August 5th, 2011 - Introduction/Mr. Lincoln's Youth

• Good day. My friend Abraham Lincoln once said: "To ease another's heartache is to forget one's own." He & I were well-acquainted with that.
• Over the fortnights to come, I shall regale you with stories of Lincoln and me, from our carefree younger days to the heartache of old age.
• I have come to understand your "Lincoln logs" and other expressions of my good friend's humble beginnings. To me, the Lincolns' log cabin...
• ...was the embodiment of their steely resolve. His father, Thomas, witnessed his grandfather's death at the hands of Indians.
• That early tragedy helped shape Thomas, who named his son Abraham after that fallen Lincoln. Thomas' brother, Mordecai, killed the attacker.
• I've read the musing "The Internet is forever." So it is. I'm glad, though, that it keeps my good friend's memory alive. More on the morrow.
• Thomas Lincoln was much unlike his famous son: short and stout in comparison, and "idle, thriftless, poor, a hunter, and a rover," I wrote.
• But Thomas and Abraham Lincoln did not differ entirely: Thomas had a habitually peaceable disposition, and he had a propensity for stories.
• In fact, Thomas Lincoln's most valuable possession was his inexhaustible fund of anecdotes, much like Abraham carried with him. Thomas and Abraham shared a love for storytelling. It atoned for many of the former's sins, and it endeared people even more to the latter.
• Shiftless though he was, Thomas Lincoln managed to successfully court Nancy Hanks. He was five years her senior & had worked for her uncle.
• Thomas Lincoln had previously failed in his courtship of Sally Bush. I surmise it was his defect of character that left her unimpressed.
• I would be remiss if I didn't note that Thomas Lincoln later induced Sally Bush to marry him after both of their spouses had passed.
• Thomas Lincoln's persistence in the courtship of Sally Bush was another trait shared with his son. My friend Mr. Lincoln pursued his vision too.
• After the birth of a daughter named Nancy (Sarah after her death), my good friend Mr. Lincoln entered this world, on the 12th of Feb., 1809.
• As Mr. Lincoln grew, Thomas Lincoln cared not a straw for the boy's education, admiring muscle more than the mind. And yet his son learned much.
• Of his childhood, Abraham Lincoln had little to say. He told a campaign biographer it was but "the short and simple annals of the poor."
• Thomas and Nancy Lincoln had a third child, a boy, but he passed at the mere age of 3 days old. They bore no more offspring.
• In the dark of night, crouching on the cool White House lawn watching for would-be assassins, I wondered sometimes about Lincoln's brother.
• Had he lived, who would Lincoln's brother have become? Imagine the possibilities if he attained even a 10th of his elder sibling's stature.
• Alas, that was not to be, and had Mr. Lincoln not narrowly escaped when he almost drowned while fishing, we might not have had him either.
• The world would have been a crueler place and The Civil War might have truly broken this great nation's back. I thank divine providence.
• Mr. Lincoln and I rode the circuit together, traveling by buggy in the dry seasons and on horse-back in bad weather.
• Mr. Lincoln was from the beginning of his circuit-riding the light and life of the court.

August, 17th 2011 - My Birth and Upbringing

• January the 6th, in the year 1828, was the time of my birth. Place: on the ridge, as they called it, near Summit Point, Virginia.
• My parents: George & Elizabeth Ward Lamon. When I was 2, our family removed to a town called Mill Creek, which they now call Bunker Hill.
• Mill Creek was situated in a place that later became West Virginia. I was raised a Virginia gentleman, but I never backed down from a fight.
• Despite my Southern heritage, I have always detested slave labor.
• The Lamon name was a peculiar one, owing to its varied spellings: Lamon, Lemon, Lemen. Such differences belied familial discord.
• Dr. Theodore Lemon trekked West to settle in Danville, Illinois, where I later had my fateful meeting with Mr. Lincoln.
• Dr. Lemon was a Jackson Democrat, a supporter of slavery. He once faced down a mob of furloughed Union soldiers.
• However, my uncle, James Lemen, was a Baptist minister and a staunch abolitionist. It is said Thomas Jefferson financed his father’s move...
• ...to Illinois to help those living there resist Southern efforts to make it a slave state. James Lemen Jr. later claimed to have been...
• ...Mr. Lincoln's spiritual adviser for 20 years. A specious claim, to be sure, given that it came forth after the President's death.

August, 19th 2011 -How I Met Mr. Lincoln

• In the spring of 1847, I came west to Danville, IL, with our family slave, Bob. Yes, my association with slavery is a checkered one.
• I had previously studied two years of medicine, but now the field held no allure for me. I instead endeavored to study law.
• My decision to switch fields was fortuitous, for it brought me, the Southern gentleman, before the steady countenance of Mr. Lincoln.
• Our initial encounter was a curious one, for I had never met my equal when it came to the telling of stories. A quick kinship came of that.
• So it was that I found myself in Illinois on that fateful day. Was it an oddity of history that brought Mr. Lincoln & I together?
• Or was the unseen hand of the Almighty already at work as I walked the dusty county roads? I had my banjo & my thirst at the ready.
• I came across a tavern where my banjo & I could both slake our thirst. More on the morrow.
• I entered the tavern and found there a tall, beardless man holding court.
• The crowd gathered around Mr. Lincoln was obviously looking for a bit of fun at the end of a hard day's labor.
• My last 3 cents drained of me, I filled my parched mouth with some sips of whiskey and watched Mr. Lincoln's force of personality at work.
• I had never met my storytelling equal, and Mr. Lincoln made quite the impact on me that night. He was telling a tale about Old Bap McNabb.
• It seems Ol' Bap owned a rooster much acclaimed for its fighting ability. So it was tossed into the ring, but it saw what was to be done.
• That beauty dropped its tail and ran. "You little cuss," exclaimed Bap. "You're great on dress parade, but not worth a darn in a fight!"
• The story done, the most infectious bout of laughter that's ever passed through my ears burst from Mr. Lincoln.
• I caught Mr. Lincoln's attention, and he turned his warm gaze to meet mine.
• "Passing through, are you?" Mr. Lincoln asked. "No, suh," I replied. I knew not what to make of him, nor he of me, but a kinship fluttered.
• The authentic nature of that moment with Mr. Lincoln rang true, unlike so many of your politicians who pander to the "common man."
• Your politicians of today are well-versed in the rhetoric of the "common man," without understanding the simple joy of that night.
• After Mr. Lincoln and I had studied each other a bit, the most extraordinary thing happened: he asked me to demonstrate my claw-hammer.
• I instinctively reached for my banjo and led Mr. Lincoln and the crowd in a rousing rendition of: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0AK-C0ujQck&feature=youtu.be
• That night I also met Mr. Lincoln’s colleagues: Ned Baker, Billy Herndon, Leonard Swett. He admired Mr. Baker most.
• When Mr. Baker later left the company of Mr. Lincoln and went west, well, it struck my friend quite a blow. He was prone to melancholy.

August, 29th 2011 - The Movie and its Connection to Technology of My Day

• My reminiscences about my days with Mr. Lincoln will continue anon, but I would like to talk about this moving picture: http://t.co/l8TD3i8
• This fine film is based on my time protecting Mr. Lincoln from his many enemies. The moving picture concept is a fascinating one to me.
• In my era, photos were new & interesting. We even had 3D. We used viewers called stereoscopes. http://t.co/cG9Ve0O
• You may think we were quaint & primitive, but to us this was technology indeed. Yes, suh, we had new ways of looking at the world. 
• We had new ways of looking at war, too. Why, I remember the day Mr. Lincoln and I viewed stereoscopic images from battles.
• Bodies sprawled every which way, bodies in rows awaitin' burial. Bodies baking in the hot sun.
• Mr. Lincoln viewed those photos with his son, Tad, and, well, a man unmoved by such a moment has a heart harder than stone. 
• This was the first time a President had been able to see the atrocities of war from many miles away. But I digress.
• About that moving picture I was telling you of: I am told the fine thespian portraying me is Mr. Lea Coco. http://t.co/A6CpHGR
• Mr. Coco cuts a fine figure. The spittin' image of myself. It's downright uncanny.
• Mr. Coco comes from the theater in Chicago, & he has already learned himself some clawhammer banjo. His pickin’ & singin’ is mighty strong.
• And Mr. Coco previously spent some time as a “Blue Man” from something called “Blue Man Group.” I confess their antics are beyond my ken.
• Then there’s Mr. Tom Amandes, who has breathed extraordinary life into the role of my friend Mr. Lincoln. http://t.co/pnaVRSM
• I had the good fortune of visiting with Mr. Amandes in his full costume. The first time I encountered him, I was shocked & had to sit a spell.
• Speaking with Mr. Amandes was like speaking with my old friend again. The resemblance is remarkable. How I miss Mr. Lincoln.
• And I must say the same of the actress Penelope Ann Miller, who portrays Mrs. Mary Lincoln. http://t.co/11oylNB
• Mrs. Lincoln was a complex woman. I confess I did not understand her association with the medium Nettie Colburn.
• Miss Colburn encouraged her supposed communications with the dead. It was a morbid activity, but Mr. Lincoln abided it.
• Mr. Lincoln called Mrs. Lincoln “Mother” and she called him “Father.” Theirs was a union sorely tested by much strife. But it survived.
• I advise learning more about this moving picture here: http://on.fb.me/qDEm4g I have perused it myself. The images there are extraordinary.
• The actors stand in front of green screens. I am told they are filmed and then the scenery and other people will be added later.
• The day I visited the filming, I also had the pleasure of seeing the musicians portraying the Marine band that played “Dixie.”
• Mr. Lincoln asked the Marine band to play "Dixie" after the war ended, as a show of brotherliness to our Southern neighbors.
• At first the band refused, and the grumbling in the crowd made me reach for a revolver, but brave little Tad stepped up and began singing.
• Soon that grousing and grumbling melted away, and I relaxed my hand from my weapon. We joined together in a rousing song.
• A fine moment. One of my last such moments with my good friend, Mr. Lincoln. But I’ll save others from that time for the moving picture.
• And lest I find myself in a melancholy state, I shall resume with more tales from the early days of my friendship with Mr. Lincoln.

September 9th, 2011 - My Arrival in Illinois

• I arrived in Illinois in spring of 1847, endeavoring to study law after 2 years of ill-advised medical studies.
• The medical profession is just as worthy as the legal one, but the latter better suited my temperament.
• My decision to study law led to my serendipitous encounter with Mr. Lincoln, which changed my life forever. 
• What divine hand guides such events? You have no better answer today for such a question than I had then. 
• Had I remained in the medical field, I would have had to follow Mr. Lincoln's presidency from afar. I am thankful for my place in history.
• Ruminating on the past, I can't say I shall recollect my times with and without Mr. Lincoln in a proper orderly fashion.
• I have many stories to tell. Our shared law practice was an adventure in itself. Mr. Lincoln brought his highest ethical standards to it.
• So much else happened in my life too. My first wife, pretty Angeline Turner, left me a widower at 31.
• Angeline bore me three daughters -- two didn't survive through the second years of their little lives. That pain remains fresh.
• And my sister, Elizabeth Virginia Lamon, passed while visiting me, just days before Mr. Lincoln secured the Presidency. 
• All was not heartache, though: there were Mr. Lincoln's stories, and my songs, and taverns full of hearty folk.
• And there were clients of our law firm, who had stories of their own to tell. Some are well-known in biographies of Mr. Lincoln.
• I am running ahead of myself, though. I shall visit with you again on Monday and begin spinning some of my tales. Join me.
• Illinois, 1847. Unlike my friend Mr. Lincoln, whose early years were difficult and who taught himself law, I had led a life of comfort.
• I boarded in the home of my cousin, Dr. Theodore Lemon (yes, my surname has varied in its spelling), and I owned two fine saddle horses.
• I also had a plentiful flow of money from home to meet my needs, so I arranged to study under Judge Oliver L. Davis. 
• My basic needs met, I was able to acquaint myself with pleasurable pursuits when my legal studies were done for the day. 
• You think you enjoyed your collegiate years. I guarantee, suh, my legal studies were much more pleasurable.
• I engaged in all manner of sport: vigorous wrestling matches, telling lusty jokes and stories, and courting ladies of the town. 
• I have read myself described as “a Rotarian before Rotary,” and there is great truth in that too.
• In short, I endeavored to make my presence known in Danville, and I succeeded. 
• My friend Mr. Lincoln became well-known in Danville too, but his was a differently-shaded reputation.
• Mr. Lincoln’s strength came from his oratorical skills. His ability to command a courtroom, tavern, or even street corner was legendary.
• Where my wit was coarser, Mr. Lincoln’s was finely-pointed, like a dagger skewering its subject. 
• And Mr. Lincoln took as much joy from his barbs as his audience did. They fed on that infectious laughter, as did I.

September 15th, 2011 - The Tale of My Torn Trousers

• Reminiscing on Mr. Lincoln’s wit brings to mind a story from the early days of our legal partnership.
• We were attending the circuit court in Bloomington. Mr. Lincoln had the sense to make the best of his time. Not I. 
• I found myself scuffling near the courthouse, defending my wrestling prowess against a man who had challenged me. 
• He was a worthy opponent, but I bested him. Unfortunately, my trousers took the worst of it, and I was left with a large rent in the rear.
• I had no time to change my torn trousers, for Mr. Lincoln and I were called into court to take up a case.
• We listened to the evidence and the judge turned to us. (The details escape me now; I believe it was a minor matter involving livestock.)
• As the Prosecuting Attorney at the time, I rose to address the jury. Unfortunately, my coat was somewhat short.
• Another lawyer, possessing a fine wit himself, began passing a subscription paper around the room. 
• Along the table they passed that paper, which beseeched those who signed to “buy a pair of pantaloons for a poor but worthy young man.”
• Mr. Lincoln paid scant attention to the activity, for he was engrossed in writing his notes of my speech to the jury. 
• When that subscription paper arrived in front of him, though, he quickly gave it a glance.
• Next to his name, Mr. Lincoln wrote “I can contribute nothing to the end in view.”

September 20th, 2011 - Mr. Lincoln and The Ogmathorial Court

• Mr. Lincoln and I set up our partnership in 1852. It lasted until 1857, when I became prosecuting attorney for the 8th Judicial District.
• I had learned early to charge well for my legal services, but Mr. Lincoln refused to obey that basic lesson. 
• I see that such a lesson is not lost on today’s lawyerly profession, although its complexity continues to amaze me.
• Mr. Lincoln’s refusal to demand fees commensurate with services rendered led to him turning that area to my tender mercies.
• I, of course, had different ideas about the dignity of our profession, and I was not afraid to explain them to our clients. 
• However, this clash between my ideology and Mr. Lincoln’s eventually led to an embarrassment that was the talk of the circuit.
• Early in my partnership with Mr. Lincoln, we sold our services to a gentleman named Scott, whose sister was demented. 
• Mr. Scott's sister possessed $10,000 and had fallen prey to a designing adventurer who sought to marry her.
• When Mr. Scott came to us for legal assistance, he inquired about his fee, and I quoted him $250, although I said a less amount might do.
• Mr. Scott had anticipated a hard-fought battle, but I achieved victory in less than 20 minutes. Our client happily paid the fee on the spot.
• Mr. Lincoln, though, was unhappy with the transaction and told me: “Hill, the service was not worth that sum.”
• He asked me to give back half the $250, but I balked. It was a fixed fee, and Mr. Scott paid it without protest.
• Mr. Lincoln would not stand down, however. “Your client may be satisfied, but I am not,” he told me. 
• He demanded I return half that $250, or he would refuse even a penny for his share. Imagine that, ye lawyerly types of today.
• So I found Mr. Scott at the back of the courtroom and, to his astonishment, handed back half the fee.
• That was not the end of the story, though, for my conversation with Mr. #Lincoln had attracted the attention of Judge Davis.
• Judge Davis was not a man to mince his words, nor keep his voice low, and he called me and Mr. Lincoln before him. 
• I still remember that rasping voice of his drawing looks from all over the courtroom as he rebuked Mr. Lincoln.
• “You are impoverishing this bar by your picayune charges of fees!” Judge Davis declared, jabbing a portly finger toward us.
• “You are now almost as poor as Lazarus, and if you don’t make people pay more for your services, you will die as poor as Job’s turkey!”
• The courtroom, as you can imagine, was so dead quiet that a pin dropping to the floor would have been as a thunderbolt.
• Mr. Lincoln, displaying the unflappable spirit that saw him through the darkest days of the Civil War, was unmoved.
• My friend allowed Judge Davis’ anger to run its course and issued his calm response. “That money comes from a poor, demented girl," he said.
• He continued: “I would rather starve than swindle her in this manner. My firm will not be known as ‘Catch ‘Em and Cheat ‘Em.'"
• That evening, a plan was hatched: the circuit court’s other lawyers would bring Mr. Lincoln before a tribunal.
• “The Ogmathorial Court,” Judge Davis called it. It was a mock proceeding, but they brought utmost seriousness to it. 
• They held it in that deserted courtroom, candles and lamps casting eerie flickering shadows across the affair.
• “You, Mr. Lincoln, have brought disgrace to this court!” Judge Davis rasped. The slightest smile creased my friend’s face.
• Judge Davis laid out the charges: “This circuit court’s lawyers have good reason to complain of you and your stingy ways.”
• The other assembled lawyers voiced assent, their murmurs echoing off the walls. Judge Davis stepped into the moonlight.
• “And so, Mr. Lincoln, how do you plead?” Judge Davis demanded.
• “Guilty as charged, your honor," Mr. Lincoln replied. He dug deep into a pocket and pulled out a few bills.
• “Is this enough to satisfy my fine?” he asked as he handed over the cash. Judge Davis examined the payment.
• “You, sir, are as generous in your fines as you are stingy in your fees,” Judge Davis said. I dreaded what was next. 
• That smile creasing Mr. Lincoln’s lips couldn’t help spreading, and soon my friend erupted in a wondrous bout of laughter.
• The others in the room could hardly contain themselves, and they joined in. Judge Davis tried to resist, but it was for naught.
• Mr. Lincoln kept that crowd of starched lawyers in uproarious laughter until well after midnight.
• Did he defer in his revolt against aggressive legal fees? No, suh, he did not, but he made it impossible to hate him for it.

