[image caption: A. Lincoln]

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I was born on Analostan Island, near Aquaduct Bridge, at Georgetown, D. C., May 29,1824. Grandfather Thomas Pendel came from Ireland prior to the Revolutionary War. My maternal grandparents were from Pennsylvania, of old Dutch stock. Grandfather Pendel was in business in Alexandria in the Hudson Bay Fur Company, and accumulated $100,000, which he spent in aiding the Revolutionary cause, in which he took an active part. His remains lie in the churchyard of Christ Church, Alexandria, where General Washington used to worship.

Father Thomas Pendel was in the Indian Wars, previous to the War of 1812, and also took part in this war. He was an artilleryman,

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and at the call for volunteers on Lake Erie, reported for duty on an American brig to fight an English frigate. He was in the battle of Black Rock, which site is now the city of Buffalo, and lost an arm by a passing ball from the British. For this he received a pension of ninety dollars a year.

I enlisted in the Marine Corps on March 5, 1846, at Philadelphia; and on February 5, 1847, sailed from Boston on the battleship Ohio, bound for Vera Cruz.

In 1861, or 1862, the Metropolitan Police was established by Congress at the Capital, and I made application for and received an appointment on the force. I made the first arrest, with the assistance of "Buck" Essex. The case was that of a fellow named Grady, one of the English Hill toughs. A rounds-man said to us, "Boys, you take a walk down Seventh Street, and if you see anything going on, take a hand in it." Just as we got opposite the Patent Office, this Grady had assaulted, or rather was assaulting, a young fellow with a whip. I went up and grabbed him and put him under arrest, then took him to Squire Dunn's court and preferred charges against him. The Squire was busy writing for some time. When he got through he handed me

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the paper he was writing, and I was so green at the business I did not know what it was, so said: "What is this, Squire?" He replied, "Why, that is the paper of commitment for this fellow. Take him to jail."

On November 3, 1864, Sergeant John Cronin, Alfonso Dunn, Andrew Smith, and myself were ordered to report at the First Precinct, in the old City Hall, at one o'clock in the afternoon. We supposed we were to be detailed for detective work in New York City on account of the great riot then on there, especially as we were ordered to report in citizens' clothes, to conceal our revolvers, and to be sure to have them all clean and in good order. We arrived at the City Hall, and then were told where we were to go, which was to the President's Mansion, there to report to Marshal Lanham, at that time United States Marshal of the District of Columbia, and a bosom friend of Abraham Lincoln.

These were days that tried men's hearts, and women's, too. Men were falling at the front by hundreds, both in the Union and in the Confederate armies. There was weeping and mourning all over the land. Our nation

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was trembling with anxiety; we were all hoping that the great strife was over or soon to be.

Marshal Lanham took us upstairs and into the President's office, where we were introduced to him and to his two secretaries, Mr. Nicolay and Mr. Hay, the latter now being Secretary of State. We were then instructed to keep a sharp lookout in the different parts of the house, more particularly in the East Room and at the door of the President's office. After we had been on duty about three days, Sergeant John Cronin came to me and said, "Pendel, I want you to take my place near the President's office, and I will send your dinner to you." I took his place, and he sent my dinner up to me, but I think that was the last duty on the force he eater performed. He had other business in the city.

On the first Sabbath morning, as nearly as I can remember, a few days after our going on duty and the occurrences with Cronin which resulted in his leaving, it being the first Sabbath we were on duty at the White House, we were in a little waiting room on the right-hand side of the stairs. This room is now sometimes used by the President as a smoking

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room, and also as a reception room for those calling on the President and his family socially. Where the elevator now is used to be a pair of little old-fashioned stairs. You would go up a few steps and come to a landing; up a few more steps and another landing, and so on. This was a favorite stairway of Mr. Lincoln's, for he used it more than any other in the house. When he came downstairs that Sunday morning we were all chatting, and by "we" I mean Edward Burke, his old coach-man, Edward McManus, Alfonso Dunn, and myself. When Mr. Lincoln came into the room he said, "Which one of you gentlemen will take a walk with me as far as Secretary Stanton's house? He is sick in bed and I want to see him." As I had seen a good deal of the world and had been placed with public men of high station, I immediately arose and said, "Mr. President, I will walk with you." After we had passed out of the front door and were still on the main portico, but out of the hearing of any one, the President said to me, "I have received a great many threatening letters, but I have no fear of them." I said, "Mr. President, because a man does not fear a

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thing is no reason why it should not occur." He replied, "That is a fact."

After we got off the portico, going east, I said, "Mr. President, there has been many a good, brave man who has lost his life simply because he did not fear." Then he remarked in a thoughtful way, "That is so; that is so."

Then we passed along out the eastern gate and across Pennsylvania Avenue to Secretary Stanton's house, which was opposite Franklin Square on the north side of K Street, near the late Senator Sherman's residence. It was an elegant building. I stepped up and rang the bell, and the servant who came to the door admitted us at once. We were shown into the private parlor, and the President said to me, "Now you remain down here; I am going upstairs into Secretary Stanton's room; he is sick in bed." I said, "All right, Mr. President." I picked up a book and passed the time examining it until the President returned. On the way back to the White House the President was silent a long time, thinking of the grave problems of the day, I presume.

After a while he began to talk, and in the course of the conversation I mentioned Senator Harlan, and said, "Mr. President, Senator

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Harlan seems to be a very good man." He replied, "Yes, Senator Harlan is a good man." It always seemed to me a singular coincidence that very soon after this conversation Mr. Lincoln appointed Senator Harlan as one of his Cabinet officers. Afterwards Robert Lincoln married his daughter Mary, whom I knew very well, as I did also her mother and father.

