  of.  But  these 
are  days,  Mr.  Lincoln,  if  I  may  say  so,  too  diffi- 
cult, too  dangerous,  for  these  to  weigh  at  the 
expense  of  other  qualities  that  you  were  con- 
sidered to  possess. 


Abraham  Lincoln  19 

Lincoln:  Seward  and  Hook  have  both  had 
great  experience. 

Macintosh:  Hook  had  no  strong  support.  For 
Seward,  there  are  doubts  as  to  his  discretion. 

Lincoln:  Do  not  be  under  any  misunderstand- 
ing, I  beg  you.  I  aim  at  moderation  so  far  as  it 
is  honest.  But  I  am  a  very  stubborn  man,  gen- 
tlemen. If  the  South  insists  upon  the  extension 
of  slavery,  and  claims  the  right  to  secede,  as  you 
know  it  very  well  may  do,  and  the  decision  lies 
with  me,  it  will  mean  resistance,  inexorable, 
with  blood  if  needs  be.  I  would  have  every- 
body's mind  clear  as  to  that. 

Price:  It  will  be  for  you  to  decide,  and  we  be- 
lieve you  to  be  an  upright  man,  Mr.  Lincoln. 

Lincoln:  Seward  and  Hook  would  be  difficult 
to  carry  as  subordinates. 

Tucker:  But  they  will  have  to  be  carried 
so,  and  there's  none  likelier  for  the  job  than 
you. 

Lincoln:  Will  your  Republican  Press  stand 
by  me  for  a  principle,  James,  whatever  comes  ? 

Macintosh:  There's  no  other  man  we  would 
follow  so  readily. 


20  Abraham  Lincoln 

Lincoln:  If  you  send  me,  the  South  will  have 
little  but  derision  for  your  choice. 

Hind:  We  believe  that  you'll  last  out  their 
laughter. 

Lincoln:  I  can  take  any  man's  ridicule  —  I  'm 
trained  to  it  by  a  .  .  .  somewhat  odd  figure  that 
it  pleased  God  to  give  me,  if  I  may  so  far  be 
pleasant  with  you.  But  this  slavery  business 
will  be  long,  and  deep,  and  bitter.  I  know  it.  If 
you  do  me  this  honour,  gentlemen,  you  must 
look  to  me  for  no  compromise  in  this  matter.  If 
abolition  comes  in  due  time  by  constitutional 
means,  good.  I  want  it.  But,  while  we  will  not 
force  abolition,  we  will  give  slavery  no  approval, 
and  we  will  not  allow  it  to  extend  its  boundaries 
by  one  yard.  The  determination  is  in  my  blood. 
When  I  was  a  boy  I  made  a  trip  to  New  Orleans, 
and  there  I  saw  them,  chained,  beaten,  kicked 
as  a  man  would  be  ashamed  to  kick  a  thieving 
dog.  And  I  saw  a  young  girl  driven  up  and  down 
the  room  that  the  bidders  might  satisfy  them- 
selves. And  I  said  then,  "If  ever  I  get  a  chance 
to  hit  that  thing,  I'll  hit  it  hard."       A  pause. 

You  have  no  conditions  to  make? 


Abraham  Lincoln  2  1 

Tucker:  None. 

Lincoln  {rising):  Mrs.  Lincoln  and  I  would 
wish  you  to  take  supper  with  us. 

Tucker:  That's  very  kind,  I'm  sure.  And 
your  answer,  Mr.  Lincoln  ? 

Lincoln:  When  you  came,  you  did  not  know 
me,  Mr.  Tucker.  You  may  have  something  to 
say  now  not  for  my  ears. 

Tucker:  Nothing  in  the  world,  I  assure  — 

Lincoln:  I  will  prepare  Mrs.  Lincoln.  You 
will  excuse  me  for  no  more  than  a  minute. 
He  goes  out. 

Tucker:  Well,  we  might  have  chosen  a  hand- 
somer article,  but  I  doubt  whether  we  could 
have  chosen  a  better. 

Hind:  He  would  make  a  great  judge  —  if  you 
were  n't  prosecuting. 

Price:  I  'd  tell  most  people,  but  I  'd  ask  that 
man. 

Tucker:  He  has  n't  given  us  yes  or  no  yet. 
Why  should  he  leave  us  like  that,  as  though 
plain  was  n't  plain? 

Hind:  Perhaps  he  wanted  a  thought  by  him- 
self first. 


22  Abraham  Lincoln 

Macintosh:  It  was  n't  that.  But  he  was  right. 
Abraham  Lincoln  sees  deeper  into  men's  hearts 
than  most.  He  knows  this  day  will  be  a  memory 
to  us  all  our  lives.  Under  his  eye,  which  of  you 
could  have  given  play  to  any  untoward  thought 
that  had  started  in  you  against  him  since  you 
came  into  this  room?  But,  leaving  you,  he 
knew  you  could  test  yourselves  to  your  own 
ease,  and  speak  the  more  confident  for  it,  and, 
if  you  found  yourselves  clean  of  doubt,  carry  it 
all  the  happier  in  your  minds  after.  Is  there  a 
doubt  among  us  ? 

Tucker:  -\ 

Hind:      >No,  none. 

Price:      ) 

Macintosh:  Then,  Mr.  Tucker,  ask  him  again 
when  he  comes  back. 

Tucker:  I  will. 

They  sit  in  silence  for  a  moment,  and  Lin- 
coln comes  in  again,  back  to  his  place  at 
the  table. 

Lincoln:  I  would  n't  have  you  think  it  grace- 
less of  me  to  be  slow  in  my  answer.  But  once 
given,  it 's  for  the  deep  good  or  the  deep  ill  of  all 


Abraham  Lincoln  23 

this  country.  In  the  face  of  that  a  man  may  well 
ask  himself  twenty  times,  when  he's  twenty 
times  sure.  You  make  no  qualification,  any  one 
among  you? 

Tucker:  None.  The  invitation  is  as  I  put  it 
when  we  sat  down.  And  I  would  add  that  we  are, 
all  of  us,  proud  to  bear  it  to  a  man  as  to  whom 
we  feel  there  is  none  so  fitted  to  receive  it. 
Lincoln:  I  thank  you.  I  accept. 
He  rises,  the  others  with  him.  He  goes  to  the 
door  and  calls. 
Susan. 

There  is  silence.  Susan  comes  in. 
Susan:  Yes,  Mr.  Lincoln. 
Lincoln:  Take  these  gentlemen  to  Mrs.  Lin- 
coln. I  will  follow  at  once. 

The  four  men  go  with  Susan.  Lincoln 
stands  silently  for  a  moment.  He  goes  again 
to  the  map  and  looks  at  it.  He  then  turns  to 
the  table  again,  and  kneels  beside  it,  pos- 
sessed and  deliberate,  burying  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

The  Curtain  falls. 


24  Abraham  Lincoln 


The  two  Chroniclers:  Lonely  is  the  man  who 

understands. 
Lonely  is  vision  that  leads  a  man  away 
From  the  pasture-lands, 
From  the  furrows  of  corn  and  the  brown  loads 

of  hay, 
To  the  mountain-side, 

To  the  high  places  where  contemplation  brings 
All  his  adventurings 

Among  the  sowers  and  the  tillers  in  the  wide 
Valleys  to  one  fused  experience, 
That  shall  control 
The  courses  of  his  soul, 
And  give  his  hand 
Courage  and  continence. 

The  First  Chronicler:  Shall  a  man  understand, 
He  shall  know  bitterness  because  his  kind, 
Being  perplexed  of  mind, 
Hold  issues  even  that  are  nothing  mated. 
And  he  shall  give 

Counsel  out  of  his  wisdom  that  none  shall  hear; 
And  steadfast  in  vain  persuasion  must  he  live, 
And  unabated 
Shall  his  temptation  be. 


Abraham  Lincoln  25 

Second  Chronicler:  Coveting  the  little,  the  in- 
stant gain, 
The  brief  security, 
And  easy-tongued  renown, 
Many  will  mock  the  vision  that  his  brain 
Builds  to  a  far,  unmeasured  monument, 
And  many  bid  his  resolutions  down 
To  the  wages  of  content. 

First  Chronicler:  A  year  goes  by. 

The  two  together:  Here  contemplate 

A  heart,  undaunted  to  possess 
Itself  among  the  glooms  of  fate, 
In  vision  and  in  loneliness. 

Scene  II. 
Ten  months  later.  Seward's  room  at  Washington. 
William  H.  Seward,  Secretary  of  State,  is 
seated  at  his  table  with  Johnson  White  and 
Caleb  Jennings,  representing  the  Com- 
missioners of  the  Confederate  States. 

White:  It's  the  common  feeling  in  the  South, 
Mr.  Seward,  that  you  're  the  one  man  at  Wash- 


26  Abraham  Lincoln 

ington  to  see  this  thing  with  large  imagination. 
I  say  this  with  no  disrespect  to  the  President. 

Seward:  I  appreciate  your  kindness,  Mr. 
White.  But  the  Union  is  the  Union  —  you  can't 
get  over  that.  We  are  faced  with  a  plain  fact. 
Seven  of  the  Southern  States  have  already  de- 
clared for  secession.  The  President  feels  —  and 
I  may  say  that  I  and  my  colleagues  are  with 
him  —  that  to  break  up  the  country  like  that 
means  the  decline  of  America. 

Jennings:  But  everything  might  be  done 
by  compromise,  Mr.  Seward.  Withdraw  your 
garrison  from  Fort  Sumter,  Beauregard  will  be 
instructed  to  take  no  further  action,  South 
Carolina  will  be  satisfied  with  the  recognition 
of  her  authority,  and,  as  likely  as  not,  be  willing 
to  give  the  lead  to  the  other  states  in  reconsider- 
ing secession. 

Seward:  It  is  certainly  a  very  attractive  and, 
I  conceive,  a  humane  proposal. 

White:  By  furthering  it  you  might  be  the 
saviour  of  the  country  from  civil  war,  Mr. 
Seward. 

Seward:  The  President  dwelt  on  his  resolu- 


Abraham  Lincoln  27 

tion  to  hold  Fort  Sumter  in  his  inaugural  ad- 
dress. It  will  be  difficult  to  persuade  him  to  go 
back  on  that.  He's  firm  in  his  decisions. 

White:  There  are  people  who  would  call  him 
stubborn.  Surely  if  it  were  put  to  him  tactfully 
that  so  simple  a  course  might  avert  incalculable 
disaster,  no  man  would  nurse  his  dignity  to  the 
point  of  not  yielding.  I  speak  plainly,  but  it's 
a  time  for  plain  speaking.  Mr.  Lincoln  is  doubt- 
less a  man  of  remarkable  qualities:  on  the  two 
occasions  when  I  have  spoken  to  him  I  have  not 
been  unimpressed.  That  is  so,  Mr.  Jennings? 

Jennings:  Certainly. 

White:  But  what  does  his  experience  of  great 
affairs  of  state  amount  to  beside  yours,  Mr. 
Seward  ?  He  must  know  how  much  he  depends 
on  certain  members  of  his  Cabinet,  I  might  say 
upon  a  certain  member,  for  advice. 

Seward:  We  have  to  move  warily. 

Jennings:  Naturally.  A  man  is  sensitive, 
doubtless,  in  his  first  taste  of  office. 

Seward:  My  support  of  the  President  is,  of 
course,  unquestionable. 

White:  Oh,  entirely.  But  how  can  your  sup- 


28  Abraham  Lincoln 

port  be  more  valuable  than  in  lending  him  your 
unequalled  understanding? 

Seward:  The  whole  thing  is  coloured  in  his 
mind  by  the  question  of  slavery. 

Jennings:  Disabuse  his  mind.  Slavery  is 
nothing.  Persuade  him  to  withdraw  from  Fort 
Sumter,  and  slavery  can  be  settled  round  a 
table.  You  know  there 's  a  considerable  support 
even  for  abolition  in  the  South  itself.  If  the 
trade  has  to  be  allowed  in  some  districts,  what 
is  that  compared  to  the  disaster  of  civil  war? 

White:  We  do  not  believe  that  the  Southern 
States  wish  with  any  enthusiasm  to  secede. 
They  merely  wish  to  establish  their  right  to  do 
so.  Acknowledge  that  by  evacuating  Fort 
Sumter,  and  nothing  will  come  of  it  but  a  per- 
fectly proper  concession  to  an  independence  of 
spirit  that  is  not  disloyal  to  the  Union  at  heart. 

Seward:  You  understand,  of  course,  that  I 
can  say  nothing  officially. 

Jennings:  These  are  nothing  but  informal 
suggestions. 

Seward:  But  I  may  tell  you  that  I  am  not 
unsympathetic. 


Abraham  Lincoln  29 

White:  We  were  sure  that  that  would  be 
so. 

Seward:  And  my  word  is  not  without  influ- 
ence. 

Jennings:  It  can  be  used  to  bring  you  very 
great  credit,  Mr.  Seward. 

Seward:  In  the  mean  time,  you  will  say  noth- 
ing of  this  interview,  beyond  making  your  re- 
ports, which  should  be  confidential. 

White:  You  may  rely  upon  us. 

Seward  {rising  with  the  others):  Then  I  will 
bid  you  good-morning. 

White:  We  are  profoundly  sensible  of  the 
magnanimous  temper  in  which  we  are  con- 
vinced you  will  conduct  this  grave  business. 
Good-morning,  Mr.  Seward. 

Jennings:  And  I  — 

There  is  a  knock  at  the  door. 

Seward:  Yes  —  come  in. 

A  Clerk  comes  in. 

Clerk:  The  President  is  coming  up  the  stairs, 
sir. 

Seward:  Thank  you. 

The  Clerk  goes. 


3° 


Abraham  Lincoln 


This  is  unfortunate.  Say  nothing,  and  go  at 
once. 

Lincoln   comes   in,   now   whiskered   and 
bearded. 

Lincoln:  Good-morning,  Mr.  Seward.  Good- 
morning,  gentlemen. 

Seward:  Good-morning,  Mr.  President.  And 
I  am  obliged  to  you  for  calling,  gentlemen. 
Good-morning. 

He  moves  towards  the  door. 

Lincoln:  Perhaps  these  gentlemen  could 
spare  me  ten  minutes. 

