Echoes From Hospital and White House

[kerry]

(12-05-2017 01:15 PM)Susan Higginbotham Wrote:  Here is a link to a blog about Maria Hall. The letter provided by her descendant to the author of that post appears to be the same letter that I mentioned earlier.

http://john-banks.blogspot.com/2013/09/b...meets.html

Yes, this is where I got most of my information about her. I also wondered if she existed before finding it. The same with a third nurse, Cole, who I'm still not sure was telling the truth. Helen Brainard Cole gave many interviews late in life about her experiences, and she either repurposed the other nurses' stories or was telling the truth. She claims "The last time I saw Tad was some months after the war ended. It was in Boston, where there was some kind of an exposition or fair, and Mrs. Lincoln and her children were there. I found Tad sitting on the steps of a booth crying as if his little heart would break. I asked him, “Why, what’s the matter, Tad?” “I want my pa,” he wailed. Then he said: “You know, if my pa was living, he’d’ forgive the man who shot him.””

It's not known that Tad was ever in Boston, but I do think it is possible they went quietly. That seems coincidental, though.

I found this also:

On February 21, 1909, the Springfield (MA) Republican published a paper by Clara S. Palmer of Chicopee for the Daughters of the American Revolution local chapter. She remembered “It is no secret to those who knew Mr. Lincoln that his domestic life was full of trial. He was a devoted husband and a fond father. Mrs. Lincoln, who was a society belle before her marriage to Mr. Lincoln, was not a popular woman, but I suppose her lack of health, and the terrible strain on her life, were largely answerable for this.” One of her friends was a nurse at the White House and had sent her a few notes — the friend was Maria Hall. “In February, 1863, I was on voluntary duty in the first hospital opened for ‘the boys in blue.’ This was an unfinished corridor of the patent office…Miss Dix….called for me in the early evening, explaining to me, when we were seated in the carriage, that Mr. Lincoln had asked for a nurse from the hospital saying, ‘Willie died this morning, Mrs. Lincoln is ill, and now Tad is down with typhoid fever.’ A nurse had been selected….but here were critical cases of typhoid fever among the soldiers…and sje objected…I was Miss Dix’s second choice. Mr. Lincoln received me with great cordiality. He stood before me, he extended both hands and said , ‘I am very glad you have come..’ I looked up, and up, into the face above me;….I felt that I could trust him with all my heart’s treasures, if need came. His tender consideration for the strange young nurse, and his utter devotion to his child, impressed me more and more as the few days passed. Every moment he could give from duty was spent with Tad. As the worn face appeared at the door of the stick room, the question was always, ‘How is the boy?’ but before the boy could see the face, it wore a beautiful smile. When the mother came to sit a moment with the boy, she was overcome with her anxiety and grief, an could not control her tears. Tad would say: ‘I wish you would not come in here, you make me cry.’ Only the first night was I allowed to watch all night with ‘the boy.’ The father would come in softly and if all was still, he would tell me to go to bed. ‘I can lie down by the boy, you go to sleep now, Miss Maria.’ One morning he said, ‘Now pa has some writing to do. I wonder, Tad, if you would like me to bring it in here, where you can see me write.’ A beaming smile on the little face, and ‘’Oh, yes,’ as if a great boon were promised, settled the question. Mr. Lincoln brought in a good-sized table, his writing materials, and a pile of commissions for army officers to be signed. He managed all with the one idea of Tad’s comfort in looking on, and began the work of at least two hours, of writing signatures. As the last parchment was added to the pile on the floor, I seized the opportunity, and asked if he would write his name for me. ‘Oh, yes, Miss Maria,’ adding ,’ when I write my name for the public,I have to write ‘Abraham inncoln’ but I like best to sign my name ‘ A. Lincoln’, so I write this way for you.’ The White House, at this time, was very poorly furnished, at least the bedrooms were. Mrs. Lincoln was unable to give much care to the housekeeping, and the servants were careless and neglectful. Mr. Lincoln waited n himself a great deal. Many things which seemed very necessary to the comfort of the bedrooms were wanting. One night he wanted to give the restless little patient a drink of Saratoga water. He produced the bottle, the cork covered with fine wire. Mr. Lincoln was at a loss how tot remove the cork. I can see him now, holding the bottle with both hands, looking about the room in a helpless fashion for something to assist them. He evidently did not carry a corkscrew. I bethought myself of a pair of embroidery scissors in my pocket, and held up the scissors, saying, ‘Would these help you?’ He took hem quite eagerly, saying, ‘Oh, yes, they are just the thing. You would suppose they were made for the purpose.’ The cork removed, he looked for a tumbler. The only one in the room had a little water in it. He took it, with a motion to throw it into the open fire, then stopped, saying, ‘I’ll guess I’ll drink it’; and at last, Tad had his Saratoga water. I was sent to my room to rest while the father took care of the boy. My meals were usually served to me in the room, or I went to the dining-room and ate alone. One day when some old friends of the family were staying with Mrs. Lincoln, I dined with the family…..mr. Lincoln dwelt especially upon the disappointment of the government in trust officers, saying, ‘ We did not know whom we could trust. The North heard of it. They said, ‘Why don’t you hang those men? They ought to be hanged.’ And then I heard in his voice the unmistaken humor, ash e said, as if to himself,’Yes, they ought to be hanged, but we couldn’t hang everybody.’



I suppose it is not surprising, but the more I research, the more I realize how many people lie or simply integrate others' memories into their own. Everything is so unreliable. It's so hard to tell if some accounts are straight-out lies or strange misrememberings of things. Recent publications have suggested Henry Rankin made up most of his details about Mary, and that Crook lied about going to City Point. I don't know the truth on either one, but both authors (Burligame and Trudeau, respectively) had at least plausible arguments for it. Same with all Dall's claims in the "Keeping Lincoln's Secrets" article.


ETA: I emailed the Winthrop Library about Pomeroy letters possessed by them (mentioned in an Erika Holtz article) which I assume are different than Harvard's. Apparently the library lost them a while ago and can't find them.