Almost every day about ten o'clock I would accompany Mr. Lincoln to the War Department. He was exceedingly anxious about General Sherman's army, which was at that time marching through the South. On one occasion he remarked to me that he felt very uneasy about Sherman's army, since he had not been able to receive any information regarding it for three weeks. In going over to the War Department I used to try to expedite his leaving the White House as much as possible, because people would always hang around and wait to see Mr. Lincoln, and would thrust notes into his hands as he passed and in many ways annoy him. One day just as we got to the front door, after going out of the private corridor, there was a nurse who had been in the East Room with an infant in her arms and

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a little tot walking by her side. Just as we were about to pass out of the door, she got in front of us. I took hold of the little tot gently, and moved her to one side so that we could get out. The President noticed this action, and rather disapproved of my moving the child to let him pass and said, "That's all right; that's all right." The interpretation I put upon his words was that he would sooner have been annoyed by people thrusting letters into his hands than make a little child move aside for him to pass. When we did get out he started off rapidly. Mr. Lincoln did not seem to be walking very fast, but it kept me hustling to keep up with him; so much so that although I was pretty tall myself, I had a curiosity to know how tall the President was. One day as we were about to leave the White House, I asked the President his height. He replied, "I am just six feet three inches in my stocking feet."

During the Rebellion, the "Molly McGuires" up in the State of Pennsylvania had been giving the Government a great deal of trouble, as a result of the officers endeavoring to enforce the draft which had been proclaimed all over the United States. These fellows

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did, indeed, put our Government to a great deal of unnecessary trouble. The "Molly McGuires" were one of the toughest elements that ever infested the State of Pennsylvania. Many a good man was put out of the way by these roughs, and it could never be found out who committed the deed, or when or how it was done. Consequently, the Government had to put its strong arm down on these men. Quite a number of them were sent to the prisons. One day a number of people were shown into the President's office. Finally all left except two tall, gaunt Irish women, who were truly pictures of despair. They went up to Mr. Lincoln and said: "Howdy, Mishter President. We've cum to see yers, sir; to see if yers wouldn't pardon our husbands out of prison, sir." This was said in whining, woe-begone voices, and well- pretended looks of despair on their faces. "We would like to have yers pardon 'em out of prison, sir, so as to help support us, sir," they added, in wailing tones. The President sized them up. He was a great reader of human nature. Then, in the same identical twang the Irish women had used, he said, "If yers hushbands had not been resisting the draft, they

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would not now be in prison; so they can stay in prison." The two Irish women, without further words, turned away and left in double quick time.

I recall another incident that serves to show the gentle nature of the great President and what manner of man he was. There came to the White House one day another Irish woman. She was well advanced in years, and was accompanied by her little daughter, who could read and write, and who was a very bright little child.

She took a seat and waited for the President until he had finished with the other visitors. She then came forward with her little daughter. She was tidy and neat in her person, and very modest in manner. She said, "Mr. President, my husband is down sick at the hospital in Fredericksburg, and I would like to have him discharged, for yers have my husband and two sons, all three, in the army, and I need the help of one of them, either one of my sons or my husband." The President said, "You make an affidavit to that effect and bring it back to me." In the course of a day or so she returned again, and the President so arranged it that she could go down and take the order

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for the husband's or son's discharge. She had been gone probably three weeks, and the matter had passed out of my mind, when one day she returned to the White House. When she came up to speak to the President her voice was full of sorrow, and she was nearly crying as she said, "Mr. President, when I got down there he was dead. Now yers have two sons yet. I want to see if yer won't discharge one to help me get along, and yers can have the other one." Then the President said to her as he had done before. "You make an affidavit to that effect and bring it to me." She did so, and returned with the affidavit to the President. After he had arranged it so that she was to get one of her sons back, she stepped up to him and said, "Mr. President, may God bless you, and may you live many long years." After she had left the room and there was nobody in the office with the President but myself, he said to me, looking up into my face, "I believe that the old woman is honest."

One day an artist brought a painting of the President which he wanted him to see. I went in and said, "Mr. President, there is a man out there who has a painting he wants you to see." He replied, "Fetch him in."

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The artist came tugging the picture in a large, heavy frame. He put it down and waited for the President to speak. It was considered quite a big thing for an artist to get the President's opinion of his painting. Mr. Lincoln looked at the picture for some time without saying anything. Then, with considerable humor in his eye, he said to the artist, "Why, yes, that is a very good picture of me, and do yoga know why?" The artist was all worked up at the President's attitude, and was so confused he could not reply. "Well," continued Mr. Lincoln, "I'll tell you why it is the best picture of me; it is the ugliest." The artist was rather taken back for a few moments, but went away perfectly satisfied.

Along about four o'clock one afternoon there were a number of people waiting outside to see the President. He looked up at me from his desk and said, "Pendleton, how many people are out there?" I replied, "Mr. President, there are quite a number." I shall never forget his next remark. He got up, came over to the window, looked at the crowd of people waiting, and then said, "Turn them in; turn them in," just like an old farmer used to

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say to me, "Tom, pull down the bars and turn in the cows."

One day a paymaster's wife came in, very stylishly dressed, and said, "Mr. President, I would like my husband to be relieved at the front and some other man sent in his place." Mr. Lincoln looked up, and said, "Madam, I cannot do that. It would necessitate sending another paymaster in his place, so he will have to remain at his post."

Another time a major called. He was anxious to get in to General Hancock's corps, then being organized. He told the President he would like to get in this corps, and left his papers with him. In the course of a few days he returned and reminded Mr. Lincoln of the fact of having left his application and requested a reply. Mr. Lincoln said to him, "Yes, I have read your papers, but I do not find anything very strong in them." "Why," said the major, "don't you see what General Hancock said?" "Yes," replied the President, "he says you are a gallant officer." "What more could you want him to say?" asked the major in surprise. "Why," replied Mr. Lincoln, "he does not say that you are a sober officer." The man carried signs of dissipation

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on his face. He marched out of the office with his papers under his arm, and that was the last time I ever saw the pompous major.

