The stern face of the Southern leader was set in his hour of trial. He
felt that he might never again look on the faces of those he loved. His
little girl clung convulsively to his neck in agonizing prayer that she
might stay. The boy begged and pleaded with tears raining down his
chubby face.
Just outside of Richmond the engine broke down and the heartsick family
sat in the dismal day-coach all night. Sleepers had not been invented.
They were twelve hours getting to Danville--a week on the way to
Charlotte.
The reign of terror had already begun.
The President's wife avoided seeing people lest they should be
compromised when the invading army should sweep over the State.
They found everything packed up in the house that had been rented, but
Weill, the big-hearted Jew who was the agent, sent their meals from his
house for a week, refusing every suggestion of pay. He offered his own
purse or any other service he could render.
When Burton Harrison had seen them safely established in Charlotte he
returned at once to his duties with the President in Richmond.
On the beautiful Sunday morning of April 2, 1865, a messenger hurriedly
entered St. Paul's Church, walked to the President's pew and handed him
a slip of paper.
Pages:
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556