White:  It  might  not  — 

Lincoln:  Say  five  minutes. 

Jennings:  Perhaps  you  would  — 

Lincoln:  I  am  anxious  always  for  any  oppor- 
tunity to  exchange  views  with  our  friends  of  the 
South.  Much  enlightenment  may  be  gained  in 
five  minutes.  Be  seated,  I  beg  you  —  if  Mr. 
Seward  will  allow  us. 

Seward:  By  all  means.  Shall  I  leave  you? 

Lincoln:  Leave  us  —  but  why?  I  may  want 
your  support,  Mr.  Secretary,  if  we  should  not 
wholly  agree.  Be  seated,  gentlemen. 


Abraham  Lincoln  3 1 

Seward  places  a  chair  for  Lincoln,  and 
they  sit  at  the  table. 

You  have  messages  for  us  ? 

White:  Well,  no,  we  can't  say  that. 

Lincoln:  No  messages  ?  Perhaps  I  am  inquisi- 
tive ? 

Seward:  These  gentlemen  are  anxious  to 
sound  any  moderating  influences. 

Lincoln:  I  trust  they  bring  moderating  influ- 
ences with  them.  You  will  find  me  a  ready  lis- 
tener, gentlemen. 

Jennings:  It 's  a  delicate  matter,  Mr.  Lincoln. 
Ours  is  just  an  informal  visit. 

Lincoln:  Quite,  quite.  But  we  shall  lose  noth- 
ing by  knowing  each  other's  minds. 

White:  Shall  we  tell  the  President  what  we 
came  to  say,  Mr.  Seward? 

Lincoln:  I  shall  be  grateful.  If  I  should  fail  to 
understand,  Mr.  Seward,  no  doubt,  will  en- 
lighten me. 

Jennings:  We  thought  it  hardly  worth  while 
to  trouble  you  at  so  early  a  stage. 

Lincoln:  So  early  a  stage  of  what? 

Jennings:  I  mean  — 


32  Abraham  Lincoln 

Seward:  These  gentlemen,  in  a  common  anx- 
iety for  peace,  were  merely  seeking  the  best 
channel  through  which  suggestions  could  be 
made. 

Lincoln:  To  whom  ? 

Seward:  To  the  government. 

Lincoln:  The  head  of  the  government  is  here. 

White:  But  — 

Lincoln:  Come,  gentlemen.  What  is  it? 

Jennings:  It's  this  matter  of  Fort  Sumter, 
Mr.  President.  If  you  withdraw  your  garrison 
from  Fort  Sumter  it  won't  be  looked  upon  as 
weakness  in  you.  It  will  merely  be  looked  upon 
as  a  concession  to  a  natural  prejudice.  We  be- 
lieve that  the  South  at  heart  does  not  want 
secession.  It  wants  to  establish  the  right  to 
decide  for  itself. 

Lincoln:  The  South  wants  the  stamp  of  na- 
tional approval  upon  slavery.  It  can't  have 
it. 

White:  Surely  that's  not  the  point.  There's 
no  law  in  the  South  against  slavery. 

Lincoln:  Laws  come  from  opinion,  Mr. 
White.  The  South  knows  it. 


Abraham  Lincoln  33 

Jennings:  Mr.  President,  if  I  may  say  so,  you 
don't  quite  understand. 

Lincoln:  Does  Mr.  Seward  understand? 

White:  We  believe  so. 

Lincoln:  You  are  wrong.  He  does  n't  under- 
stand, because  you  did  n't  mean  him  to.  I  don't 
blame  you.  You  think  you  are  acting  for  the 
best.  You  think  you've  got  an  honest  case.  But 
I  '11  put  your  case  for  you,  and  I  '11  put  it  naked. 
Many  people  in  this  country  want  abolition; 
many  don't.  I'll  say  nothing  for  the  moment 
as  to  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  it.  But  every  man, 
whether  he  wants  it  or  not,  knows  it  may  come. 
Why  does  the  South  propose  secession?  Be- 
cause it  knows  abolition  may  come,  and  it  wants 
to  avoid  it.  It  wants  more :  it  wants  the  right  to 
extend  the  slave  foundation.  We've  all  been  to 
blame  for  slavery,  but  we  in  the  North  have 
been  willing  to  mend  our  ways.  You  have  not. 
So  you  '11  secede,  and  make  your  own  laws.  But 
you  were  n't  prepared  for  resistance;  you  don't 
want  resistance.  And  you  hope  that  if  you  can 
tide  over  the  first  crisis  and  make  us  give  way, 
opinion  will  prevent  us  from  opposing  you  with 


34  Abraham  Lincoln 

force  again,  and  you  '11  be  able  to  get  your  own 
way  about  the  slave  business  by  threats.  That's 
your  case.  You  did  n't  say  so  to  Mr.  Seward, 
but  it  is.  Now,  I  '11  give  you  my  answer.  Gentle- 
men, it 's  no  good  hiding  this  thing  in  a  corner. 
It's  got  to  be  settled.  I  said  the  other  day  that 
Fort  Sumter  would  be  held  as  long  as  we  could 
hold  it.  I  said  it  because  I  know  exactly  what  it 
means.  Why  are  you  investing  it?  Say,  if  you 
like,  it's  to  establish  your  right  of  secession  with 
no  purpose  of  exercising  it.  Why  do  you  want  to 
establish  that  right?  Because  now  we  will  allow 
no  extension  of  slavery,  and  because  some  day 
we  may  abolish  it.  You  can't  deny  it;  there's 
no  other  answer. 

Jennings:  I  see  how  it  is.  You  may  force  free- 
dom as  much  as  you  like,  but  we  are  to  beware 
how  we  force  slavery. 

Lincoln:  It  could  n't  be  put  better,  Mr.  Jen- 
nings. That's  what  the  Union  means.  It  is  a 
Union  that  stands  for  common  right.  That  is  its 
foundation  —  that  is  why  it  is  for  every  honest 
man  to  preserve  it.  Be  clear  about  this  issue. 
If  there  is  war,  it  will  not  be  on  the  slave  ques- 


Abraham  Lincoln  35 

tion.  If  the  South  is  loyal  to  the  Union,  it  can 
fight  slave  legislation  by  constitutional  means, 
and  win  its  way  if  it  can.  If  it  claims  the  right 
to  secede,  then  to  preserve  this  country  from 
disruption,  to  maintain  that  right  to  which 
every  state  pledged  itself  when  the  Union  was 
won  for  us  by  our  fathers,  war  may  be  the  only 
way.  We  won't  break  up  the  Union,  and  you 
shan't.  In  your  hands,  and  not  in  mine,  is  the 
momentous  issue  of  civil  war.  You  can  have  no 
conflict  without  yourselves  being  the  aggres- 
sors. I  am  loath  to  close.  We  are  not  enemies, 
but  friends.  We  must  not  be  enemies.  Though 
passion  may  have  strained,  do  not  allow  it  to 
break  our  bonds  of  affection.  That  is  our  an- 
swer. Tell  them  that.  Will  you  tell  them  that? 

White:  You  are  determined  ? 

Lincoln:  I  beg  you  to  tell  them. 

Jennings:  It  shall  be  as  you  wish. 

Lincoln:  Implore  them  to  order  Beauregard's 
return.  You  can  telegraph  it  now,  from  here. 
Will  you  do  that? 

White:  If  you  wish  it. 

Lincoln:  Earnestly.  Mr.  Seward,  will  you 


36  Abraham  Lincoln 

please  place  a  clerk  at  their  service.  Ask  for  an 
answer. 

Seward  rings  a  bell.  A  Clerk  comes  in. 
Seward:  Give  these  gentlemen  a  private  wire. 
Place  yourself  at  their  disposal. 
Clerk:  Yes,  sir. 
White  and  Jennings  go  out  with  the  Clerk. 
For  a  moment  Lincoln  and  Seward  are 
silent,  Lincoln  pacing  the  room,  Seward 
standing  at  the  table. 
Lincoln:  Seward,  this  won't  do. 
Seward:  You  don't  suspect  — 
Lincoln:  I  do  not.  But  let  us  be  plain.  No  man 
can  say  how  wisely,  but  Providence  has  brought 
me  to  the  leadership  of  this  country,  with  a  task 
before  me  greater  than  that  which  rested  on 
Washington  himself.  When  I  made  my  Cabinet, 
you  were  the  first  man  I  chose.  I  do  not  regret  it. 
I  think  I  never  shall.  But  remember,  faith  earns 
faith.  What  is  it?  Why  did  n't  those  men  come 
to  see  me  ? 

Seward:  They  thought  my  word  might  bear 
more  weight  with  you  than  theirs.  y 
Lincoln:  Your  word  for  what? 


Abraham  Lincoln  37 

Seward:  Discretion  about  Fort  Sumter. 

Lincoln:  Discretion  ?     - 

Seward:  It's  devastating,  this  thought  of  war. 

Lincoln:  It  is.  Do  you  think  I  'm  less  sensible  of 
that  than  you  ?  War  should  be  impossible.  But 
you  can  only  make  it  impossible  by  destroying 
its  causes.  Don't  you  see  that  to  withdraw  from 
Fort  Sumter  is  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind?  If  one 
half  of  this  country  claims  the  right  to  disown 
the  Union,  the  claim  in  the  eyes  of  every  true 
guardian  among  us  must  be  a  cause  for  war,  un- 
less we  hold  the  Union  to  be  a  false  thing  in- 
stead of  the  public  consent  to  decent  principles 
of  life  that  it  is.  If  we  withdraw  from  Fort  Sum- 
ter, we  do  nothing  to  destroy  that  cause.  We 
can  only  destroy  it  by  convincing  them  that 
secession  is  a  betrayal  of  their  trust.  Please 
God  we  may  do  so. 

Seward:  Has  there,  perhaps,  been  some  timid- 
ity in  making  all  this  clear  to  the  country? 

Lincoln:  Timidity?  And  you  were  talking  of 
discretion. 

Seward:  I  mean  that  perhaps  our  policy  has 
not  been  sufficiently  defined. 


38  Abraham  Lincoln 

Lincoln:  And  have  you  not  concurred  in  all 
our  decisions  ?  Do  not  deceive  yourself.  You  urge 
me  to  discretion  in  one  breath  and  tax  me  with 
timidity  in  the  next.  While  there  was  hope  that 
they  might  call  Beauregard  back  out  of  their 
own  good  sense,  I  was  determined  to  say  noth- 
ing to  inflame  them.  Do  you  call  that  timidity? 
Now  their  intention  is  clear,  and  you've  heard 
me  speak  this  morning  clearly  also.  And  now 
you  talk  about  discretion  —  you,  who  call  what 
was  discretion  at  the  right  time,  timidity,  now 
counsel  timidity  at  the  wrong  time,  and  call  it 
discretion.  Seward,  you  may  think  I'm  simple, 
but  I  can  see  your  mind  working  as  plainly 
as  you  might  see  the  innards  of  a  clock.  You 
can  bring  great  gifts  to  this  government,  with 
your  zeal,  and  your  administrative  experience, 
and  your  love  of  men.  Don't  spoil  it  by  think- 
ing I  've  got  a  dull  brain. 

Seward  {slowly) :  Yes,  I  see.  I  've  not  been 
thinking  quite  clearly  about  it  all. 

Lincoln  {taking  a  paper  from  his  pocket): 
Here's  the  paper  you  sent  me.  "  Some  Thoughts 
for  the  President's  Consideration.  Great  Brit- 


Abraham  Lincoln  39 

ain  .  .  .  Russia  .  .  .  Mexico  .  .  .  policy.  Either 
the  President  must  control  this  himself,  or  de- 
volve it  on  some  member  of  his  Cabinet.  It  is 
not  in  my  especial  province,  but  I  neither  seek 
to  evade  nor  assume  responsibility." 

There  is  a  pause,  the  two  men  looking  at  each 
other  without  speaking.  Lincoln  hands  the 
paper  to  Seward,  who  holds  it  for  a  moment, 
tears  it  up,  and  throws  it  into  his  basket. 
Seward:  I  beg  your  pardon. 
Lincoln  (taking  his  hand):  That's  brave  of 
you. 

John  Hay,  a  Secretary,  comes  in. 
Hay:  There 's  a  messenger  from  Major  Ander- 
son, sir.  He 's  ridden  straight  from  Fort  Sumter. 
Lincoln:  Take  him  to  my  room.  No,  bring 
him  here. 

Hay  goes. 
Seward:  What  does  it  mean  ? 
Lincoln:  I  don't  like  the  sound  of  it. 

He  rings  a  bell.  A  Clerk  comes  in. 
Are  there  any  gentlemen  of  the  Cabinet  in 
the  house? 

Clerk:~M.r.  Chase  and  Mr.  Blair,  I  believe,  sir. 


40  Abraham  Lincoln 

Lincoln:  My  compliments  to  them,  and  will 
they  be  prepared  to  see  me  here  at  once  if  neces- 
sary. Send  the  same  message  to  any  other  min- 
isters you  can  find. 
Clerk:  Yes,  sir. 

He  goes. 
Lincoln:  We  may  have  to  decide  now  —  now. 
Hay  shows  in  a  perspiring  and  dust-covered 
Messenger,  and  retires. 
From  Major  Anderson? 
The  Messenger:  Yes,  sir.  Word  of  mouth,  sir. 
Lincoln:  Your  credentials  ? 
The  Messenger  {giving  Lincoln  a  paper): 
Here,  sir. 

Lincoln  {glancing  at  it) :  Well  ? 
The  Messenger:  Major  Anderson  presents  his 
duty  to  the  government.  He  can  hold  the  Fort 
three  days  more  without  provisions  and  rein- 
forcements. 

Lincoln  rings  the  bell,  and  waits  until  a 
third  Clerk  comes  in. 
Lincoln:  See  if  Mr.  White  and  Mr.  Jennings 
have  had  any  answer  yet.  Mr.  —  what's  his 
name? 


Abraham  Lincoln  41 

Seward:  Hawkins. 

Lincoln:  Mr.  Hawkins  is  attending  to  them. 
And  ask  Mr.  Hay  to  come  here. 
Clerk:  Yes,  sir. 
He  goes.  Lincoln  sits  at  the  table  and  writes. 
Hay  comes  in. 
Lincoln  {writing):  Mr.  Hay,  do  you  know 
where  General  Scott  is  ? 

