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In the last weeks of his presidency, Johnson was consumed with his failure. "Hating the days, Johnson hated the nights even more," writes Kearns. He had recurring nightmares of paralysis; he dreamed that while he lay in bed immobilized, his staff divided up his power. In his youth, he had dreamed that he was driving a herd of cattle out of a swamp; now he fantasized that he was mired in the swamp unable to save himself. Finally, he would get out of bed and prowl the White House corridors with a flashlight until he reached the portrait of Wood-row Wilson, who was paralyzed by a stroke during his presidency. The picture was strangely soothing to Johnson, who seemed reassured by the fact that Wilson was dead and he, Johnson, was still alive. "He could not rid himself of the suspicion that a mean God had set out to torture him in the cruelest manner possible," writes Kearns. "His suffering no longer consisted of his usual melancholy; it was an acute, throbbing pain, and he craved relief. More than anything, he wanted peace and quiet. An end to the pain."