Lincoln Pardons-John Booth

[HerbS]

June 17,1861-Lincoln pardoned John Booth an African American Blacksmith from Washington,DC for stealing 6 sticks of wood.He was the father of 5 children and his wife appealed to Lincoln that her family would be in destitute condition if he were sent to Prison!

[RJNorton]

Thanks for noting this, Herb. This was not discovered until 2007.

There is more information near the bottom of the page here. Also, here.

[HerbS]

Thanks Roger,I have decided to give myself a unique project of researching some of Lincoln's unique Pardons and "acts of kindness"!

[L Verge]

I have some of the ledgers from my great-grandfather's store in T.B. that date to the 1860s. I remember being so delighted as a teenager to find an entry in there for items sold on credit to John Boothe. My mother burst my bubble by explaining that there was a colored family by that name that lived a few miles from the store.

[HerbS]

Laurie,You have now[in my eyes]outdone yourself! You never cease to Amaze Me!

[RJNorton]

Herb, I have read of one celebrated case of Lincoln's mercy that makes for a great story but nonetheless contains a lot of fiction. Lincoln's clemency in this case was the subject of a poem written in 1863 by Francis De Haes Janvier. The story is that Lincoln made a last minute coach ride, pardon in hand, to stay the execution of a Vermont soldier named William Scott who had been given the death penalty for sleeping on guard duty. In the poem, Janvier depicts Lincoln frantically racing to save the only son of Mrs. Scott, a widow. In truth I have read that the president was simply aware of Scott's case and asked McClellan to pardon him (which he did). Seven months later, Scott was shot and killed at Lee's Mill.

The Sleeping Sentinel
By Francis De Haes Janvier

'Twas in the sultry summer-time, as war's red records show,
When patriot armies rose to meet a fratricidal foe;
When from the North, and East, and West, like the upheaving sea,
Swept forth Columbia's sons, to make our country truly free.

Within a prison's dismal walls, where shadows veiled decay,
In fetters, on a heap of straw, a youthful soldier lay;
Heart-broken, hopeless, and forlorn, with short and feverish breath,
He waited but the appointed hour to die a culprit's death.

Yet, but a few brief weeks before, untroubled with a care,
He roamed at will, and freely drew his native mountain air;
Where sparkling streams leap mossy rocks, from many a woodland font,
And waving elms and grassy slopes give beauty to Vermont;

Where, dwelling in a humble cot, a tiller of the soil,
Encircled by a mother's love, he shared a father's toil.
Till, borne upon the wailing winds, his suffering country's cry
Fired his young heart with fervent zeal, for her to live or die.

Then left he all; a few fond tears, by firmness half concealed,
A blessing, and a parting prayer, and he was in the field.
The field of strife, whose dews are blood, whose breezes war's hot breath,
Whose fruits are garnered in the grave, whose husbandman is death!

Without a murmur he endured a service new and hard;
But, wearied with a toilsome march, it chanced one night, on guard,
He sank, exhausted, at his post, and the gray morning found
His prostrate form, a sentinel asleep upon the ground!

But God is love - and finite minds can faintly comprehend
How gentle Mercy, in His rule, may with stern Justice blend;
And this poor soldier, seized and bound, found none to justify,
While war's inexorable law decreed that he must die.

'Twas night. In a secluded room, with measured tread and slow,
A statesman of commanding mien paced gravely to and fro.
Oppressed, he pondered on a land by civil discord rent;
On brothers armed in deadly strife: it was the President!

The woes of thirty millions filled his burdened heart with grief;
Embattled hosts, on land and sea, acknowledged him their chief;
And yet, amid the din of war, he heard the plaintive cry
Of that poor soldier, as he lay in prison, doomed to die!

'Twas morning. On a tented field, and through the heated haze,
Flashed back, from lines of burnished arms, the sun's effulgent blaze;
While, from a somber prison house, seen slowly to emerge,
A sad procession, o'er the sward, moved to a muffled dirge.

And in the midst, with faltering step, and pale and anxious face,
In manacles, between two guards, a soldier had his place.
A youth, led out to die; and yet it was not death, but shame,
That smote his gallant heart with dread, and shook his manly frame!

Still on, before the marshalled ranks, the train pursued its way,
Up to the designated spot, whereon a coffin lay-
His coffin! And, with reeling brain, despairing, desolate-
He took his station by its side, abandoned to his fate!

