Free The Day Lincoln Was Shot by Jim Bishop Page A

soldiers who were acting as guards; and there was a throng of people, some gazing mournfully upon the corpse, whose face was covered, others weeping pitifully.
    â€œâ€˜Who is dead in the White House?’ I demanded of one of the soldiers.
    â€œâ€˜The President,’ was his answer. ‘He was killed by an assassin.’
    â€œThen came a loud burst of grief from the crowd, which awoke me from my dream. I slept no more that night, and, although it was only a dream, I have been strangely annoyed by it ever since.”
    Mr. Lincoln fell silent. The story was over. Ward Hill Lamon looked at the faces in the room. No one spoke. Mrs. Lincoln looked frightened.
    â€œThat is horrid,” she said. “I wish you had not told it. I am glad I don’t believe in dreams, or I should be in terror from this time forth.”
    The President smiled. “It was only a dream, Mother. Let us say no more about it, and try to forget it.”
    Senator Harlan arose to say good night. Secretary of the Interior Usher elected to stay a moment longer. So did Ward Hill Lamon. The President had asked Lamon, as a favor, to go to Richmond as his personal representative, and to see that certain anticipated complications at a state convention were smoothed. “Hill” had already agreed to go. Now, when the others had departed, and Mrs. Lincoln had said her good nights, Usher and Lamon tried to persuade the President not to go out anymore after nightfall. Ward Hill Lamon practically begged the President not to go out until he returned from Richmond.
    â€œUsher,” Mr. Lincoln said banteringly, “this boy is a monomaniac on the subject of my safety. I can hear him, or hear of his being around, at all times of the night, to prevent somebody from murdering me. He thinks I shall be killed, and we think he is going crazy.” He grasped Hill’s shoulders in his big hands and shook gently. “What does anybody want to assassinate me for? If anyone wants to do so, he can do it any day or night, if he is ready to give his life for mine. It is nonsense.”
    The Secretary of the Interior shook his head in disagreement. “Mr. Lincoln,” he said, “it is well to listen and give heed to Lamon. He is thrown among people that give him opportunities to know more about such matters than we can know.”
    Lamon brought up the subject of the dream, and the President chided him, saying: “Don’t you see how it will turn out? In this dream it was not me but some other fellow that was killed. It seems that this ghostly assassin tried his hand on someone else.” Mr. Lincoln was trying hard to laugh. His friends stared at him. “And that reminds me,” he said, “of an old farmer in Illinois whose family was made sick by eating greens. Some poisonous herb had got into the mess, and members of the family were in danger of dying. There was a half-witted boy in the family called Jake, and always afterward when they had greens the old man would say: ‘Now, afore werisk these greens, let’s try them on Jake. If he stands them, we’re all right.’
    â€œJust so with me. As long as this imaginary assassin continues to exercise himself on others, I can stand it.” The President laughed alone. “Well,” he said sobering and pulling his watch, “let it go. I think the Lord in His own good time and way will work this out all right. God knows what is best.”
    Lamon again asked for a promise that the President would not go out after dark while the marshal was in Richmond. Usher shook hands with his old friend and turned to leave.
    â€œWell,” said Lincoln, “I promise to do the best I can toward it. Good-by. God bless you, Hill.” *
    On the subject of dreams, the guard Crook later recalled his midnight patrols outside the President’s bedroom. In the stillness, with only the squeak of floorboards to punctuate his pacing, Crook often heard Lincoln