HER VISIT TO LINCOLIN
     (The following article in regard to Abraham Lincoln was published in a Chicago paper more than forty years ago but the interest is just as great for people of today as then. Mrs. Byers, now dead, who visited Lincoln has relatives living about Wyaconda (Missouri), and Mr. Hayden, now dead, was a grandfather of Supt. Stanley Hayden of Kahoka public school who loaned the newspaper to the Courier.—Ed.)
     The paper concerning President Lincoln has never been made public. In fact, it belongs to a collection of notes which I am now connecting for publication.
     In the month of October 1864, I went from Fairmount, Mo., to Washington city, in behalf of Daniel Hayden, of Scotland county, who had been captured at Helena, Ark., fifteen months before, and who was now confined in the old Alton, Ill., penitentiary, which had been turned into a military prison.
     On the train I met Col. Thomas Turner of Freeport, Ill., and Col. Hancock of Chicago, president of the board of trade. Col. Turner, who was a long-time friend, informed me that they were going to Washington on a delightful mission. The Union league of Chicago had passed very complimentary resolutions in favor of Mr. Lincoln upon his renomination, and these two gentlemen had been chosen by the league to present them in person to the president.
     We arrived in Washington on the fourth day of the month. The city was crowded to overflowing with guests of every class and people of every land and clime. Mothers, wives, daughters, sisters and sympathizing friends on different missions of mercy. Officers and soldiers thronged the streets, the hotels filled with officers and their wives. Such a commotion as there was throughout the whole town. And to crown it all, Sheridan and Early were fighting in the Shenandoah Valley. At the white house people sat waiting, day in and day out, for an audience with the president. One could scarcely get around through the eagerly expectant crowd, many of whom told me they had been there for weeks. Their cards had been taken in and they were impatiently awaiting their turn.
     On the afternoon of the 7th I did not reach the white house until after 3 o’clock. At the entrance I met an old man, a clerk in the department of the commissary-general of prisoners—Col. William Hoffman’s department. I had accidentally met and conversed with the plain old fellow, who proved my salvation at this time.
     The moment he met me he said: “Have you seen the president yet?” I replayed in the negative. He then advised me to go right up. He said: “It is now past office hours. I have just left the president; went in to get these papers signed. Tomorrow the cabinets meets; the next day is Sunday. Monday is always a busy day, so you cannot hope to see him before Tuesday evening, even though you were first on the list, and there are hundreds ahead of you.”
     I certainly felt that the old man’s advice was good, but it also occurred to me that I would be running a great risk to walk into the private office of President Lincoln, unannounced and uncalled for. I was only a green young woman from the backwoods of Missouri. What would I do if he should order me out or something of that kind. My case would surely be hopeless and I undone. But the thought of the poor old father who was paying my expenses, and the advice of the clerk whom I met, made me somewhat desperate, and, after getting up all the courage possible, I made my way upstairs and to the door of the office. I could feel my heart beating in an unusual mamier, and I was actually trembling from head to foot. At last I took hold of the door knob, hesitated then turned it and walk in.
     Mr. Lincoln was all alone, sitting beside a very plain table, resting his elbow on the table and his head upon his hand. His position was exactly such as we find in the pictures shown on page 313 of McClure’s for March, 1896, and the one I consider the best of all those shown—more lifelike and certainly a perfect representation of Mr. Lincoln as he appeared on that day.
     When I entered he raised his tired eyes, oh so tired, and with a worn look I can never, never forget. As I advance, and before he spoke, I said, “Mr. Lincoln, you must pardon this intrusion, but I just could not wait any longer to see you.” The saintly man then reached out his friendly hand and said: “No intrusion at all, not the least. Sit down, my child, sit down, and let me know what I can do for you.” I suggested that probably he was too tired. He replied: “I am tired, but I am waiting to say goodbye to two friends from Chicago who are going on the train at 7.