Hay:  At  headquarters,  I  think,  sir. 
Lincoln:  Take  this  to  him  yourself  and  bring 
an  answer  back. 
Hay:  Yes,  sir. 

He  takes  the  note,  and  goes. 
Lincoln:  Are  things  very  bad  at  the  Fort? 
The  Messenger:  The  major  says  three  days, 
sir.  Most  of  us  would  have  said  twenty-four 
hours. 

A  knock  at  the  door. 
Seward:  Yes. 

Hawkins  comes  in. 
Hawkins:  Mr.  White  is  just  receiving  a  mes- 
sage across  the  wire,  sir. 

Lincoln:  Ask  him  to  come  here  directly  he's 
finished. 


42  Abraham  Lincoln 

Hawkins:  Yes,  sir. 
He  goes.  Lincoln  goes  to  a  far  door  and 
opens  it.  He  speaks  to  the  Messenger. 

Lincoln:  Will  you  wait  in  here? 

The  Messenger  goes  through. 

Seward:  Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke? 

Lincoln:  Not  at  all,  not  at  all. 
Seward  lights  a  cigar. 

Three  days.  If  White's  message  does  n't  help 
us  —  three  days. 

Seward:  But  surely  we  must  withdraw  as  a 
matter  of  military  necessity  now. 

Lincoln:  Why  does  n't  White  come? 
Seward  goes  to  the  window  and  throws  it  up. 
He  stands  looking  down  into  the  street. 
Lincoln  stands  at  the  table  looking  fixedly  at 
the  door.  After  a  moment  or  two  there  is  a 
knock. 

Come  in. 
Hawkins  shows  in  White  and  Jennings, 
and  goes  out.  Seward  closes  the  window. 

Well? 

White:  I  'm  sorry.  They  won't  give  way. 

Lincoln:  You  told  them  all  I  said? 


Abraham  Lincoln  43 

Jennings:  Everything. 
Lincoln:  It's  critical. 
White:  They  are  definite. 
Lincoln  paces  once  or  twice  up  and  down  the 
room,  standing  again  at  his  place  at  the  table. 
Lincoln:  They  leave  no  opening? , 
White:  I  regret  to  say,  none. 
Lincoln:  It's  a  grave  decision.  Terribly  grave. 
Thank  you,  gentlemen.  Good-morning. 

White  and  Jennings:  Good-morning,   gentle- 
men. 

They  go  out. 
Lincoln:  My  God!  Seward,  we  need  great 
courage,  great  faith. 

He  rings  the  bell.  The  Second  Clerk  comes 
in. 
Did  you  take  my  messages  ? 
The  Clerk:  Yes,  sir.  Mr.  Chase  and  Mr.  Blair 
are  here.  The  other  ministers  are  coming  im- 
mediately. 

Lincoln:  Ask  them  to  come  here  at  once.  And 
send  Mr.  Hay  in  directly  he  returns. 
The  Clerk:  Yes,  sir. 

He  goes. 


44  Abraham  Lincoln 

Lincoln  {after  a  pause) :  "There  is  a  tide  in  the 
affairs  of  men  ..."  Do  you  read  Shakespeare, 
Seward? 

Seward:  Shakespeare?  No. 
Lincoln:  Ah ! 

Salmon  P.  Chase,  Secretary  of  the  Treas- 
ury, and  Montgomery  Blair,  Postmaster- 
General,  come  in. 
Good-morning,  Mr.  Chase,  Mr.  Blair. 
Seward:  Good-morning,  gentlemen. 
Blair:  Good-morning,  Mr.  President.  How 
d'ye  do,  Mr.  Seward. 

Chase:  Good-morning,  Mr.  President.  Some- 
thing urgent? 

Lincoln:  Let  us  be  seated. 

As  they  draw  chairs  up  to  the  table,  the  other 
members  of  the  Cabinet,  Simon  Cameron, 
Caleb  Smith,  Burnet  Hook,  and  Gideon 
Welles,  come  in.  There  is  an  exchange  of 
greetings,    while    they    arrange    themselves 
round  the  table. 
Gentlemen,  we   meet  in  a  crisis,  the  most 
fateful,  perhaps,  that  has  ever  faced  any  gov- 
ernment  in   this   country.   It   can    be   stated 


Abraham  Lincoln  45 

briefly.  A  message  has  just  come  from  Ander- 
son. He  can  hold  Fort  Sumter  three  days  at 
most  unless  we  send  men  and  provisions. 

Cameron:  How  many  men? 

Lincoln:  I  shall  know  from  Scott  in  a  few 
minutes  how  many  are  necessary. 

Welles:  Suppose  we  have  n't  as  many. 

Lincoln:  Then  it's  a  question  of  provisioning. 
We  may  not  be  able  to  do  enough  to  be  effective. 
The  question  is  whether  we  shall  do  as  much  as 
we  can. 

Hook:  If  we  withdrew  altogether,  would  n't 
it  give  the  South  a  lead  towards  compromise, 
as  being  an  acknowledgment  of  their  authority, 
while  leaving  us  free  to  plead  military  necessity 
if  we  found  public  opinion  dangerous  ? 

Lincoln:  My  mind  is  clear.  To  do  less  than  we 
can  do,  whatever  that  may  be,  will  be  funda- 
mentally to  allow  the  South's  claim  to  right  of 
secession.  That  is  my  opinion.  If  you  evade  the 
question  now,  you  will  have  to  answer  it  to- 
morrow. 

Blair:  I  agree  with  the  President. 

Hook:  We  ought  to  defer  action  as  long  as 


46  Abraham  Lincoln 

possible.  I  consider  that  we  should  withdraw. 

Lincoln:  Don't  you  see  that  to  withdraw  may 
postpone  war,  but  that  it  will  make  it  inevitable 
in  the  end  ? 

Smith:  It  is  inevitable  if  we  resist. 

Lincoln:  I  fear  it  will  be  so.  But  in  that  case 
we  shall  enter  it  with  uncompromised  principles. 
Mr.  Chase? 

Chase:  It  is  difficult.  But,  on  the  whole,  my 
opinion  is  with  yours,  Mr.  President. 

Lincoln:  And  you,  Seward? 

Seward:  I  respect  your  opinion,  but  I  must 
differ. 

A  knock  at  the  door. 

Lincoln:  Come  in. 
Hay  comes  in.  He  gives  a  letter  to  Lincoln 
and  goes. 

{Reading) :  Scott  says  twenty  thousand  men. 

Seward:  We  have  n't  ten  thousand  ready. 

Lincoln:  It  remains  a  question  of  sending 
provisions.  I  charge  you,  all  of  you,  to  weigh 
this  thing  with  all  your  understanding.  To 
temporise  now,  cannot,  in  my  opinion,  avert 
war.  To  speak  plainly  to  the  world  in  standing 


Abraham  Lincoln  47 

by  our  resolution  to  hold  Fort  Sumter  with  all 
our  means,  and  in  a  plain  declaration  that  the 
Union  must  be  preserved,  will  leave  us  with  a 
clean  cause,  simply  and  loyally  supported.  I 
tremble  at  the  thought  of  war.  But  we  have  in 
our  hands  a  sacred  trust.  It  is  threatened.  We 
have  had  no  thought  of  aggression.  We  have 
been  the  aggressed.  Persuasion  has  failed,  and  I 
conceive  it  to  be  our  duty  to  resist.  To  withhold 
supplies  from  Anderson  would  be  to  deny  that 
duty.  Gentlemen,  the  matter  is  before  you. 
A  pause. 
For  provisioning  the  fort? 
Lincoln,  Chase,  and  Blair  hold  up  their 
hands. 
For  immediate  withdrawal? 

Seward,   Cameron,   Smith,  Hook,   and 
Welles  hold  up  their  hands.  There  is  a 
pause  of  some  moments. 
Gentlemen,  I  may  have  to  take  upon  myself 
the  responsibility  of  over-riding  your  vote.  It 
will  be  for  me  to  satisfy  Congress  and  public 
opinion.  Should  I  receive  any  resignations? 
There  is  silence. 


48  Abraham  Lincoln 

I  thank  you  for  your  consideration,  gentle- 
men. That  is  all. 

They  rise,  and  the  Ministers,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Seward,  go  out,  talking  as  they  pass 
beyond  the  door.  ■ 
You  are  wrong,  Seward,  wrong. 
Seward:  I  believe  you.  I  respect  your  judg- 
ment even  as  far  as  that.  But  I  must  speak  as 
I  feel. 

Lincoln:  May  I  speak  to  this  man  alone? 
Seward:  Certainly.      ,  * 

He  goes  out.  Lincoln  stands  motionless  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  moves  to  a  map  of  the  United 
States,  much  larger  than  the  one  in  his  Illi- 
nois home,  and  looks  at  it  as  he  did  there.  He 
goes  to  the  far  door  and  opens  it. 
Lincoln:  Will  you  come  in  ? 

The  Messenger  comes. 
Can  you  ride  back  to  Major  Anderson  at 
once? 

The  Messenger:  Yes,  sir. 
Lincoln:  Tell  him  that  we  cannot  reinforce 
him  immediately.  We  have  n't  the  men. 
The  Messenger:  Yes,  sir. 


Abraham  Lincoln  49 

Lincoln:  And  say  that  the  first  convoy  of  sup- 
plies will  leave  Washington  this  evening. 
The  Messenger:  Yes,  sir. 
Lincoln:  Thank  you. 

The  Messenger  goes.  Lincoln  stands  at 
the  table  for  a  moment;  he  rings  the  bell. 
Hawkins  comes  in. 
Mr.  Hay,  please. 
Hawkins:  Yes,  sir. 

He  goes,  and  a  moment  later  Hay  comes  in. 
Lincoln:  Go  to  General  Scott.  Ask  him  to 
come  to  me  at  once. 
Hay:  Yes,  sir. 

He  goes. 

The  Curtain  falls. 


The  two  Chroniclers:  You  who  have  gone 
gathering 
Cornflowers  and  meadowsweet, 
Heard  the  hazels  glancing  down   / 

On  September  eves, 
Seen  the  homeward  rooks  on  wing 
Over  fields  of  golden  wheat, 


5<d  Abraham  Lincoln 

And  the  silver  cups  that  crown 
Water-lily  leaves; 

You  who  know  the  tenderness 

Of  old  men  at  eve-tide, 
Coming  from  the  hedgerows, 

Coming  from  the  plough, 
And  the  wandering  caress 

Of  winds  upon  the  woodside, 
When  the  crying  yaffle  goes 

Underneath  the  bough ; 

First  Chronicler:  You  who  mark  the  flowing 

Of  sap  upon  the  May-time, 
And  the  waters  welling 

From  the  watershed, 
You  who  count  the  growing 

Of  harvest  and  hay-time, 
Knowing  these  the  telling 

Of  your  daily  bread; 

Second  Chronicler:  You  who  cherish  courtesy 
With  your  fellows  at  your  gate, 
And  about  your  hearthstone  sit 
Under  love's  decrees, 


Abraham  Lincoln  5  1 

You  who  know  that  death  will  be 
Speaking  with  you  soon  or  late, 

The  two  together:  Kinsmen,  what  is 
mother-wit 

But  the  light  of  these? 
Knowing  these,  what  is  there  more 

For  learning  in  your  little  years  ? 
Are  not  these  all  gospels  bright 

Shining  on  your  day? 
How  then  shall  your  hearts  be  sore 

With  envy  and  her  brood  of  fears, 
How  forget  the  words  of  light     . 

From  the  mountain-way?  .  .  . 

Blessed  are  the  merciful.  .  .  . 

Does  not  every  threshold  seek 
Meadows  and  the  flight  of  birds 

For  compassion  still  ? 
Blessed  are  the  merciful.  ...    1 

Are  we  pilgrims  yet  to  speak 
Out  of  Olivet  the  words 

Of  knowledge  and  good-will  ? 


52  Abraham  Lincoln 

First  Chronicler:  Two  years  of  darkness,  and 
this  man  but  grows 

Greater  in  resolution,  more  constant  in  com- 
passion. 

He  goes 

The  way  of  dominion  in  pitiful,  high-hearted 
fashion. 

Scene  III. 
Nearly  two  years  later. 

A  small  reception  room  at  the  White  House.  Mrs. 
Lincoln,  dressed  in  a  fashion  perhaps  a 
little  too  considered,  despairing  as  she  now 
does  of  any  sartorial  grace  in  her  husband, 
and  acutely  conscious  that  she  must  meet  this 
necessity  of  office  alone,  is  writing.  She  rings 
the  bell,  and  Susan,  who  has  taken  her  pro- 
motion more  philosophically,  comes  in. 
Mrs.   Lincoln:   Admit   any  one  who   calls, 
Susan.  And  enquire  whether  the  President  will 
be  in  to  tea. 

Susan:  Mr.  Lincoln  has  just  sent  word  that 
he  will  be  in. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Very  well. 


Abraham  Lincoln  53 

Susan  is  going. 

Susan. 

Susan:  Yes,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  You  still  say  Mr.  Lincoln.  You 
should  say  the  President. 

Susan:  Yes,  ma'am.  But  you  see,  ma'am,  it's 
difficult  after  calling  him  Mr.  Lincoln  for  fifteen 
years. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  But  you  must  remember. 
Everybody  calls  him  the  President  now. 

Susan:  No,  ma'am.  There's  a  good  many 
people  call  him  Father  Abraham  now.  And 
there's  some  that  like  him  even  better  than 
that.  Only  to-day  Mr.  Coldpenny,  at  the  stores, 
said,  "Well,  Susan,  and  how  's  old  Abe  this 
morning  ? " 

Mrs,  Lincoln:  I  hope  you  don't  encourage 
them. 

Susan:  Oh,  no,  ma'am.  I  always  refer  to  him 
as  Mr.  Lincoln. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Yes,  but  you  must  say  the 
President. 

Susan:  I  'm  afraid  I  shan't  ever  learn,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  You  must  try. 


54  Abraham  Lincoln 

Susan:  Yes,  of  course,  ma'am. 
Mrs.  Lincoln:  And  bring  any  visitors  up. 
Susan:  Yes,  ma'am.  There's  a  lady  waiting 
now. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Then  why  did  n't  you  say  so? 
Susan:  That's  what  I  was  going  to,  ma'am, 
when  you  began  to  talk  about  Mr.  —  I  mean 
the  President,  ma'am. 
Mrs.  Lincoln:  Well,  show  her  up. 

