The senator from New York, his breath smelling of whiskey and his stump smelling of wet rust and wetter babies, at last exhausted himself and took leave. The president was free now to peek in at Mrs. Lincoln and then to have an hour to review his comments for Pennsylvania.

In a study connected to his sleeping chamber, he stepped into a locked cabinet that was large enough to hold a chair and a small desk. On the desk was a brass box that looked like a safe, but had an array of telegraph wires clamped to a bar behind it. The dial of the safe was engraved with words instead of numbers. The president rotated the dial from "Mail" to "Search," pulled a telegraph key toward himself, and tapped out a two-minute song of clicks and rests. "G-E-T-T-Y-S-B-U-R-G-/-A-D-D-R-E-S-S," the clicks meant.

After a pause, the clicking song began again, without the president's effort. A spool on the desk began depositing a coil of white ribbon. Lincoln patiently sounded out the symbols on the strip. The first items were offers to locate residential addresses and public records for inhabitants of Gettysburg. Then, what he was looking for.

"F-O-U-R-/-S-C-O-R-E-/-A-N-D-/-S-E-V-E-N-/-Y-E-A-R-S-/-A-G-O..."