One day a number of persons were shown into his office, and among them an old personal friend from Illinois. He at once came up to Mr. Lincoln, shook hands with him and said, "Why, Mr. President, you look just about as you did when you were out in Illinois." Here was an opportunity for the man to forget affairs of state and relax from business cares and the burdens, which at that time were bearing heavily upon him. The President said, "Yes, I am about the same, and that puts me in mind of an old farmer out in Illinois who had an old horse which he put in pasture to recuperate. After the horse had grazed in the pasture some time, one of the neighbors came along and remarked to the owner of the old horse, 'Well, you put this horse in here to recuperate, but he looks just about the same as when you first put him in here. He neither recupes nor decupes.' And," added Mr. Lincoln, "that's just about the way it is with me." The two friends then had a very hearty laugh.

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One night, while sitting in the little anteroom, I heard the doorknob turn quickly and in walked Mr. Lincoln with his shoes in his hand, and said, "Now I caught you! Do you know what you put me in mind of?" "No, Mr. President!" I said. "Well, you put me in mind of a boy that got forty- three eggs in the barn and put them under a hen, and then came and told his mother that he had set a hen on forty-three eggs. She said, 'That cannot be true, for a hen cannot cover forty-three eggs.' 'Well, mother, I know that, but I just wanted to see her spread herself.' So I wanted to see how you would spread yourself."

In November, 1864, on the night of Mr. Lincoln's re-election, we started over to the old War Department. It was very different in those days from now. When the President wanted to consult any of his Cabinet members he would take a trusty guard with him., walk over to the office of the Secretary, and have a plain business talk with him. No matter whether it was day or night he would go personally. On the night in question, Major Hay, now the Secretary of State, was on the left side and I on the right of the President, as we went over to the old War Department.

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That night he took a different course. Instead of going to the east door, he undertook to go across the grass and enter by the south door. In passing through this ground on several previous occasions I had noticed that pegs were driven in the ground and a telegraph wire stretched across them, in order to keep people from walking over the lawn. Mr. Lincoln wanted to go that way, but I suddenly remembered the pegs, and grabbed him by the arm, just as he was about to stumble over the wire, and said, "Look out, Mr. President." However, his foot did strike the wire, and in a few moments more he would have been sprawling on the ground, a very undignified position for a President, to say the least, but by grabbing him as I did I saved him from a heavy fall. "Well," said he, "I never would have thought of that." We then proceeded without further incident. When we reached the main entrance he went on with Major Hay, saying to me, "Now, Pendleton, you may return to the house, and I will get some of the people over here to walk back with me."

One day a man with a very swarthy complexion came in wearing a silk hat and a Prince Albert coat. You would have taken

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him at first glance for a minister of the gospel. He commenced finding fault with Mr. Stanton, the great War Secretary, accusing him of not carrying out the order that President Lincoln had given two weeks before to have a certain man liberated from prison who had been sentenced to death, but was pardoned. Mr. Lincoln listened patiently to his complaint, and then said, emphatically, "If it had not been for me, that man would now be in his grave. Now, sir, you claim to be a philanthropist. If you will get your Bible and turn to the 30th chapter of Proverbs, the 10th verse, you will read these words: 'Accuse not a servant unto his master, lest he curse thee, and thou be found guilty.'" Whereupon the man got "huffy" and went away. But as he went out, he said, angrily, "There is no such passage in the Bible." "Oh, yes," said Mr. Lincoln, "I think you will find it in the 30th chapter of Proverbs and at the 10th verse." This was late in the afternoon, and I thought no more of the occurrence. Next morning I was at Mr. Lincoln's office door as usual, about 8 o'clock, and heard some one calling out: "O Pendleton! I say, Pendleton, come in here." When I went inside Mr. Lincoln

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said to me, "Wait a moment." He stepped quickly into the private part of the house, through what is now the Cabinet Room, but which was then used as a waiting room, and soon reappeared with his Bible in his hand. He then sat down and read to me that identical passage he had quoted to the philanthropist, and sure enough it was found to be in the 30th chapter of Proverbs, and at the 10th verse.

In those days I was not much of a Bible reader. But in 1865 I decided that all-important question whether or not I should be a follower of the Lord Jesus. I commenced reading a little old Bible that I had bought at a second-hand store and which had belonged to an old soldier. After this I always kept it with me at the White House, and would occupy my odd hours in reading from it. One day I came across that same passage which Mr. Lincoln had quoted to the angry philanthropist. The whole occurrence came back to me, and I thought what a just man was the President. He was not even willing for me to be in doubt as to his correct quotation of a Bible passage, but must needs take his precious time to prove himself right in my

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eyes. How simple-hearted, yet how truly great a man he was.

On one dark Sunday, to the best of my recollection, in the month of December, Mr. Lincoln started with me over to the old War Department. He had lately been very much worried about affairs of state, and seemed this day to be lost in thought. We went in the east door, and then had to climb a stairway. The steps were not exactly winding, but had a couple of landings, and led to Secretary Stanton's door. On the way from the White House to the old War Department were a great many large, fine trees which were boxed,and I had often thought how easy it would be for a man to secrete himself behind one of them, wait for the President to pass that way,then jump out and kill him before the guard could prevent, though he might be ever so watchful. When we reached Secretary Stanton's office I stayed outside the door while Mr. Lincoln went in to see him. He remained a long time. When he was ready to return and came out of the door, I was by his side in a minute. We had walked down to the first landing, about half-way down the stairs, when we met a man coming up. He was thick-set,

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and wore a gray suit of clothes. The man scrutinized Mr. Lincoln very closely, and I had my eye on him all the time. The President did something very unusual for him--he looked at the man very steadily, as if trying to fix his features on his memory. Before the man reached the upper landing he turned and took another look at the President, and again Mr. Lincoln and I both looked at him. After we got out of the building, where there was no one near us, the President said to me, "Last night I received a letter from New York stating that there would be a man here who would attempt to take my life. In that letter was a description of the man who was said to be anxious to kill me His size and the kind of clothes he would wear when he would make the attempt were carefully described. The man we just passed agreed exactly with the description given me in that latter."