October 3rd, 2011 - Mr. Lincoln: The Best & Cheapest Lawyer in Springfield

• Reading the news of banks and other financial matters reminds me of another story about Mr. Lincoln and his "picayune charges of fees."
• My friend was well-known in Springfield by the time I had joined his close-knit circle. 
• Mr. John Whitfield Bunn was a client and great admirer of Mr. Lincoln's steadfast adherence to principles.
• John W. Bunn and his brother Jacob not only retained Mr. Lincoln's legal services but also put sizable sums into his presidential campaign.
• Mr. Lincoln was a close associate of John and Jacob Bunn, and they in turn had a connection to financier George Smith of Chicago.
• You can even read about Mr. Smith on this Wikipedia: http://tinyurl.com/4xx8d68 
• Mr. Smith had an insurance company as well as a bank that helped revive Chicago's economy after the 1837 panic.
• Yes, my readers, banking troubles are nothing new in this great country of ours, and they shall likely never get old.
• Back then, Mr. Smith even circulated his own currency through his bank. Try that today and you'll end up hog-tied.
• One day, Mr. Smith contacted Mr. John W. Bunn. He needed someone to look after his defense in a lawsuit.
• Said lawsuit involved several thousand dollars, a not-paltry sum that would be over $150,000 today. It was a serious matter, to be sure.
• Who could Mr. Bunn entrust with such a case on behalf of his banking friend? Why, none other than Mr. Lincoln, of course.
• Mr. Lincoln took charge of the legal defense on behalf of Mr. Smith and brought his usual zeal to the case.
• Of course, this being a case argued by Mr. Lincoln, there was a rub to its resolution. How could there not be?
• Mr. Lincoln conducted the defense on behalf of George Smith and won the case with his usual aplomb.
• His fee? Twenty-five dollars. Yes, for a lawsuit involving several thousand dollars.
• To put that in current terms, Mr. Lincoln charged just over $600 for a case that had more than $150,000 at stake.
• George Smith wrote to Mr. Bunn after the case ended. "We asked you to get the best lawyer in Springfield," they said.
• He added: "And it certainly looks as if you had secured one of the cheapest."
• Can you imagine such a thing today, my friends? An attorney asking for such a paltry fee in a lawsuit involving a substantial sum of money.
• And in defense of a bank, no less. Perhaps Mr. Lincoln should have received a bail-out for his "picayune charges of fees."
• Judging by his stature in Springfield, Mr. Lincoln was certainly too big to fail. Of that I am most assured, suh.
• I can only sit here, shake my head, and laugh loud and long. Our great country could use a Mr. Lincoln today.

October 10th, 2011 - A Whiff of Guilt on Friend and Foe Alike

• The lawyerly profession was much different in my time than today. Back then, Mr. Lincoln and I would ride the circuit, as they called it.
• We rode by buggy in dry seasons and on horseback when the weather was bad. There was no railroad in Illinois at that time.
• Always dressed in our finest, no matter how blazing hot it was. No air-conditioned courthouses. It was taxing, to be sure.
• I always said you could get a whiff of guilt off a man in the heat. The elements would lay his soul bare; he couldn't hide.
• In fact, I found that out firsthand myself in my later years with Mr. Lincoln.
• The first year of the Civil War saw peaceful times a scarce commodity even in Washington, DC. I was a Marshal by then.
• My deputies and I often walked the streets of our city, seeking to preserve the peace as best we could. 
• Sometimes it seemed not a day or two went by without a riot or some other major disturbance.
• Confederate cowards were everywhere, and we had to remain ever vigilant lest one stirred himself up and attacked the President.
• Late one evening, I was passing the old National Theatre when a free fight erupted in the swampy summer heat.
• Southern sympathizers and loyalists had worked themselves into a fever-heat against one another.
• One shout from my great lungs was enough to slow the swirl of violence, but a Southern leader challenged me.
• He said that I should step back or find myself whipped. That was his first mistake.
• When I moved to arrest that man, the bully made his second mistake: he struck me a blow in the face.
• I retaliated so hard that he was knocked senseless to the ground. A surgeon who saw him later that evening said he would die.
• I must confess my conscience chewed at my soul upon hearing that. The man had not threatened Mr. Lincoln.
• That man deserved to be jailed, but no death sentence was warranted, even for striking an officer of the law.
• I returned to the White House at 2:00 in the morning and awoke Mr. Lincoln. I told him my story.
• I can tell you, suh, he had more than a whiff of my guilt.
• Give yourself no uneasiness about the matter, Mr. Lincoln said when my story was done. "I will stand by you."
• That was not enough to mollify my anguish, so the President sought to skewer my feelings with his sharp wit.
• "Hereafter," he said, looking me straight in the eye, "when you have occasion to strike a man, don't use your fist."
• "Strike him with a club, a crowbar, something that won't kill him." Mr. Lincoln smiled, a glint in his eye.
• I was still burdened by what I had done, and it turned out I had to live with that guilt for a long time.
• For that man I had struck, condemned by a doctor to die that evening, finally passed on ... 14 months later.

October 17th, 2011 - Mr. Lincoln's "Certificate of Moral Character"

• One of my most important assignments on behalf of Mr. Lincoln was carried out before he officially took office.
• Had I not been successful, history might have turned out very differently.
• To be sure, I give this tale more gravity than you might think it deserves, but I am a Virginia boy born to tell stories.
• I relish all manner of narrative. I savor the thick texture of a dramatic story as much as I enjoy the light fluff of a joke.
• I shall leave it to you to decide where between those extremes this next tale lies. More on the morrow.
• I accompanied Mr. Lincoln to Washington, DC as he prepared to swear his solemn oath of office and comfort a troubled nation.
• He had written his inaugural address in private. No man had swayed those thoughts, for he wanted them pure.
• We found ourselves in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania after a stop in Philadelphia, where Mr. Lincoln hoisted a new flag.
• The banner of the United States in 1861 bore 34 stars, the last of which commemorated a new state, Kansas.
• The irony of that event was not lost on us: Would he hoist a new flag only to see our precious Union torn asunder?
• Mr. Lincoln hoped his carefully-written inaugural address would calm those tensions. He was almost unable to deliver those words.
• Mr. Lincoln's first inaugural address was carefully stored in a satchel that remained under his personal supervision.
• In Harrisburg, Mr. Lincoln entrusted his satchel to his teenage son, Robert, who confessed he had misplaced it.
• Ten days from the Inauguration, and not even a trace of the notes was preserved from which it had been prepared.
• Mr. Lincoln was not a man quick with his temper, but on this evening, he manifested a spirit of anger I had not seen before.
• Poor Robert's face was so red I thought it might burst. Mr. Lincoln left the boy and approached me.
• "Hill," he whispered, "I have lost my certificate of moral character written by myself. I need your help to find it."
• His "certificate of moral character." Mr. Lincoln had a way with words the likes of which I have not seen since.
• Mr. Lincoln and I scoured the hotel in Harrisburg, starting with the baggage room, where all manner of satchels lay.
• My friend spotted a promising bag. His key fit the lock, but we opened it to find a soiled shirt and some whiskey.
• I never saw Mr. Lincoln more angry than on this occasion, but the liquor was of exceeding quality. I returned the shirt.
• Then the ludicrous nature of the incident struck my friend, and he couldn't help but chuckle out loud. I soon joined him.
• There he and I stood, knee deep in baggage and sharing a hearty laugh, much to the amusement of bystanders.
• As divine providence would have it, we finally located the satchel in question and history was preserved.
• In a moment of reflection, Mr. Lincoln related a story that gave him added perspective on the incident, as he often did.
• A man had saved 1500 dollars, which he deposited in a bank that failed. He was given 10% of his money back.
• He put what he had left in another bank that failed too. Again he received 10%, which by now was 15 dollars.
• He considered the meager remnants of his fortune and remarked: "Now that I have you in a portable shape, I shall put you in my pocket."
• And with that, Mr. Lincoln took his "certificate of moral character" and carefully placed it in his pocket.
• Nothing else endangered that historic speech, in which he said: "Plainly, the central idea of secession is the essence of anarchy."
• I wish my Southern brethren had paid heed to those words.

October 24th, 2011 - My Courtship of Angeline Turner

• Reflecting on my story of the last week, I fear that perhaps Mr. Lincoln's treatment of Robert seemed harsh.
• Mr. Lincoln loved his boys, but he was elected during war, and sometimes stress got the best of him.
• Looking back on Mr. Lincoln's family reminds me of my own. Rather than boys, my wife Angeline and I had girls.
• Mr. Lincoln and I shared tragedy among our children, though that's not something I wish to dwell on right now. Perhaps later.
• Instead I'm reminded of a Virginia boy and the little girl whose gaze met his one spring day.
• I was 9, perhaps 10, years old in the late 1830s. I grew up in an area of Virginia that's now West Virginia.
• Despite modern conveniences, boys have not changed from my day. I could raise hell with the best of them.
• On this day, I was roaming the woods not far from my home, seeking a place to fish, rather than pursue mischief.
• My rudimentary fishing pole over my shoulder, wearing my well-worn overalls, I made my way down a path.
• I came across a burbling stream. Noticing the shiny fish darting in the water, I decided to set my line there.
• So focused was I on my task that I did not realize someone was staring at me until I looked up. She smiled.
• Wearing a simple plaid dress, Angeline Turner met my gaze from across the stream. She had been picking flowers.
• I had seen her before, but I admit I had paid her little heed. What did a boy and his fishing pole need of a girl?
• Angeline turned and walked away, never once looking back. I shrugged and returned to my business.
• Months passed. Years. I saw Angeline on occasion. Always the same meeting: a shy smile from her; I preoccupied with something.
• (I see not much has also changed in the interactions between little boys and girls since my time.)
• Angeline was the daughter of Ehud and Priscilla Strode Turner, whose home remains: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Priscilla_Strode_Turner_House
• Then at the age of 13, my feelings for Angeline changed, as they have in the feelings of boys for girls before and since.
• Shy Angeline had blossomed into a fine young woman, and I wooed her. We spent many an hour walking hand-in-hand.
• I stole a kiss when I had the occasion, but courtship was a strictly platonic affair in that day.
• Our love grew, but when I left for Illinois at the age of 19, she stayed behind. It made sense then. We wrote letters to each other.
• We were not long without each other, though: Three years later I returned to Virginia and we wed.
• Angeline moved back to Illinois with me in Sept. 1850. The following year, I received my law license.
• In 1847, I had met Mr. Lincoln; in 1852, we announced our law partnership with an ad in the Illinois Citizen newspaper.
• Unlike Mrs. Lincoln with her spouse, Angeline preferred to defer to me. There was only room for one like me in our marriage.
• However, to call Angeline a "drab background," as I have read, is unfair. She was a fine woman possessed of private wit.
• Angeline passed in 1859, after bearing me three daughters. The lawyers of the 8th Circuit Court attended her funeral.
• Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln helped assuage my grief. I remained stoic in public, but privately I mourned the little girl who grew into my wife.
• The relationship between Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln was much different than the one Angeline and I had.
• Whereas Angeline preferred to let me guide my own destiny, Mrs. Lincoln was a tireless advocate for her spouse.
• I recall an entertainment I attended not long after I had met Mr. Lincoln. He introduced me to his wife.
• Mr. Lincoln left us to converse, and Mrs. Lincoln said to me: "He is to be President someday."
• She added: "Look at him! Doesn't he look as if he would make a magnificent President?"
• "Magnificent" took me aback. Privately, I thought he looked about as unpromising a candidate as I could imagine.
• I told Mrs. Lincoln what she wanted to hear, of course, but I was convinced she was running him beyond his proper distance.
• I never saw Mrs. Lincoln waver in her faith, though, from that day until the day of his inauguration.
• I wish Angeline had been there to privately share in my adventures after Mr. Lincoln's election.

October 31st, 2011 - My Daughter Dolly

• Angelina Turner bore me three daughters. Two of them passed away too young. Angeline left this earth five months after the third, Dorothy.
• It is a strange thing to sit here and read about Dorothy, who lived to the ripe old age of 93 and passed away in 1953. We called her Dolly.
• Dolly and I bridged quite a span of history together:  Civil War through World War II. The world, it is ever-changing; that is an absolute.
• I have spent some time acquainting myself with Dolly's life after my death in 1893. It seems the apple didn't fall far from the tree.
• Dolly never knew Angeline, who passed when she was just 5 months old in 1858. She was raised by an aunt and uncle in Danville, Illinois.
• You may wonder why I did not raise her. This modern-day concept of a single father is foreign to me. That was not my job.
• I was busy: In 1856, I was elected prosecuting attorney for the 8th circuit court in IL. My law practice with Mr. Lincoln ended afterward.
• Mr. Lincoln and I remained fast friends. He and Mrs. Lincoln attended Angeline's funeral with the rest of the 8th circuit court.
• I married my second wife, Sally Logan, in 1860, and she accompanied me to Washington when Mr. Lincoln was elected. Dolly stayed in Illinois.
• I spent so much time around Mr. Lincoln, and I had so many duties to attend to, that I didn't think much about history.
• But then I read about a letter Dolly wrote to a young boy, after she visited me in Washington.
• She and I rode with Mr. Lincoln in a red satin-lined carriage, and she told the boy of her fascination with the President's long legs.
• I have regretted that I paid so little attention to Mr. Lincoln's wonderful face, Dolly wrote.
• I had seen that face nearly every day, and "wonderful" was not a word that often came to mind.
• But in later years, as I reminisced on my time with Mr. Lincoln, I understood Dolly's meaning. An unconventional face, but a wonderful one.
• In 1880, my daughter Dolly married William Carnahan of Danville. It was one of my finest days on this earth.
• I lived in Boulder, Colorado at the time, but my wife Sally and I travelled to Danville for the nuptials.
• Dolly and I spent some time together under a big old walnut tree and talked of the past. Each filled in what the other had missed.
• Dolly suffered the same misfortune I had with my offspring: one child failed to live past infancy and the other passed at just 4 years old.
• William Carnahan turned out to be a yellow-bellied scoundrel who abandoned Dolly in 1885. He'd've conversed with my fist if I met him again.
• But my Dolly, she had the oxen will of her daddy, and she moved to Washington and became a government employee.
• Public service didn't suit Dolly's temperament, and she developed a fierce case of wanderlust, which mirrored my own travels late in life.
• Dolly traveled often to escape the mundane life of bureaucratic work in Washington, DC. Like me, she could not bear the chains of a desk.
• In 1893, my passing gave Dolly cause to come to Colorado, when she inherited a gold mine I owned.
• She hoped the gold mine would offer an exit from her mundane work, but it did not.
• During my ownership, that mine had sputtered naught but the tiniest morsels of gold.
• Not long before my passing, Dolly met Xavier Teillard, who tutored her in French. They married in 1907 and moved to France in 1921.
• Xavier passed in 1934, and Dolly returned to the United States in 1941, with World War II nipping at her heels.
• Dolly collected many of my papers and edited them for my book Recollections of Abraham Lincoln, which I had worked on late in life.
• Dolly passed in 1953 at 93, with a life as full as my own. Like me, she had fire in her belly, and between us, we saw the world transformed.