Susan  goes.  Mrs.  Lincoln  closes  her  writ- 
ing desk.  Susan  returns,  showing  in  Mrs. 
Goliath  Blow. 
Susan:  Mrs.  Goliath  Blow. 

She  goes. 
Mrs.  Blow:  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Lincoln. 
Mrs.  Lincoln:  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Blow. 
Sit  down,  please. 

They  sit. 
Mrs.  Blow:  And  is  the  dear  President  well? 
Mrs.  Lincoln:  Yes.  He's  rather  tired. 
Mrs.  Blow:  Of  course,  to  be  sure.  This  dreadful 
war.  But  I  hope  he 's  not  getting  tired  of  the  war. 
Mrs.  Lincoln:  It's  a  constant  anxiety  for  him. 
He  feels  his  responsibility  very  deeply. 


Abraham  Lincoln  55 

Mrs.  Blow:  To  be  sure.  But  you  must  n't  let 
him  get  war-weary.  These  monsters  in  the 
South  have  got  to  be  stamped  out. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  I  don't  think  you  need  be 
afraid  of  the  President's  firmness. 

Mrs.  Blow:  Oh,  of  course  not.  I  was  only  say- 
ing to  Goliath  yesterday,  "The  President  will 
never  give  way  till  he  has  the  South  squealing," 
and  Goliath  agreed. 

Susan  comes  in. 

Susan:  Mrs.  Otherly,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Show  Mrs.  Otherly  in. 
Susan  goes. 

Mrs.  Blow:  Oh,  that  dreadful  woman!  I  be- 
lieve she  wants  the  war  to  stop. 

Susan  {at  the  door) :  Mrs.  Otherly. 
Mrs.  Otherly  comes  in  and  Susan  goes. 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Otherly. 
You  know  Mrs.  Goliath  Blow? 

Mrs.  Otherly:  Yes.  Good-afternoon. 
She  sits. 

Mrs.  Blow:  Goliath  says  the  war  will  go  on 
for  another  three  years  at  least. 

Mrs.  Otherly:  Three  years?  That  would  be 
terrible,  would  n't  it? 


56  Abraham  Lincoln 

Mrs.  Blow:  We  must  be  prepared  to  make 
sacrifices. 

Mrs.  Otherly:  Yes. 

Mrs.  Blow:  It  makes  my  blood  boil  to  think 
of  those  people. 

Mrs.  Otherly:  I  used  to  know  a  lot  of  them. 
Some  of  them  were  very  kind  and  nice. 

Mrs.  Blow:  That  was  just  their  cunning,  de- 
pend on  it.  I'm  afraid  there's  a  good  deal  of 
disloyalty  among  us.  Shall  we  see  the  dear 
President  this  afternoon,  Mrs.  Lincoln? 

Mrs.  Lincoln:  He  will-  be  here  directly,  I 
think. 

Mrs.  Blow:  You  're  looking  wonderfully  well, 
with  all  the  hard  work  that  you  have  to  do.  I  've 
really  had  to  drop  some  of  mine.  And  with  ex- 
penses going  up,  it's  all  very  lowering,  don't 
you  think?  Goliath  and  I  have  had  to  reduce 
several  of  our  subscriptions.  But,  of  course,  we 
all  have  to  deny  ourselves  something.  Ah,  good- 
afternoon,  dear  Mr.  President. 

Lincoln  comes  in.  The  Ladies  rise  and 

.  shake  hands  with  him. 

Lincoln:  Good-afternoon,  ladies. 


Abraham  Lincoln  57 

Mrs.  Other ly:  Good-afternoon,  Mr.  President. 
They  all  sit. 

Mrs.  Blow:  And  is  there  any  startling  news, 
Mr.  President? 

Lincoln:  Madam,  every  morning  when  I 
wake  up,  and  say  to  myself,  a  hundred,  or  two 
hundred,  or  a  thousand  of  my  countrymen  will 
be  killed  to-day,  I  find  it  startling. 

Mrs.  Blow:  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  to  be  sure.  But 
I  mean,  is  there  any  good  news. 

Lincoln:  Yes.  There  is  news  of  a  victory. 
They  lost  twenty-seven  hundred  men  —  we 
lost  eight  hundred. 

Mrs.  Blow:  How  splendid! 

Lincoln:  Thirty-five  hundred. 

Mrs.  Blow:  Oh,  but  you  must  n't  talk  like 
that,  Mr.  President.  There  were  only  eight  hun- 
dred that  mattered. 

Lincoln:  The  world  is  larger  than  your  heart, 
madam. 

Mrs.  Blow:  Now  the  dear  President  is  be- 
coming whimsical,  Mrs.  Lincoln. 

Susan  brings  in  tea-tray,  and  hands  tea 
round.  Lincoln  takes  none.  Susan  goes. 


58  Abraham  Lincoln 

Mrs.  Otherly:  Mr.  President. 

Lincoln:  Yes,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Otherly:  I  don't  like  to  impose  upon  your 
hospitality.  I  know  how  difficult  everything  is 
for  you.  But  one  has  to  take  one's  opportuni- 
ties. May  I  ask  you  a  question? 

Lincoln:  Certainly,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Otherly:  Is  n't  it  possible  for  you  to  stop 
this  war?  In  the  name  of  a  suffering  country, 
I  ask  you  that. 

Mrs.  Blow:  I'm  sure  such  a  question  would 
never  have  entered  my  head. 

Lincoln:  It  is  a  perfectly  right  question. 
Ma'am,  I  have  but  one  thought  always  —  how 
can  this  thing  be  stopped?  But  we  must  ensure 
the  integrity  of  the  Union.  In  two  years  war 
has  become  an  hourly  bitterness  to  me.  I  be- 
lieve I  suffer  no  less  than  any  man.  But  it  must 
be  endured.  The  cause  was  a  right  one  two 
years  ago.  It  is  unchanged. 

Mrs.  Otherly:  I  know  you  are  noble  and  gen- 
erous. But  I  believe  that  war  must  be  wrong 
under  any  circumstances,  for  any  cause. 

Mrs.  Blow:  I'm  afraid  the  President  would 


Abraham  Lincoln  59 

have  but  little  encouragement  if  he  listened 
often  to  this  kind  of  talk. 

Lincoln:  I  beg  you  not  to  harass  yourself, 
madam.  Ma'am,  I  too  believe  war  to  be  wrong. 
It  is  the  weakness  and  the  jealousy  and  the 
folly  of  men  that  make  a  thing  so  wrong  pos- 
sible. But  we  are  all  weak,  and  jealous,  and 
foolish.  That's  how  the  world  is,  ma'am,  and 
we  cannot  outstrip  the  world.  Some  of  the 
worst  of  us  are  sullen,  aggressive  still  —  just 
clumsy,  greedy  pirates.  Some  of  us  have  grown 
out  of  that.  But  the  best  of  us  have  an  instinct 
to  resist  aggression  if  it  won't  listen  to  persua- 
sion. You  may  say  it's  a  wrong  instinct.  I  don't 
know.  But  it's  there,  and  it's  there  in  millions 
of  good  men.  I  don't  believe  it's  a  wrong  in- 
stinct. I  believe  that  the  world  must  come  to 
wisdom  slowly.  It  is  for  us  who  hate  aggression 
to  persuade  men  always  and  earnestly  against 
it,  and  hope  that,  little  by  little,  they  will  hear 
us.  But  in  the  mean  time  there  will  come  mo- 
ments when  the  aggressors  will  force  the  in- 
stinct to  resistance  to  act.  Then  we  must  act 
earnestly,  praying  always  in  our  courage  that 


60  Abraham  Lincoln 

never  again  will  this  thing  happen.  And  then 
we  must  turn  again,  and  again,  and  again  to 
persuasion.  This  appeal  to  force  is  the  misdeed 
of  an  imperfect  world.  But  we  are  imperfect. 
We  must  strive  to  purify  the  world,  but  we 
must  not  think  ourselves  pure  above  the  world. 
When  I  had  this  thing  to  decide,  it  would  have 
been  easy  to  say,  "No,  I  will  have  none  of  it;  it 
is  evil,  and  I  will  not  touch  it."  But  that  would 
have  decided  nothing,  and  I  saw  what  I  be- 
lieved to  be  the  truth  as  I  now  put  it  to  you, 
ma'am.  It's  a  forlorn  thing  for  any  man  to  have 
this  responsibility  in  his  heart.  I  may  see 
wrongly,  but  that's  how  I  see. 

Mrs.  Blow:  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent. These  brutes  in  the  South  must  be  taught, 
though  I  doubt  whether  you  can  teach  them 
anything  except  by  destroying  them.  That's 
what  Goliath  says. 

Lincoln:  Goliath  must  be  getting  quite  an 
old  man. 

Mrs.  Blow:  Indeed,  he's  not,  Mr.  President. 
Goliath  is  only  thirty-eight. 

Lincoln:  Really,  now?  Perhaps  I  might  be 
able  to  get  him  a  commission. 


Abraham  Lincoln  6i 

Mrs.  Blow:  Oh,  no.  Goliath  could  n't  be 
spared.  He's  doing  contracts  for  the  govern- 
ment, you  know.  Goliath  could  n't  possibly  go. 
I  'm  sure  he  will  be  very  pleased  when  I  tell  him 
what  you  say  about  these  people  who  want 
to  stop  the  war,  Mr.  President.  I  hope  Mrs. 
Otherly  is  satisfied.  Of  course,  we  could  all 
complain.  We  all  have  to  make  sacrifices,  as  I 
told  Mrs.  Otherly. 

Mrs.  Otherly:  Thank  you,  Mr.  President,  for 
what  you've  said.  I  must  try  to  think  about  it. 
But  I  always  believed  war  to  be  wrong.  I  did 
n't  want  my  boy  to  go,  because  I  believed  it  to 
be  wrong.  But  he  would.  That  came  to  me  last 
week. 

She  hands  a  paper  to  Lincoln. 

Lincoln  {looks  at  it,  rises,  and  hands  it  back  to 
her) :  Ma'am,  there  are  times  when  no  man  may 
speak.  I  grieve  for  you,  I  grieve  for  you. 

Mrs.  Otherly  {rising) :  I  think  I  will  go.  You 
don't  mind  my  saying  what  I  did  ? 

Lincoln:  We  are  all  poor  creatures,  ma'am. 

Think  kindly  of  me.  {He  takes  her  hand.)  Mary. 

Mrs.  Lincoln  goes  out  with  Mrs.  Otherly. 


62  Abraham  Lincoln 

Mrs.  Blow:  Of  course  it's  very  sad  for  her, 
poor  woman.  But  she  makes  her  trouble  worse 
by  these  perverted  views,  does  n't  she?  And, 
I  hope  you  will  show  no  signs  of  weakening, 
Mr.  President,  till  it  has  been  made  impossible 
for  those  shameful  rebels  to  hold  up  their  heads 
again.  Goliath  says  you  ought  to  make  a  proc- 
lamation that  no  mercy  will  be  shown  to  them 
afterwards.  I  'm  sure  I  shall  never  speak  to  one 
of  them  again. 

Rising. 

Well,  I  must  be  going.  I  '11  see  Mrs.  Lincoln 
as  I  go  out.  Good-afternoon,  Mr.  President. 
She  turns  at  the  door,  and  offers  Lincoln  her 
hand,  which  he  does  not  take. 

Lincoln:  Good-afternoon,  madam.  And  I'd 
like  to  offer  ye  a  word  of  advice.  That  poor 
mother  told  me  what  she  thought.  I  don't  agree 
with  her,  but  I  honour  her.  She's  wrong,  but 
she  is  noble.  You've  told  me  what  you  think. 
I  don't  agree  with  you,  and  I  'm  ashamed  of  you 
and  your  like.  You,  who  have  sacrificed  noth- 
ing, babble  about  destroying  the  South  while 
other  people  conquer  it.  I  accepted  this  war 


Abraham  Lincoln  63 

with  a  sick  heart,  and  I've  a  heart  that's  near 
to  breaking  every  day.  I  accepted  it  in  the  name 
of  humanity,  and  just  and  merciful  dealing,  and 
the  hope  of  love  and  charity  on  earth.  And  you 
come  to  me,  talking  of  revenge  and  destruction, 
and  malice,  and  enduring  hate.  These  gentle 
people  are  mistaken,  but  they  are  mistaken 
cleanly,  and  in  a  great  name.  It  is  you  that  dis- 
honour the  cause  for  which  we  stand  —  it  is 
you  who  would  make  it  a  mean  and  little  thing. 
Good-afternoon . 

He  opens  the  door  and  Mrs.  Blow,  find- 
ing words  inadequate,  goes.  Lincoln  moves 
across  the  room  and  rings  a  bell.  After  a 
moment,  Susan  comes  in. 
Susan,  if  that  lady  comes  here  again  she  may 
meet  with  an  accident. 

Susan:  Yes,  sir.  Is  that  all,  sir? 
Lincoln:  No,  sir,  it  is  not  all,  sir.  I  don't  like 
this  coat.  I  am  going  to  change  it.  I  shall  be 
back  in  a  minute  or  two,  and  if  a  gentleman 
named  Mr.  William  Custis  calls,  ask  him  to 
wait  in  here. 

He  goes  out.  Susan  collects  the  teacups.  As 


64.  Abraham  Lincoln 

she  is  going  to  the  door  a  quiet,  grave  white- 
haired  negro   appears  facing  her.   Susan 
starts  violently. 
The  Negro  {he  talks  slowly  and  very  quietly) : 
It  is  all  right. 

Susan:  And  who  in  the  name  of  night  might 
you  be  ? 

The  Negro:  Mista  William  Custis.  Mista 
Lincoln  tell  me  to  come  here.  Nobody  stop  me, 
so  I  come  to  look  for  him. 

Susan:  Are  you  Mr.  William  Custis  ? 
Custis:  Yes. 

Susan:  Mr.  Lincoln  will  be  here  directly. 
He's  gone  to  change  his  coat.  You'd  better  sit 
down. 

