Removed from both Vollman and the gentleman, I felt arising within me a body of startling new knowledge. The gentleman? Was Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln was President. How could it be? How could it not be? And yet I knew with all my heart that Mr. Taylor was President.
roger bevins iii
That Mr. Polk occupied that esteemed office.
hans vollman
And yet I knew with all my heart that Mr. Lincoln was President. We were at war. We were not at war. All was chaos. All was calm. A device had been invented for distant communication. No such device existed. Nor ever could. The notion was mad. And yet I had seen it, had used it; could hear, in my mind, the sound it made as it functioned.
It was: telegraph.
My God!
roger bevins iii
On the day of the beam, Polk had been President. But now, I knew (with a dazzling clarity) that Polk had been succeeded by Taylor, and Taylor by Fillmore, and Fillmore by Pierce— hans vollman
After which, Pierce had been succeded by Buchanan, and Buchanan by— roger bevins iii
Lincoln!
hans vollman
President Lincoln!
roger bevins iii
The rail line ran beyond Buffalo now— hans vollman
Far beyond!
roger bevins iii
The Duke of York nightcap is no longer worn. There is something called the “slashed Pamela sleeve.”
hans vollman
The theaters are lit now with gaslight. Striplights and groundrows being employed in this process.
roger bevins iii
The resulting spectacle is a wonder.
hans vollman
Has revolutionized the theater.
roger bevins iii
The facial expressions of the actors are seen most clearly.
hans vollman
Allowing for an entirely new level of realism in the performance.
roger bevins iii
It would be difficult to express the perplexity these revelations thrust upon us.
hans vollman
We turned and ran-skimmed back toward the white stone home, talking most excitedly.
roger bevins iii
Mr. Bevins’s hair and numerous eyes, hands, and noses velocity-streaming behind him.
hans vollman
Mr. Vollman bearing his tremendous member in his hands, so as not to trip himself on it.
roger bevins iii
Soon we were in Mr. Lincoln’s lee, so close we could smell him.
hans vollman
Soap, pomade, pork, coffee, smoke.
roger bevins iii
Milk, incense, leather.
hans vollman
LVI.
The night of February 25, 1862, was cold but clear, a welcome respite from the terrible weather the Capital city had been experiencing. Willie Lincoln was now interred, and all ceremonial activities associated with that activity concluded. The nation held its breath, hopeful the President could competently reassume the wheel of the ship of state in this, its hour of greatest need.
In “The Spiritual Lincoln: An Essential Journey,” by C. R. DePage.
LVII.
By two a.m. the President had not yet returned to the White House. I considered waking Mrs. Lincoln. Although it was not unusual for the President to ride out alone evenings. He would routinely refuse any escort. Tonight he had ridden Little Jack, of whom he was fond. The night was cold and wet. He had not taken his greatcoat, which still hung on the peg. He would be chilled when he returned, that much was certain. Although his constitution was strong. I took up my post near the door, now and then stepping out to listen for Little Jack’s trod. Another half hour passed and still no Mr. Lincoln. If I were in his shoes, I thought, I might keep riding and never come back, until I had ridden myself back West into a life of less import and trouble. When three a.m. had come and gone I began to think he might have done just that.
I again considered waking Mrs. Lincoln. But pity forbade me. She was in a very poor state. I found it strange that he should have left her alone at such a time. But she was heavily sedated and, I think, not aware that he was gone.
Hilyard, op. cit., account of Paul Riles, White House guard.
LVIII.
Mary Lincoln’s mental health had never been good, and the loss of young Willie ended her life as a functional wife and mother.
In “A Mother’s Trial: Mary Lincoln and the Civil War,” by Jayne Coster.
Around two in the afternoon I heard a terrible commotion from the part of the house where the sick child lay. It appeared the moment had come. Mrs Lincoln rushed past me, head lowered, making a sound I have never heard emitted from human throat, before or since.
Hilyard, op. cit., account of Sophie Lenox, maid.
While the president’s outburst allowed for depiction, his wife’s did not.
Epstein, op. cit.
The pale face of her dead boy threw her into convulsions.
Keckley, op. cit.
Mary Lincoln collapsed into her bed.
Von Drehle, op. cit.
An altered woman.
Keckley, op. cit.
Laudanum being administered, even this powerful concoction could not suppress her cries of agony or subdue her disbelieving outrage.
Coster, op. cit.
Mrs. Lincoln was too ill to attend the funeral services.
Leech, op. cit.
Mary Lincoln stayed abed for a full ten days following the funeral.
In “A Belle Remade: The Journey of Mary Lincoln,” by Kevin Swarney.
Mrs. Lincoln was unable to leave her room or rise from bed for many weeks after the tragedy.