Since this is the 150th anniversary of Abraham Lincoln's assassination, I thought I'd pull out this old Targum story I put up awhile back. It is written by Rutgers Professor John Charles Van Dyke, Professor of History of the Art and run in the February 10, 1909 Targum. His dad had been a Whig Congressmen and was a judge on the New Jersey Supreme Court in 1869. Van Dyke's father, John, had the honor of introducing the President-elect from the George Street train station on February 21, 1861. Lincoln started from Jersey City and was on his way to Trenton when the train paused in New Brunswick. About 500 combined townspeople and Rutgers students cheered Lincoln and wanted to hear him speak. Lincoln had no planned speech but spoke off the cuff from the train. Professor Van Dyke was a small child sitting in a carriage with his mother while this all happened.
This three-part story are his memories of that day, the day the news of Bull Run arrived in New Brunswick, and the day the news arrived of Lincoln's assassination.
Child's Impressions of Lincoln
By a Rutgers College Professor
[identified as Professor, John Charles Van Dyke, Professor of History of the Art]
Targum, February 10, 1909
If these three impressions have any value it will be more on account of their object than their subject. A child's recollections are of little consequence to anyone except the child. Naturally enough perhaps, I think mine interesting because they are connected with a great character in our history, and perhaps you may be interested in hearing them.
Of time or events or people I had then little conception and give now only that childish unreasoning observation which records facts unconscious of their significance or relation. My first impression was of a vast crowd of people gathered at the railway station of my native town (New Brunswick) in New Jersey. I was high up on the box seat of an old family carriage, sitting beside an old family coachman, and my mother and aunt sat in the seat behind me and below me. I could see over the gathering and I remember wondering in a childish way where all those people lived and who made all their hats. There looked to be more hats than people. I had never seen so many. And they seemed to surge and mill an eddy about like blocks of wood in a whirl-pool. There was great uneasiness and something of expectancy in that mass of hats. Something had happened or was about to happen. Bands were playing, flags were flying, and important looking people were dashing here and there as though freighted with matters of great moment. Presently someone called out in a sharp voice: "Here he comes."
Then there was great push up on both sides of the tracks and then a call of "Stand back there."
An alley was formed through the crowd and down that alley came slowly gliding a short train of cars. They were the dumpy little cars of the Camden and Amboy Railroad, but to my eyes they appeared colossal. And how gay they looked! The cars were streaming with red, white and blue flags and festoonings, the engine was wound about with bright ribbons, and, even, the trainmen who sat up in his little "buggy" cover on top of the engine, holding the bell rope over the tops of the cars, had a flag wrapped around his hat. There was a tremendous hurrah as the cars slowly drew through the crowd and came to a standstill. Then as the rear door of the last car opened there was a hush, the band stopped playing, and every hat in the crowd stretched its neck to see. Two men came out on the car platform. One of them I knew very well but had not seen for what seemed to me a very long time. I had given up wondering about this absence, but when I saw him on the car platform I recognized him at once and springing to my feet on the carriage box I screamed loudly:
"There's father! There's father!"
The shrill treble of a child's voice breaking in on the silence of an audience waiting for a speech attracted more attention than might have been looked for. The hats turned around. I can feel those countless eyes and see those smiling faces to this day. But I was not expected to address the audience as I very shortly learned by someone in the carriage pulling me down to a sitting position and telling me to "keep quiet." And I did keep quiet but never took my eyes from those two men on the platform. The one I knew was a tall man. Any boy's father is always a big man to the boy. But that other man! What a giant he must be, I thought, for he was so much taller! He was dressed in long black clothes, had long arms and legs, a long face, and on his head a long silk hat. I couldn't help looking at him. He seemed such a very odd-looking man as he stood there taking off his high hat occasionally by way of bowing to periodic bursts of applause. I do not remember what he said, if anything. He was there for only a few moments and then the train moved off amid great shouts, the two men bowing from the platform until the train disappeared around a curve. The tall man was Abraham Lincoln. He was on his way to his first inauguration as President of the United States. It was 1861.