On one occasion, when quite a number of people were shown into the President's office,there was among them a young girl, rather timid looking, as though she had come from one of the small towns or a rural district. There was evidently something weighing very heavily on her heart. I supposed her brother,

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uncle, or some of her kindred who were probably in the army, had been ordered shot, or that she had some other trouble which bore very heavily upon her. When she got before the President, poor thing, she was so embarrassed that she could not open her mouth. The President saw the situation, and at once,in his kind, fatherly way said, "Now take a seat just over there, and after a little while I will see you," and presently did so.

On one occasion there was no one in the room but little Tad Lincoln and myself. An old-fashioned settee and some rickety chairs constituted the furniture. Those were the days when we were not thinking about furniture. Little Tad piled two or three Chairs upon the settee and secreted himself behind it. Just as the President came in, Tad pitched the chairs and settee over into the middle of the floor in front of his father. The President roared out laughing. Sometimes when we would come from the War Department and pass through the same little room, little Tad would be there, and he would put his great arms around the little fellow and tug him off upstairs.

Mrs. Kendall, Mr. Lincoln's bosom friend,

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relates a sad incident which came under her observation one day as she came from the East Room. She saw over on one side of the room a young girl weeping as though her heart would break. She went over and asked her what was the trouble. The young girl said, "Oh, madam, my brother is to be shot and I cannot get to see the President!" Mrs. Kendall asked to be given the papers, and upon receiving them, she immediately went upstairs and saw the President for the young girl. She stated the case, and gave him the papers. Probably he examined them. At any rate, he said to her, "You go downstairs and tell the girl to go home and give herself no uneasiness about her brother. It will be all right."

During this period there was one of my companions, Alfonso Dunn, who was in a good deal of trouble. Some of his relations had been drafted--two men--and each one of them had families and could not raise money enough for a substitute. Their wives were very much distressed to think they would have to go to the front. Dunn said to me one day, "Tommy, won't you go upstairs and see Mrs. Lincoln and ask if these men may have more time in which to get a substitute?" I said,

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"Dunn, why don't you go up and see her yourself?" He said, "Tommy, I don't like to go." He pleaded with me so earnestly that I finally went upstairs and saw Mrs. Lincoln for him. She told me to go, in and see the chief clerk and have the document drawn up; then I was to bring it in to her, and she would sign it. I did so, and before the ten days expired peace was proclaimed. Consequently, Alfonso was happy and the two men who, would otherwise have been compelled to leave their wives were also happy, I presume.

There was a company of "Bucktails" down in the White Lot, south of the President's mansion. It was a rough, rugged looking place then, and these fellows were encamped there. Little Tad was very fond of them. He would go down and mix among; the camp fires when the men were cooking their grub, and get his face all black with soot and come home dirty. His mother would scold him, and have him all nicely washed and dressed,and he would come down where I was to talk. "Tom Pen, I would like to go to the theatre to- night. Won't you go upstairs and ask mamma if I can go?" I would go to her and say, "Mrs. Lincoln, won't you let Tad go to

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the theatre to-night?" And she would say, "No." Then I would plead with her and say, "Now, Mrs. Lincoln, let him go." "Will you go with him, Pendleton?" "Yes, madam, I will, and take good care of him." "All right, Pendleton; then he can go." Sometimes he would say to me when we were going on one of these trips, "Tom Pen, have you got any money?" I would say, "Yes, Tad," and I would lend him some money. He was like other boys, fond of sweet things, peanuts,apples, and the like. The little fellow was always very honorable in paying back whatever little amount he would borrow from me.

On one occasion, President Lincoln, when riding near the Soldiers' Home, said to his footman, named Charles Forbes, who had but recently come from Ireland, "What kind of fruit do you have in Ireland, Charles?" To which Charles replied, "Mr. President, we have a good many kinds of fruit: gooseberries, pears, apples, and the like." The President then asked, "Have you tasted any of our American fruits?" Charles said he had not,and the President told Burke, the coachman, to drive under a persimmon tree by the roadside. Standing up in the open carriage, he

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pulled off some of the green fruit, giving some of it to Burke and some to Charles, with the advice that the latter try some of it. Charles, taking some of the green fruit in his hand,commenced to eat, when to his astonishment he found that he could hardly open his mouth. Trying his best to spit it out, he yelled, "Mr. President I am poisoned!" Mr. Lincoln fairly fell back in his carriage and rolled with laughter.

This story was afterward told by the coachman, justifying himself upon the grounds that it was too good to keep.

After the fall of Richmond, while we were all rejoicing and happy to think that the long war was nearly over, the order came to illuminate the White House. It fell to my particular lot to do all the lighting up. In those days we did not have any electric lights, and the job was a tedious one. First, strips of wood were nailed to the windows, and on these pieces of wood were placed small pieces of tallow candles. There were tiers and tiers of them, lighting the entire front of the White House. Then I had to stand guard to see that none of the candles set fire to the window

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curtains and the inflammable decorations. We were all happy that night.

In the month of November, 1864, Mr. Dana, Assistant Secretary of War (long years after this well-known as the editor of the New York Sun), and Mr. Lincoln had an interview at the White House on a Sabbath morning,after which they left together for the old War Department. After they had transacted their business, we started over to the old Navy Department. I kept a short distance behind them, because I did not want to overhear their conversation. As soon as they entered the building the doorkeeper slammed the door to,with a bang, in my face. In an instant it was opened again, and Mr. Lincoln told the door-keeper that it was all right and to let me in. We separated after they finished their business, and I accompanied Mr. Lincoln back to the White House.

In the same year, during the month of November, there was a great crowd assembled in front of the President's Mansion. I stood up at the window by Mr. Lincoln, and held a candle in my hand while Mr. Lincoln delivered his address. The majority of his listeners were soldiers. I thought while he was delivering

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that address how easy it would have been for some assassin to have killed him with an air gun. Afterwards Henry Ward Beecher addressed this multitude of people, and the crowd then dispersed.