     I briefly explained to him the case before me, saying that Mr. Hayden had been in prison fifteen months; that he was a union man, forced from his home by the rebels, etc.: that his wife had died since he had been in prison, leaving five little children with his very aged mother, who had lately lost her eyesight. I had, besides, a large envelope filled with letters of recommendation from different officers of the department of Missouri; also a petition drawn up by myself, signed by the union neighbors of Mr. Hayden; appended to it a certificate of their loyalty, signed by the county clerk, Wallace Permott, who had affixed the seal of the County Court. To all the above Senator John B. Henderson had added an indorsement for myself, in strong, impressive language. When I offered my papers to the president he didn’t touch them, but said, without raising a hand: “Now suppose you read them over for me. Your eyes are younger than mine. Besides as I told you, I am very, very tired.” By accident, the petition was the first thing I took up. When I came to John B. Henderson’s name he reached out and said quickly: “Let me see that.” As he glanced over it to the bottom, he laid the paper down, slapped his hand upon the table and exclaimed: “Plague on me, if that ain’t John Henderson’s signature. Will, I’ll release this man just because John Henderson ask me to do it. I know he wouldn’t ask me if it wasn’t right, nor send any one here that would do anything detrimental to our government. Come in tomorrow at 8 o’clock—mind, at 8 o’clock precisely. Bring that petition with John Henderson’s name on it and I’ll fix you so you can get this man out of prison.” He then seemed interested and asked me several questions about men and matters in northeast Missouri.
     At this moment the door opened and Col. Turner and Hancock entered. He greeted them in a very offhand manner, motioned them to seats, then turning to Col. Turner he said: “Why, this must be the woman you told me about.” At this the very gallant, elegant-looking man immediately stood up, and in a most gracious manner said: “Yes, Mr. Lincoln this is the daughter of an old friend of mine, and I beg that that you may hear what she has to say, and grant her request for my sake.” “All right, colonel; all right. Sit down.”
     Our mingled conversation lasted about half an hour. As we were rising to leave Mr. Lincoln, addressing all three, said: “Now, you folks have come with your favors to bestow and petitions to granted. I have promised to do all that has been asked of me, and said the finest things I could to what has been bestowed. So I think I ought to have my way next, and what I have to ask is that you all three come and eat dinner with me tomorrow. Will you do it?” Of course we accepted with profuse thanks, and as we said goodby he reminded us: “No formality at dinner tomorrow. Not a bit.” At this moment I remembered and said: “Now Mr. Lincoln, you have requested me to be here at 8 in the morning. Pray tell me how I am to get in?” “Oh, the usher is only a tender little Irishman. If he refuses to let you pass, slap him down the steps, and walk in as you did just now.” At this the gentlemen all laughed heartily, and, as the president turned to me, he held out his hand and smiling like summer, said: “You come when I tell you, my child, and you’ll get in as sure as you’re alive.”
     I walked briskly to the white house the next morning and stood at the head of the stairs waiting for my watch to say the moment, not in the least guessing how I was to get permission to enter. Standing at the end of the corridor nearest the door I had passed through the day before I heard some one say: “This way, Mrs. Byers.” Looking up I saw, to my great astonishment, at the farther end of the corridor the president motioning me to come. I walked up to where he stood as quickly as possible. He grasped my hand warmly, let me in and introduced me to William H. Steward and Mr. Nicolay. He sat down by his desk, reached out for the petition, wrote across the back, “Release this man on order No.—. A. Lincoln.” As he handed it straight back to me he remarked, with looks full of inexpressible sympathy and goodness: “Mrs. Byers, that will get your man out. And tell his mother I wish to heaven it were in my power to give her back her eyesight so she might see her son when he gets home to her.”
     That afternoon we went together from Willard’s hotel to dine with President Lincoln, and informal affairs I have ever attended it certainly took the lead. I was seated at the right of the president, Col. Turner on his left; Mrs., Lincoln, the two boys and Col. Hancock occupied the rest of the table. When a dish of anything was brought he reached out for it, handled the spoon like an ordinary farmer, saying to all in his reach: “Will you have some oh this?” dishing it into our plates liberally. And so it was throughout the whole dinner, as he had said, truly informal Mrs. Lincoln was very sweet and gracious. The contrast between them was so striking that I have them plainly before this moment as they appeared then.
     I have always considered the president’s actions, through this whole affair of my own, very extraordinary in more ways than one. Mr. Lincoln was at this time president of the United States and commander-in-chief of her armies—no foreign nations to contend with, but his own beloved land and country. So many, many wonderfully weighty matters upon his heart, mind and hands, and yet to remember that I, an ordinary woman on an ordinary mission, had been promised admission at 8 o’clock on the morning of Oct. 8, and that this small matter had not been forgotten. Stranger than all, that he had not forgotten the poor, blind mother.
     The more I contemplate the character of Abraham Lincoln, the more I find to admire and the more am convinced that it is beyond the power of mortals to portray the many god like characteristics of this, the chi? of all created men.
A. R. B. P.