Read Online A Night of Horrors: A Historical Thriller about the 24 Hours of Lincoln's Assassination by John C. Berry - Free Book Online
Authors: John C. Berry
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was a balding man with dark hair and a bushy mustache and beard. There were streaks of gray in his beard as a testament to the strain and intensity of his task of keeping Maryland in the Union and raising troops to help fight the war. Maryland was a largely Southern state that had been kept in the Union through the suspension of habeas corpus and the stationing of Union troops in Baltimore.
“Hello, Creswell,” the President boomed. “The war is over!” They met in the middle of the office and Lincoln grasped the Senator by the hand as enthusiastic as a schoolboy greeting an old chum. “The war is over!” he repeated.
“Yes, Mr. Lincoln, the war is over indeed,” the Senator responded to the second exclamation as if it were a liturgy and smiled at the President’s infectious enthusiasm.
“But it has been an awful war, Creswell,” Lincoln said, suddenly growing serious and downcast. “It has been an awful war. So much has been lost in order to save the country. But it’s over now.” He looked back up at his visitor and mustered another smile. “But what are you here for? You fellers don’t come to see me unless you want somethin’. It must be somethin’ big, or you wouldn’t be here so early.” He laughed as he took a seat and gestured for the Senator to join him in sitting.
“Well, sir, a college classmate of mine, a great friend, just received a letter.” He held it up to show the President. “In it, my friend learned that his cousin was a Confederate prisoner at Point Lookout. I’ve endorsed this, requesting that one Benjamin Twilley be discharged on the usual terms of taking the oath of allegiance and laying down arms against the Union.”
“Why that’s not so hard, Creswell,” said Lincoln reaching for the letter. He took it and put it on his knee and wrote on the back. Giving it back, he said, “This makes me think of an old Illinois story, and I’m goin’ to tell it to you.” His eyes lit up with the smile on his face. Creswell looked at the letter. The President had written: Let it be done. A. Lincoln. He slipped it back in the inside breast pocket of his jacket.
“Years ago,” he started, already smiling, “a lot a young folks, boys and girls, got up a Mayin’ party. They took their dinners and went down to a place where they had to cross the Sangamon River on an old scow. When it was time to go back they were hilarious at findin’ that the scow had got untied and floated down stream. After a while the thing looked more serious for there was no boat and they couldn’t throw out a pontoon. Pretty soon a young man, a little brighter than the rest, proposed that each feller take off his shoes and stockings and pick up the girl he liked best and carry her over. It was a great scheme, and it worked all right until all had got over but a little, short, young man and a very tall, dignified old maid. Then there was trouble for one young man in dead earnest.
“Now, do you see, Creswell, that you fellers will get one man after another out of the business until Jefferson Davis and I will be the only ones left on the island. I’m afraid he’ll refuse to let me carry him over, and I’m afraid there are some people who’ll make trouble about doing it if he consents.” The Senator and the President laughed at his illustration.
“Now, Creswell, you laugh, but this really is no laughin’ matter. It’s more than likely to happen. There are worse men than Jefferson Davis, and I wish I could see some way by which he and the people would let us get him over. However, we will keep goin’ on and getting’ them out of it, one at a time.” He smiled and nodded his head as the Senator stood up to take his leave.
“Mr. Lincoln, I now must go to Stanton to get this counter-signed, and I believe that I will find a much more difficult path to getting my friend’s cousin released.”
“God go with you if you are goin’ to see Stanton on the matter,” Lincoln called after him with a
“Hello, Creswell,” the President boomed. “The war is over!” They met in the middle of the office and Lincoln grasped the Senator by the hand as enthusiastic as a schoolboy greeting an old chum. “The war is over!” he repeated.
“Yes, Mr. Lincoln, the war is over indeed,” the Senator responded to the second exclamation as if it were a liturgy and smiled at the President’s infectious enthusiasm.
“But it has been an awful war, Creswell,” Lincoln said, suddenly growing serious and downcast. “It has been an awful war. So much has been lost in order to save the country. But it’s over now.” He looked back up at his visitor and mustered another smile. “But what are you here for? You fellers don’t come to see me unless you want somethin’. It must be somethin’ big, or you wouldn’t be here so early.” He laughed as he took a seat and gestured for the Senator to join him in sitting.
“Well, sir, a college classmate of mine, a great friend, just received a letter.” He held it up to show the President. “In it, my friend learned that his cousin was a Confederate prisoner at Point Lookout. I’ve endorsed this, requesting that one Benjamin Twilley be discharged on the usual terms of taking the oath of allegiance and laying down arms against the Union.”
“Why that’s not so hard, Creswell,” said Lincoln reaching for the letter. He took it and put it on his knee and wrote on the back. Giving it back, he said, “This makes me think of an old Illinois story, and I’m goin’ to tell it to you.” His eyes lit up with the smile on his face. Creswell looked at the letter. The President had written: Let it be done. A. Lincoln. He slipped it back in the inside breast pocket of his jacket.
“Years ago,” he started, already smiling, “a lot a young folks, boys and girls, got up a Mayin’ party. They took their dinners and went down to a place where they had to cross the Sangamon River on an old scow. When it was time to go back they were hilarious at findin’ that the scow had got untied and floated down stream. After a while the thing looked more serious for there was no boat and they couldn’t throw out a pontoon. Pretty soon a young man, a little brighter than the rest, proposed that each feller take off his shoes and stockings and pick up the girl he liked best and carry her over. It was a great scheme, and it worked all right until all had got over but a little, short, young man and a very tall, dignified old maid. Then there was trouble for one young man in dead earnest.
“Now, do you see, Creswell, that you fellers will get one man after another out of the business until Jefferson Davis and I will be the only ones left on the island. I’m afraid he’ll refuse to let me carry him over, and I’m afraid there are some people who’ll make trouble about doing it if he consents.” The Senator and the President laughed at his illustration.
“Now, Creswell, you laugh, but this really is no laughin’ matter. It’s more than likely to happen. There are worse men than Jefferson Davis, and I wish I could see some way by which he and the people would let us get him over. However, we will keep goin’ on and getting’ them out of it, one at a time.” He smiled and nodded his head as the Senator stood up to take his leave.
“Mr. Lincoln, I now must go to Stanton to get this counter-signed, and I believe that I will find a much more difficult path to getting my friend’s cousin released.”
“God go with you if you are goin’ to see Stanton on the matter,” Lincoln called after him with a
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