Mr. Lincoln's last inauguration was held on Saturday night, after he had been re-elected as President of the United States. There was a lady from England, a personal friend of Secretary Stanton, who wished to see the President and shake hands with him. Mr. Stanton had her sent to the White House in his private carriage. When she got out of the carriage the multitude of people was so dense on the portico that it was almost impossible for her to get to the main entrance. She was nearly crushed to death. Unfortunately there was some man with his heavy boot right upon her foot. I was in the little waiting room on the right-hand side of the entrance looking after the wraps and hats of the diplomats and officers when a knock came at the door. There were two gentlemen with this lady who had rescued her from this terrible jam of people. They said to me, "Will you kindly let this lady be brought in here?" I said, "Certainly." She was in a fainting condition. After she

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was brought in I dosed the door, and the gentlemen retired. I immediately got some water, took my handkerchief, and while she lay on the settee bathed her temples. I continued doing so until she appeared to feel better. In the meantime, I left her in the sitting room, and crowded my way through the hallway where the jam of people was very compact, into the Blue Parlor, with a glass of water for Mr. Lincoln. He drank it, and seemed to enjoy it very much. The perspiration was just rolling down his face as he grasped the hands of the passing throng, as though he had been splitting rails as of yore. After the lady had thoroughly recovered and the reception was nearly over, she went in and had a grasp of the President's hand. Everything passed off very nicely that night, and next morning, the Sabbath, Simon Cameron called upon the President.

Mr. Cameron was received in the Blue Parlor. After awhile they came out and stood in the grand corridor opposite engaging in earnest conversation. The President said, "Cameron, something occurred to me last night at the reception that never did before." He held his hands up and said, "Cameron, between

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every one of these fingers is a blister from the shaking of hands." After one term in the White House, and numerous receptions, the President had never experienced anything like this before. It was probably due to the interest felt in him on account of the great events of the day.

On Thursday evening, December 29, 1864, Mrs. Lincoln had one or two notices written to be sent down to the daily papers in regard to a New Year reception she would hold. She wanted them published at once. She handed them to Edward McManus, the doorkeeper of the White House, with instructions to take them to the local papers at once. This he failed to do. Probably a half or three-quarters of an hour passed before Mrs. Lincoln had occasion to come through the main corridor again. When she did so, she approached Edward and asked him about the notices. "Why, Edward," she said, "I told you to take them to the newspaper offices at once. Now, this is the last duty you will ever perform in the White House." He treated this statement very lightly, and smiled a sickly kind of smile. But it was indeed his last day. Next morning early Mrs. Lincoln sent for me, saying she

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wanted to see me in the private part of the house. When I went up there she told me she wanted me to resign my position and take charge of the front door--to take the place of Edward McManus. I told her I could not do this unless I was regularly appointed to the duty. She told me to go up to the Capitol and see Mr. French, the Commissioner of Public Buildings and Grounds, and tell him to make out my appointment as doorkeeper of the White House. I went to see Mr. French, but he declared that this appointment was not in his power to make, as it was made directly by the President. So I returned, and in the course of the day I had an opportunity to speak to the President. I said, "Mr. President, would you have any objection to my taking the place of Edward McManus?" He said, "None at all." That evening, after nightfall, on Saturday, it being the last day of the week, month and the year of 1864, I was up near the door of the President's office when little Tad came along and said, "Tom Pen, give me that paper. Come on in now to papa's room." The President was sitting at the table facing the east. Tad said, "Papa, dear, do me a favor?" Out he handed my appointment.

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"Sign this for Tom Pendel." He laid it down on the table, and the President took up his pen and endorsed the appointment. And that appointment holds good to this day.

On the fourteenth day of April, 1865, in the evening, just previous to the time when the President and Mrs. Lincoln were going to the theatre, George Ashmun, of Massachusetts, called on Mrs. Lincoln, and I showed him into the Red Parlor, took his card upstairs, and soon the President and Mrs. Lincoln, with Mr. Colfax, then Speaker of the House, came downstairs and went into the Red Parlor, where Mr. Ashmun was waiting. They all entered into a lively local conversation, and came out of the Red Parlor presently, and stood in the inner corridor. Their conversation was about the trip Mr. Colfax proposed to take across the continent. They then passed out of the corridor into the main vestibule, and stood in the main entrance, where they again chatted. Mr. Colfax bade the President and Mrs. Lincoln good evening, and went upstairs to see the Private Secretary, Mr. John G. Nicolay. Mr. Ashmun went out on the portico with the President and Mrs. Lincoln,

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said good-bye, and started off downtown. Ned Burke and Charles Forbes, the coachman and footman, respectively, drove over to a private residence, and took in the coach Major Rathbone and Miss Harris, who was the daughter off Senator Ira T. Harris, of New York.

Previous to starting for the theatre, I said to John Parker, who had taken my place, to accompany Mr. Lincoln, "John, are you prepared?" I meant by this to ask if he had his revolver and everything all ready to protect the President in case of an assault. Alfonso Dunn, my old companion at the door, spoke up and said, "Oh, Tommy, there is no danger." I said, "Dunn, you don't know what might happen." Because I had traveled a good deal in my life, and had seen much of human nature, I said, "Parker, now you start down to the theatre, to be ready for the President when he reaches there. And you see him safe inside." He started off immediately, and did see Mr. Lincoln all safe inside the theatre, and Mrs. Lincoln, Major Rathbone and Miss Harris also reached the building in safety.

What transpired after they left for the theatre may be of interest, so I will mention the

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incidents occurring at the White House during their absence.