Custis:  Yes. 
He  does  so,  looking  about  him  with  a  certain 
pathetic  inquisitiveness. 
Mista  Lincoln  live  here.  You  his  servant? 
A  very  fine  thing  for  young  girl  to  be  servant  to 
Mista  Lincoln. 

Susan:  Well,  we  get  on  very  well  together. 
Custis:  A  very  bad  thing  to  be  slave  in 
South. 


Abraham  Lincoln  65 

Susan:  Look  here,  you  Mr.  Custis,  don't  you 
go  mixing  me  up  with  slaves. 

Custis:  No,  you  not  slave.  You  servant,  but 
you  free  body.  That  very  mighty  thing.  A  poor 
servant,  born  free. 

Susan:  Yes,  but  look  here,  are  you  pitying 
me,  with  your  poor  servant? 

Custis:  Pity?  No.  I  think  you  very  mighty. 

Susan:  Well,  I  don't  know  so  much  about 
mighty.  But  I  expect  you're  right.  It  is  n't 
every  one  that  rises  to  the  White  House. 

Custis:  It  not  every  one  that  is  free  body. 
That  is  why  you  mighty. 

Susan:  I  've  never  thought  much  about  it. 

Custis:  I  think  always  about  it. 

Susan:  I  suppose  you're  free,  are  n't  you? 

Custis:  Yes.  Not  born  free.  I  was  beaten  when 
I  a  little  nigger.  I  saw  my  mother  —  I  will  not 
remember  what  I  saw. 

Susan:  I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Custis.  That  was 
wrong. 

Custis:  Yes.  Wrong. 

Susan:  Are  all  nig  —  I  mean  are  all  black 
gentlemen  like  you  ? 


66  Abraham  Lincoln 

Custis:  No.  I  have  advantages.  They  not 
many  have  advantages. 

Susan:  No,  I  suppose  not.  Here's  Mr.  Lin- 
coln coming. 

Lincoln,   coated  after  his  heart's  desire, 
comes  to  the  door.  Custis  rises. 
This  is  the  gentleman  you  said,  sir. 

She  goes  out  with  the  tray. 
Lincoln:  Mr.  Custis,  I  'm  very  glad  to  see  you. 
He  offers  his  hand.  Custis  takes  it,  and  is 
about  to  kiss  it.  Lincoln  stops  him  gently. 
{Sitting) :  Sit  down,  will  you  ? 
Custis  (still  standing,,  keeping  his  hat  in  his 
hand) :  It  very  kind  of  Mista  Lincoln  ask  me 
to  come  to  see  him. 

Lincoln:  I  was  afraid  you  might  refuse. 
Custis:  A  little  shy?  Yes.  But  so  much  to  ask. 
Glad  to  come. 

Lincoln:  Please  sit  down. 
Custis:  Polite? 

Lincoln:  Please.  I  can't  sit  myself,  you  see,  if 
you  don't. 

Custis:  Black,  black.  White,  white. 
Lincoln:  Nonsense.  Just  two  old  men,  sitting 


Abraham  Lincoln  67 

together  (Custis  sits  to  Lincoln's  gesture)  — 
and  talking. 

Custis:  I  think  I  older  man  than  Mista  Lincoln. 

Lincoln:  Yes,  I  expect  you  are.  I  'm  fifty-four. 

Custis:  I  seventy-two. 

Lincoln:  I  hope  I  shall  look  as  young  when 
I'm  seventy-two. 

Custis:  Cold  water.  Much  walk.  Believe  in 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Have  always  little  herbs 
learnt  when  a  little  nigger.  Mista  Lincoln  try. 
Very  good. 

He  hands  a  small  twist  of  paper  to  Lincoln. 

Lincoln:  Now,  that's  uncommon  kind  of  you. 
Thank  you.  I've  heard  much  about  your 
preaching,  Mr.  Custis. 

Custis:  Yes. 

Lincoln:  I  should  like  to  hear  you. 

Custis:  Mista  Lincoln  great  friend  of  my 
people.  • 

Lincoln:  I  have  come  at  length  to  a  decision. 

Custis:  A  decision  ? 

Lincoln:  Slavery  is  going.  We  have  been  re- 
solved always  to  confine  it.  Now  it  shall  be 
abolished. 


68  Abraham  Lincoln 

Custis:  You  sure? 

Lincoln:  Sure. 
Custis  slowly  stands  up,  bows  his  head,  and 
sits  again. 

Custis:  My  people  much  to  learn.  Years,  and 
years,  and  years.  Ignorant,  frightened,  sus- 
picious people.  It  will  be  difficult,  very  slow. 
{With  growing  passion.)  But  born  free  bodies. 
Free.  I  born  slave,  Mista  Lincoln.  No  man 
understand  who  not  born  slave. 

Lincoln:  Yes,  yes.  I  understand. 

Custis  {with  his  normal  regularity) :  I  think  so. 
Yes. 

Lincoln:  I  should  .like  you  to  ask  me  any 
question  you  wish. 

Custis:  I  have  some  complaint.  Perhaps  I  not 
understand. 

Lincoln:  Tell  me. 

Custis:  Southern  soldiers  take  some  black 
men  prisoner.  Black  men  in  your  uniform. 
Take  them  prisoner.  Then  murder  them. 

Lincoln:  I  know. 

Custis:  What  you  do? 

Lincoln:  We  have  sent  a  protest. 


Abraham  Lincoln  69 

Custis:  No  good.  Must  do  more. 

Lincoln:  What  more  can  we  do?s 

Custis:  You  know. 

Lincoln:  Yes;  but  don't  ask  me  for  reprisals. 

Custis  {gleaming) :  Eye  for  an  eye,  tooth  for 
a  tooth. 

Lincoln:  No,  no.  You  must  think.  Think 
what  you  are  saying. 

Custis:  I  think  of  murdered  black  men. 

Lincoln:  You  would  not  ask  me  to  murder? 

Custis:  Punish  —  not  murder. 

Lincoln:  Yes,  murder.  How  can  I  kill  men  in 
cold  blood  for  what  has  been  done  by  others? 
Think  what  would  follow.  It  is  for  us  to  set  a 
great  example,  not  to  follow  a  wicked  one.  You 
do  believe  that,  don't  you? 

Custis  {after  a  pause) :  I  know.  Yes.  Let  your 
light  so  shine  before  men.  I  trust  Mista  Lincoln. 
Will  trust.  I  was  wrong.  I  was  too  sorry  for  my 
people. 

Lincoln:  Will  you  remember  this?  For  more 
than  two  years  I  have  thought  of  you  every 
day.  I  have  grown  a  weary  man  with  thinking. 
But  I  shall  not  forget.  I  promise  that. 


7<d  Abraham  Lincoln 

Custis:  You  great,  kind  friend.  I  will  love 
you. 

A  knock  at  the  door. 
Lincoln:  Yes. 

Susan  comes  in. 
Susan:  An  officer  gentleman.  He  says  it's 
very  important. 
Lincoln:  I  '11  come. 

He  and  Custis  rise. 
Wait,  will  you,  Mr.  Custis?  I  want  to  ask  you 
some  questions. 

He  goes  out.  It  is  getting  dark,  and  Susan 
lights  a  lamp  and  draws  the  curtains.  Custis 
stands  by  the  door  looking  after  Lincoln. 
Custis:  He  very  good  man. 
Susan:  You've  found  that  out,  have  you? 
Custis:  Do  you  love  him,  you  white  girl? 
Susan:  Of  course  I  do. 
Custis:  Yes,  you  must. 
Susan:  He's  a  real  white  man.  No  offence,  of 
course. 

Custis:  Not  offend.  He  talk  to  me  as  if  black 
no  difference. 

Susan:  But  I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Custis.  He'll 


Abraham  Lincoln  71 

kill  himself  over  this  war,  his  heart's  that  kind 

—  like  a  shorn  lamb,  as  they  say. 
Custis:  Very  unhappy  war. 
Susan:  But  I  suppose  he's  right.  It's  got  to 

go  on  till  it's  settled. 

In  the  street  below  a  body  of  people  is  heard 
approaching,  singing  "John  Brown9  s  Body." 
Custis  and  Susan  stand  listening,  Susan 
joining  in  the  song  as  it  passes  and  fades 
away. 

The  Curtain  falls. 

First  Chronicler:  Unchanged  our 
time.  And  further  yet 
In  loneliness  must  be  the  way, 
And  difficult  and  deep  the  debt 
.  Of  constancy  to  pay. 

Second  Chronicler:  And  one  denies, 
and  one  forsakes. 
And  still  unquestioning  he  goes, 
Who  has  his  lonely  thoughts,  and  makes 
A  world  of  those. 


72  Abraham  Lincoln 

The  two  together:  When  the  high 
heart  we  magnify, 
And  the  sure  vision  celebrate,  ' 
And  worship  greatness  passing  by, 
Ourselves  are  great. 


Scene  IV. 

About  the  same  date.  A  meeting  of  the  Cabinet  at 
Washington.  Smith  has  gone  and  Cameron 
has  been  replaced  by  Edwin  M.  Stanton, 
Secretary  of  War.  Otherwise  the  ministry, 
completed  by  Seward,  Chase,  Hook, 
Blair,  and  Welles,  is  as  before.  They 
are  now  arranging  themselves  at  the  table, 
leaving  Lincoln's  place  empty. 
Seward  (coming  in):  I've  just  had  my  sum- 
mons. Is  there  some  special  news? 

Stanton:  Yes.  McClellan  has  defeated  Lee  at 
Antietam.  It's  our  greatest  success.  They  ought 
not  to  recover  from  it.  The  tide  is  turning. 
Blair:  Have  you  seen  the  President? 
Stanton:  I  Ve  just  been  with  him. 
Welles:  What  does  he  say? 


Abraham  Lincoln  73 

Stanton:  He  only  said,  "At  last."  He 's  coming 
directly. 

Hook:  He  will  bring  up  his  proclamation 
again.  In  my  opinion  it  is  inopportune. 

Seward:  Well,  we  Ve  learnt  by  now  that  the 
President  is  the  best  man  among  us. 

Hook:  There's  a  good  deal  of  feeling  against 
him  everywhere,  I  find. 

Blair:  He's  the  one  man  with  character 
enough  for  this  business. 

Hook:  There  are  other  opinions. 

Seward:  Yes,  but  not  here,  surely. 

Hook:  It's  not  for  me  to  say.  But  I  ask  you, 
what  does  he  mean  about  emancipation?  I've 
always  understood  that  it  was  the  Union  we 
were  fighting  for,  and  that  abolition  was  to  be 
kept  in  our  minds  for  legislation  at  the  right 
moment.  And  now  one  day  he  talks  as  though 
emancipation  were  his  only  concern,  and  the 
next  as  though  he  would  throw  up  the  whole 
idea,  if  by  doing  it  he  could  secure  peace  with 
the  establishment  of  the  Union.  Where  are  we? 

Seward:  No,  you're  wrong.  It's  the  Union 
first  now  with  him,  but  there's  no  question 


74  Abraham  Lincoln 

about  his  views  on  slavery.  You  know  that  per- 
fectly well.  But  he  has  always  kept  his  policy 
about  slavery  free  in  his  mind,  to  be  directed  as 
he  thought  best  for  the  sake  of  the  Union.  You 
remember  his  words:  "If  I  could  save  the 
Union  without  freeing  any  slaves,  I  would  do 
it;  and  if  I  could  save  it  by  freeing  all  the  slaves, 
I  would  do  it;  and  if  I  could  save  it  by  freeing 
some  and  leaving  others  alone,  I  would  also  do 
that.  My  paramount  object  in  this  struggle  is  to 
save  the  Union."  Nothing  could  be  plainer  than 
that,  just  as  nothing  could  be  plainer  than  his 
determination  to  free  the  slaves  when  he  can. 

Hook:  Well,  there  are  some  who  would  have 
acted  differently. 

Blair:  And  you  may  depend  upon  it  they 
would  not  have  acted  so  wisely. 

Stanton:  I  don't  altogether  agree  with  the 
President.  But  he's  the  only  man  I  should 
agree  with  at  all. 

Hook:  To  issue  the  proclamation  now,  and 
that's  what  he  will  propose,  mark  my  words, 
will  be  to  confuse  the  public  mind  just  when 
we  want  to  keep  it  clear.    - 


Abraham  Lincoln  75 

Welles:  Are  you  sure  he  will  propose  to  issue 
it  now? 

Hook:  You  see  if  he  does  n't. 

Welles:  If  he  does  I  shall  support  him. 

Seward:  Is  Lee's  army  broken? 

Stanton:  Not  yet  —  but  it  is  in  grave  danger. 

Hook:  Why  does  n't  the  President  come? 
One  would  think  this  news  was  nothing. 

Chase:  I  must  say  I  'm  anxious  to  know  what 
he  has  to  say  about  it  all. 

A  Clerk  comes  in. 

Clerk:  The  President's  compliments,  and  he 
will  be  here  in  a  moment. 

He  goes. 

Hook:  I  shall  oppose  it  if  it  comes  up. 

Chase:  He  may  say  nothing  about  it. 

Seward:  I  think  he  will. 

Stanton:  Anyhow,  it's  the  critical  moment. 

Blair:  Here  he  comes. 
Lincoln  comes  in  carrying  a  small  book. 

Lincoln:  Good-morning,  gentlemen. 
He  takes  his  place. 

The  Ministers:  Good-morning,  Mr.  President. 

Seward:  Great  news,  we  hear. 


j  6  Abraham  Lincoln 

Hook:  If  we  leave  things  with  the  army  to 
take  their  course  for  a  little  now,  we  ought  to 
see  through  our  difficulties. 

Lincoln:  It's  an  exciting  morning,  gentlemen. 
I  feel  rather  excited  myself.  I  find  my  mind  not 
at  its  best  in  excitement.  Will  you  allow  me? 
Opening  his  book. 
It  may  compose  us  all.  It  is  Mr.  Artemus 
Ward's  latest. 