November 7th, 2011 - Mr. Lincoln's Compassion

• I could be brutish in my physical and intellectual ways. Some wondered how one such as I could befriend one such as Mr. Lincoln.
• He and I seemed as opposite sides of a coin, but the truth was that we resided on the same side, with a deep kinship beneath the surface.
• We both appreciated a rollicking song and a well-spun yarn. We loved our families and honored our country.
• And he and I abhorred bullies and endeavored to protect the weak.
• I confess, though, that Mr. Lincoln's compassion went beyond my own. He could not witness the needless suffering of even a brute.
• Stories abound of Mr. Lincoln's compassion during his days in Illinois. Even animals were not beyond his reach.
• Once, he sprang from his horse and released a pig stuck in a fence. Another time he was returning to Springfield with a party of lawyers.
• Mr. Lincoln rode in the rear. When they stopped for water, one of the lawyers noticed something amiss. "Where is Mr. Lincoln?" he queried.
• Mr. Lincoln's riding companion replied: "Oh, he found two young birds that had blown from a nest and is searching for their home."
• Before his days as a lawyer, Mr. Lincoln served as a captain during the Blackhawk War of the 1830s. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackhawk_War
• One evening, an inebriated Indian wandered into camp. He was an enemy.
• The men wanted to seize that red-skinned fellow and end his life, but Mr. Lincoln intervened.
• A furious argument ensued, but Mr. Lincoln stood his ground. His will was cast of the same iron as mine.
• Much to the dismay of the troops, Mr. Lincoln invoked his authority and set the Indian free.
• Telling that story to me, Mr. Lincoln remarked of his time in that war: "I killed none of the enemy and saved one."
• No president has ever wielded the sword of war with as much distaste as Mr. Lincoln did. He was not eager to shed blood.
• One day, Mr. Lincoln received on his desk warrants for the execution of 20 men who had deserted the Union Army. They were to be shot.
• The commanding general had hurried to Washington to make his case known. The families of the men pleaded with Mr. Lincoln for mercy.
• Mr. Lincoln had resolved his decision, but his policy was to admit all who wished to see him, so this general entered his office.
• The general stated his case for execution, but Mr. Lincoln could only reply: "There are too many weeping widows in the United States now."
• He added: "For God's sake don't ask me to add to the number, for I tell you plainly, I won't do it!"
• That commander left Mr. Lincoln's office in a huff, but he had been stymied and was forced to call off the firing squad.
• As for Mr. Lincoln, he believed that kind words could do more for a score of misguided men than a round of cold lead.
• Mr. Lincoln felt a personal connection with each man in his army, regardless of their role or their feelings on the war.
• Among them were Lt. Col. John Black and his brother William Black; their widowed mother had married Dr. Fithian of Danville, IL.
• Mr. Lincoln knew the Black boys, their mother, and Dr. Fithian quite well, for he was often their guest while traveling the court circuit.
• Dr. Fithian loved those two boys like his own. They were studious and industrious, and when Fort Sumter was fired upon, they enlisted.
• Mr. Lincoln followed the Black boys' military career with great interest.
• On Dec. 7, 1862, John & William Black fell at the battle of Pea Ridge within minutes of each other, their bodies lying just 30 yards apart.
• The Black boys survived, thanks to the tender care applied by Dr. Fithian when they returned from the battlefield.
• John C. Black later fell again, at the battle at Prairie Grove, and despite his mangled state, managed to stay in the war until its end.
• I shall never forget the day a letter from Dr. Fithian arrived for Mr. Lincoln, not long after the boys' first injuries.
• Dr. Fithian wrote to Mr. Lincoln of his fears that his stepsons might not live. The President broke down in tears upon reading those words.
• He cried: "Here now are these dear, brave boys killed in this cursed war! My God! It is too bad! I loved them as if they were my own."
• Mr. Lincoln gave me directions about a reply to Dr. Fithian, and I left him in one of the saddest moods I had ever seen of him. 
• The war was always a personal affair for Mr. Lincoln, but now he felt as if one of his own children had been taken by it.
• Mr. Lincoln did not limit his compassion for those serving in the Union army either.
• Two ladies from Tennessee called upon him one day begging for their husbands' release.
• The two men were rebel prisoners at Johnson's Island, and the wife of one cited his deeply religious beliefs as a reason for his liberation.
• "Madam," Mr. Lincoln replied, "in my opinion the religion that makes men rebel against their government is not genuine."
• He added: "It is not the kind of religion to get to heaven on." He turned those weeping ladies away, and I thought his reasons were just.
• That was not the end of his association with those ladies, however. More on the morrow.
• Mr. Lincoln was not afraid to change his mind, and he again saw those ladies seeking their rebel husbands' release.
• To their great surprise, Mr. Lincoln ordered the men released, with the expectation that the ladies would subdue their rebellious husbands.
• He remarked: "True patriotism is better than the wrong kind of piety."
• Mr. Lincoln later echoed those words when a clergyman hoped that "the Lord is on our side in this great struggle."
• He replied: "I know the Lord is always on the side of the right, but it is my constant anxiety that I & this nation be on the Lord's side."

November 21st, 2011 - My Encounters With Notorious Southern Spy Belle Boyd

• As far as I know, the rebels released by Mr. Lincoln troubled the Union no more. 
• But spies were everywhere, seeking weakness in Mr. Lincoln's defenses. I was among those ever-vigilant.
• The most notorious Southern spy was also the most attractive. Miss Isabella Marie Boyd, who went by Belle.
• At just 17 years of age, Miss Boyd shot and killed a Union soldier.
• Belle Boyd then used her womanly ways to learn Union troop movements and secret them to Stonewall Jackson.
• When I met her, Miss Boyd was 18 years old, locked up in the Old Capitol Prison and defiant as ever. No cell could tame her.
• Southern papers called Belle Boyd the Joan of Arc of the South, the Cleopatra of the Secession.
• The Northern press dismissed her as a Camp Follower. (http://www.thefreedictionary.com/camp+follower)
• But the French papers may have named her best - La Belle Rebelle.
• I admired Miss Boyd's fiery spirit. I can still hear her sweet voice with its soft Virginia lilt.
• Miss Boyd and I were kindred spirits in some ways - Mr. LIncoln remarked upon it.
• Belle Boyd grew up in Virginia. She was much younger than myself, but I knew her father, Benjamin Boyd, who owned a store.
• Miss Boyd was a lively lass who loved the outdoors. My kind of girl.
• A pity we were not closer in age. I might have tamed her rebellious spirit... or redirected it. Quite a pair we'd've made.
• But the strange hand of fate had other plans for Ms. Boyd, who led a charmed existence. Three times captured, three times freed.
• The first time we met was during her stay at the Old Capitol Prison, a squalid pile of bricks that had no business standing up.
• The Old Cap Prison had served as the Capitol Building after the British burned the original in 1814.
• With the start of the infernal rebellion, we needed a place to house all those miscreants, blackguards, and the occasional belle fatale.
• So that's where Miss Boyd found herself at the tender age of 18. More on Monday.
• Returning to my tale of the young spy Belle Boyd: at the end of July, 1862 she found herself held at the Old Capitol Prison.
• It was a gloomy place suitable for its new inhabitants. Ceilings and walls weeped when it rained and floors cracked from neglect.
• Miss Boyd was lucky she made it her home during summer: in winter, drafts whipped through it as if nothing stood in their way.
• Inmates dealt with rats while lice and bedbugs infested their sorry beds. If any of that bothered Miss Boyd, I couldn't tell.
• I visited the Old Capitol Prison during August, 1862 to make my acquaintance of Miss Boyd. Mr. Lincoln was curious about her.
• Superintendent Wood escorted me to Miss Boyd's room. He was a large man, like myself, but he lacked any finesse or discipline.
• "She's a fiery lass," Wood said as he rifled through his keys. "See what you can do with her."
• The cell stank of stale sweat and urine. It was muggy in the summer heat. Miss Boyd stood staring out a window.
• "Well, I suppose you are here to take a deposition of me," she said without turning around. "I know who you are."
• I declined to respond. I wanted her to show her hand. Eventually she turned toward me. Her lip curled in a snarl.
• "Ward Hill Lamon, associate of Mr. Lincoln. A fellow lawyer, now a federal marshal. Lover of drink. Federal thug."
• I nodded. "Guilty, except the last part. But I don't expect you and I to see eye-to-eye, except on matters of a social nature."
• Miss Boyd sat on her pathetic straw-filled mattress. "I suppose this is a mere formality before I am to be hung."
• She waved her hand toward the window. True, a hangman's post stood in the courtyard outside it, but it had yet to be tested.
• I said: "I can help you avoid such a fate, if you are honest to the actions that brought you here."
• She smiled. The glow that spread across her face was one I imagined many a powerful man had seen.
• "Mr. Lamon, mayhap I shall start from the beginning."
• Miss Boyd began reciting her background. I did not tell her of my association with her father. 
• I was surprised to hear that Ben Boyd had enlisted in the Confederate Army, given his age and business dealings. And 8 children.
• But Ben Boyd was a man fiercely loyal to his circumstances, whether they be right or wrong.
• His daughter was vague in her recollections of exactly what espionage she had committed and when.
• A note passed here, some information conveyed there. Who was she to know its importance? Her voice was breathless.
• "I am just a debutante," she said. "The war has ripped so much away. I merely wish for the comforting touch of a strong man."
• I replied: "If this was a court of law, Miss Boyd, the presiding jurists would not think much of your tone. A confession would be wiser."
• Miss Boyd grew uncomfortable under my withering stare. One great fist balled itself; she gasped, if only slightly. A crack in the facade.
• "Mr. Lamon, threats of violence are unbecoming a man of the law," she said. "I can speak to some of what I have done."
• I wanted all of it, but I also knew a hint of force better suited the situation. I could get what I needed without laying a hand.
• Belle and her mother had moved to Front Royal, VA, where they believed they would be safer. Union General Shields held command.
• General Shields' aide-decamp was Captain Daniel Keily, who found himself smitten by Belle. And she was struck by him. 
• Or so she said. Captain K, as she called him, soon came calling with flowers, notes, and gifts. She accepted those overtures.
• All is fair in love and war, they say. I think Miss Boyd was more smitten by that idea than she was by Captain K or any other lovers.
• "I learned of a meeting from Captain K," she began, her voice cracking.
• Miss Boyd continued her confession: "Captain K, General Shields, and several officers were to meet at the Strickler House hotel."
• "I knew the Strickler House well, and I knew of a hole in the floor of a closet above the drawing room where the meeting was to take place."
• "I hid in that closet and listened to the meeting, and I wrote a note telling all I had heard."
• "Then I left in the dead of night, using passes obtained from Southern soldiers. Federal sentries were none the wiser."
• "I spirited that note to Colonel Ashby."
• "What were the contents of that note?" I asked. "I cannot recall," Belle replied. She would not look at me.
• "That alone is enough for me to drag you into that courtyard and string you up", I told her. She still directed her gaze away.
• "Violence later came to Front Royal," Belle said. She rose and looked out the window again, where that hangman's post taunted her.
• "Rebel forces arrived to free the town from Federal control, and I found myself in the street between opposing armies."
• "My life was spared by what seemed little short of a miracle. Bullets whistled by my ears, and several pierced my clothing."
• "But none of those shots struck my body. Not even a shell that hit the ground not far from me. I ran with the agility of a deer."
• "I left town and waved my sunbonnet toward Front Royal, urging the Southern advance guard to attack the town. They charged."
• "Soon Southern forces led by General Stonewall Jackson had control of Front Royal. Jackson even thanked me later by note."
• "How kind of him," I replied.
• Miss Boyd continued: "After the Southern forces took control of Front Royal, I helped nurse some of the wounded."
• "And what of Captain Keily?" I asked. 
• "To him, I am indebted for some very remarkable effusions, some withered flowers, and a great deal of important information."
• (I should add that Captain K was later wounded but eventually promoted to Brigadier General. There was no proof of treason.)
• Front Royal later came under Union control again, and Miss Boyd told me of a supposed Southern soldier who was actually a spy.
• She gave the man a note intended for Gen. Jackson, but he used it to have her arrested. Secretary of War Stanton issued the order.
• "They escorted me to Washington with 450 cavalry men," she said. "All those soldiers just for me."
• "They anticipated an attack," I said. "Many among the rebels would love to see you free once more." She didn't respond.
• I tried to appeal to the frightened girl behind the steely exterior. "How did you feel as they brought you here?"
• Miss Boyd shrugged. "Those lining the street were happy to see me imprisoned. I ignored their cheers and vile name-calling."
• "Their words must have hurt," I said. She replied: "I barely heard them."
• She turned away from the window and walked toward me. "Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage," she said.
• "Minds innocent and quiet take that for an hermitage," she finished.
• Belle Boyd's 18 years belied the maturity of her soul. Misguided though she was, she was more stoic than men twice her age.
• I left the Old Capitol Prison and returned to the White House, where I told Mr. Lincoln about my meeting with Miss Boyd. He said little.
• Later that month, I discovered why: a prisoner exchange had been brokered. Miss Boyd was worth more as part of that equation.
• Hanging her would have martyred her among Southerners hot for Union blood. Even in the Old Capitol Prison she was celebrated.
• However, I had not seen the last of Miss Boyd. More on Monday.
• I sent two of my most trusted men to the South, where they endeavored to track Miss Boyd's comings and goings.
• I was told that her father, Ben Boyd, was home on sick leave when she returned to Martinsburg, VA, her hometown.
• I also learned that she had once again made contact with General Jackson, who used her to inspire his troops.
• "General Jackson saw fit to coronate me as his aide-de-camp," she said. "I was even outfitted with a special uniform."
• "I had no idea I was in the presence of royalty," I interjected.
• She ignored me. She was lost in the majesty of her remembrance. "I assisted with reviews of the troops," she continued.
• "I even sacrificed a pair of my finest cloth gaiters for a poor young barefoot soldier boy."
• She gave me a pointed look. "I imagine even your friend Mr. Lincoln would approve of that."
• I said nothing. Miss Boyd continued her story.
• Miss Boyd later traveled to Knoxville, Tennessee, where her great aunt and uncle lived.
• The Southern newspapers, as if taunting us to the north, continued to celebrate her exploits.
• After the death of General Jackson, Miss Boyd made her way back to Martinsburg. I was told his passing weighed heavily on her.
• She found little refuge in Martinsburg, though, for the creation of West Virginia in 1863 put her hometown under Union control.
• An order for her arrest was issued while she was living with her parents, but Ben Boyd pleaded on her behalf.
• Miss Boyd was caring for her ill mother, and Ben asked that mercy be observed. It was granted, but Belle was under house arrest.
• Eventually Miss Boyd was sent back to Washington, where she was incarcerated at Carroll Prison. Ben went with her.
• Carroll Prison was decorated in the same squalor as Old Capitol Prison. Superintendent Wood ran it as well. 
• The second time I saw Miss Boyd, her demeanor was more bedraggled. The summer heat and stress of prison had taken its toll.
• She told me of her favorite game: "I enjoy hanging a Confederate flag out the window. The guards' anger amuses me."
• Then she stood and walked over to the window, and she began to sing. "Take Me Back To My Sunny South," the song was called.
• I looked out. A crowd had begun to gather. They neither jeered nor cheered; she was a fixture by now, simply an oddity to watch.
• Getting no rise from her audience, her voice trailed off. Perhaps she would fully break this time. 
• My second interrogation of Miss Boyd was less fruitful than the first. She refused to impart anything even of moderate use.
• I grew tired of her circuitous answers, and the oppressive summer heat began to weigh heavy. I left.
• As I departed, I saw a Confederate flag unfurl from her window. She enjoyed her role as mouse; I no longer wished to be the cat.
• I was later told that Miss Boyd was put before court proceedings and sentenced to hard labor for the rest of the war. 
• After sentencing, Miss Boyd fell ill, a relapse of a typhoid fever she had previously suffered from in prison.
• I was in my office one day, attending to some mundane administrative matter, when through my door came Ben Boyd.
• Ben had returned to Martinsburg, but he came back to Washington after hearing of his daughter's sentencing.
• "Lamon!" he said, offering a hearty handshake. I accepted, but I was leery of this old friend fighting on the Southern side.
• "Ben Boyd," I said evenly. "I hear you fight for the Confederates now, and your daughter aids them when she can."
• Ben shrugged. "Each has our lot in life. You have thrown yours in with the President. I hold no ill will for that."
• "As well you should not, for I am on the side that is just," I said.
• Ben leaned forward, shaky on his cane. "Can we put our differences aside?"
• I let Ben have his say. I had learned from Mr. Lincoln's handling of similar cases that the war should not intrude on friendships.
• Ben pleaded for clemency for his daughter. I knew she often caused more trouble in custody than out of it.
• Guards had long suspected her of trading information with spies on the outside, and she raised other inmates' morale.
• Again she had proven to be more trouble than she was worth, and her execution would only inspire the South.
• And if I am to be truthful, I felt some compassion for a man asking for mercy for his daughter.
• I conveyed my feelings to Mr. Lincoln, and he commuted her sentence to "Banishment to the South."
• Secretary of War Stanton was unhappy with the President's decision, as he often was, but he could do nothing about it.
• Ben Boyd stayed behind in Washington after Belle again returned to the South. He fell ill and died.
• I felt I had done the right thing for an old friend. That was the last I saw of Miss Boyd.
• Of Miss Boyd's ultimate fate, I will speak more on Monday.
• I said Miss Boyd was taken prisoner three times. The third was in May 1864, when she attempted to travel to England aboard a steamer.
• The ship tried to run a blockade and was captured. Union Capt. Hardinge took control of the vessel and soon he and Miss Boyd became close.
• Miss Boyd was allowed to go to Canada, and Capt. Hardinge was released from the Navy for letting the steamer's captain escape.
• Some speculated Miss Boyd had information about Washington politicians that would create scandals if published.
• The rumor was that Capt. Hardinge was merely dismissed, rather than imprisoned, so Miss Boyd would not divulge her secrets.
• Capt. Hardinge went to England hoping to find Miss Boyd, who learned of his search and later met him there.
• They married, but their new life together was tragically brief. Hardinge returned to America and was arrested for desertion.
• Ironically, he found himself in the Old Capitol Prison and Carroll Prison, where his wife had languished not long before.
• Later, Hardinge was sent to Fort Delaware and was abused so badly he could barely walk when he was released.
• What became of him is subject to some dispute. He may have passed before returning to England, or shortly after.
• Or Hardinge may have died at sea when his ship went down. Many vessels failed to make the crossing to England.
• But why was Hardinge released from Fort Delaware? The answer may lie in a letter Miss Boyd wrote to Mr. Lincoln in January 1865.
• In it, she threatened publication of a book. "Since my husband's unjust arrest I had intended making it political," she wrote.
• She added that she would detail "many atrocious circumstances respecting your government which would open the eyes of Europe."
• "If you will release my husband, I pledge you my word that the book shall be suppressed," she wrote.
• Mr. Lincoln called me into his office to discuss it. "Once again I am confronted with matters concerning your old friends," he said.
• "I cannot call the Boyd family friends as such, not anymore," I replied, "but I admire their devotion to each other."
• "As do I," Mr. Lincoln said. "And with Miss Boyd in England, I cannot consider her much of a Southern troublemaker any longer."
• "I agree," I said. "I have also looked at Mr. Hardinge's case, and there is little to support his detention."
• "I am inclined to feel the same," Mr. Lincoln said. "Our moral compasses are aligned, my friend." Thus Mr. Hardinge was released.
• After Mr. Lincoln's assassination, Miss Boyd wrote that she "had no animosity against the honorable gentleman."
• She added: "Our people have more to regret in the death of President Lincoln than have the people of the North."
• After her husband's death, Miss Boyd remained in England, pregnant and alone. The Southern cause was lost, so she wrote her memoirs.
• She published "Belle Boyd in Camp and Prison" in London in 1865, with help from a journalist. She returned home the next year.
• Thanks to President Andrew Johnson's Proclamation of Amnesty, Miss Boyd was able to come home without fear of arrest.
• Miss Boyd's flamboyant personality translated well to the stage, and she began acting.
• She married in 1869, divorced in 1884, and wed once more in 1885. She began giving dramatic lectures of her time as a spy.
• Miss Boyd's third husband, Nathaniel High, was her business manager. She died of a heart attack in 1900, before giving a recital.
• Her simple grave marker was later replaced by one that said: "Confederate Spy/Born in Virginia/Died in Wisconsin/Erected by a Comrade"

