Read Online A Night of Horrors: A Historical Thriller about the 24 Hours of Lincoln's Assassination by John C. Berry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John C. Berry
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raisins mighty quick today.” It was a phrase that Lincoln invariably used when he had read through the stack of telegraphs until he came to the last telegraph in the stack he had read at his last visit.
“Mr. President,” said Bates, standing as he addressed Lincoln, “I have noticed that when you come and read through the telegraphs and finish, you use that saying to say you are done. I have often wondered what it means, ‘I am down to raisins?’”
“Well, Bates, it reminds me of a story,” Lincoln addressed him by name, because he had come to be on familiar terms with these men over the course of the past four years of the war. His face crinkled up as he smiled at the opportunity to share another yarn. “I know the story of a young lady who tended to eat her supper in reverse. She often began with her dessert and was a lover of raisins. Then she’d move on to her meat and vegetables and end with the bread. One night, when she was violently sick, her mother sent for the doctor. Upon arriving, he stood over her as she threw up repeatedly, working her way from bread to vegetables to meat. When he saw the raisins coming back up, he said happily ‘Well, we’re down to raisins’ and knew the worst was over.” Lincoln broke into a hearty belly laugh and bent over slapping his knee. The telegraphers joined in laughing and they continued on so that suddenly Edwin Stanton, Lincoln’s Secretary of War, bustled into the room.
“What’s all the fuss about?” He asked and then looked over and saw the President laughing with his men. “Oh, it’s you, is it?”
“Yes, it’s me,” Lincoln replied and then burst out laughing again at the look on Stanton’s face. They all laughed harder with Stanton joining in, to the surprise of his telegraphers. Stanton was legendary for ruling the War Department with an iron fist of discipline, not allowing even the President to disrupt his routines and often haggling with him about decisions.
“Come, Stanton, let’s go talk business,” Lincoln said and ushered the Secretary back to his office across the hall from the Telegraph Office. “Stanton, do you know that Eckert can break a poker over his arm?” The President asked as Edwin Stanton walked to sit down in his desk. It was an odd question and Stanton knew that the President was leading up to something. Thomas Eckert was the head of the Telegraph Office and a strong burly man. Several months before, he had been demonstrating the poor quality of pokers that had been sold to the Union army by breaking them over his forearm, when Lincoln walked in and stood and watched the demonstration in amusement.
“No I did not. Why would you ask such a question?” Stanton sputtered out.
“Stanton, I have seen Eckert break fiver pokers, one after the other, over his forearm. I think he is just the man to go with me this evening when I go to the theatre. May I take him?”
Edwin Stanton had been a nationally renowned attorney prior to the outbreak of the war. His work ethic was legendary and on several occasions during the war, he had been forced to bed by his doctors in an effort to save him from literally dying of pure exhaustion. Stanton was a short man already, but when he stood next to the towering Lincoln, he appeared as a man-child, except for the great flowing salt and pepper beard that adorned his chin. Stanton’s beard grew out from his chin and reached half way down his chest. He wore round steel rimmed glasses that often heightened the ferocity of his blue-gray eyes. Stanton had taken over a faltering War Department and quickly whipped it into an efficient machine that slowly ground the Rebellion into surrender. His self-righteous temperament combined with his keen intelligence so that he rarely lost an argument. He often brought both friend and foe to tears through his stern lectures and curt mannerisms. He was famous for being indignant and haughty with all who came into contact with him, not sparing even the
“Mr. President,” said Bates, standing as he addressed Lincoln, “I have noticed that when you come and read through the telegraphs and finish, you use that saying to say you are done. I have often wondered what it means, ‘I am down to raisins?’”
“Well, Bates, it reminds me of a story,” Lincoln addressed him by name, because he had come to be on familiar terms with these men over the course of the past four years of the war. His face crinkled up as he smiled at the opportunity to share another yarn. “I know the story of a young lady who tended to eat her supper in reverse. She often began with her dessert and was a lover of raisins. Then she’d move on to her meat and vegetables and end with the bread. One night, when she was violently sick, her mother sent for the doctor. Upon arriving, he stood over her as she threw up repeatedly, working her way from bread to vegetables to meat. When he saw the raisins coming back up, he said happily ‘Well, we’re down to raisins’ and knew the worst was over.” Lincoln broke into a hearty belly laugh and bent over slapping his knee. The telegraphers joined in laughing and they continued on so that suddenly Edwin Stanton, Lincoln’s Secretary of War, bustled into the room.
“What’s all the fuss about?” He asked and then looked over and saw the President laughing with his men. “Oh, it’s you, is it?”
“Yes, it’s me,” Lincoln replied and then burst out laughing again at the look on Stanton’s face. They all laughed harder with Stanton joining in, to the surprise of his telegraphers. Stanton was legendary for ruling the War Department with an iron fist of discipline, not allowing even the President to disrupt his routines and often haggling with him about decisions.
“Come, Stanton, let’s go talk business,” Lincoln said and ushered the Secretary back to his office across the hall from the Telegraph Office. “Stanton, do you know that Eckert can break a poker over his arm?” The President asked as Edwin Stanton walked to sit down in his desk. It was an odd question and Stanton knew that the President was leading up to something. Thomas Eckert was the head of the Telegraph Office and a strong burly man. Several months before, he had been demonstrating the poor quality of pokers that had been sold to the Union army by breaking them over his forearm, when Lincoln walked in and stood and watched the demonstration in amusement.
“No I did not. Why would you ask such a question?” Stanton sputtered out.
“Stanton, I have seen Eckert break fiver pokers, one after the other, over his forearm. I think he is just the man to go with me this evening when I go to the theatre. May I take him?”
Edwin Stanton had been a nationally renowned attorney prior to the outbreak of the war. His work ethic was legendary and on several occasions during the war, he had been forced to bed by his doctors in an effort to save him from literally dying of pure exhaustion. Stanton was a short man already, but when he stood next to the towering Lincoln, he appeared as a man-child, except for the great flowing salt and pepper beard that adorned his chin. Stanton’s beard grew out from his chin and reached half way down his chest. He wore round steel rimmed glasses that often heightened the ferocity of his blue-gray eyes. Stanton had taken over a faltering War Department and quickly whipped it into an efficient machine that slowly ground the Rebellion into surrender. His self-righteous temperament combined with his keen intelligence so that he rarely lost an argument. He often brought both friend and foe to tears through his stern lectures and curt mannerisms. He was famous for being indignant and haughty with all who came into contact with him, not sparing even the
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