The   Ministers,   with    the   exception   of 
Hook,  who  makes  no  attempt  to  hide  his  irri- 
tation, and  Stanton,  who  would  do  the  same 
but  for  his  disapproval  of  Hook,  listen  with 
good-humoured    patience    and    amusement 
while  he  reads  the  following  passage  from 
Artemus  Ward. 
"High  Handed  Outrage  at  Utica." 
"In  the  Faul  of  1856,  I  showed  my  show  in 
Utiky,  a  trooly  grate  city  in  the  State  of  New 
York.  The  people  gave  me  a  cordyal  recepshun. 
The  press  was  loud  in  her  prases.  1  day  as  I  was 
givin  a  descripshun  of  my  Beests  and  Snaiks  in 
my  usual  flowry  stile  what  was  my  skorn  and 
disgust  to  see  a  big  burly  feller  walk  up  to  the 


Abraham  Lincoln  77 

cage  containin  my  wax  figgers  of  the  Lord's 
last  Supper,  and  cease  Judas  Iscarrot  by  the 
feet  and  drag  him  out  on  the  ground.  He  then 
commenced  fur  to  pound  him  as  hard  as  he 
cood. 

" '  What  under  the  son  are  you  abowt,' 
cried  I. 

"Sez  he,  'What  did  you  bring  this  pussy- 
lanermus  cuss  here  fur?'  and  he  hit  the  wax 
figger  another  tremenjis  blow  on  the  hed. 

"Sez  I,  'You  egrejus  ass,  that  airs  a  wax 
figger  —  a  representashun  of  the  false  'Postle.' 

"Sez  he,  'That's  all  very  well  fur  you  to  say; 
but  I  tell  you,  old  man,  that  Judas  Iscarrot 
can't  show  himself  in  Utiky  with  impunerty  by 
a  darn  site,'  with  which  observashun  he  kaved 
in  Judassis  hed.  The  young  man  belonged  to  1 
of  the  first  famerlies  in  Utiky.  I  sood  him,  and 
the  Joory  brawt  in  a  verdick  of  Arson  in  the 
3d  degree." 

Stanton:  May  we  now  consider  affairs  of 
state  ? 

Hook:  Yes,  we  may. 

Lincoln:  Mr.  Hook  says,  yes,  we  may. 


7  8  Abraham  Lincoln 

Stanton:  Thank  you. 

Lincoln:  Oh,  no.  Thank  Mr.  Hook. 

Seward:  McClellan  is  in  pursuit  of  Lee,  I 
suppose. 

Lincoln:  You  suppose  a  good  deal.  But  for 
the  first  time  McClellan  has  the  chance  of  be- 
ing in  pursuit  of  Lee,  and  that's  the  first  sign 
of  their  end.  If  McClellan  does  n't  take  his 
chance,  we  '11  move  Grant  down  to  the  job.  That 
will  mean  delay,  but  no  matter.  The  mastery 
has  changed  hands. 

Blair:  Grant  drinks. 

Lincoln:  Then  tell  me  the  name  of  his  brand. 
I'll  send  some  barrels  to  the  others.  He  wins 
victories. 

Hook:  Is  there  other  business? 

Lincoln:  There  is.  Some  weeks  ago  I  showed 
you  a  draft  I  made  proclaiming  freedom  for  all 
slaves. 

Hook  {aside  to  Welles) :  I  told  you  so. 

Lincoln:  You  thought  then  it  was  not  the 
time  to  issue  it.  I  agreed.  I  think  the  moment 
has  come.  May  I  read  it  to  you  again?  "It  is 
proclaimed  that  on  the  first  day  of  January  in 


Abraham  Lincoln 


79 


the  yeaj  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred and  sixty-three,  all  persons  held  as  slaves 
within  any  state,  the  people  whereof  shall  then 
be  in  rebellion  against  the  United  States,  shall 
be  then,  thenceforward,  and  forever  free."  That 
allows  three  months  from  to-day.  There  are 
clauses  dealing  with  compensation  in  a  sepa- 
rate draft. 

Hook:  I  must  oppose  the  issue  of  such  a  proc- 
lamation at  this  moment  in  the  most  unquali- 
fied terms.  This  question  should  be  left  until 
our  victory  is  complete.  To  thrust  it  forward 
now  would  be  to  invite  dissension  when  we 
most  need  unity. 

Welles:  I  do  not  quite  understand,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, why  you  think  this  the  precise  moment. 

Lincoln:  Believe  me,  gentlemen,  I  have  con- 
sidered this  matter  with  all  the  earnestness  and 
understanding  of  which  I  am  capable. 

Hook:  But  when  the  "New  York  Tribune" 
urged  you  to  come  forward  with  a  clear  decla- 
ration six  months  ago,  you  rebuked  them. 

Lincoln:  Because  I  thought  the  occasion  not 
the  right  one.  It  was  useless  to  issue  a  procla- 


80  Abraham  Lincoln 

mation  that  might  be  as  inoperative  as  the  Pope's 
bull  against  the  comet.  My  duty,  it  has  seemed 
to  me,  has  been  to  be  loyal  to  a  principle,  and 
not  to  betray  it  by  expressing  it  in  action  at  the 
wrong  time.  That  is  what  I  conceive  statesman- 
ship to  be.  For  long  now  I  have  had  two  fixed 
resolves.  To  preserve  the  Union,  and  to  abolish 
slavery.  How  to  preserve  the  Union  I  was  al- 
ways clear,  and  more  than  two  years  of  bitter- 
ness have  not  dulled  my  vision.  We  have  fought 
for  the  Union,  and  we  are  now  winning  for  the 
Union.  When  and  how  to  proclaim  abolition  I 
have  all  this  time  been  uncertain.  I  am  uncer- 
tain no  longer.  A  few  weeks  ago  I  saw  that,  too, 
clearly.  So  soon,  I  said  to  myself,  as  the  rebel 
army  shall  be  driven  out  of  Maryland,  and  it 
becomes  plain  to  the  world  that  victory  is  as- 
sured to  us  in  the  end,  the  time  will  have  come 
to  announce  that  with  that  victory  and  a  vindi- 
cated Union  will  come  abolition.  I  made  the 
promise  to  myself  —  and  to  my  Maker.  The 
rebel  army  is  now  driven  out,  and  I  am  going  to 
fulfil  that  promise.  I  do  not  wish  your  advice 
about  the  main  matter,  for  that  I  have  deter- 


Abraham  Lincoln  8 1 

mined  for  myself.  This  I  say  without  intending 
anything  but  respect  for  any  one  of  you.  But 
I  beg  you  to  stand  with  me  in  this  thing. 

Hook:  In  my  opinion,  it's  altogether  too  im- 
petuous. 

Lincoln:  One  other  observation  I  will  make. 
I  know  very  well  that  others  might  in  this  mat- 
ter, as  in  others,  do  better  than  I  can,  and  if 
I  was  satisfied  that  the  public  confidence  was 
more  fully  possessed  by  any  one  of  them  than 
by  me,  and  knew  of  any  constitutional  way  in 
which  he  could  be  put  in  my  place,  he  should 
have  it.  I  would  gladly  yield  it  to  him.  But, 
though  I  cannot  claim  undivided  confidence, 
I  do  not  know  that,  all  things  considered,  any 
other  person  has  more;  and,  however  this  may 
be,  there  is  no  way  in  which  I  can  have  any 
other  man  put  where  I  am.  I  am  here;  I  must 
do  the  best  I  can,  and  bear  the  responsibility 
of  taking  the  course  which  I  feel  I  ought  to 
take. 

Stanton:  Could  this  be  left  over  a  short  time 
for  consideration  ? 

Chase:  I  feel  that  we  should  remember  that 


82  Abraham  Lincoln 

our  only  public  cause  at  the  moment  is  the 
preservation  of  the  Union. 
Hook:  I  entirely  agree. 
Lincoln:  Gentlemen,  we  cannot  escape  his- 
tory.  We  of  this  administration  will  be   re- 
membered in  spite  of  ourselves.  No  personal 
significance  or  insignificance  can  spare  one  or 
another  of  us.  In  giving  freedom  to  the  slave  we 
assure  freedom  to  the  free.  We  shall  nobly  save 
cr  meanly  lose  the  last,  best  hope  on  earth. 
He  places  the  proclamation  in  front  of  him. 
"Shall  be  thenceforward  and  forever  free." 
Gentlemen,  I  pray  for  your  support. 
He  signs  it. 

The  Ministers  rise.  Seward,  Welles, 
and  Blair  shake  Lincoln's  hand  and  go  out. 
Stanton  and  Chase  bow  to  him,  and  follow. 
Hook,  the  last  to  rise,  moves  away,  making 
no  sign. 
Lincoln:  Hook. 
Hook:  Yes,  Mr.  President. 
Lincoln:  Hook,    one    cannot    help    hearing 
things. 
Hook:  I  beg  your  pardon? 


Abraham  Lincoln  83 

Lincoln:  Hook,  there's  a  way  some  people 
have,  when  a  man  says  a  disagreeable  thing,  of 
asking  him  to  repeat  it,  hoping  to  embarrass  him. 
It 's  often  effective.  But  I  'm  not  easily  embar- 
rassed. I  said  one  cannot  help  hearing  things. 

Hook:  And  I  do  not  understand  what  you 
mean,  Mr.  President. 

Lincoln:  Come,  Hook,  we're  alone.  Lincoln  is 
a  good  enough  name.  And  I  think  you  under- 
stand. 

Hook:  How  should  I? 

Lincoln:  Then,  plainly,  there  are  intrigues 
going  on. 

Hook:  Against  the  government? 

Lincoln:  No.  In  it.  Against  me. 

Hook:  Criticism,  perhaps. 

Lincoln:  To  what  end?  To  better  my  ways? 

Hook:  I  presume  that  might  be  the  purpose. 

Lincoln:  Then,  why  am  I  not  told  what  it  is  ? 

Hook:  I  imagine  it's  a  natural  compunction. 

Lincoln:  Or  ambition? 

Hook:  What  do  you  mean? 

Lincoln:  You  think  you  ought  to  be  in  my 
place. 


84  Abraham  Lincoln 

Hook:  You  are  well  informed. 

Lincoln:  You  cannot  imagine  why  every 
one  does  not  see  that  you  ought  to  be  in  my 
place.  , 

Hook:  By  what  right  do  you  say  that? 

Lincoln:  Is  it  not  true? 

Hook:  You  take  me  unprepared.  You  have 
me  at  a  disadvantage. 

Lincoln:  You  speak  as  a  very  scrupulous  man, 
Hook. 

Hook:  Do  you  question  my  honour? 

Lincoln:  As  you  will. 

Hook:  Then  I  resign. 

Lincoln:  As  a  protest  against  .  .  .  ? 

Hook:  Your  suspicion. 

Lincoln:  It  is  false? 

Hook:  Very  well,  I  will  be  frank.  I  mistrust 
your  judgment. 

Lincoln:  In  what? 

Hook:  Generally.  You  over-emphasise  aboli- 
tion. 

Lincoln:  You  don't  mean  that.  You  mean 
that  you  fear  possible  public  feeling  against 
abolition. 


Abraham  Lincoln  85 

Hook:  It  must  be  persuaded,  not  forced. 

Lincoln:  All  the  most  worthy  elements  in  it 
are  persuaded.  But  the  ungenerous  elements 
make  the  most  noise,  and  you  hear  them  only. 
You  will  run  from  the  terrible  name  of  Aboli- 
tionist even  when  it  is  pronounced  by  worthless 
creatures  whom  you  know  you  have  every  rea- 
son to  despise. 

Hook:  You  have,  in  my  opinion,  failed  in  nec- 
essary firmness  in  saying  what  will  be  the  indi- 
vidual penalties  of  rebellion. 

Lincoln:  This  is  a  war.  I  will  not  allow  it  to 
become  a  blood-feud. 

Hook:  We  are  fighting  treason.  We  must 
meet  it  with  severity. 

Lincoln:  We  will  defeat  treason.  And  I  will 
meet  it  with  conciliation. 

Hook:  It  is  a  policy  of  weakness. 

Lincoln:  It  is  a  policy  of  faith  —  it  is  a  policy 
of  compassion.  {Warmly.)  Hook,  why  do  you 
plague  me  with  these  jealousies?  Once  before 
I  found  a  member  of  my  Cabinet  working  be- 
hind my  back.  But  he  was  disinterested,  and  he 
made  amends  nobly.    But,  Hook,  you  have 


86  Abraham  Lincoln 

allowed  the  burden  of  these  days  to  sour  you. 
I  know  it  all.  I've  watched  you  plotting  and 
plotting  for  authority.  And  I,  who  am  a  lonely 
man,  have  been  sick  at  heart.  So  great  is  the 
task  God  has  given  to  my  hand,  and  so  few  are 
my  days,  and  my  deepest  hunger  is  always  for 
loyalty  in  my  own  house.  You  have  withheld  it 
from  me.  You  have  done  great  service  in  your 
office,  but  you  have  grown  envious.  Now  you 
resign,  as  you  did  once  before  when  I  came 
openly  to  you  in  friendship.  And  you  think  that 
again  I  shall  flatter  you  and  coax  you  to  stay. 
I  don't  think  I  ought  to  do  it.  I  will  not  do  it. 
I  must  take  you  at  your  word. 
Hook:  I  am  content. 

He  turns  to  go. 
Lincoln:  Will  you  shake  hands  ? 
Hook:  I  beg  you  will  excuse  me. 
He  goes.  Lincoln  stands  silently  for  a  mo- 
ment, a  travelled,  lonely  captain.  He  rings  a 
bell,  and  a  Clerk  comes  in. 
Lincoln:  Ask  Mr.  Hay  to  come  in. 
Clerk:  Yes,  sir. 
He  goes.  Lincoln,  from  the  folds  of  his 


Abraham  Lincoln  87 

pockets,  produces  another  book,  and  holds  it 
unopened.  Hay  comes  in. 

Lincoln:  I'm  rather  tired  to-day,  Hay.  Read 
to  me  a  little.  (He  hands  him  the  book.)  "The 
Tempest"  —  you  know  the  passage. 

Hay  {reading):  Our  revels  now  are  ended; 
these  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air; 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.  We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. 

Lincoln:  We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life  .  .  . 
The  Curtain  falls. 

First  Chronicler:  Two  years  again. 
Desolation  of  battle,  and  long  debate, 
Counsels  and  prayers  of  men, 


88  Abraham  Lincoln 

And   bitterness   of   destruction    and   witless 

hate, 
And  the  shame  of  lie  contending  with  lie, 
Are  spending  themselves,  and  the  brain 
That  set  its  lonely  chart  four  years  gone  by, 
Knowing  the  word  fulfilled, 
Comes  with  charity  and  communion  to  bring 
To  reckoning, 
To  reconcile  and  build. 