I do not know how long it was before I gained a second impression or associated thought of Lincoln but it must have been some months later. I remember that this impression came to me at my grandfather's house where the various children and grandchildren of the families were accustomed to gather for evening prayers. It was a warm summer evening, the long hall was thrown open and the various heads of the family were grouped together on the wide veranda discussing something in excited tones. Occasionally we children pushed ourselves into the group, looking up and asking what had happened, but they were too excited to pay any attention to us. Presently we were all called into the hall and took our places with rather uneasy grace for the evening prayers. There was reading of the Bible, which I did not understand and boy-like thought very long after which we all knelt down on the oak floor while grandfather prayed. I remember that the oak floor was as hard as a rock under my bare knees, and the grandfather prayed on as though he never expected to have a chance to pray again. There was something wrong. I could not understand his vague references, but his voice trembled with emotion and there was a tremendous earnestness in that prayer. Once I looked through my hands at him. His voice had cracked with emotion, his hands were clasped over his white hair, his face was bent low down in his chair, and he was almost sobbing:
"Oh Arm Almighty stretch out and save us."
Some time later, as I walked home along the wood road holding my mother's hand, and we paused a moment at the stile, I asked her what it was all about. She looked at me for several seconds and then said rather despairingly:
"Ah, my boy, you wouldn't understand if I told you; there has been a battle and our people have been beaten."
"But can't the tall man make them stop it?" I asked.
Somehow I had in a childish way connected the tall man of the car platform with the ruler of the land.
"Yes," she said rather assuringly as though my question had started a new hope, "He will make them stop it."
That was the day the news came of the battle of Bull Run, the Northern troops were flying toward Washington, and the poor old grandfather was praying for the Union cause.
*****************************************************************************************
It was a few years later, this third impression. We were living in a large city and one night from my little hall bedroom I heard the sound of voices in the street and the trampling of many feet. They woke me out of sleep and I got up and went to the window. The night was dark but I could see many people standing about the sidewalks in front of the house, their heads close together, and talking anxiously. Sometimes their groups would shift about and several times men came running up the middle of the street shouting something. The sound of their hoarse voices seemed to rise on the air and shake the curtains in my room. I went back to my bed wondering, and soon wondered myself to sleep again. The next morning I had almost forgotten it when I stopped in my father's room on my way down stairs to say "good morning" to him. He was standing in the middle of the room with his hand on the back of a chair and looking very grave. He did not seem to hear me when I spoke. I went up and took his hand and then, as he looked down at me, he said in a choking voice:
"What do you think - they have shot the tall man, they have killed Mr. Lincoln."
There were tears in the steel-gray eyes as he spoke. I had never seen them there before, never saw them there afterward.
Through my own tears of childish sympathy I looked up and asked:
"Did the tall man have to die to save us?"
"It seems so - it seems so," he said.
This post was edited on 4/14 1:52 PM by Source
This three-part story are his memories of that day, the day the news of Bull Run arrived in New Brunswick, and the day the news arrived of Lincoln's assassination.
Child's Impressions of Lincoln
By a Rutgers College Professor
[identified as Professor, John Charles Van Dyke, Professor of History of the Art]
Targum, February 10, 1909
If these three impressions have any value it will be more on account of their object than their subject. A child's recollections are of little consequence to anyone except the child. Naturally enough perhaps, I think mine interesting because they are connected with a great character in our history, and perhaps you may be interested in hearing them.
Of time or events or people I had then little conception and give now only that childish unreasoning observation which records facts unconscious of their significance or relation. My first impression was of a vast crowd of people gathered at the railway station of my native town (New Brunswick) in New Jersey. I was high up on the box seat of an old family carriage, sitting beside an old family coachman, and my mother and aunt sat in the seat behind me and below me. I could see over the gathering and I remember wondering in a childish way where all those people lived and who made all their hats. There looked to be more hats than people. I had never seen so many. And they seemed to surge and mill an eddy about like blocks of wood in a whirl-pool. There was great uneasiness and something of expectancy in that mass of hats. Something had happened or was about to happen. Bands were playing, flags were flying, and important looking people were dashing here and there as though freighted with matters of great moment. Presently someone called out in a sharp voice: "Here he comes."
Then there was great push up on both sides of the tracks and then a call of "Stand back there."
