His Black Silk Hat

Chapter 14

The average height of an American male in the Civil War era was 5’- 5”. Women averaged 5’-1”. Abraham Lincoln stood 6’- 4”, nearly a foot above the average male. When he put on his black silk hat, he grew to Seven Feet Tall.

Abraham Lincoln at Antietam, October 2, 1862. Alexander Gardner photograph

After the morning of sawing, cutting, sewing, bandaging, the doctor suggested a break. They cleared the table and sat down with coffee and bread, and baked potatoes rewarmed in the oven, with butter.

The legless man was propped on sheafs of straw tied together that supported him upright. Nine or ten inches of femur remained on each side, and, although terminated with blood stained rags at the moment, the doc said by and by he’d be prime for a couple of wooden legs. This news encouraged him, and he fished a flute from a pocket and played Lorena. They all knew the song, and hummed along, until Sarah came in with a pail of water, put it on the stove, and started dancing, holding the hems of her skirts out wide.

Imagine such catharsis in the kitchen after a morning of amputations. The legless man’s flute. Sarah’s lithe elegance. The stove heat and the toasty aroma of baking bread. Antietam slept in Nell’s arms.

This scene froze when two Union officers wearing swords and sidearms strode into the kitchen, saluted, and announced the President would like to come inside, if he was welcome, to see the conditions of a Union field hospital.

And there he was, hat in hand, ducking under the door frame, and Nell thought, how inconvenient to have to bend over every time one went through a door. She hoped for his sake that wasn’t the case when he was at home.

One officer said, “Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States.”

Lincoln put his hat back on, and nodded, and everyone stood up but for the legless man, whereupon Lincoln walked over, bent down, and extended his hand.

Abe Lincoln, he said.

Arthur Mason, sir, said the legless man, the first time the others heard his name.

And who is this, said the president, nodding toward Nell and the child.

This is Antietam Swane, Mr. President.

Antietam, he said, smiling. Sarah tried to remember what she’d heard about the president’s son dying earlier in the year.

The President asked what they needed and Sarah said food, and the doctor said medical supplies, and Lincoln nodded to General Burnside, who nodded back, and went outside on his chores.

I’m sorry, said Sarah, would anyone like coffee? The black hat hovered so prominently a few inches under the ceiling. Around the room, eyes followed the hat.

The ends of Arthur Mason’s stumps were red. Blood stained the floor and the table.

I’ll get a cloth to cover this, said Sarah.

It’s fine the way it is ma’am, said the president.

Sarah poured three cups of coffee.

What about you Mr. Mason, asked Lincoln, are you a coffee drinker?

I’d rather whiskey, sir, but if there’s coffee I’ll take some. And Lincoln took the first cup and gave it to the legless man.

Meanwhile the black silk hat eight feet off the floor floated over their heads. Everyone’s eyes followed the hat, even the general’s.

Two more soldiers stepped into the kitchen.

Just checking, Mr. President, said one.

A few more minutes, said Lincoln.

Another wagon coming in doc, said one of the soldiers. And several more behind it.

Oh, said Nell, who went outside to see.

I guess we’re back at it, said Sarah.

They all went out to see who was in the wagon. Lincoln and the officers observed from the side.

Hey, what about me, yelled Arthur Mason, alone in the kitchen. So far as he was concerned he’d just had the thrill of a lifetime, shaking hands with the President of the United States.

And there were Swane and Alice in the wagon, either side of the dead farmer from the Berkshires.

Nell ran to Swane’s side.

It’s just the shoulder, he said, holding his hand over the cornstalks covering his wound.

Sarah pulled Alice’s bloody shirt open and exposed, just like that, her breasts smudged with blood.

Lincoln and the generals covered their eyes and turned away. I didn’t know we had women in the army, Burnside. Apparently sir, a few have disguised themselves as men. Very few, so far I’ve heard.

Sarah pulled Alice’s shirt back and buttoned it. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up sweetheart.

Lincoln asked Swane where he was when he was wounded. In the Cornfield, sir. Ah. Well, thank you then.

It was Alice, finally, that recognized the mourning band on Lincoln’s hat. I’m sorry about your son Mr. Abe. Thank you, Madam. My own son ran into the battle with a drum, two days ago, and is missing.

I hope he returns to you safe, Madam. Black hat in his hands, he leaned slightly, as did the two generals. He adjusted some papers inside the hat and placed it back on top of his head, where it resumed its stark status of adjunct authority. He extended several greenbacks to Sarah and pressed them into her hand.

Well, Gentlemen, it’s time. Thank you for your work here, Madam, and the coffee. Thank all of you.

The hat crowned a black pinnacle rising above all the carriage, rolling between the broad backs of the mounted generals, and those watching realized what an unusual event they had been part of.

Hey, remember me? Arthur Mason? The flute player? A few plaintive bars of Lorena drifted through the kitchen door. Sarah went inside. He’d filled his urine jar and needed to go again.

I hate to put it this way Miss Sarah, but I should be out in the barn in one of them stalls. Cause I need to shit, and I don’t see how that can happen in this here kitchen, ma’am, excuse me, if you know what I mean, excellent company as you all are. Besides that, I would like one of them hats like Honest Abe wears. Would you now, Mr. Mason?

Nell sat next to Swane and set Antietam between them. She took his hand. Does it hurt bad? Sorta. Sometimes. I mean, Jimmy Swane, you’re alive. She leaned in and kissed him. What about the boy?

I don’t know what happened to the boy Nell.