He summed up the matter by saying that since he must
receive both friends and strangers every day, his life was of
course within the reach of any one, sane or mad, who was ready to
murder and be hanged for it, and that he could not possibly guard
against all danger unless he shut himself up in an iron box,
where he could scarcely perform the duties of a President.
He therefore went in and out before the people, always unarmed,
generally unattended. He received hundreds of visitors in a day,
his breast bare to pistol or knife. He walked at midnight, with a
single Secretary or alone, from the Executive Mansion to the War
Department and back. In summer he rode through lonely roads from
the White House to the Soldiers' Home in the dusk of the evening,
and returned to his work in the morning before the town was
astir. He was greatly annoyed when it was decided that there must
be a guard at the Executive Mansion, and that a squad of cavalry
must accompany him on his daily drive; but he was always
reasonable, and yielded to the best judgment of others.
Four years of threats and boastings that were unfounded, and of
plots that came to nothing passed away, until precisely at the
time when the triumph of the nation seemed assured, and a
feeling of peace and security settled over the country, one of
the conspiracies, seemingly no more important than the others,
ripened in a sudden heat of hatred and despair.
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