An alley was formed through the crowd and down that alley came slowly gliding a short train of cars. They were the dumpy little cars of the Camden and Amboy Railroad, but to my eyes they appeared colossal. And how gay they looked! The cars were streaming with red, white and blue flags and festoonings, the engine was wound about with bright ribbons, and, even, the trainmen who sat up in his little "buggy" cover on top of the engine, holding the bell rope over the tops of the cars, had a flag wrapped around his hat. There was a tremendous hurrah as the cars slowly drew through the crowd and came to a standstill. Then as the rear door of the last car opened there was a hush, the band stopped playing, and every hat in the crowd stretched its neck to see. Two men came out on the car platform. One of them I knew very well but had not seen for what seemed to me a very long time. I had given up wondering about this absence, but when I saw him on the car platform I recognized him at once and springing to my feet on the carriage box I screamed loudly:
"There's father! There's father!"
The shrill treble of a child's voice breaking in on the silence of an audience waiting for a speech attracted more attention than might have been looked for. The hats turned around. I can feel those countless eyes and see those smiling faces to this day. But I was not expected to address the audience as I very shortly learned by someone in the carriage pulling me down to a sitting position and telling me to "keep quiet." And I did keep quiet but never took my eyes from those two men on the platform. The one I knew was a tall man. Any boy's father is always a big man to the boy. But that other man! What a giant he must be, I thought, for he was so much taller! He was dressed in long black clothes, had long arms and legs, a long face, and on his head a long silk hat. I couldn't help looking at him. He seemed such a very odd-looking man as he stood there taking off his high hat occasionally by way of bowing to periodic bursts of applause. I do not remember what he said, if anything. He was there for only a few moments and then the train moved off amid great shouts, the two men bowing from the platform until the train disappeared around a curve. The tall man was Abraham Lincoln. He was on his way to his first inauguration as President of the United States. It was 1861.
I do not know how long it was before I gained a second impression or associated thought of Lincoln but it must have been some months later. I remember that this impression came to me at my grandfather's house where the various children and grandchildren of the families were accustomed to gather for evening prayers. It was a warm summer evening, the long hall was thrown open and the various heads of the family were grouped together on the wide veranda discussing something in excited tones. Occasionally we children pushed ourselves into the group, looking up and asking what had happened, but they were too excited to pay any attention to us. Presently we were all called into the hall and took our places with rather uneasy grace for the evening prayers. There was reading of the Bible, which I did not understand and boy-like thought very long after which we all knelt down on the oak floor while grandfather prayed. I remember that the oak floor was as hard as a rock under my bare knees, and the grandfather prayed on as though he never expected to have a chance to pray again. There was something wrong. I could not understand his vague references, but his voice trembled with emotion and there was a tremendous earnestness in that prayer. Once I looked through my hands at him. His voice had cracked with emotion, his hands were clasped over his white hair, his face was bent low down in his chair, and he was almost sobbing:
"Oh Arm Almighty stretch out and save us."
Some time later, as I walked home along the wood road holding my mother's hand, and we paused a moment at the stile, I asked her what it was all about. She looked at me for several seconds and then said rather despairingly:
"Ah, my boy, you wouldn't understand if I told you; there has been a battle and our people have been beaten."
"But can't the tall man make them stop it?" I asked.
Somehow I had in a childish way connected the tall man of the car platform with the ruler of the land.
"Yes," she said rather assuringly as though my question had started a new hope, "He will make them stop it."
That was the day the news came of the battle of Bull Run, the Northern troops were flying toward Washington, and the poor old grandfather was praying for the Union cause.
*****************************************************************************************
It was a few years later, this third impression. We were living in a large city and one night from my little hall bedroom I heard the sound of voices in the street and the trampling of many feet. They woke me out of sleep and I got up and went to the window. The night was dark but I could see many people standing about the sidewalks in front of the house, their heads close together, and talking anxiously. Sometimes their groups would shift about and several times men came running up the middle of the street shouting something. The sound of their hoarse voices seemed to rise on the air and shake the curtains in my room. I went back to my bed wondering, and soon wondered myself to sleep again. The next morning I had almost forgotten it when I stopped in my father's room on my way down stairs to say "good morning" to him. He was standing in the middle of the room with his hand on the back of a chair and looking very grave. He did not seem to hear me when I spoke. I went up and took his hand and then, as he looked down at me, he said in a choking voice:
"What do you think - they have shot the tall man, they have killed Mr. Lincoln."
There were tears in the steel-gray eyes as he spoke. I had never seen them there before, never saw them there afterward.
Through my own tears of childish sympathy I looked up and asked:
"Did the tall man have to die to save us?"
"It seems so - it seems so," he said.
This post was edited on 4/14 1:52 PM by Source