Then came across his wavering sight strange pictures in the air:
He saw his distant mountain home; he saw his parents there;
He saw them bowed with hopeless grief, through fast declining years;
He saw a nameless grave; and then, the vision closed-in tears!

Yet once again. In double file, advancing, then, he saw
Twelve comrades, sternly set apart to execute the law-
But saw no more; his senses swam-deep darkness settled round-
And, shuddering, he awaited now the fatal volley's sound!

Then suddenly was heard the sounds of steeds and wheels approach,
And, rolling through a cloud of dust, appeared a stately coach.
On, past the guards, and through the field, its rapid course was bent,
Till, halting, 'mid the lines was seen the nation's President!

He came to save that stricken soul, now waking from despair;
And from a thousand voices rose a shout which rent the air!
The pardoned soldier understood the tones of jubilee,
And, bounding from his fetters, blessed the hand that made him free!

'Twas spring. Within a verdant vale, where Warwick's crystal tide
Reflected, o'er its peaceful breast, fair fields on either side;
Where birds and flowers combined to cheer a sylvan solitude,
Two threatening armies, face to face, in fierce defiance stood!

Two threatening armies! One invoked by injured Liberty-
Which bore above its patriot ranks the symbol of the Free;
And one, a rebel horde, beneath a flaunting flag of bars,
A fragment, torn by traitorous hands from Freedom's Stripes and Stars!

A sudden burst of smoke and flame, from many a thundering gun,
Proclaimed, along the echoing hills, the conflict had begun;
While shot and shell athwart the stream with fiendish fury sped,
To strew among the living lines the dying and the dead!

Then, louder than the roaring storm, pealed forth the stern command,
"Charge, soldiers, charge!" and, at the word, with shouts, a fearless band,
Two hundred heroes from Vermont, rushed onward, through the flood,
And upward, o'er the rising ground, they marked their way in blood!

The smitten foe before them fled, in terror, from his post-
While, unsustained, two hundred stood, to battle with a host!
Then, turning, as the rallying ranks, with murderous fire replied,
They bore the fallen o'er the field, and through the purple tide!

The fallen! And the first who fell in that unequal strife
Was he whom Mercy sped to save when Justice claimed his life-
The pardoned soldier! And, while yet the conflict raged around-
While yet his life-blood ebbed away through every gaping wound-

While yet his voice grew tremulous, and death bedimmed his eye-
He called his comrades to attest he had not feared to die!
And, in his last expiring breath, a prayer to heaven was sent,
That God, with his unfailing grace, would bless our President!

[HerbS]

Roger,Very interesting piece of Ficton.Thanks

[David Lockmiller]

(03-11-2014 02:36 PM)RJNorton Wrote:  Herb, I have read of one celebrated case of Lincoln's mercy that makes for a great story but nonetheless contains a lot of fiction. Lincoln's clemency in this case was the subject of a poem written in 1863 by Francis De Haes Janvier. The story is that Lincoln made a last minute coach ride, pardon in hand, to stay the execution of a Vermont soldier named William Scott who had been given the death penalty for sleeping on guard duty. In the poem, Janvier depicts Lincoln frantically racing to save the only son of Mrs. Scott, a widow. In truth I have read that the president was simply aware of Scott's case and asked McClellan to pardon him (which he did). Seven months later, Scott was shot and killed at Lee's Mill.

The Sleeping Sentinel
By Francis De Haes Janvier

There are apparently many stories about Private Scott and President Lincoln's hand (if any) in securing his pardon from execution. But the story that I have always believed was written by L. E. Chittenden, Register of the Treasury, in his book "Recollections of President Lincoln and His Administration" (1891) pages 265-83. [I do not know why this story has so little credibility.]

According to this story, Scott's Captain and some of Scott's comrades sought the assitance of "Judge" Chittenden in the matter. It was Chittenden who went with these men directly to President Lincoln. At the conclusion of the meeting with President Lincoln in the White House, Chittenden wrote:

"Captain," continued the President, "your boy shall not be shot -- that is, not tomorrow, nor until I know more about his case." To me he said, "I will have to attend to this matter myself. I have for some time intended to go up to the Chain Bridge. I will do so today. I shall then know that there is no mistake in suspending the execution."

I remarked that he was undertaking a burden which we had no right to impose; that it was asking too much of the President in behalf of a private soldier.