January 3, 2012 - The Virginia Cavalier Makes His Mark in Illinois

• Your seemingly endless array of entertainment choices is fascinating and overwhelming. I suppose that is the price of progress.
• In our days we sought entertainment where we could, whether in the tavern or around a piano at home. Even a courtroom provided sport.
• When Mr. Lincoln, Leonard Swett, and I came to town, we often performed in a packed courtroom. We regarded it as oratorical theater.
• Case dockets were known well ahead of time, and some cases sparked more frenzied interest than others. Some litigators were favorites.
• It was not unusual for spirited competition to emerge among us. After elected prosecuting attorney, I took pride in my winning percentage.
• Wherever I found myself in Illinois during those years, I wished for more diversions, and I found various ways of providing them.
• By 1850, I was making my mark in Danville. "Virginia Cavalier," they called me. Mr. Lincoln took much amusement from it.
• "You are the cavalier sort, Hill," Mr. Lincoln said. "Yet a Virginia boy, proper in your mannerisms. A curious mix of conflicting desires."
• Leonard Swett had another view. He wrote to his wife: "The lawyers here all behave themselves with remarkable decorum. Hill holds out."
• If Swett meant to say I was free with drink, song, and story, then I was guilty as charged.
• My dedication to providing diversion to the people of Danville led to the first ever Vermilion County Fair, a two-day event.
• I had my law practice and real estate ventures, but I promoted the fair with vigor equal to those endeavors.
• We held the Vermilion County Fair in the fall of 1850. I organized it with John W. Vance and James Millikin. 
• Vance owned a salt mine and held office as a state senator and representative. Mr. Lincoln won a judgment for him in an 1843 lawsuit.
• Millikin later made his name in the banking business and founded a university that remains in Decatur, IL to this day.
• The Vermilion County Fair remains a fixture today too. Some entertainments never cease to be fashionable. http://vermilioncountyfair.wordpress.com/
• Our fair offered many of the same exhibits found in county fairs today: livestock exhibitions, the sale of wares, and food and games.
• I, of course, added my own peculiar attractions to the event. 
• The main source of amusement at the fair was my little monkey Barnum, who performed all manner of tricks. 
• I paid two dollars to exhibit Barnum in a tent at the fair. All in attendance marveled at the sight of such an exotic animal.
• I had taught Barnum to dance, and he entertained the crowd while I played my clawhammer banjo. "Jimmy Crack Corn" was a favorite of ours.
• Barnum could also perform somersaults and play catch with me. I dressed him in some Virginia finery. The ladies loved him.
• My prize steed also made an appearance. It was the only racehorse entered, so it was decided it should contest against its own record.
• A large crowd gathered to watch me ride my horse to victory. Vance and Millikin grudgingly agreed to pay me the five-dollar purse.
• "That was a fine exhibition of your talents," Mr. Lincoln remarked after the fair. "You even earned a net profit of three dollars."
• "A bit less than that," I replied. "We celebrated my victory at the Old McCormick tavern, where whiskey sells for 18 cents a quart."
• In 1857, I was elected prosecuting attorney for the 8th Judicial District, which ended my law partnership with Mr. Lincoln.
• It also necessitated my move to Bloomington, where I was known from my travels on the legal circuit. My mark was already made.
• Mr. Lincoln and I took a meeting upon dissolution of our partnership. "Onward and upward, Hill," he said. "I see greatness ahead for you."
• "Likewise," I told my friend. "I shall watch your career with great interest. Our paths will continue to intertwine."
• "I'm sure they shall," Mr. Lincoln said. "We traverse similar orbits, and there is much good work to be done."
• Many felt the highlight of my years in Bloomington was the minstrel show held in January 1860. I can't quarrel with that.
• The ladies of the Aid Society wished to raise funds to help the needy, and so I put together a grand entertainment, with help from friends.
• One of them was portly Judge Davis, who was to exhibit "Double Somersault and Ground and Lofty Tumbling" during the show.
• You'll understand that Judge Davis was not one to miss a stately dinner with the lawyers of the 8th Circuit. But it was in good sport.
• Others of the 8th Circuit were also added to the evening's advertised entertainment. I billed them as performers of various types.
• The Phoenix Hall on Bloomington's Center Street was filled to capacity that chilly evening. The city's finest were in attendance.
• After a rousing song by a local chorus, I took the stage with my banjo and captivated the crowd with a rendition of "Angeline Baker."
• "Angeline Baker" has been played countless times since, but this is a wonderful performance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCt7i86M8OM&feature=youtu.be
• I also danced a bit of Juba, or hambone as it's also known, to warm up the crowd. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juba_dance
• When I announced the main attraction, however, Judge Davis and others of the 8th Circuit were nowhere to be found.
• "If the esteemed Judge Davis cannot make his way to the stage, I shall have to fine him," I announced. The crowd chortled.
• Judge Davis did not make an appearance. Neither did the others, and I announced fines against the lot of them.
• The show continued with a variety of other performers. The crowd did not seem to mind those they missed. They likely expected it.
• The next day, the ladies of the Aid Society called. They wanted me to make good on the fines levied against Judge Davis and the others.
• So I accompanied them to the courtroom, where the judge was presiding over a matter involving livestock or some such disagreement. 
• Davis interrupted the proceedings to grant me an audience. "Your honor," I said, "these ladies have come to collect the fines you owe."
• Judge Davis arched his eyebrows. "Is that so, counselor?" I gestured around the room: "Nearly all the lawyers here have been assessed too."
• Judge Davis motioned toward the sheriff. "Guard the stairway," he commanded. "Let none escape."
• The slightest smile cracked his grave face. "Ladies, collect your penalties."
• I accompanied the Aid Society ladies as they canvassed the courtroom. All in attendance doled out their penalties in good spirits.
• Well, nearly all. Two young lawyers, perhaps eager to display their newly earned legal acumen, brought suit against me in response.
• Their charge? Conducting a minstrel show without a license. Judge Davis couldn't help but chuckle when he heard their argument.
• They were serious, however, and the judge had no choice but to set a time for the trial, after adjournment that evening.
• Leonard Swett and John H. Wickizer were appointed in my defense. It seemed I was about to mount another grand entertainment.
• The day's legal docket cleared, Judge Davis set about hearing the case against me. Swett, sensing the worst, had wisely slipped away.
• Wickizer sat next to me and did the best with the circumstances thrust upon him. "Here I am with a scoundrel of the highest order," he said.
• The attorneys who had laid charges against me overheard Wickizer and demanded that Judge Davis declare him out of order.
• Judge Davis rapped his gavel. "I demand that Mr. Lamon's attorney refrain from making a mockery of this proceeding," he said.
• The judge was known for his steely countenance and deep voice, but there was always a gleam in his eye at times such as these.
• Judge Davis listened intently to the case laid out against me: "Ward Hill Lamon knowingly defied the law when he arranged for a show."
• "He never set out to obtain the necessary license before the date in question, nor did he seek such afterward."
• "Thus the fines levied by Mr. Lamon during his minstrel show must be declared null and void. Money paid must be returned immediately."
• "This is a simple case of neglect of duties and abuse of position, your honor." Judge Davis agreed.
• Mr. Wickizer, do you have a defense prepared for your client? Judge Davis asked. Wickizer nodded slowly and stood up, unsure of himself.
• "Your honor, Mr. Lamon was not aware of the necessity of a license when he arranged for last night's grand entertainment."
• "In addition, he did not personally profit from the evening's proceedings, which solely benefited the Aid Society's good deeds."
• The audience murmured assent, the ladies of the Aid Society leading the charge in support of Wickizer's argument.
• I glanced back and scanned the assembled crowd. The courtroom was packed; the love of legal proceedings is not a 20th century contrivance.
• Judge Davis responded to Wickizer: "Counselor, surely you know that ignorance of the law is not an excuse for breaking it."
• Wickizer nodded. Davis continued: "And profits from said breaking of the law cannot be ignored simply because they benefit the needy."
• The crowd was silent. Smug looks spread across the other lawyers' faces. All in the name of escaping a meager penalty.
• I was not worried, however, because Judge Davis still had that gleam in his eye.
• Judge Davis pronounced his verdict: "Mr. Lamon, I find you guilty of conducting a minstrel show without a license."
• "However, I have commuted your sentence in light of the community service you performed in presenting the entertainment."
• "As for Mr. Wickizer, I find you guilty of attempting to mount a defense of Mr. Lamon and order you to treat the audience to oysters."
• The other lawyers, newly furnished with law school credentials, were aghast. Judge Davis shot them a steely look that shut their mouths.
• The ladies of the Aid Society were happy. My minstrel show netted them $353, $151 of which came in fines.
• That show remained the talk of Bloomington for many years after. The Daily Pantagraph newspaper often reminisced about it.
• Wickizer had no problem rebounding from his defeat. Mr. Lincoln appointed him Assistant Quartermaster in 1862.
• Mr. Lincoln once said to me: "Only you, Hill, could turn a simple benefit show into a grand adventure."

January 23rd, 2012 - The Ladies Who Destroyed the Buena Vista

• I was proud of my record as a prosecuting attorney, but even I was not immune to suffering the odd defeat.
• The most notorious loss on my ledger was also a cause of great personal embarrassment, given my love of a good pitcher of cheer.
• This story begins in the little town of Towanda, eight miles north of Bloomington. I see it remains small today. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Towanda,_Illinois
• Towanda was once the proud home of three saloons, all of which made my acquaintance during my travels on the 8th Circuit.
• By the spring of 1858, only one purveyor of fine alcoholic beverages remained, and it was doomed before summer began.
• They called it the Buena Vista. As ill luck would have it, it was located too conveniently close to a hardware store.
• The Buena Vista was a splendid establishment. A fine layer of sawdust on the floors, a thick rime of alcoholic residue on its bar top.
• The crowd might be called "rough" by today's standards. I doubt even the most ardent Oakland Raiders supporter would have bothered them.
• I have fond memories of holding court in the evening. A little clawhammer banjo, some songs, and a few tall tales were all we needed.
• I convinced Mr. Lincoln to accompany me there on an occasion or two. "You have a fine eye for social establishments, Hill," he told me.
• Like all he met, Mr. Lincoln quickly won over that rough Buena Vista crowd, who roared in appreciation of his stories until closing time.
• In retrospect, I can't say I noticed the ladies waiting outside the Buena Vista, displeased with their husbands' spending habits.
• I was elsewhere the night the Buena Vista came to a violent end, but I heard the story enough that the images are seared in my mind.
• Those ladies, incensed by their husbands' time and money spent at the Buena Vista, decided they had reached their limit.
• They met late one evening on a dusty side street. The light of a half-moon gave their gathering an appropriately eerie quality.
• Anger percolated through the group. Voices rose. Fingers wagged. Someone pointed at the nearby hardware store.
• The group was 60-strong when they entered the hardware store, its owner eager to take cash that would have found its way to the Buena Vista.
• Armed with hatchets, five dozen ladies who usually spent quiet nights at home descended on the Buena Vista.
• I never learned the full truth, but I imagine the hardware store owner knew of the plot and ordered the weapons well ahead of time.
• I couldn't see a need to stock 60 hatchets at once in such a small town. There wasn't that much demand for kindling and beheaded chickens.
• Luckily for those ladies, the Buena Vista was lightly patronized that evening. A four-man card game quickly disbanded when the army entered.
• A lone patron at the bar had his glass of whiskey knocked from his grasp with one swipe of a hatchet. He promptly fled too.
• The bartender deposited himself on the bar to witness the carnage. The coward had surrendered his post.
• The ladies wrecked the Buena Vista as thoroughly as they could. They hacked up furniture. Bottles of liquor sailed through the window.
• One lady sat out front on a tree stump. She was tasked with making sure none of those bottles flung out of the bar survived.
• That two-faced bartender even directed the ladies toward the stores hidden in a back room.
• The owner of the Buena Vista was furious. He promptly demanded the ladies' arrest on charges of willful destruction of property.
• I would have started with firing the bartender, one George Craig.
• A teetotaling army of 60 ladies stormed the Buena Vista that late May evening, but only 15 were charged on the arrest warrant.
• The Towanda 15, as the newspapers might call them today, arrived in Bloomington on June 2 for their arraignment before Justice Stillwell.
• Judge Scott and Attorney Hanna supplied the ladies' defense and I was assigned the role of prosecution.
• It may have seemed a simple case to prosecute, but it was fraught with reluctant witnesses, particularly bartender Craig.
• I imagined platoons of hatchet-bearing ladies visiting witnesses in their homes late at night and convincing them to shut their mouths.
• I attempted to prosecute the case on the basis of simple facts: a fine upstanding establishment does not destroy itself.
• Bottles of whiskey do not throw themselves through windows. Furniture does not fall apart of its own accord.
• Witnesses may have been reticent to speak, but the Buena Vista's owner wasn't. 
• Scott and Hanna could not well argue against my points, so their tact involved proof that the ladies in question were the right ones.
• "With no witnesses to positively identify the vandals, the court cannot take the word of a business owner who was absent," Hanna argued.
• Justice Stillwell nodded in agreement and a positive murmur bubbled through the packed courtroom. Public sentiment was not on my side.
• Whether I was prosecuting cases or standing vigil in protection of Mr. Lincoln, I cared not if the odds were stacked against me.
• I argued the Buena Vista case with the same vigor that I handled every legal proceeding, public sentiment be damned.
• While such tactics had served me well in the past, this time they failed. I had underestimated the ladies' sway among local citizens.
• Justice Stillwell rendered his verdict: the evidence presented was insufficient to insure conviction by a petit jury.
• The Towanda 15 were set free. Applause erupted in the courtroom. I could only shake my head.
• The Daily Pantagraph later reported that when the 15 freed ladies arrived in Towanda that evening, a heroines' welcome awaited them.
• The large crowd at the Towanda station was prepared to board the next train to Bloomington to aid the ladies' cause if necessary.
• "Never again did a licensed saloon lift its head in Towanda," the Pantagraph reported in 1928.
• "These women did, in a few short hours with hatchets, what it took the remainder of the U.S. 50 years to accomplish with the ballot."
• "A batch of pre-Carrie Nation belles," I've also heard them called. I had to admit I admired their fierce determination to their cause.
• Towanda remained a dry town until 1991, when a local store began selling alcohol. I do not believe hatchet sales rose after that.
• I was content to forget my loss in the Buena Vista case as soon as possible. I had other legal matters that required my attention.
• In later years, I had the opportunity to discuss the case with Mr. Lincoln. He remarked on the passion shown by both sides. 
• "'Twas a bitter defeat, Hill, that is to be sure," Mr. Lincoln said to me. "And yet what purpose would be served by conviction?"
• "Fifteen women were willing to risk the confines of jail cells and leave their babies motherless. Strong instinct directed their desires."
• "Their actions may have been misguided, but they were born of those desires. Surely you have experienced similar emotions."
• I had. And while the Buena Vista loss stung me, Mr. Lincoln was right: some stings are not nearly as awful as they first seem.