About ten o'clock, as nearly as I can remember, one of the sergeants of the invalid corps, who was doing duty around the White House, rang the bell, and I stepped to the door. He said, "Have you heard the news?" I replied, "No." He then said, "They have tried to cut the throat of Secretary Seward." He lived in a house close by where the Lafayette Theatre now stands. I said to him, "O Sergeant, I guess you must be mistaken!" I supposed he referred to the accident that happened to Mr. Seward three weeks before this. He had been thrown from his carriage, and his jawbone had been broken in the fall. The sergeant went away to his post and returned in about fifteen minutes. He rang the bell, and I stepped to the door again. He said, "I tell you that it is a fact; they tried to cut Secretary Seward's throat." Then I began to feel very uneasy about the President.

Probably he had been gone this second time twenty minutes, when I saw quite a number of persons hastening towards the White House through the east gate. Men, half-grown boys and small boys all seemed to be

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in a great hurry. Some of the boys were running. When they arrived at the door, the central figure was Senator Sumner. He came to inquire about the President. I said, "Mr. Senator, I wish you would go down to the theatre and see if anything has happened to the President." They hurried away just as fast as they had come. Probably about twenty minutes before eleven o'clock, I stepped up to the door in answer to another ring at the bell. Who should be there but Isaac Newton, the Commissioner of Agriculture. This is now a Cabinet position, but was then a commissionership. I admitted him inside the door, and at once closed it. He was a bosom friend of President Lincoln. I was thoroughly acquainted with him, and I knew to whom I was talking. He said to me, "They have shot the President. And the bullet," he said, "has enered the left side of his head." I immediately hurried upstairs, leaving him on the inside, and went to Captain Robert Lincoln's room. He had just come from the front that morning, where he had been doing duty on the staff of General Grant.

That room was directly over the front portico. When I got into his private room, he

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did not seem to be feeling very well, and had a vial in one hand containing medicine and a teaspoon in the other, as if he was about to take a dose of medicine.

As I stepped up to his side the teaspoon and the vial seemed to go involuntarily down on the table, and he did not take the medicine. I wanted to approach him gently and break the news to him about his father. So I simply said, "Captain, there has something happened to the President; you had better go down to the theatre and see what it is."

He said to me, "Go and call Major Hay," who was in the room now used by Secretary Cortelyou. That was Mr. Nicolay's and Major Hay's bedchamber at that time. I said to him, "Major, Captain Lincoln wants to see you at once. The President has been shot." He was a handsome young man with a bloom on his cheeks just like that of a beautiful young lady. When I told him the news, he turned deathly pale, the color entirely leaving his cheeks. He said to me, "Don't allow anybody to enter the house." I said, "Very good, Major. Nobody shall come in." They took their departure immediately for the theatre. They had been gone probably half an hour,

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when poor little Tad returned from the National Theatre and entered through the east door of the basement of the White House. He came up the stairway and ran to me, while I was in the main vestibule, standing at the window, and before he got to me he burst out crying, "O Tom Pen! Tom Pen! they have killed papa dead. They've killed papa dead!" and burst out crying again.

I put my arm around him and drew him up to me, and tried to pacify him as best I could. I tried to divert his attention to other things, but every now and then he would burst out crying again, and repeat over and over, "Oh, they've killed papa dead! They've killed papa dead!"

At nearly twelve o'clock that night I got Tad somewhat pacified, and took him into the President's room, which is in the southwest portion of the building. I turned down the cover of his little bed, and he undressed and got in. I covered him up and laid down beside him, put my arm around him, and talked to him until he fell into a sound sleep.

Ah! that was a sad night for the nation, and to me it was simply awful, for I loved Mr. Lincoln

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probably better than I loved any one else in all the world.

While I was putting little Tad to bed other men had taken my place at the door, but after he went to sleep I returned to my duty.

Two hours after his death his body was escorted to the White House by a squad of soldiers. Funeral services were held in the East Room on the 19th of April. Rev. Dr. Hall, of the Church of the Epiphany, read the burial service; Bishop Simpson, of the Methodist Church, offered a prayer, and Rev. Dr. P. D. Gurley, Mr. Lincoln's pastor, delivered a short address on the courage, purity and faith which had made the dead man great and useful. The coffin was then carried to the funeral car, and amid the tolling of all the bells of Washington, Georgetown and Alexandria, and the booming of minute-guns from several batteries, moved to the Capitol, where it lay in state until the morning of April 21, when it was taken to the station. At 8 o'clock the train, decked in sombre trappings, moved out toward Baltimore. Governor Brough, of Ohio, and Mr. John W. Garrett, of Baltimore, were in general charge on the sad journey.

The train arrived safely in Baltimore, and

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there I saw more weeping and grief-stricken people than in any other city through which we passed. We dined in Baltimore, and then had a procession, after which we left for Harrisburg. There we had a procession, and his remains lay in state all night in the Capitol. Next morning preparations were made for the trip to Philadelphia, where we arrived about four o'clock in the afternoon. A procession was formed immediately, and it must have been at least nine o'clock before we could leave our carriages. It can well be imagined that about this time we were all greatly fatigued. If I remember correctly, the remains of Mr. Lincoln lay in state in Independence Hall, and three red lights were kept burning there all night. The people moved in silent procession through the building all night long to view the body. All day Sunday, and until three o'clock Monday morning, great crowds of weeping people passed in mournful procession to take a last look at the beloved hero.

We left Philadelphia for New York, and arrived at quite an early hour. Here the throngs of people were immense, and the police had all they could do to keep the great mass back, so

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that the procession could pass up to the City Hall, where the remains were laid in state. The decorations in New York City were something wonderful, particularly on Broadway and Fifth Avenue, where they were of the finest materials. On the day of the departure of the train from New York there must have been fully half a million people viewing the procession. We left from Twenty-ninth Street and went to Albany, arriving at an early hour in the morning. Another procession was formed, after which Mr. Lincoln's body was laid in state in the Capitol.