"Scott's life is as valuable to him as that of any person in the land," he said. "You remember the remark of a Scotchman about the head of a nobleman who was decaptitated. 'It was a small matter of a head, but it was valuable to him, poor fellow, for it was the only one he had.'"

I saw that reomonstrance was vain. I suppressed the rising gratitude of the soldiers, and we took our leave.

Months later, one of Scott's fellow soldiers, who had been wounded, reported in detail the incident of Scott's death at Lee's Mills to L. E. Chittenden. Scott's last moments and statements were as follows:

Just at daylight the word was passed that Scott wanted to see us all. We went into his tent and stood around his cot. His face was bright and his voice cheerful. 'Boys,' he said, 'I shall never see another battle. You all know what you can tell them at home about me. I have tried to do the right thing! I am almost certain that you will all say that.' Then while his strength was failing, his life ebbing away, and we looked to see his voice sink into a whisper, his face lighted up and his voice came out matural and clear as he said: 'If any of you ever have the chance, I wish you would tell President Lincoln that I have never forgotten the kind words he said to me at the Chain Bridge -- that I have tried to a good soldier and true to the flag -- that I should have paid my whole debt to him if I had lived; and that now, when I know that I am dying, I think of his kind face and thank him again, because he gave me the chance to fall like a soldier in battle, and not like a coward by the hands of my comrades.'

"Scott would have been satisfied to rest in the same grave with his comrades," the wounded soldier continued. "But we wanted to know where he lay. There was a small grove of cherry-trees just in the rear of the camp, with a noble oak in its centre. At the foot of this oak we dug his grave. There we laid him, with his empty rifle and accoutrements by his side. Deep into the oak we cut the initials, W. S., and under it the words, 'A brave soldier.' Our chaplain said a short prayer. We fired a volley over his grave. Will you carry his last message to the President?" [L. E. Chittenden] answered, "Yes."

Some days passed before I again met the President. When I saw him I asked if he remembered William Scott?

"Of Company K, Third Vermont Volunteers?" he answered. "Certainly, I do. He was the boy that Baldy Smith wanted to shoot at the Chain Bridge. What about William Scott?"

"He is dead. He was killed on the Peninsula," I answered. "I have a message from him for you, which I have promised one of his comrades to deliver."

A look of tnederness swept over his face as he exclaimed, "Poor boy! Poor boy! And so he is dead. And he sent me a message! Well, I think I will not have it now. I will come and see you."

He kept his promise. Before many days he made one of his welcome visits to my office. He said he had come to hear Scott's message. I gave it as nearly as possible in Scott's own words.

"Mr. President," I said, "I have never ceased to reproach myself for thrusting Scott's case so unceremoniously before you -- for causing you to take so much trouble for a private soldier. But I gave way to an impulse -- I could not endure the thought that Scott should be shot. He was a fellow-Vermonter -- and I knew there was no other way to save his life."

"I advise you always to yield to such impulses," he said. "You did me as great a favor as the boy. It was a new experience for me -- a study that was interesting, though I have had more to do with people of his class than any other. Did you know that Scott and I had a long visit? I was much interested in the boy. I am truly sorry that he is dead, for he was a good boy -- too good a boy to be shot for obeying nature. I am glad I interfered."

"Mr. Lincoln, I wish your treatment of this matter could be written into history."

"Tut! Tut! he broke in: "none of that. By the way, do you remember what Jeanie Deans said to Queen Caroline when the Duke of Argyle procured her an opportunity to beg for her sister's life?"

"I remember the incident well, but not the language."

"I remember both. This is the paragraph in point: ''It is not when we sleep soft and wake merrily ourselves that we think on other people sufferings. Our hearts are waxed light within us then, and we are for righting our ain wrangs and fighting our ain battles. But when the hour of trouble comes to the mind or to the body -- and when the hour of death comes, that comes to high and low -- oh, then it isna what we hae dune for oursells, but what we hae dune for others, that we think on maist pleasantly. And the thought that ye hae intervened to spare the puir thing's life will be sweeter in that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your mouth could hang the whole Porteous mob at the tail of ae tow.'"

[HerbS]

Maybe it's age,but I don't remember posting about"William Scott"!

[RJNorton]

David, do you have Lincoln's Men: How President Lincoln Became Father to an Army and a Nation by William C. Davis? There is a chapter entitled "The Quality of Mercy." My information regarding McClellan's role is on p. 170. According to the author McClellan acted the same day he got the request from Lincoln.

David, you are absolutely correct when you say there are multiple versions of the story.