February 6th, 2012 - Mr. Lincoln Narrowly Escapes Assassination Attempts

• Those hatchet-wielding ladies who eluded prosecution for destroying a tavern seemed emblematic of the bubbling anger in those days.
• Of course, their rage was nothing compared to the sentiment boiling over in the South. As a Southerner, I knew it well.
• Even before Mr. Lincoln ascended to the Presidency, Mr. Buchanan was the subject of threats during his four years in high office.
• A group of plotters schemed to kidnap President Buchanan and hold him hostage until terms between the North and South could be reached.
• That plan was ultimately abandoned, but the conspirators remained of like mind and soon turned their attention to Mr. Lincoln.
• As the Civil War's bloody battles threatened our nation, my vigilance in defense of Mr. Lincoln was ever heightened.
• Against the protest of myself and his other friends, Mr. Lincoln made the Soldiers' Home his summer residence.
• Mr. Lincoln's cottage at Soldiers' Home remains today. It is a national monument. http://www.lincolncottage.org/
• I repeatedly urged Mr. Lincoln to accept military escort from the cottage to the White House, but he was equally strong in his refusal.
• After a near-assassination, an oft-told one in which his $8 plug hat was shot clean off his head late one evening, we talked.
• Mr. Lincoln's tone was playful as he related the sound of that fellow's bullet whistling past his head. 
• He blamed the shot on a hunter carelessly discharging his gun after a day in the woods. I could only scoff at that notion.
• Mr. Lincoln related the incident as he would have told one of his stories, except this could have ended in deep sorrow.
• If not for his horse - Old Abe, I called him - bolting at the sound of the shot, the gunman would have had a second chance.
• "I believe it is the inalienable right of man to be happy or miserable at his own election," Mr. Lincoln told me. 
• "Yes," I shot back, "but it is a devil of a poor protection against a shotgun in time of war."
• I added: "Unless you are more careful and discreet, in less than a week you'll have neither unalienable nor any other rights."
• "And we shall have no Lincoln," I finished solemnly. It was one of the few times Mr. Lincoln had no response to a retort of mine.
• That was the precursor to an incident that could have also ended tragically, albeit for a different individual.
• Before relating this story, I should introduce you to my brother, Robert, who served as a deputy marshal in Washington, DC.
• The Lamon men come from stout stock. My father, George, was a farmer whose rough-hewn hands I can still recall today.
• I was the second son born to George and his wife, Betsy. Robert was the fourth, born in 1837 and nine years my junior. He and I were close.
• There were five Lamon boys. I was the only in the group with an aversion to farming. My brothers were often derisive about that.
• One day, though, I seized a cradle scythe and led my brothers around the wheat field, besting them in the process.
• I never let them forget my victory that day. And Robert never let me forget the time I sent him spinning across the room. 
• I had been demonstrating the effectiveness of a straight right in boxing. Robert was often my sparring partner.
• And so it was that Robert was with me the night we feared we had lost Mr. Lincoln. More on Monday.
• The evening Mr. Lincoln went missing, Mrs. Lincoln was away in New York. He often went alone between the summer cottage and the White House.
• I typically made the transit between the Soldiers' Home grounds, where the cottage stood, and the Executive Mansion.
• On the night in question, though, I was unable to locate Mr. Lincoln in either location. I roused my brother.
• Robert was due for an early morning patrol of the streets, but he leaped from his bed to join me in the search.
• I carried with me my usual complement of weaponry: a trio of pistols and a pair of bowie knives. I would fight until I drew my last breath.
• A sweep of the White House grounds did not turn up Mr. Lincoln, so we headed straight to the Soldiers' Home.
• The summer cottage was pitch black, and we came upon a suspicious sight: three men leaving the house. Their lanterns blinded us.
• Robert drew his pistol. I clenched both my revolvers, fingers resting on the triggers. 
• "Halt!" I shouted at the men. One returned my challenge: "Throw down your weapons!"
• "I will throw down your souls first!" I parried. And then the other recognized me. "Marshal Lamon?" he asked.
• I realized the other speaker: it was Secretary of War Stanton. "Have you seen the President?" he asked.
• "No, suh," I responded. "He is not on the White House grounds, so Bob and I came here in search of him."
• Stanton dropped his lantern to his waist. I could hear his heavy sigh. "I am exceedingly concerned for his safety," he said.
• "As am I, suh," I replied.
• Not long after, we located Mr. Lincoln. He was returning from an evening at the theater. He was without adequate escort, of course.
• I demanded that Mr. Lincoln stay in my residence for the next few nights following, until Mrs. Lincoln returned from New York.
• I pulled Bob from his patrols and told him to watch over Mr. Lincoln during the day. I assigned myself evening guard duty.
• Bob attempted to protest. "The matter has been resolved, Hill, and a more pressing situation waits on the streets," he said.
• Indeed the streets of Washington had become dangerous. Unruly mobs were common. I was reminded of the man I knocked to the ground.
• But if Mr. Lincoln shuffled off his mortal coil, those mobs would only grow worse. Bob's men could handle them without him.
• "I am your senior not only by age but by rank as well," I told Bob, mustering the full force of my authority.
• "You will carry out my orders, and you will watch Mr. Lincoln closely during the day." Bob could only nod.
• In our later years, we spoke little of those times. Mayhap Bob carried a grudge. No matter; I had made the right choice.
• I could trust none other than a fellow Lamon to lead the escort of Mr. Lincoln. The threats against him had grown increasingly dire.
• Just a few days later, Bob learned first-hand the seriousness of those who wished to harm Mr. Lincoln.
• Mere days after I feared Mr. Lincoln had been lost, Bob told me of an incident that only served to renew my concerns.
• The President had matters to attend to at the Capitol Building, where construction had been renewed.
• Work on the Capitol Building was suspended in 1861 so it could be used as a barracks and hospital for the war.
• The following year, Mr. Lincoln ordered the construction resumed. "As our Union shall endure, so will this building," he told me.
• The morning of the incident Bob told me of, Mr. Lincoln was in a carriage in transit to the Capitol Building.
• Bob and his men provided escort on their horses. A shiftless crowd had begun to gather. Bob began to feel uneasy.
• Bob told me that a few men, one of them hobbled, watched Mr. Lincoln's carriage with great interest. Their gaze seemed hostile.
• One of them called out to Mr. Lincoln, who waved in return, as was his customary practice. Then the man approached the carriage.
• Bob spurred his horse to intercept the man, who was unarmed but disheveled. He was likely one of the many homeless.
• Bob put his horse between the man and the carriage. They locked eyes. The man seemed wounded in his soul.
• Then the true scheme unfolded.
• The other man who seemed hobbled sprang into action while Bob blocked his compatriot's path to Mr. Lincoln's carriage.
• Bob saw the glint of a knife as the man darted around the other side of the carriage. He had no chance to intercept him.
• Two of Bob's men sprang into action, one on foot, the other on horse. The man on foot fired his rifle, striking the would-be assassin.
• The assailant fell, holding his leg. Bob's other man could not stop his steed; it trampled the attacker. Mr. Lincoln's carriage darted away.
• "It was an awful sight, Hill," Bob said after relating the story to me. "That man's body was broken so many ways. He died painfully."
• "He is not dead on your account, Bob," I said. "He signed his own warrant on the matter."
• When I spoke with Mr. Lincoln about the incident he seemed shaken but was resolute that he would not change his ways.
• The following week, I had an opportunity to speak with Secretary of War Stanton about a situation that I feared was increasingly reckless.
• Mr. Lincoln left himself exposed all too often, and he was not afraid to slip away and walk his own path when he could.
• "Marshal Lamon, you often stand by your Chief Commander's side, but I know you stray from him on this subject," Stanton said.
• "Indeed I do, suh," I said. "I fear Mr. Lincoln has it preordained that he shall not survive his Presidency."
• Stanton nodded. "There is fatalism surrounding his actions," he said. "His brushes with death have only increased that."
• He added: "I have never had so great a scare in my life as I had the other night, when I encountered you outside the cottage." I agreed.
• You, my readers, know how Mr. Lincoln's story ends. But in those days, I believed nothing was preordained.
• Kneeling on the cool White House lawn during my many nights of vigilance, I was determined to see the Presidency to a safe conclusion.
• In later years, I often found myself imagining a wiser and grayer Mr. Lincoln sitting by my side, sharing stories of old.
• "Hill," he would say, "do you recall the evening my $8 plug hat was blown clean off my head by an assailant's bullet?"
• I would say I did, and I would laugh with Mr. Lincoln at the memory. And I would have another sip of whiskey in his honor.

February 27th, 2012 - Freeing Joe the Slave

• "A house divided against itself cannot stand." Simple yet prescient words spoken by my friend Mr. Lincoln in 1858.
• No two men better exemplified how that house could stand than Mr. Lincoln and myself. I was a Virginian, born and raised amid slavery.
• During our first encounter, Mr. Lincoln made light of Virginians "superintending your slaves' work."
• I most assuredly abhorred that peculiar institution, as I told my new friend, and by the glint in his eye I knew he understood.
• I was a Virginian by mannerism and habits, but not by thinking. It was our mutual way of thought that bound me and Mr. Lincoln.
• My feelings on the subject of slavery were burned deep in me by an incident during my teen years.
• My father George was a farmer who possessed a complement of six slaves by 1840, when I was 12 years old.
• Even as a child, I felt something inherently wrong with the concept of owning another human being. Half my father's slaves were under 18.
• At home one late afternoon, I sat in the shade of an old oak tree and watched the slaves work. One named Joe held particular interest.
• Joe was around my age, perhaps a year or two older. He never knew his exact age.
• I offered Joe a ladle of water from the bucket at my side. He gratefully accepted it. I asked him if he could spell his name. He couldn't.
• The next day, I had a slate board and a piece of chalk with my bucket of water. I called Joe to me and showed him how to write his name.
• With hesitant strokes, he followed my form. J. O. E. He seemed pleased with such a simple achievement. "Thank you, sir," he said.
• It was then that I decided to endeavor to give Joe what education I could. 
• By the age of 15, I was teaching younger students, among them my sister Elizabeth, who often objected to my methods of discipline.
• Where I guided Elizabeth's education with a firm hand, I applied gentler measures with Joe. She had no excuses for her mistakes.
• By the height of summer, I had the family Bible with me in the late afternoons, and Joe and I would sit under the oak tree and read from it.
• He was quick to learn what I taught. He marveled at stories of Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel. He began writing simple words.
• My father caught on to what I was doing; he was unsure of its purpose. "A learned man will not want to work the field, son," he told me.
• "I suppose he should not want to, and therefore he might not. His life could hold other purpose," I replied.
• My father stared at me long and hard. He was a man of modest means, and he had tirelessly worked to build his little family farm.
• To him, my words were a threat to the very nature of his existence. To me, they were merely a rational observation. 
• "I'd have a mind to box your ears, son, if you were younger," my father finally said.
• In his prime, my father was as imposing a man as I'd eventually become, but he treated his slaves with a gentle yet firm hand.
• The way he towered over me was the worst I had seen of him. Upon reflection, I preferred to receive such treatment, rather than Joe.
• "I am threatening naught but one man's bondage to a way of life unsuitable to him," I replied, refusing to wither under his stare.
• "Perhaps this is a way of life unsuitable to you too," my father said. "That is a reasonable proposition," I acknowledged.
• And so it was when I left Virginia for Illinois in the spring of 1847, a pair of horses and Joe accompanied me.
• My father had not technically freed Joe from slavery, but he had bequeathed the man, as he was by then, to my ownership.
• My father had little to say as I packed the horses for the long trip. He merely shook my hand before I climbed into the saddle.
• As Joe and I rode across the field, the other slaves watched us, their faces blank. My little sister Elizabeth ran alongside us.
• "Ward! Ward!" she called. She reached up, a flower in her grasp. I reached down to pluck it from her delicate fingers. "Thank you," I said.
• I turned my attention west, uninterested in watching my birthplace recede. It no longer held any sway over me.
• A trip from Virginia to Illinois was not the pleasurable kind it would be today by car or plane. There was no shelter from sudden rains.
• None in my immediate family ever followed my lead, but some among the extended Lamon clan had, including my uncle John.
• My expectation was to stay with a cousin, Dr. Theodore Lamon, in the Illinois prairie town known as Danville.
• I thought I would endeavor to learn medicine, but that field ended up holding little promise for me. I turned to law instead.
• There was still a trickle of westward emigrants in those days, but most of them shunned us until we broke free of the slaveholding states.
• I saw the stares as Joe and me interacted. They could tell I did not treat Joe as a man indentured to me. He was my companion.
• "I 'spect they're wonderin' what the likes of you is doin' with the likes of me," Joe said as we endured fresh stares.
• "What they think is of no concern to me," I replied.
• Before we could reach the Ohio River and escape the wicked grip of the slave states, we had an encounter that only steeled my resolve.
• Under a humid gray sky, Joe and I had stopped for the evening a little way off the road. The night promised to be tolerable. 
• We lay with our heads resting on our packs, sharing thoughts of what the future held. As twilight fell, I began to feel drowsy.
• A twig snapped. A man hissed at someone else. I reached into my pack for my revolver. I could hear Joe breathing heavily.
• "I recommend you set up your camp elsewhere, suh, or have words with my pistol!" I shouted.
• "Shooting a marshal is a federal offense!" came the reply. "We would like to see the negro's papers."
• "That is none of your affair, suh!" I said. I heard another set of footsteps dart away from the voice. They sought to fence us in.
• I leapt to my feet. The intruders were at the same disadvantage in the gathering gloom. I charged in the direction of the voice. 
• Footsteps retreated. I ran faster, my pistol pointed straight ahead. There was a cry of surprise.
• I was upon the man before he knew it. I knocked him flat on his back. He was so shocked he let his pistol drop from his grasp.
• I knelt on his stomach, pushing the wind from him and leaving him gasping. "Leave us in peace, you yellow-eyed coward," I hissed.
• The man could only nod his head and struggle for breath. I stood up. He stumbled to his feet. He wanted his gun but thought better of it.
• I waved my pistol and he backed away. He tried to run as fast as he could, given his lack of breath.
• I returned to our makeshift camp. I could hear Joe's stuttered breathing. "The other is nearby," he whispered.
• I squinted in the gloom. Footsteps shuffled. The man likely heard what had happened to his friend. I contemplated another charge.
• "I have no quarrel with you, sir," the man called out. "I was put up to it." I replied: "At what price?"
• "I was promised some whiskey and a meal," he said. "A bit of cheer is not worth such a low deed," I said. "Show yourself!"
• I heard the man step closer. Joe had lit a lantern and held it up. The man was scared senseless when he saw the anger on my face.
• "I was told you were transporting this negro to freedom," the man said. "We were of a mind to stop you."
• "Joe is traveling with me," I replied. "And I assure you his circumstances are legal."
• To punctuate my point, I waved my pistol in the man's direction. His raised his hands. He was unarmed. "That man is not a marshal," I said.
• "No, he's not," the man replied. I told him, "I believe there's a steep penalty attached to impersonating a man of the law.
• The man shrugged. "Not my worry," he said. I waved my pistol toward the road. "Then you best get moving along," I said.
• He gingerly stepped away. As soon as he could, he broke into a run. Joe and I watched him disappear into the darkness.
• The rest of our trip was uneventful. Mayhap word spread of what happened, because other travelers gave us a wide berth.
• Within days, we reached the Ohio River. On the far side was Illinois, a free state where Joe would no longer be compelled to accompany me.
• We crossed the river on a ferry. When we disembarked, Joe turned to me, his eyes gleaming. "Sir..." he began.
• I waved him off. "Joe, your servitude to me is hereby terminated," I said. I put my hand out. He gave it a hearty shake.
• "Thank you, sir," he said. "I enjoyed this here trip with you." I smiled. "I feel likewise," I replied.
• When we reached Danville, Joe and I went our separate ways. We said our final good-byes and I watched him ride down a dusty side street.
• Joe said he wanted to put his education to good use. He did just that, opening a small store and marrying another freed slave.
• Joe and his wife had three children together. When the war broke out, I heard he fought on the Union side.
• I don't know what became of him from there, but I hope he returned to his family when the war ended and lived out the rest of his days.

