GeoPappas - stock.adobe.com
lincoln memorial (left side close-up)
In the spirit of President’s Day — technically called Washington’s Birthday, which technically falls on February 17 (yeah, we know it's confusing) — we dug up a gem of a story about our country’s 16th president.
There’s something about a signature that speaks louder than words. Abraham Lincoln’s handwriting once inked on a document with the weight of the nation hanging in the balance, carries a quiet authority that echoes through history. But in an unexpected area of the country, in a place that Lincoln never set foot in, one of his most human acts — the act of forgiveness — resides in a quiet corner of the National Archives at Fort Worth.
This is where the story of a man named Charles Boland unfolds in the way only history can — a thread woven into the tapestry of Lincoln's broader legacy of compassion and national healing. Lincoln’s approach to pardons was more than a political maneuver; it was the architecture of a nation in flux, torn apart by war, but yearning for a reconciliation that only mercy could stitch together.
But what of Charles Boland? A name that echoes through these dusty pages yet remains a mystery in the broader narrative of Lincoln’s presidency. The only known document connecting Lincoln to Boland, the only artifact from their brief intersection, is tucked away in a folder, fragile with time, bearing the President’s signature in black ink. And that document is housed here, in Fort Worth, far from the bustling political halls where such decisions might typically be made.
Boland, it turns out, was a man convicted of forging county land claims. He was sentenced to ten years in prison, nine of which he served "in a patient and exemplary manner." Despite the conviction, it was determined that Boland was not the “chief forfeiter.” So, in a quiet act of justice, Lincoln signed a full pardon, clearing Boland’s name and offering him a second chance.
That very pardon — signed by the man who would become one of the most famous figures in American history— is delicate. The paper, once folded and stored in some dusty filing cabinet, had torn along the creases, its edges frayed with time. But thanks to the careful hands of conservation staff, the document has been restored. Flattened with precision, mended with Japanese paper and wheat starch paste, it has been digitally preserved and safely stored in a custom portfolio.
Here’s the twist, though — the real kicker to this otherwise quiet moment in history: Lincoln never set foot in Fort Worth. Not once. The town was a tiny frontier outpost during his presidency, with no clear reason for the “Great Emancipator” to make a stop. Lincoln’s focus was elsewhere — on Gettysburg, Philadelphia, Washington, D.C., and other Civil War hotspots. Texas, after all, was still part of the Confederacy during the war, a place Lincoln never visited in his time.
Yet here we are, decades later, in a city that, ironically, has become the keeper of one of Lincoln’s examples of mercy.
But Lincoln’s pardons weren’t limited to Boland. His presidency, marked by the struggle of Civil War, was also marked by a profound sense of justice and an even greater sense of mercy. Consider the pardoning of soldiers — men who deserted their posts or faltered under the weight of battle. Lincoln would often grant them clemency if they showed remorse, allowing them to return to their units, where they could fight for the Union cause. This was Lincoln — the commander-in-chief who saw the human side of the men under his command and who understood the need for redemption in a time of unimaginable strife.
Then, in December of 1863, came the famous Amnesty Proclamation — a declaration offering Southern rebels a chance to reintegrate into the Union, a way back into the fold for those who swore an oath of allegiance. The country was torn, but Lincoln had the foresight to extend a hand of forgiveness in the hope of healing.
The story of Confederate soldiers is another testament to Lincoln’s belief in mercy. As the war wound down, Lincoln’s goal was clear: to reunite the nation. His famous line, “With malice toward none,” became a mantra for the kind of country he dreamed of — a nation rebuilt on the principles of charity and forgiveness rather than vengeance.
In the final months of the war, records indicate that Lincoln also granted clemency to the “Five Forks” rebels, Confederate leaders who had fought against the Union. In these final acts, Lincoln demonstrated that even in the face of fierce opposition, the path to national restoration was through forgiveness.
And now, in the south side of Fort Worth, in a dusty archive, the signature of Abraham Lincoln lives on in the pardon of Charles Boland — a forgotten footnote in a much larger, much more complex story. The document, carefully preserved, stands as a testament to Lincoln’s commitment to healing a fractured nation, a reminder that even in the most unlikely of places, mercy finds a home.
