DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.68288#0036
CHAPTER II
EARLY WASHINGTON
We smaller children lived the war and its aftermath vi-
cariously, so to speak, our knowledge, our judgment,
breathed in through the arguments, the long discussions
of our elders, my father and his neighboring friends; my
brothers, just growing to manhood; the returning troops;
the bedraggled prisoners; the great camp — or so it
seemed to our childish eyes — in front of the house; the
tense undercurrent in every voice, the recurrent reference
to those who would never come back. Through the mystic
curtain the actors stand out boldly: the big stolid figure of
Grant; the clean-cut figure of Lee, recognized even by his
enemies, even at that agitated time, as a great general;
Little Mac, whom the soldiers loved in spite of all criti-
cism; the dramatic flight of the romantic-eyed Booth;
Jefferson Davis, whom I picture as always escaping, and
always in hoopskirts, and — Lincoln I
The terrible abuse through which the great President
had lived was something of which I learned only long
afterwards. My family adored him; at that time people
spoke of him with universal gentleness, and the darkies,
who were our constant friends and companions, looked
upon him as a god. I know also that there was bitterness
toward the South, but of this I heard little, though we
were good Yankees. Our friends about the country,
Virginia and Maryland, were many of them Southern, and
also I imagine that an incident which happened in our
EARLY WASHINGTON
We smaller children lived the war and its aftermath vi-
cariously, so to speak, our knowledge, our judgment,
breathed in through the arguments, the long discussions
of our elders, my father and his neighboring friends; my
brothers, just growing to manhood; the returning troops;
the bedraggled prisoners; the great camp — or so it
seemed to our childish eyes — in front of the house; the
tense undercurrent in every voice, the recurrent reference
to those who would never come back. Through the mystic
curtain the actors stand out boldly: the big stolid figure of
Grant; the clean-cut figure of Lee, recognized even by his
enemies, even at that agitated time, as a great general;
Little Mac, whom the soldiers loved in spite of all criti-
cism; the dramatic flight of the romantic-eyed Booth;
Jefferson Davis, whom I picture as always escaping, and
always in hoopskirts, and — Lincoln I
The terrible abuse through which the great President
had lived was something of which I learned only long
afterwards. My family adored him; at that time people
spoke of him with universal gentleness, and the darkies,
who were our constant friends and companions, looked
upon him as a god. I know also that there was bitterness
toward the South, but of this I heard little, though we
were good Yankees. Our friends about the country,
Virginia and Maryland, were many of them Southern, and
also I imagine that an incident which happened in our