March 19th, 2012 - Mr. Lincoln Jostles Ficklin's Democracy During a Debate With Douglas

• All this talk of the Republican primaries reminds me of my time spent on the campaign trail with Mr. Lincoln.
• Campaigning was no less bitter in our day, you can be sure of that. Politicking never was, and still isn't, for the weak of heart.
• You know of the Lincoln-Douglas election in 1858, when the "Little Giant," as he was known, defeated my friend Mr. Lincoln for the Senate.
• I traveled Illinois with Mr. Lincoln that summer and well into the fall. We were not a moneyed campaign like Douglas' well-oiled machine.
• But Mr. Lincoln scored his political points where he could, and he made a name for himself that served him well in his Presidential bid.
• Stephen Douglas saw fit to travel Illinois by special train in 1858, thanks to the favoritism of the Superintendent of the Central Railroad.
• Mr. Lincoln traveled by regular railroad car, or by freight if he was in danger of missing an appointment.
• However, there had also been orders from the Superintendent that no passenger was to travel by freight car.
• That's when Mr. Lincoln brought his persuasive powers to bear, although granting the favor often depended on the conductor's politics.
• On one occasion, we were traveling in the rear of a freight train, on our way to a stop in the southern part of Illinois known as Egypt.
• I was discussing strategy with Mr. Lincoln when our train was abruptly switched off the main track to allow a special train to pass.
• It was, of course, Douglas' ceremonial train, bedecked with banners and flags. A band played "Hail to the Chief." Locomotive arrogance.
• As the train whistled past, Mr. Lincoln could do naught but break into a fit of uproarious laughter.
• Mr. Lincoln said, "Boys, the gentleman in that car evidently smelt no royalty in our carriage."
• We were on our way to one of the seven famous Lincoln-Douglas debates. This one was to be held in Jonesboro, Illinois.
• Douglas did his best to avoid such joint appearances, but Mr. Lincoln doggedly pursued him across the state.
• Wherever Douglas gave a speech, Mr. Lincoln arrived a day or two later to offer his rebuttal to the people.
• It was an effective strategy, and it forced Douglas to give Mr. Lincoln the formal debates he wanted.
• The format of those debates is alien to you today: one candidate spoke for 60 minutes, the other for 90 minutes, and the first again for 30.
• That format tested one's mettle as a politician, not today's two-minute responses that could have been scrawled on a napkin.
• Newspapers across the country published the full texts of those debates. They were widely discussed. People were engaged in democracy.
• For the debate in Jonesboro, Douglas' locomotive homage to himself pulled into the station where a crowd cheered his arrival.
• An excessive display of pomp and circumstance, including that infernal band, accompanied Douglas to the spot of the debate.
• When Mr. Lincoln arrived, a few Republican politicians greeted him. There was no adoring crowd, no banners hung high, no music.
• I distinctly recall naught but the warble of the bull-frogs in a neighboring swamp. Mr. Lincoln's prospects looked gloomy indeed.
• Mr. Lincoln, though, had no gloom about him at all. He ignored the lack of enthusiasm and delivered a fiery performance. More on Monday.
• Douglas spoke first and was greeted with tremendous enthusiasm. I and Mr. Lincoln's other friends became apprehensive.
• Mr. Lincoln was unconcerned. "I am not going to be terrified by an excited populace," he told us.
• He added: "And I will not be hindered from speaking my honest sentiments upon this infernal subject of human slavery."
• When his time came, Mr. Lincoln rose, removed his hat, and stood surveying that vast throng of people for a considerable space of time.
• It seemed to me that Mr. Lincoln was making a preliminary survey of their tendencies in preparation for what he was about to say.
• Mr. Lincoln began: "My fellow citizens, Senator Douglas said something distressing in a recent public speech."
• "He said that I, while in Congress, had voted against the appropriation for supplies to the Mexican soldiers during that late war."
• "This, fellow citizens, is a perversion of the facts. It is true I was opposed to the declaration of war against Mexico."
• "When war was declared, however, I never failed to vote for the support of any proposition that sought comfort for our poor fellows."
• "Those men were maintaining the dignity of our flag in a war that I thought was unnecessary and unjust."
• It was then that Mr. Lincoln reached for someone sitting next to me on the stand.
• Mr. Lincoln reached over and grabbed the Democrat O.B. Ficklin, who had served in Congress with Mr. Lincoln in 1847.
• He took Ficklin by the coat collar and in no gentle manner lifted him from his seat as if he had been a kitten.
• Mr. Lincoln said: "Fellow citizens, here is Ficklin, who was at that time in Congress with me, and he knows it is a lie."
• To punctuate his point, Mr. Lincoln shook Ficklin until his teeth chattered. It was then that I decided to intervene.
• Fearing he would shake Ficklin's head off, I grasped Mr. Lincoln's hand and broke his grip. Ficklin fell back into his seat.
• Mr. Lincoln continued with his address. When did you last witness such a thing during a debate?
• That moment had the crowd's attention, and Mr. Lincoln turned his sights to that infernal subject of human slavery. 
• Mr. Lincoln proclaimed: "There is no way of ending the slavery agitation amongst us but to put it back where our fathers placed it."
• "No way but to keep it out of our new territories, to restrict it forever to the old States where it now exists." The crowd's applause grew.
• He added: "The other way is for us to surrender, and let Senator Douglas and his friends plant slavery all over the States."
• "They will have us regard slavery as one of the common matters of property, and speak of slaves as we do of our horses and cattle."
• The applause became thunderous, accompanied by cries of "Here, here!" and "That's the doctrine!" Those swamp bull frogs were drowned out.
• After the debate, Mr. Lincoln addressed Ficklin, who had opposed him on many matters of policy in Congress but was still friendly with him.
• Ficklin spoke first: "Lincoln, you nearly shook all the democracy out of me today."
• Mr. Lincoln responded: "That reminds me of what Paul said to Agrippa, which in substance I will formulate to suit this situation."
• "I would to God that such democracy as you folks here in Egypt have were not only shaken out of you but all who heard me today."
• "And that you would all join in shaking off the shackles of the bondmen, so that this country may be free as the good Lord intended it."
• "I also apologize for rudely jostling your muscular democracy, my friend." Ficklin accepted the apology and was on his way.
• "That was quite a performance," I told my friend. "Even if a successful election seems bleak, you have given people reason to speak of you."
• "Hill, nothing ever seems bleak unless you allow others to say it is," Mr. Lincoln said. "I am steadfast in my convictions."

April 2nd, 2012 - The Baltimore Plot Against Mr. Lincoln

• My endeavors to protect Mr. Lincoln began even before his inauguration. After winning the election, he began the long journey to Washington.
• I accompanied him on that trip by railroad, with stops in eleven cities to make formal addresses and greet the people. Crowds gathered.
• Mr. Lincoln was a man of the people, desirous to take measure of crowds' moods. "Whether good or ill, I must know how they feel," he said.
• I felt he was sometimes too at ease among those in a foul mood, so I set myself to the task of standing by his side as often as possible.
• After we left Springfield, our stops in Indianapolis, Cincinnati, and other Midwestern cities were pleasing. The people adored him.
• The President-elect's itinerary was widely published, letting his enemies know the date and hour where he was to stop.
• In Philadelphia, we learned of a plot to set a trap in Baltimore. The assailants planned to rely on that public information.
• One of those accompanying us to Washington was Republican Representative Norman Judd. He was a delegate at the 1860 Republican Convention.
• In Cincinnati, Judd received a letter from Allan Pinkerton, a detective who had traveled from Chicago to Baltimore to investigate the plot.
• Pinkerton was a Scotsman who had emigrated to the United States in 1842, at 23 years old. Within two years he was a devout Abolitionist.
• His hand-built cabin in Dundee, Illinois was a stop on the Underground Railroad. By 1849, he was a Chicago detective.
• Pinkerton later formed his detective agency that still exists today. He met Mr. Lincoln while investigating a series of train robberies.
• Railroad president S.M. Felton had engaged Pinkerton after Southern loyalists were rumored to be plotting to disrupt Mr. Lincoln's trip.
• Pinkerton's Cincinnati letter to Judd was followed by more ominous missives in Buffalo and New York. Details would follow in Philadelphia.
• After Mr. Lincoln arrived in Philadelphia, he rode in an open carriage to the hotel, per his custom. A man broke from the crowd.
• I was alarmed, but Judd stayed my hand from my pistol. The man was a telegraph operator who slipped away after delivering a note.
• "St. Louis Hotel. J.H. Hutchinson," the note said. After Mr. Lincoln was ensconced at the Continental Hotel, Judd hurried to the St. Louis.
• "Hutchinson" turned out to be a Pinkerton pseudonym. Felton was in a room with him. They presented evidence of the Baltimore plot.
• Much of the information was gathered by a Pinkerton operative named Tim Webster, who continued his covert activities during the Civil War.
• In 1862, Webster was arrested in the South on espionage charges. A patriot until the end, he was hung and dumped in an unmarked grave.
• Judd, Pinkerton, and Felton went to the Continental Hotel, where they sought an audience with Mr. Lincoln. They found him on a balcony.
• Judd briefly occupied Mr. Lincoln's attention, and soon the President-elect was in a room with us. Pinkerton spared no details.
• The detective had spent considerable time in Baltimore, where he learned much of the fanatical Southern sympathizers there.
• "These are men honorable, gallant, and chivalrous, but thoroughly devoted to Southern rights," Pinkerton said.
• He added: "They see Mr. Lincoln as the embodiment of all Northern evils. They are willing to die for their country to rid it of a tyrant."
• "The crowds who will gather along the parade route will be hostile, and the Marshal of Baltimore has promised little or no police escort."
• Pinkerton finished: "Mr. Lincoln, you will be in an open carriage along a route lasting a mile, its details published in every newspaper."
• "You will be facing large and likely hostile crowds. Your police escort will be either nonexistent or disloyal, if there at all."
• "I am confident that an assassin could take advantage of the chaos and lack of security to fire a single shot and slip away."
• Pinkerton met Mr. Lincoln's gaze."Sir, today they offer 10 to 1 odds against your safe passage through Baltimore." The room was silent.
• "We must safely convey you to Washington tonight," Pinkerton said. "That is not possible," Mr. Lincoln replied. I was aghast.
• "Mr. Lincoln," I said, "Pinkerton has laid out the conspiracy against you. Your Presidency will end before it has begun."
• "And an attack on you, even if unsuccessful, will surely precipitate war," Judd added. 
• Mr. Lincoln held up a hand, splaying his spindly fingers. "Gentlemen, I am convinced of the sentiment against me in Baltimore," he said.
• "However, I have engagements on the morrow. I shall hoist the flag above Independence Hall and then travel to Harrisburg."
• "When I have completed my affairs in Harrisburg, I shall endeavor to slip away and place myself in your hands," Mr. Lincoln finished.
• Pinkerton seemed satisfied. I was of like mind, although I pressed upon myself a heightened vigilance, lest the plot had been accelerated.
• The others left. Pinkerton held Mr. Lincoln and me back. He said: "I shall make arrangements. All details will be worked out by morning."
• "Can I trust your operatives?" Mr. Lincoln asked. Pinkerton replied: "Sir, I guarantee your safety with my life. I will be by your side."
• Pinkerton added: "I recommend that none but Lamon travel with us. If trouble arises, he and I are best-equipped to assist you."
• Pinkerton left. Mr. Lincoln turned to me and smiled. "So, Hill, it seems we are partners once more."
• By the morning, Pinkerton had made his arrangements. He briefed us while Mr. Lincoln raised the flag at Independence Hall.
• Among our group was Judge Davis, who had once fined Mr. Lincoln for undercharging clients, and Black Hawk War veteran Colonel Sumner.
• Colonel Sumner was irate when he heard the plan. "That proceeding will be a damned piece of cowardice," he said.
• "The newspapers can print what they wish," said Judd. "We will also face criticism if we stay the course and face bloodshed in Baltimore."
• Colonel Sumner jabbed a finger at Judd. "I will get a squad of cavalry and cut our way to Washington!"
• "Mr. Lincoln has already agreed to this plan," Judd countered. "Well, then, I will be the one to accompany him!" Sumner thundered.
• After the Philadelphia flag raising, we traveled with Mr. Lincoln to Harrisburg, where he was guest of honor at Governor Curtin's dinner.
• The plan was for Mr. Lincoln to graciously leave dinner early for his secret trip. Sumner still fumed, but Judd sought to mollify him.
• Governor Curtin was briefed on the plans to smooth Mr. Lincoln's exit. He accompanied us out a side door to a waiting carriage.
• Curtin pulled me aside. "Are you properly armed?" he asked. In response, I displayed a pair of pistols, a bowie knife, and a blackjack.
• Just then Sumner charged through, determined to board the carriage. Judd followed close behind. I caught up with them.
• I stepped into the carriage with Mr. Lincoln. As Sumner prepared to join us, Judd tapped his shoulder. "One moment, Colonel!" he said.
• As Sumner turned, the carriage quickly drove away. I watched him fume from a distance. "A madder man you never saw," Judd later told me.
• The carriage was to take Mr. Lincoln and me to the Harrisburg train yard, where we would travel to West Philadelphia.
• At our next stop, a special engine and car waited at the edge of the city. It would take us into Baltimore and then to Washington.
• Pinkerton left no detail untouched. By prior arrangement, all telegraph wires out of Harrisburg were cut as soon as we departed.
• The tracks to Philadelphia were cleared. A Pinkerton operative bought tickets out of Philadelphia for "a sick man and his companion."
• The Philadelphia train conductor was told not to pull out until he received an important package. It was full of newspapers.
• Mr. Lincoln and I had dressed in civilian attire, he with a shawl on his arm. "Hill, I feel we are traveling the Illinois circuit again."
• Pinkerton met Mr. Lincoln and me in Philadelphia. We had to take a carriage to the other station, but we were an hour early.
• Pinkerton, ever quick on his feet, instructed the driver to head north as if looking for someone. Sitting still was unwise.
• At the proper time, we boarded the train, the "important package" was delivered, and the locomotive departed for Baltimore.
• Mr. Lincoln, Pinkerton, and I took up residence in the rearmost sleeping car. We drew the curtains and Mr. Lincoln slipped into his berth.
• As we pulled out, Mr. Lincoln told us that the son of William Seward had visited him. Seward would later serve as his Secretary of State.
• Seward's son bore information that 15,000 men had massed in Baltimore, swearing to prevent Mr. Lincoln from passing through.
• The number seemed astonishing to me, and also to Pinkerton, but it was additional corroboration that a plot was afoot.
• As the train pulled out of Philadelphia, I offered Mr. Lincoln one of my pistols and my bowie knife. Pinkerton intervened. 
• I would not have it said Mr. Lincoln had to enter the nation's capitol armed, Pinkerton said. "If anyone is to fight, it won't be him."
• I felt a need to protest, but Mr. Lincoln shook his head. He had entrusted his safety to Pinkerton. So it was.
• Pinkerton occasionally left to survey our surroundings. He had operatives stationed along the route who would signal him.
• Each time he returned, his face was always locked in that grim expression. But all was right. Nothing threatened the train's safety.
• We pulled into Baltimore at 4 AM. The silence was palpable. Then we heard a sudden bang.
• I looked out the window. Three men huddled around another sharpening a knife. A drunk wandered by, banging the train with his slaps.
• "Away, away down South in Dixie!" the drunk sang. The four men eyed him nervously. I drew a pistol and took aim at the leader.
• The leader of the group noticed me. His eyes grew wide. The others turned. My finger rested on the trigger.
• A hand pushed my gun toward the ceiling. It was Mr. Lincoln. "There will be a great time in Dixie by and by," he murmured.
• I sat down. I didn't look out the window again. The train started up again, bound for the capitol. We had almost completed the gauntlet.
• Dawn was breaking over Washington as we arrived in the city. Fog from the Potomac had rolled in. We waited until the train emptied.
• As Mr. Lincoln and me stepped off the train, a man emerged from the shadow of a pillar. "You can't play that on me," he said.
• I pulled both my pistols. The man raised a hand in defense.
• Then Mr. Lincoln intervened and grabbed my hands. "Don't shoot him, Hill!" he admonished. "Don't you know him?"
• The man was Congressman Elihu Washburne from Illinois, who had learned of the secret trip's details and arranged to meet us in Washington.
• How he discovered our plans, I never knew, but I was thankful that was the extent of our leaked information. 
• We headed from the depot to the Willard Hotel, where Mr. Lincoln and his family would stay until the inauguration.
• On that grand day, assassination rumors persisted, and I took my position on a horse behind Mr. Lincoln's carriage during the procession.
• I wore a military coat with two pistols and a bowie knife prominently displayed in my red sash. It was quite a sight, I am sure.
• The news of Mr. Lincoln's unusual entrance into Washington soon spread across the city. Newspapers reveled in telling the story.
• I admit I did not mind if others learned of my involvement in the secret trip, although Pinkerton felt otherwise. We were not on good terms.
• The detective was content to cover his tracks and slip away. I, however, enjoyed my stay at the Willard Hotel. I paid for little.
• Many seeking favor with the new administration sought me out, hoping I could provide a conduit to Mr. Lincoln. I did what I could.
• Leonard Swett, an old lawyer friend of Mr. Lincoln and mine, wrote to me and warned: "Washington is drunk and the country is sober."
• If that was so, then I eagerly embraced the revelry of Washington. That was where Mr. Lincoln and I made our mark on history.