We next stopped in Buffalo, where we had the usual procession. The building in which his body was placed was guarded by members of the Continental Guard, in old Continental uniforms, who kept watch all through the night. Our next stopping place was Michigan City, where we were greeted by thirty-five young ladies, who stood on the platform and sang a beautiful hymn. They were all dressed in white, and presented a fine appearance. We left there quite early in the morning and proceeded to Indianapolis. Here, after the procession, the remains were laid in state and were viewed by throngs of people all day Sunday.

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On Monday morning we left for Chicago.

We arrived safely and the body lay in state in the City Hall all one night and day. After we arrived there was an immense procession formed to escort the body to the City Hall. The mass of people who came to view the remains was immense.

A little incident connected with this trip might be interesting to note here.

I met a young lady who had passed through to look at the body of Mr. Lincoln, and she was so much hurried that she did not get more than half a glance at him. The building in which he lay in state stood in the centre of a large square with an iron railing all the way around it. The people had to pass at once out of the gateway and could not return again. This young lady seemed to regret so much that she had obtained so slight a view of the great President's face, that she asked me to help her get another look. I said to her, "You come this way." I showed my card of invitation issued by the Secretary of War, and we were immediately admitted to the inclosure. Then we passed up through the building again, and she got a better opportunity to

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look in the President's face, and seemed very grateful to me for helping her. I asked if she would like to look at him again. We passed right around the building, I showed my card and was again admitted, and this time she had a still better opportunity to gaze on that face still in death. After we returned to Washington this young lady wrote me one or two letters, and seemed to feel very grateful for the little kindness I had been able to show her. We then left Chicago, and started for Springfield, Illinois, the home of Mr. Lincoln, where he was to be finally laid to rest.

There was some friction as to where he should be buried. Two parties seemed to be in charge of the arrangements, one contending for his burial in one place, and another maintaining he should be laid away in a very different place. Finally the party holding out for the cemetery prevailed, although in the city limits, where the second party wanted him buffed. The other vault was nearly finished, and they were working on it like a lot of bees.

When everything was at last settled and ready, the great final procession was formed, and the last march was commenced to the burial place of this great man.

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After the funeral, preparations were made for our return trip. We arrived in Washington on Sunday morning, having been absent over three weeks. We found that President Andrew Johnson had taken up his quarters in the west wing of the Treasury Building, as he did not wish to disturb Mrs. Lincoln, who was still in the White House. She left with her son Robert in the latter part of May, and that was the last I ever saw of her and poor little Tad.

Some years after, during the Hayes administration, a Mrs. Rathbone called on the President and his family. I met her as she was leaving, and found that she was the Miss Harris who was in the box with Mr. Lincoln the night he was assassinated. She had just returned from Ohio, and said that Mrs. Lincoln was living there, in a town called Poe. She stated that Mrs. Lincoln requested her to inquire how many of the old employees were still in the White House. It touched me much to think that Mrs. Lincoln did not forget her old employees. I never saw Mrs. Rathbone after this.

[image caption: Andrew Johnson]

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Mrs. Lincoln finally completed her arrangements and left the White House, as nearly as I can remember, about the first of June.

President Johnson, with his staff, then moved into the Executive Mansion.

Those who came with him were General Muzzey and Colonel Morrill, who were on his staff; Lieutenant Long, and Colonel Browning, his private secretary.

The death of two of these officers was very tragic. Colonel Morrill, Morrow long 0years afterwards, in the city of San Francisco, blew out his brains with a revolver. He was one of the brightest young men it was ever my fortune to meet in the White House.

Colonel Long, also many years after this, used to frequent the White House. One day while there he said to me, "Mr. Pendel, my wife wants you to talk with me." While one of the Army and Navy receptions at the White

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House was in progress, I did have an opportunity, which I used to talk to him. He was very kind-hearted and listened attentively to all I said. His great weakness was a love of strong drink. I called on two occasions at his house. I read the Word of God to him, and knelt down and prayed with him and his family. His wife was a very nice lady indeed, and he had two charming little children. He seemed to be somewhat affected by my interest in his behalf. The next time I met him, at his home, was the last time I ever saw him alive. His wife was sick in bed. I did not get to see her at that time, but I had a long talk with him, warning him of his danger, and he again listened attentively to me. I said to him, "Colonel, won't you try to stop this business?" "Oh," he said, "what do you mean, Mr. Pendel?" I said, "Colonel, you know how Colonel Morrill ended his life." As I said that, he stood with his back to the mantel and I was facing him.. I said, "Colonel, be careful. You may end your life in the same way." "Oh, no! I will never do that, Mr. Pendel," he said. Ten days after this, he took his revolver and died the same death as Colonel Morrill. It was very sad, very sad, indeed.

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After President Johnson had been some time in the White House, a fine present came to him from New York City. This was a splendid span of horses and a fine carriage. It was a gift to the President from some parties in New York City. With it came a letter. The President very respectfully declined this gift but retained the letter, because he had a suspicion that there was something behind it all. After he had been in the White House quite a while, the President made a trip which was called "swinging the circle." He was gone from Washington for some time. While he was away, Mrs. Senator Patterson, his daughter, received an invitation from Mrs. General Grant to attend an evening party which was given in the upper part of Georgetown. At this time the President had not yet purchased a new carriage and horses, and the Postmaster-General very kindly offered his own vehicle, horses and driver to Mrs. Patterson and her children, to convey them to tiffs party at Mrs. Grant's home. Along about sundown, Mrs. Johnson sent for me to come up to her rooms. She was very delicate in health, but a very kind-hearted lady, indeed. She said, "Mr. Pendel, I wish you would go

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over to Mrs. Grant's and remain there until the party is over, and see Mrs. Patterson and her children safely home." I went over to Mrs. Grant's house and presented myself with the message from Mrs. Johnson to Mrs. Grant, who said, "Why, you are not going to take her away already?" I said, "Oh, no, Mrs. Grant; certainly not until the party is over. I came simply to see her safely home after the party." While I was waiting, she sent me some refreshments.

