DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.68288#0037
EARLY WASHINGTON 15
family circle served to temper our thoughts, and brought
home to us the enormity of the tragedy of civil war.
An aunt of ours — one of those adopted aunts whom all
children have upon the edge of the family circle — a very
lovely woman, by name Aunt Rebecca, left alone by the
exigencies of the struggle, came to live with us. Her
brother, our dearly beloved Uncle John, went into the
Northern army; her husband, our still more dearly beloved
companion, Uncle Bill, for some unknown, or at least
forgotten, reason, went South and fought in the Southern
ranks. All during those terrible years and those hot sum-
mer months, her mind, and in a lesser degree, the minds
of her friends, my family, must have been torn by con-
flicting sympathy, but never, I am sure, by conflicting
loyalty.
The two uniforms — the blue and the gray — both of
them old, the gray stained and bedraggled, were in our
attic all during our childhood, and my brothers dressed up
in them and fought over, with a somewhat vague and un-
formulated bitterness, the battles in which they had been
too young to take part.
One very definite thing, which I do remember, was that
my father, and many of the friends about him, never be-
lieved that Mrs. Surratt was guilty; that the assassins
undoubtedly met in her house, but that she was uncon-
scious of the enormity of their plans.
‘Have you read the trial of the conspirators?’ wrote my
uncle to his brother. ‘I have read it pretty faithfully, and
think Mrs. Surratt, Herold, Payne, and Atzerodt will be
found guilty, but I do not believe any one but Payne will
be hanged. There is no evidence against O’Laughlin, and
but little against Mudd, Arnold, and Spangler. Herold is
family circle served to temper our thoughts, and brought
home to us the enormity of the tragedy of civil war.
An aunt of ours — one of those adopted aunts whom all
children have upon the edge of the family circle — a very
lovely woman, by name Aunt Rebecca, left alone by the
exigencies of the struggle, came to live with us. Her
brother, our dearly beloved Uncle John, went into the
Northern army; her husband, our still more dearly beloved
companion, Uncle Bill, for some unknown, or at least
forgotten, reason, went South and fought in the Southern
ranks. All during those terrible years and those hot sum-
mer months, her mind, and in a lesser degree, the minds
of her friends, my family, must have been torn by con-
flicting sympathy, but never, I am sure, by conflicting
loyalty.
The two uniforms — the blue and the gray — both of
them old, the gray stained and bedraggled, were in our
attic all during our childhood, and my brothers dressed up
in them and fought over, with a somewhat vague and un-
formulated bitterness, the battles in which they had been
too young to take part.
One very definite thing, which I do remember, was that
my father, and many of the friends about him, never be-
lieved that Mrs. Surratt was guilty; that the assassins
undoubtedly met in her house, but that she was uncon-
scious of the enormity of their plans.
‘Have you read the trial of the conspirators?’ wrote my
uncle to his brother. ‘I have read it pretty faithfully, and
think Mrs. Surratt, Herold, Payne, and Atzerodt will be
found guilty, but I do not believe any one but Payne will
be hanged. There is no evidence against O’Laughlin, and
but little against Mudd, Arnold, and Spangler. Herold is