April 23rd, 2012 - My Encounter With Mad Tumult in South Carolina

• Mr. Lincoln had scarcely finished speaking his sacred oath of office when the tumult of mad contention was heard throughout the entire land.
• Deadly threats and fierce defiance came from politicians and press alike. All who heard them felt sickening alarm.
• So it was that I found myself in Charleston, South Carolina on March 25, 1861, standing amidst the gloomy mood in a hotel lobby.
• A crowd had gathered. Among them was a seedy patriot dressed in a coat that may have done service at Thomas Jefferson's first reception.
• He threw a length of rope at my feet. "You think that's enough to hang a damned Lincoln hireling?" he spat.
• But I have gotten ahead of myself. More on the morrow, when I shall relate what brought me within the gates of the enemy.
• Jefferson Davis was inaugurated as President of the Confederacy two weeks before Mr. Lincoln took his oath on March 4, 1861.
• "The Southern rebels have fired the first shot without squeezing a trigger," Mr. Lincoln told me. "I shall have to respond."
• You know he did just that. Mr. Lincoln appealed to "the better angels of our nature" in his fierce desire to avoid war.
• Privately, Mr. Lincoln knew a dire situation had grown more grim. He summoned me and Secretary of State Seward to his office.
• "Hill, I have a confidential mission that I can entrust to none but you," Mr. Lincoln said.
• Fort Sumter was a point of contention before Mr. Lincoln took the oath. After South Carolina seceded, the rebels demanded it be emptied.
• Army Major Robert Anderson had secretly fortified Fort Sumter and the rebels believed Mr. Lincoln would not resupply it.
• Mr. Lincoln was not about to relinquish federal authority. "I will not tolerate interference from any source," he told Seward and me.
• Secretary of State Seward seemed sheepish. He had allowed the rebels to believe otherwise in the name of pacification.
• Seward saw in the South naught but noisy bravado. Mr. Lincoln and I understood all too well the rebels' dogged courage. 
• "I have no alternative but to effect an embassy to Charleston through my friend Hill," he told Seward, who was aghast.
• Seward opposed the plan: "Mr. President, I fear you are sending Lamon to his grave. These are greatly excited and gravely desperate people."
• He added: "We can't spare Lamon's services, and the people of Charleston know this. They will slaughter him on sight."
• I scoffed at the notion. Mr. Lincoln nodded. "I have known Hill to never find himself in a close place he couldn't get out of."
• Mr. Lincoln leaned back in his chair. "I'll risk him. God bless you, Hill! Bring back a palmetto, if you can't carry good news."
• Seward was unhappy, but he supplied the necessary credentials, as did Mr. Lincoln, General Scott, and others. 
• My papers said I was to report on delivery of mails within Charleston, but my true purpose was to observe the city's mood and visit Sumter.
• While preparing my baggage, I acquired another piece of luggage: Stephen Hurlbut of Illinois, an old legal associate.
• Hurlbut would later serve as a general in the Union Army, but on this day he was merely a civilian with a mission of his own to fulfill.
• His eyes were bright. "A dread storm has gathered on the horizon, and I fear it will wash away all I once knew," Hurlbut said.
• "Lamon, I wish to set eyes upon Charleston one last time," Hurlbut said. "It brought me into this world, and my sister resides there still."
• I nodded. "As a fellow man of Southern heritage, I understand your feelings," I said. "I leave within the hour." He thanked me.
• My keen foresight often served me well, but on this day it failed to portend the close place Hurlbut would put me in.
• Hurlbut, his wife, and I arrived in Charleston in the evening. They spirited away to the home of Hurlbut's sister.
• I registered at the Charleston Hotel under my own name. Several young Virginians, eager to be Confederates, arrived at the same time.
• Despite the militancy of those men, the mood of the city seemed placid, and none paid me heed as I came and went. 
• The next day, Hurlbut accompanied me to the home of James Petigru, who was known by Mr. Lincoln as a man of staunch Northern sympathies.
• A few Charleston residents saw Hurlbut and me at Petigru's home. As soon as he made his introductions, Hurlbut slunk away.
• The damned coward left me to face hostile stares as I stepped inside Petigru's house. I could not have imagined a worse future general.
• "South Carolina is too small for a republic and too large for an insane asylum," Petigru publicly said post-secession. 'Twas not endearing.
• The day I met with him, Petigru glanced out the window at those who gathered. "I rarely stir from my house," he told me.
• He added: "Hurlbut was wise to leave when he did. I should not be surprised by any headlong violence these people commit."
• I said, "This is the first I have encountered of such hostility. Hurlbut only gave cause to inflame their emotion with his behavior."
• Petigru chuckled. "The newspapers know of your arrival. Word will spread. That will inflame passion. Tell Mr. Lincoln war is inevitable."
• Petigru lived to see his predictions come to pass, but he did not witness the war's conclusion. He died in Charleston in 1863.
• The next morning, I became aware something was amiss when a reporter with the New York Herald stopped me after breakfast.
• He asked to know my purpose in Charleston. I told him I was there at Mr. Lincoln's behest. Then I noticed those who watched us.
• The reporter also saw them. "Your presence is known and has become the subject of much speculation," he said. "Best wishes," he added.
• "And to you, suh," I replied as he walked away. I made my way into the lobby, where the crowd was so thick I had to cut through it.
• I was not, like Hamlet, "the glass of fashion and the mould of form," and yet I was somehow "the observed of all observers."
• I had sent a card requesting a meeting with Governor Pickens, who was also staying at the hotel, and was awaiting an aide.
• An elderly man grabbed my arm. "What business have you here?" he demanded. I steeled my nerves against rising emotions.
• An aide stepped in to accompany me to Governor Pickens' suite. The tension faded. I could only smile at the elderly man as I left.
• My personal pulchritude may not have overwhelmed the observers, but in that moment I found myself immensely, if not alarmingly, attractive.
• I kept up my front during the meeting with Governor Pickens, whose demeanor was not much better than that of the elderly gentleman.
• "President Lincoln asked me to press upon you his desire for a peaceful resolution to this situation," I said.
• Pickens' brow furrowed. "You are inquiring about Fort Sumter?" he asked. "No," I responded, "the greater question of our state of affairs."
• Pickens waved a hand. "I see no peaceful resolution to either. Five thousand well-armed soldiers have massed around this city."
• I quelled my emotions and adopted a gentle tact. "Governor," I said, "an army may be massed for self-preservation but not used."
• "Nothing can prevent war except the acquiescence of the President in our secession." Pickens' voice rose. "Regarding Sumter..."
• Those words hung in the air, thick with black clouds. "I demand the President not attempt any reinforcement of Southern forts."
• Pickens continued: "All the Southern states have joined us in arming with great rapidity. I see no way out but one fraught with violence."
• "Let your President attempt to reinforce Sumter and the tocsin of war will be sounded from every hilltop in the South!"
• I could only set my lips in a grim line and nod my head. The sentiment of rebellion could not be clearer. I could only ask one thing.
• I requested of Governor Pickens a pass to Fort Sumter, where I would confer with Major Anderson. It was granted without hesitation.
• "Perhaps you can ask of your Major a sensible course of action," Pickens said. "If not, blood may be shed ere you depart."
• The next day, I arrived at the harbor, where cannons had been placed. They were aimed at Fort Sumter, the only place the U.S. flag flew.
• A flag-of-truce steamer conveyed me to Sumter. A beleaguered, half-finished place it was, where 127 men had taken a desperate stand. 
• Those men were in fine spirits. They regarded the entire affair as if it was a picnic. They were ready to fight.
• Major Anderson was of like mind, despite the fool's errand he had undertaken. Patriots tend to be the most reckless in their enthusiasm.
• "I need to know that President Lincoln intends to reinforce us, or the consequences will be terrible," Anderson said.
• "I am leaving for Washington today, and I expect to return with an evacuation order," I told the major, who seemed satisfied with that.
• I never had opportunity to return. Just over two weeks later, before sunrise, the rebels opened fire on Sumter. The storm was upon us.
• Upon leaving Fort Sumter, I returned to the Charleston Hotel. It was time for me to depart lest I became the war's first casualty.
• That was when I was rudely accosted in the lobby by that man suffused with the odor and rust of antiquity. He threw a rope toward me.
• "You think that's strong enough to hang a damned Lincoln hireling?" he asked. I met his beady eyes as his crowd of supporters grew.
• "Sir," I replied, "I am a Virginian by birth and a gentleman by education. I was sent here by the President of the United --"
• "Damn your President!" the ruffian interrupted. I said, "Surrounded as you are by a mob, your conduct is cowardly in the extreme."
• Staccato murmurs bubbled through the crowd. I had inflamed them. So be it. I was prepared to face the worst. I raised my fists.
• The ruffian stepped toward me. Suddenly, a hand fell on my shoulder. "Lamon, old fellow! What brings you here?" a familiar voice asked.
• I whirled. It was Congressman Lawrence Keitt. "You speak to a Lincoln hireling?" the incredulous ruffian asked.
• Keitt turned on him. "You insult Lamon, and you insult me!" he thundered. "He is a gentleman and my friend. And we shall have a drink."
• A gentleman never turns down an opportunity to share a drink. Keitt had dispersed the mob and we retired to the bar together.
• Keitt later fought for the Confederates and died in 1864 from battle wounds, but on that day we were compatriots sharing tales of old.
• Later that day, as the train departed Charleston, the conductor handed me a note from that coward Hurlbut. He asked me not to engage him.
• "There is danger ahead and a damned sight of it," Hurlbut wrote. He knew eyes continued to watch me, and he wanted no part of it.
• I returned to Mr. Lincoln with his palmetto tree, but no hope for peace. I relayed my full report to him and spoke of Hurlbut.
• Mr. Lincoln broke out in a laugh when he heard of Hurlbut's behavior. "Perhaps you would have been well-served by similar actions," he said.
• I couldn't help but smile in agreement. Mr. Lincoln cut to the quick, as he often did. Mayhap I had been too conspicuous.
• When I told Mr. Lincoln my assessment of the situation at Fort Sumter and Governor Pickens' bloodthirst, his expression fell.
• "My heart grows heavy, Hill," Mr. Lincoln told me. "How to balance my authority with their bravado." It was not a question.
• I later learned that much confusion existed between Major Anderson at Fort Sumter, Governor Pickens, and Confederate General Beauregard.
• A series of messages among the three of them belied a sense that evacuation was imminent. All of Charleston held its breath.
• Mr. Lincoln sent a convoy of ships to resupply Sumter before it was fired upon. When hostilities broke out, Charleston celebrated.
• After 34 straight hours of bombardment, Sumter was evacuated having offered only token response. Casualties were minimal.
• I visited with Mr. Lincoln after the Confederate flag was seen flying above Sumter. An air of resignation weighed heavily on him.
• "Hill, I did not aspire to the Presidency so I could set brother against brother," Mr. Lincoln said. "And yet I have."
• "Mr. President, this was thrust upon us through no doing of our own," I responded. "These are brothers bereft of wisdom."
• Mr. Lincoln smiled ever so slightly. "So they are, Hill. Men young of heart and mind who have taken a foolhardy course. God help us all."

May 14th, 2012 - Of Recruiting Efforts in Virginia, Swaying My Brothers From the Confederate Path, and Saving a Boyd From a Hangman's Noose