After the President had procured his carriages, there was a tall Frenchman who attended to the horses. I think he came from Canada. The President on one occasion had got up quite early in the morning, and happening to look down towards the Potomac River, saw Nicolas with his carriage and horses moving through the White Lot very rapidly downtown. He had the circumstances investigated, and it developed that Nicolas, the Frenchman, was in the habit of going out early in the morning with the carriage and picking up passengers wherever he could find them! That was the last drive in the President's carriage this Frenchman took, you may be sure. He was hustled out in double quick

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time and was soon looking for another job, which I hope he secured.

On one occasion a member of one of the foreign legations called on Mrs. Stover, the other daughter of the President. She respectfully declined to see him, but Mrs. Patterson went down and saw him. Mrs. Stover did not care about doing any of the receiving, so her sister, who was in reality the Lady of the White House, did all the honors of the house; hence she responded to this call.

At one of Mrs. Patterson's drawing-room receptions, the Commissioner of Public Buildings and Grounds, Mr. French, failed to appear. After she had waited a suitable time and he still did not come, and quite a number of the guests were in the grand corridor waiting to be presented, she sent for me. I had the pleasure of presenting all the ladies and gentlemen to Mrs. Patterson at that time, and she said to me, after it was all over, "Mr. Pendel, you did that very nicely, indeed, and seemed quite used to making presentations."

Andrew Johnson's last reception was one of the largest I think I ever saw. There was a crowd that passed through the state dining-room. I noticed a lady throw up her hands

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in that great jam of people--in a few moments more she would have fallen to the floor, and more than likely would have been trampled to death.

When I saw the situation I hurried to her assistance, and with all the strength I had (which is a good deal more than I have got today) it was as much as I could do to pull her out from that mass of people. After she had rested some time, and the crowd had thinned out a little, I think she went in to shake hands with the President. It is perfectly wonderful what the people will undergo and suffer in order to shake hands with the President at one of the great White House receptions.

At one of the private dinner parties which, President Johnson gave, Mrs. General Michler was one of the specially invited guests. She came out through the grand corridor, and into the main vestibule, and said she was very sick. I immediately drew a chair up to one of the windows so that she could get the fresh air, and even then she was so ill that she fainted dead away. I hurried up and got some cold water with, which I bathed her temples and face thoroughly, using my handkerchief.

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Presently she regained consciousness and seemed much improved.

The Queen of the Sandwich Islands dined with him at one time during his administration.

One day during Mr. Johnson's administration, probably after three o'clock in the afternoon, a surgeon of the army, in full uniform, called to see the President on business. I let him pass into the East Room and he handed me his card. While I was talking to him, and telling him it was after the hour for visitors, one of the President's grandchildren, Miss Stover, a girl of about twelve years of age, whipped the card out of my hand and put off to her grandfather with it. I never was more deceived in a man in my life. He seemed to talk in a perfectly rational manner, with no sign in the world of insanity. The President pretty soon came down and said to me, "Why did you send these cards to me?" I said, "Mr. President, I did not. Mrs. Stover's little girl snatched them out of my hand and carried them to you." He asked, "Where is the man?" I said, "In the East Room, Mr. President." He said, "Show him in here." (In the grand corridor.) As soon as the man got a

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sight of the President he showed his insanity to the full extent. I soon had him out of the White House, and he went off down the street very peacefully.

During this administration the conservatory took fire and was totally destroyed. Many valuable plants were lost, among others one which was said to have been owned by General Washington.

I recall that one day Mr. Johnson gave a birthday party to three hundred boys and girls, the occasion being his own birthday. The state dining room was literally loaded with good things to eat, and the children certainly had a glorious time. My daughter and son, who are now living, received invitations, and well remember the joyous festivity. Although not invited, various grown persons, mostly females, made an excuse to bring the children, and did not forget to load themselves with bonbons until their pockets bulged.

The President honored me one New Year's Day during his administration by asking me to dine with him. I accepted his invitation, but, though he subsequently gave me many

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invitations, I thought it best to decline, and dined with him only on that one occasion.

I think President Johnson placed a good deal of confidence in me. When a vote was taken in the District of Columbia to see if the citizens were in favor of the colored men voting, some one went to the President and told him of it. He was told that I was one among a very limited number who voted for the enfranchisement of the negro. This was a falsehood. I did not vote at all on that question. The man who carried this falsehood to the President was told by him, when he had finished his tale, "Mr. Pendel is a mart who always attends to his business." That settled the question with this tale-bearer.

A young lady, a personal friend of the President, on one occasion dined and spent the evening at the White House with the family. About half-past nine in the evening Mr. Johnson sent for me to come up into the library. The young lady was there with the rest of the family. He asked me to see the young lady safely home in his carriage, which was waiting at the door. I did so, and afterwards returned in the President's carriage to the White House.

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Probably about the middle of his administration his impeachment trial was brought up. Judge Bingham was the prime mover in it, if I remember rightly. The President had a very able lawyer to represent him, and the result, as all the world knows, was an honorable acquittal, thus relieving the President and the country of a great anxiety.

The day that he was acquitted tables were spread in the library and wine and cigars were served. Some of the employees drank to excess. I was invited up from the front door, but soon went down to my business.

President Johnson was a very generous man. He used to have a table set in the room which is now used by the steward, and here meals were prepared, and the doorkeepers and the help about the house did not have to go out to luncheon. No other President ever did this to my knowledge, either before or since the time of Mr. Johnson.

Mrs. Patterson was a very nice lady and did the honors of the White House in a way acceptable to every one with whom she was brought in contact. Her husband was at that time Senator from Tennessee, and the entire family resided at the President's mansion.

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The family consisted also of a son, and daughter, Mrs. Stover, with her two daughters and a son (small children); Robert Johnson, the oldest son of the President, then his private secretary, and Frank Johnson, the younger son. Out of that entire household there lives to-day only Mrs. Patterson and her son Andrew, both of whom reside in the neighborhood of Greenville, Tenn.