I could freely give my life to save his. Virginia C.

[David Lockmiller]

From a letter in the Portland Advertiser:

One morning early in January, 1864, I took up the Washington Chronicle and read : “The sentence of death recently passed by court-martial upon the four deserters has been approved by the President and Friday, the 29th inst. has been fixed upon for the execution.”

It was now Wednesday and the next Friday was the fatal day. About 10 o’clock a gentleman of my acquaintance came to my room saying there was a woman below whose husband was sentenced to be shot and couldn't I do something to help her?

The woman was indeed there, and in great distress, for her husband was one of the doomed four. He had deserted, nor will I suppress the further fact that this was the second time he had attempted to regain his family, nor the further circumstance - a doubtful palliation - that he had done so while excited with drink.

The writer of the letter tells of the woman's vain efforts to get influence by which an audience with the President could be had; and, of their going to the Executive Mansion and her failure to get an interview with the President by importuning the Secretary.

At length the Secretaries Chase, Seward, and Stanton came out, so that I know the Cabinet meeting is over, and now, is it possible? - the usher approaches us.

"Have you any letters for the President?”

I handed him one - the letter of a little child, the daughter of the condemned. It was the child's one thought, as she had written it without prompting or aid.

To His Excellency the President of the United States:

Most Honored and Excellent Sir - How shall a child like me attempt to write to you on such business as this concerning my father, J. W. C, who is sentenced - Oh! how can I write it - to be shot. Spare his poor life, I beseech you, and many thanks shall be given you. If his life is taken my mother cannot stand this heavy blow, and will soon go also. I am the oldest of five children. I have three sisters under eight years. Do not leave us fatherless, I beseech you. I could freely give my life to save his.

Virginia C.

The usher soon returns, the door, that has seemed of adamant [closure] opens before us, and with a bewildering feeling we enter. The President is sitting near a table, and nearly facing the door, and as he greets us politely, I notice traces of tears upon his face. His voice, too, betrays emotion.

“Mr. President,” I said, with what steadiness I could command, “the husband of this lady, J. W. C, 27th Regiment, - Volunteers, is sentenced to be shot, as you have learned from the letter, and we have come to ask you to spare his life. Men's lives are getting to be precious.”

"I know it but I must do something to keep those fellows, or half of them would run away.”

He said at last: "Now you women may go home comforted. I have telegraphed for them not to be executed until I send an order, and I don't intend to send the order.”

The poor woman at my side could only weep her thanks, but I recalled [her] saying more than once : “We thank you a thousand times, Sir.”

The President rose and dismissed us in a pleasant and cheerful way, but yet with such kindly sympathy in word and manner as I shall always gratefully and affectionately remember.