• On Nov. 21, 1864, Mr. Lincoln wrote a letter in which he spoke of "a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom."
• That letter was addressed to Mrs. Bixby of Boston. She had five sons fall on the field of battle. Mr. Lincoln knew of her pain.
• Many mothers lost sons during the war. It split asunder states, towns, and even families. Sometimes brother opposed brother.
• Like Mrs. Bixby, my mother Betsy gave birth to five sons, John W. being the eldest, me being the second, and Charles the youngest.
• Among my four brothers, four sisters and me, I was the only one to leave Virginia and seek my fortune elsewhere.
• When Fort Sumter was fired upon and hostilities broke out, the Lamon family was no stranger to divided loyalties. More on the morrow.
• After my return from South Carolina and the outbreak of war in April of 1861, I offered a proposition to Mr. Lincoln.
• I told the President I would make my way to western Virginia, where I was born, to raise and take command of a regiment.
• Through letters from family, I knew there were thousands of loyal men ready to take up the cause of one side or the other.
• I sought to persuade them to join the cause that was just, the one that sought to uphold the laws of our great country.
• Mr. Lincoln saw the wisdom in my proposed endeavor, having issued a nationwide call for volunteers. He gave me a pass to Virginia.
• Before I left for Virginia in late May of 1861, I read a disturbing item in the secessionist Martinsburg Republican newspaper.
• A relative sent the clipping to me. It spoke of "brothers of W.H. Lamon determined to resist the Rail-splitter and his man Friday."
• I chuckled at the reference to Defoe's famous novel. The rebels would not stir my emotions with such a simple analogy.
• However, the news of my brothers' inflamed passions for the wrong side of the war alarmed me, and I hastened my preparations.
• Soon I was headed for Virginia. I had been born and raised there, but now it seemed an alien land. 
• My destination was Martinsburg, Virginia. I had sent a message ahead asking my secessionist brothers to meet me there.
• I directed my siblings John, George M., and Robert to travel north from Bunker Hill to Martinsburg, by my authority as a US marshal.
• Even if my brothers felt no desire to heed my word, I hoped my father George and my mother Betsy would intervene.
• My father had not understood my urge to leave the farm and travel to Illinois, given my brothers' predilection to remain.
• However, my father had instilled in his children the duty to obey an oath of fealty to their country. Surely he still felt that duty.
• I soon arrived in Martinsburg. While I can be a deeply stubborn man, I had learned a lesson from my South Carolina trip.
• I quietly checked into a hotel under the name "Robinson Friday." I expected none would understand my little joke to myself.
• The next day, my brothers John and George met me at the hotel. I inquired of Robert's whereabouts.
• "They have him in a jail cell out yonder," John replied in his slow drawl. He eyed me curiously, as if I was a stranger to him.
• "The boy hasn't the sense to shut his mouth about his views," George added. "Robert's as stubborn as you are, Ward."
• I had once sent Robert spinning across the room from a right hook during a boxing demonstration. We shared a deep kinship.
• "I will set about freeing him, and then we shall discuss this matter," I said. "This is one divided family too many."
• John shrugged. George was embarrassed. I left for the jail, setting in my mind the argument that would free Robert of his misguided notions.
• Robert's jailer was a rotund man named Hiram Jackson. He was duly impressed by my pass from Mr. Lincoln and my credentials as a US marshal.
• "P'rhaps you can knock some sense into this one," he said as he unlocked Robert's cell. My brother sat sullenly on a cot.
• "Here for another boxing lesson, Ward?" Robert asked. "If it will come to that," I replied. Robert had an air of resignation as he rose.
• After Robert and I left the jail, I sought to soften him before rejoining our brothers. If one fell, the others would be easier.
• "The storm is upon us, Robert," I said. "Don't stray to the side that will be washed away." He had no reply.
• Robert refused to speak until we rejoined John and George, who had not left the hotel porch. They had a shiftless air about them. 
• "That was a damn foolish thing, Robert," John reprimanded him. George nodded. "Or mayhap not," I said. "He has learned a fine lesson."
• "This is not the school at Bunker Hill, Ward," Robert finally said, a dark fire in his eyes. "And I am not some slave you wish to free."
• I was taken aback by Robert's anger. None of us said anything for several long minutes. Passersby gave us curious looks.
• "How is it that the clouds still hang on you?" I asked Robert. "I am too much in the sun," he replied. He had taken to his lessons well.
• "Allow me to shed light on your dark thoughts with another of the Bard's phrases," I said. "Something is rotten in this state."
• "We are not in Denmark," Robert said. I responded, "And yet a foulness lingers in the air among our Southern brethren."
• "A foolish course was undertaken at Fort Sumter," I told Robert. "The Lamon family would not be well-served to join it."
• "I expected you to say as much," John interjected. "Father told us your desires. The legal profession has served you well."
• "I am prepared to use all means at my disposal to rejoin a family split asunder," I replied. That included my fists, if necessary.
• John offered a heavy sigh of resignation. "I am inclined to spend the rest of my days farming," he said. "That is all I wish."
• "And what of the recruitment efforts that have spread?" I asked. "I have already resisted them and will continue to do so," John replied.
• I turned to George, who had seemed ready to capitulate from the first moment I saw him. He merely nodded. That was enough.
• John extended a hand. "We have work to do on our farms, Ward," he said. "George and I are returning to Bunker Hill."
• I shook his hand and George's. They left and I set myself to the task of changing the mindset of Robert, who shared my stubbornness.
• Robert would not look at me. "Would you like a lesson of the boxing or rhetorical variety?" I asked.
• "Do you think you can placate me with your fists, Ward?" he replied. "I would have thought better of a Lincoln hireling."
• "Hireling." That word echoed ominously in my mind. I shook it away. A simple coincidence, I told myself.
• "We are men bred better than this," I said. "We were taught loyalty to country, not the mere wind-borne chatter of idle secessionism."
• I hit upon an idea that might have been reckless. "Return to Washington with me," I said. "You can work in the marshal's office."
• I continued, "Put this stubbornness of yours to good use by employing your inflamed passion for our country."
• The fire in Robert's eyes faded. "As you wish, Ward," he said. "Some time away from the secessionist cause will suit me well."
• I sent Robert to Washington. I later appointed him a deputy marshal. He served me well. My other brothers lived to old age in peace.
• The problem with my brothers solved, I set about my true purpose in Virginia: raising a regiment of men for the Union army.
• I enlisted as many able-bodied troops as my staff and I could process. Known far and wide as "Lamon's Brigade," it was much-needed.
• The Battle of Philippi, on June 3, was the war's first land conflict. It was actually more of a skirmish, with minimal casualties.
• "The Races at Philippi," the newspapers called it, on account of the rebels fleeing in bed clothes when the Union started shelling them.
• The mood in Virginia, however, was not quite so flippant. The Lamon family was intact, but loyalties were divided across the state.
• Late June 1861 saw two Virginia state governments declaring allegiance to the opposing sides in the war.
• Virginia's internal division later led to the creation of the state of West Virginia, which was admitted to the Union in 1863.
• My recruitment efforts were briefly driven from Virginia into Maryland, but by Independence Day, Martinsburg was reoccupied.
• There was general merriment in Martinsburg when my recruitment efforts returned. It was there that the rank of Colonel was conferred upon me.
• Martinsburg was also where the wife of a naval officer presented me with a beautiful American flag as a tribute to my efforts.
• It could also be the scene of ugliness, to be sure. One day, my men and I came across a mob rushing a man toward a hangman's noose.
• My men preferred to remain neutral in local affairs, but as a native of the state, I heard the call to defend its honor.
• "Have at him!" "This is the one!" The mob's shouts echoed across the outskirts of town. They were mere yards from a hangman's tree.
• I dropped my bundle of recruiting papers and rushed to intercept the mob. "What manner of vigilante justice is this?" I asked.
• A few scrawny men at the front of the group seemed to be its leaders. "Step aside!" one of them said. "This is no business of yours."
• "I am a US marshal here on official business on behalf of the President," I said. "Any affair in this state is business of mine."
• I presented the pass Mr. Lincoln had issued when I left. The impudent one seemed to care little, even as his companions shrank back.
• "Your affairs are in Washington, not here," he said. "I think not," I replied. I drew my pistol. He did likewise.
• The mob leader pointed his pistol at the condemned man's head. His hands were bound. He could only wince in anticipation of his fate.
• "One way or t'other, I'll serve justice, marshal," the leader said. "What are the charges?" I asked.
• "Charges?" He practically spat the word. "Witnesses saw him conferring with the enemy. Are you a lawyer too?"
• "Mayhap," I replied. "These witnesses, are they here?" I asked. He glanced around. "Not as such," he said.
• "Did you personally speak with these witnesses?" I asked. "It don't matter if I did or didn't," the leader said. "Now step aside."
• "You haven't presented sufficient evidence to convict this man of stealing a few coins, let alone conspiracy against his country," I said.
• The murmurs of the crowd told me they agreed. I was performing in a court of law once more, no matter how impromptu it might be.
• The mob leader let his gun drop to his side. The crowd behind him had begun to disperse. The condemned man was incredulous.
• I stepped forward and began untying the man's bindings. The mob leader backed away and joined his companions.
• "Thank you, marshal," the man said. "I swore an oath to uphold the laws of this great country, not a mob's idle speculation," I replied.
• We shook hands. "Lamon," I told him. "Newly conferred colonel in charge of recruitment. We need men such as yourself."
• "Boyd," he said. "Perhaps I will visit your office tomorrow and offer my services. I have other matters to attend to in the meanwhile."
• I did not see him again. Astute readers will recognize his last name. Yes, he was related to the infamous Belle Boyd, as I later learned.
• Miss Belle Boyd was captured three times for conspiring with the enemy. She thrice somehow secured her freedom.
• As for Mr. Boyd, whose life I spared, I know not what became of him. But I imagine Mr. Lincoln would have approved of my actions.
• Mr. Lincoln spared many lives in the war. "Hill," he would have said, "our place is not to condemn such passion. That is God's judgment."

June 4th, 2012 - My Role as an Embattled Marshal

• I have mentioned many times my position as a US marshal in Washington, DC. You may wonder how I attained such authority.
• Each new President carries with him to Washington the baggage of those who aided his cause and expect compensation of some kind.
• It was the same for Mr. Lincoln. For instance, Judge Davis returned to Illinois with his hopes set on the Supreme Court.
• I had wanted Mr. Lincoln to bestow an ambassadorship on me, but I soon decided US marshal better suited my traits.
• Given my imposing size, commanding voice, and willingness to use my fists when necessary, I could bring order to the capital city streets.
• Unfortunately, as today, any Presidential appointment could be a target for enemies, and such it was for me and Mr. Lincoln.
• The US marshal position was desirous, for it afforded flexibility in one's working hours. That allowed me to remain near Mr. Lincoln.
• The post also paid handsomely. After receiving it, I was able to afford a very comfortable home not far from the White House.
• At the height of my wealth, I owned three carriages and a stable of fine gray steeds to pull them. I dined on delicate china.
• I traveled in the upper echelons of the city's social circles, and I often attended and hosted many gatherings. I drank it all in.
• Many an evening I spent in deep conversation with Cabinet members, Senators, Representatives, and even a high court justice or two.
• I was well-liked, and I liked most I encountered, but I also had enemies who distrusted me as a Virginian.
• I have said I will speak of my enemies, but I find myself lost in reverie. Forgive me while I think first of happier times.
• Beyond providing protection for Mr. Lincoln, I also gave him respite from the many daily demands on his time and energy.
• He and I spent many an evening riding in one of my carriages, enjoying the twilight and conversing on any subject but the war.
• "Hill," he said to me once, "I truly believe the hand of God has guided me to this time, this place, these solemn tasks."
• "I will fulfill my duties, but when they are done, you and I shall enjoy these rides in a small town far removed from the madding crowd."
• I wish I could accept credit for giving Thomas Hardy that phrase, "far from the madding crowd," but I shall attribute it to serendipity.
• I shall now speak of my enemies. They weren't many, but they were vocal in their disapproval of my activities as US marshal.
• The largest stones in my boots were the Radicals, members of the Republican Party who opposed Mr. Lincoln on near almost everything.
• The Radicals hated me, and I responded with equal vehemence. I would have thrown the lot of them in my jail, if I had my way.
• After the conclusion of my recruiting efforts, a House committee run by the Radicals complained of the cost of troop movements.
• In St. Louis, I had recruited thousands of men who had to be transported to Maryland. I also needed transit back to the capital.
• That blasted House committee was in a fit over the $30,000 it cost to move those men. They also said I had asked for "a special train."
• House committees convened to irritate political appointees and waste taxpayers' resources are not new to your era.
• In my response to the House committee's investigation, I noted the demoralized and undisciplined state of those Missouri men.
• I wrote, "They arrived in Maryland well fed, well armed, and capable of carrying out any marching orders. Surely that is worth the cost."
• I added, "In addition, those soldiers were more needed in Maryland than Missouri, so the cost was to be borne regardless."
• I continued, "It is true I asked for a special train to Washington. It cost $30 and enabled me to attend to urgent business."
• "I also had to make a stop in Springfield to confer with Gov. Yates regarding my troop recruiting in Illinois."
• You may be unsurprised to learn that Gov. Yates supported Mr. Lincoln in his election to the Presidency.
• This was just the start of the Radicals' harassment, but in the meantime, a new enemy emerged from an unlikely place. More on Monday.
• Many of my friends supported my appointment to US marshal and presented evidence of such to Mr. Lincoln.
• Among that group was William P. Wood, who advocated on my behalf and then turned on me as a child might when not given all they desire.
• My first act as marshal was to appoint George Phillips as deputy marshal, a role he had admirably filled for eight years prior.
• Phillips was well-liked in the capital, which was my primary motivation for retaining his services, despite his standing as a Democrat.
• Phillips handled many of the daily duties of the marshal's office, freeing me to watch over Mr. Lincoln.
• Wood's primary point of contention was not how I handled my duties -- it was with Phillips; he had pressed me to appoint someone else.
• "I desire to inform you I am now your enemy," Wood wrote to me. I had no choice but to respond to his dirty little manuscript.
• "A man who like yourself has so little regard for the rights of others and so little veneration for his God can never be my deputy."
• That was my reply to Wood's personal savagery of my character. I felt more sure in my choice of Phillips after that.
• I should note a bit of irony in connection with Mr. Wood: He later became the first Director of the Secret Service.
• Had a man later tasked with protection of the President considered my situation, mayhap he would have been more understanding.
• My appointment of a deputy marshal already versed in his role allowed me to be more vigilant in regard to Mr. Lincoln's well-being.
• Wood had not considered that his man might not have put me in such a position; he was more worried about politics than the greater good.
• I was composing my reply to Wood's attack when I received an unexpected visitor: Judge Davis, arrived from Illinois to visit West Point.
• Davis had received an appointment to West Point's Board of Visitors, which oversees certain affairs of that military academy.
• From the look on Davis' face, however, I knew it was not the post he hoped for when he tirelessly worked to help Mr. Lincoln win.
• Before traveling north to West Point, Davis decided to pay me a visit and discuss his displeasure in person.
• "Your appointment to the marshalship rejoices my inmost soul," Davis told me. "One original personal friend has got appointed."
• "But it now seems like small business to return to Illinois and hold courts." He leaned forward. "I desire to be a Supreme Court justice."
• Supreme Court justice John McLean had recently passed, and Washington's political circles buzzed with rumors of his replacement.
• Davis would have been a fine selection by Mr. Lincoln, but the President had many old friends to help, and he had a nation to sustain.
• Too much favoritism on Mr. Lincoln's part could easily harm his relationship with states that teetered on the edge of the Union.
• I attempted to explain that to Davis, but he waved his hand and changed the subject to his taxes, which would surely be raised for the war.
• "If I can live and pay my taxes, I shall be satisfied," he told me. He seemed melancholy. I suggested another post that might do.
• I mentioned the talk of Judge Drummond in Chicago to replace McLean. "Would Mr. Lincoln appoint me in Drummond's vacancy?" Davis asked.
• "I suppose a post such as Drummond's could be arranged," I told Davis. "The high court would not be far from there." His face brightened.
• Davis said, "From your confidential relations with him, you could speak on my behalf, as I spoke on yours." I nodded in agreement.
• I never had the opportunity to speak with Mr. Lincoln about Davis. The President instead nominated Noah Haynes Swayne, an abolitionist.
• However, Davis did not have to wait much longer for his reward: he was nominated by Mr. Lincoln to the high court in late 1862.
• Davis and Swayne were two of Mr. Lincoln's five Supreme Court appointments during his time in office.
• Davis soon became a fixture at social gatherings in my fine home. He was the sort of person whose path will always cross yours.
• Others would also soon cross my path again, but not in the same way. The Radicals had not forgotten me. More on Monday.
• The Radicals dubbed me the "Bobtail Colonel," on account of my recruiting efforts that they deemed beyond my commission.
• The Radicals were the primary agitators for war, even as Mr. Lincoln sought other avenues to avoid bloodshed.
• I blamed the Radicals for the failure at Bull Run in July, 1861: they pushed hard for that attack, which became a Union rout.
• After Bull Run, the streets of the capital city were full of demoralized military stragglers who had little to do.
• Dealing with those men was my responsibility as marshal, and I blamed the Radicals for putting me in such a difficult spot.
• Not long after the defeat at Bull Run, I was told of disheveled Union soldiers instigating a riot in front of the War Department.
• I took Phillips and the rest of my men to break up that crowd and arrest as many as we could to restore the peace.
• One of the belligerents struck at me. He missed, but I grabbed a fistful of his collar. I dragged him at least 30 feet.
• Then I yanked that man to his feet and choked him until his tongue flopped out and he understood that I would restore order.
• He survived. Sometimes I sought to beat a man within an inch of his life, but I never desired to take its full length.
• My jail was soon full of shiftless soldiers like him and other malcontents, including rebel prisoners and common criminals.
• It wasn't long before the Radical Republicans in Congress heard of my overfilled jail and began another of their investigations.
• A resolution was passed demanding the names of those imprisoned, the charges, and so forth, and I complied with the request.
• That was not enough to mollify those political assassins, and soon they began visiting my jail under the guise of inspections.
• One such visitor was Republican Senator James Grimes of Iowa. I was tempted to recommend that he inspect my fist.
• After he left, I decided future visitors would be admitted by pass only. In retrospect, mayhap that was a mistaken strategy.
• As soon as my guards refused admittance to one of the Radicals, they pounced, demanding an inquiry into my "anomalous procedure."
• Senator Grimes led the charge against me, demanding from the floor that Congress "expose the character of this marshal."
• Grimes even had the earlier House report on my recruiting activities entered into the record before condemning my "insolent conduct."
• Grimes later insisted an audience with Mr. Lincoln to discuss my activities, but he was rebuffed, which only angered him further.
• I was glad to hear that not all agreed with the Radicals' attack. One Senator asked for attention to "more important action" in Congress.
• Word spread beyond the capital, and soon newspapers around the nation debated the situation. Illinois friends wrote to me in support.
• Congress eventually passed an official censure. I was forced to respond as all appointees do when admonished: I offered my resignation.
• "There appears to be a studious effort upon the part of the more radical portion of our party to persecute me," I wrote to Mr. Lincoln.
• "I deem it but proper to relieve you of this embarrassment by resigning this office you were kind enough to confide in my charge."
• While Grimes was unable to secure an audience with Mr. Lincoln, I had no trouble doing so and was able to present my letter in person.
• Mr. Lincoln chuckled when he read my resignation. He handed it back. "Hill, I violently reject your request," he said.
• I replied, "Mr. President, my resignation will smooth your relations with the Radicals; it must be accepted for the greater good."
• "Hill," Mr. Lincoln said, "I expected this upon taking the oath of office. I accepted this solemn duty in ill and in health."
• "There are times I suspect my political enemies will harm this nation more than the Confederates ever could with ten thousand bayonets."
• "But this maneuver is mere posturing in the hope of political gains in future elections. Nothing more. Soon they'll have a new issue."
• Mr. Lincoln stood. "Now, Hill, how about a carriage ride on this fine evening? We'll speak of more important matters."