The  two  together:  What  victor  coming  from 
the  field 

Leaving  the  victim  desolate, 
But  has  a  vulnerable  shield 

Against  the  substances  of  fate? 
That  battle's  won  that  leads  in  chains 

But  retribution  and  despite, 
And  bids  misfortune  count  her  gains 

Not  stricken  in  a  penal  night. 

His  triumph  is  but  bitterness 

Who  looks  not  to  the  starry  doom 

When  proud  and  humble  but  possess 
The  little  kingdom  of  the  tomb. 


Abraham  Lincoln  89 

Who,  striking  home,  shall  not  forgive, 
Strikes  with  a  weak  returning  rod, 

Claiming  a  fond  prerogative 
Against  the  armoury  of  God. 

Who  knows,  and  for  his  knowledge  stands 

Against  the  darkness  in  dispute, 
And  dedicates  industrious  hands, 

And  keeps  a  spirit  resolute, 
Prevailing  in  the  battle,  then 

A  steward  of  his  word  is  made, 
To  bring  it  honour  among  men, 

Or  know  his  captaincy  betrayed. 


Scene  V. 
An  April  evening  in  1865.  A  farmhouse  near 
Appomattox.  General  Grant,  Commander- 
in-Chief,  under  Lincoln,  of  the  Northern 
armies,  is  seated  at  a  table  with  Captain 
Malins,  an  aide-de-camp.  He  is  smoking  a 
cigar,  and  at  intervals  he  replenishes  his  glass 
of  whiskey.  Dennis,  an  orderly,  sits  at  a 
table  in  the  corner,  writing. 


9° 


Abraham  Lincoln 


Grant  (consulting  a  large  watch  lying  in  front 
of  him) :  An  hour  and  a  half.  There  ought  to  be 
something  more  from  Meade  by  now.  Dennis. 

Dennis  (coming  to  the  table) :  Yes,  sir. 

Grant:  Take  these  papers  to  Captain  Temple- 
man,  and  ask  Colonel  West  if  the  twenty-third 
are  in  action  yet.  Tell  the  cook  to  send  some 
soup  at  ten  o'clock.  Say  it  was  cold  yesterday. 

Dermis:  Yes,  sir. 

He  goes. 

Grant:  Give  me  that  map,  Malins. 
Malins  hands  him  the  map  at  which  he  is 
working. 

(After  studying  it  in  silence) :  Yes.  There's  no 
doubt  about  it.  Unless  Meade  goes  to  sleep  it 
can  only  be  a  question  of  hours.  Lee's  a  great 
man,  but  he  can't  get  out  of  that. 

Making  a  ring  on  the  map  with  his  finger. 

Malins  (taking  the  map  again) :  This  ought  to 
be  the  end,  sir. 

Grant:  Yes.  If  Lee  surrenders,  we  can  all  pack 
up  for  home. 

Malins:  By  God,  sir,  it  will  be  splendid,  won't 
it,  to  be  back  again  ? 


Abraham  Lincoln  gi 

Grant:  By  God,  sir,  it  will. 
Malins:  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 
Grant:  You're  quite  right,  Malins.  My  boy 
goes  to  school  next  week.  My  word,  I  may 
be  able  to  go  down  with  him  and  see  him  set- 
tled in. 

Dennis  comes  back. 
Dennis:  Colonel  West  says,  yes,  sir,  for  the 
last  half-hour.  The  cook  says  he's  sorry,  sir.  It 
was  a  mistake. 

Grant:  Tell  him  to  keep  his  mistakes  in  the 
kitchen. 
Dennis:  I  will,  sir. 

He  goes  back  to  his  place. 
Grant  {at  his  papers) :  Those  rifles  went  up  this 
afternoon  ? 

Malins:  Yes,  sir. 

Another  Orderly  comes  in. 
Orderly:  Mr.  Lincoln  has  just  arrived,  sir. 
He  's  in  the  yard  now. 

Grant:  All  right,  I  '11  come. 
The  Orderly  goes.  Grant  rises  and  crosses 
to  the  door,  but  is  met  there  by  Lincoln  and 
Hay.  Lincoln,  in  top  boots  and  tall  hat  that 


92  Abraham  Lincoln 

has  seen  many  campaigns,  shakes  hands  with 
Grant  and  takes  Malins's  salute. 
Grant:  I  was  n't  expecting  you,  sir. 
Lincoln:  No;  but  I  could  n't  keep  away. 
How's  it  going? 

They  sit. 
Grant:  Meade  sent  word  an  hour  and  a  half 
ago  that  Lee  was  surrounded  all  but  two  miles, 
which  was  closing  in. 

Lincoln:  That  ought  about  to  settle  it,  eh  ? 
Grant:  Unless  anything  goes  wrong  in  those 
two  miles,  sir.  I'm  expecting  a  further  report 
from  Meade  every  minute. 

Lincoln:  Would  there  be  more  fighting? 
Grant:  It  will  probably  mean  fighting  through 
the  night,  more  or  less.  But  Lee  must  realise  it's 
hopeless  by  the  morning. 

An  Orderly  (entering) :  A  despatch,  sir. 
Grant:  Yes. 
The  Orderly  goes,  and  a  Young  Officer 
comes  in  from  the  field.  He  salutes  and  hands 
a  despatch  to  Grant. 
Officer:  From  General  Meade,  sir. 
Grant  {taking  it) :  Thank  you. 


Abraham  Lincoln  93 

He  opens  it  and  reads. 

You  need  n't  wait. 

The  Officer  salutes  and  goes. 

Yes,  they've  closed  the  ring.  Meade  gives 
them  ten  hours.  It's  timed  at  eight.  That's  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

He  hands  the  despatch  to  Lincoln. 

Lincoln:  We  must  be  merciful.  Bob  Lee  has 
been  a  gallant  fellow. 

Grant  {taking  a  paper):  Perhaps  you'll  look 
through  this  list,  sir.  I  hope  it's  the  last  we  shall 
have. 

Lincoln  {taking  the  paper) :  It's  a  horrible  part 
of  the  business,  Grant.  Any  shootings? 

Grant:  One. 

Lincoln:  Damn  it,  Grant,  why  can't  you 
do  without  it?  No,  no,  of  course  not?  Who 
is  it? 

Grant:  Malins. 

Malins  {opening  a  book) :  William  Scott,  sir. 
It's  rather  a  hard  case. 

Lincoln:  What  is  it? 

Malins:  He  had  just  done  a  heavy  march,  sir, 
and  volunteered  for  double  guard  duty  to  re- 


g4  Abraham  Lincoln 

lieve  a  sick  friend.  He  was  found  asleep  at  his 
post. 

He  shuts  the  book. 
Grant:  I  was  anxious  to  spare  him.  But  it 
could  n't  be  done.  It  was  a  critical  place,  at  a 
gravely  critical  time. 

Lincoln:  When  is  it  to  be? 
Matins:  To-morrow,  at  daybreak,  sir. 
Lincoln:  I  don't  see  that  it  will  do  him  any 
good  to  be  shot.  Where  is  he? 
Matins:  Here,  sir. 
Lincoln:  Can  I  go  and  see  him? 
Grant:  Where  is  he? 
Matins:  In  the  barn,  I  believe,  sir. 
Grant:  Dennis. 

Dennis  (coming  from  his  table) :  Yes,  sir. 
Grant:  Ask  them  to  bring  Scott  in  here. 

Dennis  goes. 
I  want  to  see  Colonel  West.  Malins,  ask 
Templeman  if  those  figures  are  ready  yet. 
He  goes,  and  Malins  follows. 
Lincoln:  Will  you,  Hay? 
Hay  goes.  After  a  moment,  during  which 
Lincoln  takes  the  book  that  Malins  has 


Abraham  Lincoln  95 

been  reading  from,  and  looks  into  it,  Wil- 
liam Scott  is  brought  in  under  guard.  He 
is  a  boy  of  twenty. 

Lincoln  {to  the  Guard):  Thank  you.  Wait 
outside,  will  you  ? 

The  Men  salute  and  withdraw. 

Are  you  William  Scott? 

Scott:  Yes,  sir. 

Lincoln:  You  know  who  I  am? 

Scott:  Yes,  sir. 

Lincoln:  The  General  tells  me  you've  been 
court-martialled. 

Scott:  Yes,  sir. 

Lincoln:  Asleep  on  guard  ? 

Scott:  Yes,  sir. 

Lincoln:  It's  a  very  serious  offence. 

Scott:  I  know,  sir. 

Lincoln:  What  was  it? 

Scott  (a  pause) :  I  could  n't  keep  awake,  sir. 

Lincoln:  You  'd  had  a  long  march  ? 

Scott:  Twenty-three  miles,  sir. 

Lincoln:  You  were  doing  double  guard? 

Scott:  Yes,  sir. 

Lincoln:  Who  ordered  you  ? 


g6  Abraham  Lincoln 

Scott:  Well,  sir,  I  offered. 

Lincoln:  Why? 

Scott:  Enoch  White  —  he  was  sick,  sir.  We 
come  from  the  same  place. 

Lincoln:  Where's  that? 

Scott:  Vermont,  sir. 

Lincoln:  You  live  there? 

Scott:  Yes,  sir.  My  .  .  .  we've  got  a  farm  down 
there,  sir. 

Lincoln:  Who  has  ? 

Scott:  My  mother,  sir.  I've  got  her  photo- 
graph, sir. 

He  takes  it  from  his  pocket. 

Lincoln  {taking  it) :  Does  she  know  about  this  ? 

Scott:  For  God's  sake,  don't,  sir. 

Lincoln:  There,  there,  my  boy.  You're  not 
going  to  be  shot. 

Scott  (after  a  pause) :  Not  going  to  be  shot, 
sir. 

Lincoln:  No,  no. 

Scott:  Not  —  going  —  to  —  be  —  shot. 
He  breaks  down,  sobbing. 

Lincoln  (rising  and  going  to  him):  There, 
there.  I  believe  you  when  you  tell  me  that  you 


Abraham  Lincoln  97 

could  n't  keep  awake.  I'm  going  to  trust  you, 
and  send  you  back  to  your  regiment. 
He  goes  back  to  his  seat, 
Scott:  When  may  I  go  back,  sir? 
Lincoln:  You  can  go  back  to-morrow.  I  expect 
the  fighting  will  be  over,  though. 
Scott:  Is  it  over  yet,  sir? 
Lincoln:  Not  quite. 

Scott:  Please,  sir,  let  me  go  back  to-night  — 
let  me  go  back  to-night. 
Lincoln:  Very  well. 

He  writes. 
Do  you  know  where  General  Meade  is  ? 
Scott:  No,  sir. 

Lincoln:  Ask  one  of   those  men  to  come 
here. 

Scott  calls  one  of  his  guards  in. 
Lincoln:  Your  prisoner  is  discharged.  Take 
him  at  once  to  General  Meade  with  this. 
He  hands  a  note  to  the  man. 
The  Soldier:  Yes,  sir. 
Scott:  Thank  you,  sir. 

He  salutes  and  goes  out  with  the  Soldier. 
Lincoln:  Hay. 


g  8  Abraham  Lincoln 

Hay  {outside) :  Yes,  sir. 

He  comes  in. 
Lincoln:  What's  the  time? 
Hay  {looking  at  the  watch  on  the  table) :  Just  on 
half-past  nine,  sir. 

Lincoln:  I  shall  sleep  here  for  a  little.  You  'd 
better  shake  down  too.  They'll  wake  us  if 
there's  any  news. 

Lincoln  wraps  himself  up  on  two  chairs. 
Hay  follows  suit  on  a  bench.  After  a  few 
moments  Grant  comes  to  the  door,  sees  what 
has  happened,  blows  out  the  candles  quietly, 
and  goes  away. 

The  Curtain  falls. 

The  First  Chronicler:  Under  the  stars  an  end 
is  made, 
And  on  the  field  the  Southern  blade 
Lies  broken, 

And,  where  strife  was,  shall  union  be, 
And,  where  was  bondage,  liberty. 
The  word  is  spoken.  ... 
Night  passes. 

The  Curtain  rises  on  the  same  scene,  Lin- 


Abraham  Lincoln  gg 

coln  and  Hay  still  lying  asleep.  The  light  of 

dawn  fills  the  room.  The  Orderly  comes  in 

with  two  smoking  cups  of  coffee  and  some 

biscuits.  Lincoln  wakes. 
Lincoln:  Good-morning. 
Orderly:  Good-morning,  sir. 
Lincoln  (taking  coffee  and  biscuits):  Thank 
you. 

The  Orderly  turns  to  Hay,  who  sleeps  on, 

and  he  hesitates. 
Lincoln:  Hay.    (Shouting.)  Hay. 
Hay  (starting  up):  Hullo!  What  the  devil  is 
it?  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 
Lincoln:  Not  at  all.  Take  a  little  coffee. 
Hay:  Thank  you,  sir. 

He  takes  coffee  and  biscuits.  The  Orderly 

goes. 
Lincoln:  Slept  well,  Hay? 
Hay:  I  feel  a  little  crumpled,  sir.  I  think  I  fell 
off  once. 

Lincoln:  What's  the  time? 

Hay  (looking  at  the  watch) :  Six  o'clock,  sir. 

Grant  comes  in. 
Grant:  Good-morning,    sir;    good-morning, 
Hay. 


ioo  Abraham  Lincoln 


Lincoln:  Good-morning,  general. 

Hay:  Good-morning,  sir. 

Grant:  I  did  n't  disturb  you  last  night.  A  mes- 
sage has  just  come  from  Meade.  Lee  asked  for 
an  armistice  at  four  o'clock. 

Lincoln  {after  a  silence)'.  For  four  years  life 
has  been  but  the  hope  of  this  moment.  It  is 
strange  how  simple  it  is  when  it  comes.  Grant, 
you've  served  the  country  very  truly.  And 
you've  made  my  work  possible. 
He  takes  his  hand. 

Thank  you. 

Grant:  Had  I  failed,  the  fault  would  not  have 
been  yours,  sir.  I  succeeded  because  you  be- 
lieved in  me. 

Lincoln:  Where  is  Lee? 

Grant:  He's  coming  here.  Meade  should 
arrive  directly. 

Lincoln:  Where  will  Lee  wait? 

Grant:  There's  a  room  ready  for  him.  Will 
you  receive  him,  sir? 

Lincoln:  No,  no,  Grant.  That's  your  afTair. 
You  are  to  mention  no  political  matters.  Be 
generous.  But  I  need  n't  say  that. 


Abraham  Lincoln  ioi 

Grant  {taking  a  paper  from  his  pocket) :  Those 
are  the  terms  I  suggest. 

Lincoln  {reading):  Yes,  yes.  They  do  you 
honour. 

He  places  the  paper  on  the  table.  An  Or- 
derly comes  in. 
Orderly:  General  Meade  is  here,  sir. 
Grant:  Ask  him  to  come  here. 
Orderly:  Yes,  sir. 

He  goes. 
Grant:  I  learnt  a  good  deal  from  Robert  Lee 
in  early  days.  He's  a  better  man  than  most  of 
us.  This  business  will  go  pretty  near  the  heart, 
sir. 

Lincoln:  I  'm  glad  it 's  to  be  done  by  a  brave 
gentleman,  Grant. 

General  Meade  and  Captain  Sone,  his 
aide-de-camp,  come  in.  Meade  salutes. 
Lincoln:   Congratulations,   Meade.   You've 
done  well. 
Meade:  Thank  you,  sir. 
Grant:  Was  there  much  more  fighting? 
Meade:  Pretty  hot  for  an  hour  or  two. 
Grant:  How  long  will  Lee  be? 


102  Abraham  Lincoln 

Meade:  Only  a  few  minutes,  I  should  say,  sir. 

Grant:  You  said  nothing  about  terms? 

Meade:  No,  sir. 

Lincoln:  Did  a  boy  Scott  come  to  you? 

Meade:  Yes,  sir.  He  went  into  action  at  once. 
He  was  killed,  was  n't  he,  Sone? 

Sone:  Yes,  sir. 

Lincoln:  Killed?  It's  a  queer  world,  Grant. 

Meade:   Is   there   any  proclamation   to  be 
made,  sir,  about  the  rebels  ? 

Grant:  I  — 

Lincoln:  No,  no.  I  '11  have  nothing  of  hanging 

or  shooting  these  men,  even  the  worst  of  them. 

Frighten  them  out  of  the  country,  open  the 

gates,  let  down  the  bars,  scare  them  off.  Shoo! 

He  flings  out  his  arms. 

Good-bye,  Grant.  Report  at  Washington  as 
soon  as  you  can. 

He  shakes  hands  with  him. 

Good-bye,  gentlemen.  Come  along,  Hay. 
Meade  salutes  and  Lincoln  goes,  followed 
by  Hay. 

Grant:  Who  is  with  Lee? 

Meade:  Only  one  of  his  staff,  sir. 


Abraham  Lincoln  103 

Grant:  You  might  see  Malins,  will  you,  Sone, 
and  let  us  know  directly  General  Lee  comes. 

Sone:  Yes,  sir.  He  goes  out. 

Grant:  Well,  Meade,  it's  been  a  big  job. 

Meade:  Yes,  sir. 

Grant:  We've  had  courage  and  determination. 
And  we've  had  wits,  to  beat  a  great  soldier. 
I'd  say  that  to  any  man.  But  it's  Abraham 
Lincoln,  Meade,  who  has  kept  us  a  great  cause 
clean  to  fight  for.  It  does  a  man's  heart  good  to 
know  he's  given  victory  to  such  a  man  to 
handle.  A  glass,  Meade?  {Pouring  out  whiskey.) 
No?  {Drinking.) 

Do  you  know,  Meade,  there  were  fools  who 
wanted  me  to  oppose  Lincoln  for  the  next  Pres- 
idency. I  've  got  my  vanities,  but  I  know  better 
than  that. 

Malins  comes  in. 

Malins:  General  Lee  is  here,  sir. 

Grant:  Meade,  will  General  Lee  do  me  the 
honour  of  meeting  me  here? 

Meade  salutes  and  goes. 

Where  the  deuce  is  my  hat,  Malins?  And 
sword. 


104  Abraham  Lincoln 

Malins:  Here,  sir. 
Malins  gets  them  for  him.  Meade  and 
Sone  come  in,  and  stand  by  the  door  at 
attention.  Robert  Lee,  General-in-Chief  of 
the  Confederate  forces,  comes  in,  followed  by 
one  of  his  staff.  The  days  of  critical  anxiety 
through  which  he  has  just  lived  have  marked 
themselves  on  Lee's  face,  but  his  groomed 
and  punctilious  toilet  contrasts  pointedly 
with  Grant's  unconsidered  appearance.  The 
two  commanders  face  each  other.  Grant 
salutes,  and  Lee  replies. 
Grant:  Sir,  you  have  given  me  occasion  to  be 
proud  of  my  opponent. 

Lee:  I  have  not  spared  my  strength.  I  ac- 
knowledge its  defeat. 

Grant:  You  have  come  — 
Lee:  To  ask  upon  what  terms  you  will  accept 
surrender.  Yes. 

Grant  {taking  the  paper  from  the  table  and 
handing  it  to  Lee)  :  They  are  simple.  I  hope  you 
will  not  find  them  ungenerous. 

Lee  {having  read  the  terms) :  You  are  magnani- 
mous, sir.  May  I  make  one  submission  ? 


Abraham  Lincoln  105 

Grant:  It  would  be  a  privilege  if  I  could  con- 
sider it. 

Lee:  You  allow  our  officers  to  keep  their 
horses.  That  is  gracious.  Our  cavalry  troopers' 
horses  also  are  their  own. 

Grant:  I  understand.  They  will  be  needed  on 
the  farms.  It  shall  be  done. 

Lee:  I  thank  you.  It  will  do  much  towards 
conciliating  our  people.  I  accept  your  terms. 
Lee  unbuckles  his  sword,  and  offers  it  to 
Grant. 
Grant:  No,  no.  I  should  have  included  that. 
It  has  but  one  rightful  place.  I  beg  you. 

Lee  replaces  his  sword.  Grant  offers  his 
hand  and  Lee  takes  it.  They  salute,  and  Lee 
turns  to  go. 

The  Curtain  falls. 

The  two  Chroniclers:  A  wind  blows 
in  the  night, 
And  the  pride  of  the  rose  is  gone. 
It  laboured,  and  was  delight, 
And  rains  fell,  and  shone 
Suns  of  the  summer  days, 


106  Abraham  Lincoln 

And  dews  washed  the  bud, 
And  thanksgiving  and  praise 
Was  the  rose  in  our  blood. 

And  out  of  the  night  it  came, 
A  wind,  and  the  rose  fell, 
Shattered  its  heart  of  flame, 
And  how  shall  June  tell 
The  glory  that  went  with  May? 
How  shall  the  full  year  keep 
The  beauty  that  ere  its  day 
Was  blasted  into  sleep? 

Roses.  Oh,  heart  of  man : 
Courage,  that  in  the  prime 
Looked  on  truth,  and  began 
Conspiracies  with  time 
To  flower  upon  the  pain 
Of  dark  and  envious  earth.  .  .  . 
A  wind  blows,  and  the  brain 
Is  the  dust  that  was  its  birth. 

What  shall  the  witness  cry, 
He  who  has  seen  alone 


Abraham  Lincoln  107 

With  imagination's  eye 
The  darkness  overthrown? 
Hark:  from  the  long  eclipse 
The  wise  words  come  — 
A  wind  blows,  and  the  lips 
Of  prophecy  are  dumb. 


Scene  VI. 

The  evening  of  April  14,  1865.  The  small  lounge 
of  a  theatre.  On  the  far  side  are  the  doors  of 
three  private  boxes.  There  is  silence  for  a  few 
moments.  Then  the  sound  of  applause  comes 
from  the  auditorium  beyond.  The  box  doors 
are  opened.  In  the  centre  box  can  be  seen 
Lincoln  and  Stanton,  Mrs.  Lincoln, 
another  lady,  and  an  officer,  talking  together. 

The  occupants  come  out  from  the  other  boxes  into 
the  lounge,  where  small  knots  of  people  have 
gathered  from  different  directions,  and  stand 
or  sit  talking  busily. 

A  Lady:  Very  amusing,  don't  you  think? 
Her  Companion:  Oh,  yes.  But  it's  hardly  true 
to  life,  is  it? 


108  Abraham  Lincoln 

Another  Lady:  Is  n't  that  dark  girl  clever? 
What's  her  name? 

A   Gentleman    {consulting   his   programme): 
Eleanor  Crowne. 

Another     Gentleman:     There's     a     terrible 
draught,  is  n't  there?  I  shall  have  a  stiff  neck. 
His  Wife:  You  should  keep  your  scarf  on. 
The  Gentleman:  It  looks  so  odd. 
Another   Lady:  The   President   looks   very- 
happy  this  evening,  does  n't  he? 

Another:  No  wonder,  is  it?  He   must  be  a 
proud  man. 

A  young  man,   dressed  in  black,   passes 
among  the  people,  glancing  furtively  into 
Lincoln's  box,  and  disappears.  It  is  John 
Wilkes  Booth. 
A  Lady  (greeting  another) :  Ah,  Mrs.  Benning- 
ton. When  do  you  expect  your  husband  back? 
They  drift  away.  Susan,  carrying  cloaks  and 
wraps,  comes  in.  She  goes  to  the  box,  and 
speaks  to  Mrs.  Lincoln.  Then  she  comes 
away,  and  sits  down  apart  from  the  crowd  to 
wait. 
A  Young  Man:  I  rather  think  of  going  on  the 


Abraham  Lincoln 


109 


stage  myself.  My  friends  tell  me  I  'm  uncom- 
mon good.  Only  I  don't  think  my  health  would 
stand  it. 

A  Girl:  Oh,  it  must  be  a  very  easy  life.  Just 
acting  —  that's  easy  enough. 

A   cry    of  "Lincoln"    comes    through    the 

auditorium.  It  is  taken  up,  with  shouts  of 

"The  President,"   "Speech,"   "Abraham 

Lincoln,"  "Father  Abraham,"  and  so  on. 

The  conversation  in  the  lounge  stops  as  the 

talkers  turn  to  listen.  After  a  few  moments, 

Lincoln  is  seen  to  rise.  There  is  a  burst  of 

cheering.   The  people  in  the  lounge  stand 

round  the  box  door.  Lincoln  holds  up  his 

hand,  and  there  is  a  sudden  silence. 

Lincoln:  My  friends,  I  am  touched,  deeply 

touched,  by  this  mark  of  your  good-will.  After 

four  dark  and  difficult  years,  we  have  achieved 

the  great  purpose  for  which  we  set  out.  General 

Lee's  surrender  to  General  Grant  leaves  but  one 

Confederate  force  in  the  field,  and  the  end  is 

immediate  and  certain.  {Cheers.)  I  have  but 

little  to  say  at  this  moment.  I  claim  not  to  have 

controlled   events,   but   confess   plainly   that 


iio  Abraham  Lincoln 

events  have  controlled  me.  But  as  events  have 
come  before  me,  I  have  seen  them  always  with 
one  faith.  We  have  preserved  the  American 
Union,  and  we  have  abolished  a  great  wrong. 
{Cheers.)  The  task  of  reconciliation,  of  setting 
order  where  there  is  now  confusion,  of  bringing 
about  a  settlement  at  once  just  and  merciful, 
and  of  directing  the  life  of  a  reunited  country 
into  prosperous  channels  of  good-will  and  gener- 
osity, will  demand  all  our  wisdom,  all  our  loy- 
alty. It  is  the  proudest  hope  of  my  life  that  I 
may  be  of  some  service  in  this  work.  (Cheers.)- 
Whatever  it  may  be,  it  can  be  but  little  in  re- 
turn for  all  the  kindness  and  forbearance  that 
I  have  received.  With  malice  toward  none,  with 
charity  for  all,  it  is  for  us  to  resolve  that  this 
nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a  new  birth  of 
freedom;  and  that  government  of  the  people, 
by  the  people,  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish 
from  the  earth. 

There  is  a  great  sound  of  cheering.  It  dies 
down,  and  a  boy  passes  through  the  lounge 
and  calls  out  "Last  act,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men." The  people  disperse,  and  the  box  doors 


Abraham  Lincoln 


iii 


are  closed.  Susan  is  left  alone  and  there  is 
silence. 

After  a  few  moments,  Booth  appears.  He 
watches  Susan  and  sees  that  her  gaze  is  fixed 
away  from  him.  He  creeps  along  to  the  centre 
box  and  disengages  a  hand  from  under  his 
cloak.  It  holds  a  revolver.  Poising  himself, 
he  opens  the  door  with  a  swift  movement, 
fires,  flings  the  door  to  again,  and  rushes 
away.  The  door  is  thrown  open  again,  and 
the  Officer  follows  in  pursuit.  Inside  the 
box,  Mrs.  Lincoln  is  kneeling  by  her  hus- 
band, who  is  supported  by  Stanton.  A  Doc- 
tor runs  across  the  lounge  and  goes  into  the 
box.  There  is  complete  silence  in  the  theatre. 
The  door  closes  again. 
Susan  (who  has  run  to  the  box  door,  and  is 

kneeling   there,  sobbing) :   Master,  master!  No, 

no,  not  my  master! 

The  other  box  doors  have  opened,  and  the 
occupants  with  others  have  collected  in  little 
terror-struck  groups  in  the  lounge.  Then  the 
centre  door  opens,  and  Stanton  comes  out, 
closing  it  behind  him. 
Stanton:  Now  he  belongs  to  the  ages. 


112  Abraham  Lincoln 

The  Chroniclers  speak. 
First  Chronicler:  Events  go  by.  And  upon 
circumstance 
Disaster  strikes  with  the  blind  sweep  of  chance, 
And  this  our  mimic  action  was  a  theme, 
Kinsmen,  as  life  is,  clouded  as  a  dream. 

Second  Chronicler:  But,  as  we  spoke,  presiding 
everywhere 
Upon  event  was  one  man's  character. 
And  that  endures;  it  is  the  token  sent 
Always  to  man  for  man's  own  government. 

The  Curtain  falls. 


THE  END 


(C&e  ftibcr#De  |9re#* 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


7/.  Z00?.03if.  Olio 6