A member of the White House staff was charged with the thankless task of approving all of Mrs. Lincoln’s official expenditures, but no one monitored her personal spending. Perhaps everyone assumed it would be constrained by her husband’s salary, but that, of course, was not so. If the First Lady ordered luxurious goods from a fine shop on Broadway or Pennsylvania Avenue, every shopkeeper therein would be all too delighted to extend her credit—but eventually, the bills would come due, and payment in full would be expected, and later demanded.
As soon as the spring sunshine dried the muddy roads of Virginia enough to make them passable, the armies would be on the move, and for the first time, General Grant would face General Lee. Everyone in the North realized that defeating General Lee was crucial to ending the rebellion, not only because General Lee was a brilliant strategist, but also because his army protected the Confederate capital of Richmond.
On April 25, at midday, Elizabeth, Emma, Virginia, and the Lewis girls joined the crowds lining Fourteenth Street to watch General Burnside’s thirty thousand troops march out to reinforce the Army of the Potomac. In the early months of the war, every parade of soldiers had drawn throngs of cheering onlookers, but since then the sight of passing regiments had become so commonplace that they attracted little notice. But this was no ordinary procession. This time the column included seven regiments of United States Colored Troops, three of them recruited in nearby Maryland, and it seemed that every person of color in Washington and many more besides had come to see them set out to confront General Lee.
Pride surged through Elizabeth’s veins as she waited, listening as the stirring sounds of fife and drums heralded the column’s approach. Down New York Avenue they came, smart and polished, turning south onto Fourteenth Street past cheering crowds. Virginia lifted toddler Alberta up to her shoulder while the older Lewis girls, Jane and Lucy, rose up high on tiptoe, craning their necks to see over the heads of the crowd. “There they are,” Virginia cried, gesturing for her children to look. “Do you see how well they march? Do you see? Those are our soldiers, our brave colored soldiers.”
As the girls, eyes shining, assured their mother that they did indeed see, Elizabeth gazed at the dark, proud, eager faces of the colored soldiers and felt her throat constricting with emotion. Their splendid uniforms, the rousing music, the bold and steady marching, the cheering crowd—in that glorious moment it seemed to Elizabeth that there might be no limit to what the people of her race could accomplish in the years to come, unhindered by slavery, when peace reigned over a nation united once again. It was the most sublime spectacle she had ever witnessed, and she prayed that the men would acquit themselves bravely. Everyone would be watching them, she knew, and many would maliciously hope for them to fail. They must succeed, and they would succeed, and in so doing they would disprove every false, slanderous word uttered about the folly of allowing men of color to enlist.
The marching corps approached Willard’s Hotel, where President Lincoln and General Burnside stood on the eastern portico to review the parade. When the colored troops passed the president, they waved their hats in the air and cheered for the Great Emancipator, the man who had set their people free. Mr. Lincoln stood with his hat off, bowing and nodding, showing them the same respect and courtesy he had shown every white soldier.
The column needed more than four hours to cross Pennsylvania Avenue. After the soldiers came ambulances, then thousands of cattle to feed the troops, all heading across the river to Virginia. A renewed sense of purpose and determination filled the city, from the marching soldiers to the people lining the streets shouting blessings and good wishes upon them. And then they were gone, leaving hope and fear and anticipation and apprehension in their wake.
The crowds dispersed, and the people went home. Now, all knew, they had to brace themselves for the inevitable onslaught of casualties.
They did not have long to wait.
While the Union and Confederate armies clashed in the Wilderness, the dead and wounded came flooding into Washington from field hospitals, just as they had after the battles at Bull Run, the Peninsula, Antietam, and Gettysburg. The wounded arrived in ambulances, one train a day, but the trains were miles long and had jolted and jerked their suffering passengers over great distances, without food and comforts, filthy and fainting, limbs gone, wounds untended. Injured, sick, and dying soldiers, corpses, prisoners, officials—the choked docks and stations and roadways could not be cleared swiftly enough to make room for new transports. The noxious odor of bodies in the summer heat hung sickly sweet over every street and alley, and the remains of the dead piled up faster than the embalmers could attend to them. One Washington undertaker fell so far behind as he raced to work through his backlog of deceased that he was briefly arrested and cited for causing a public nuisance. All of Washington seemed to be one great, terrible hospital, and no corner of it was spared the miasma of death.
From the Wilderness the fighting moved on to the Spotsylvania Court House, and from there to the North Anna River, and then on to Cold Harbor. Casualties were massive on both sides, disproportionately so for the Union, but the outcomes of the battles were tactically inconclusive. More revealing was what General Grant did each time he failed to destroy General Lee’s army: In circumstances where his predecessors had always chosen to retreat, General Grant regrouped and moved his army forward, again and again, keeping General Lee on the defensive and inching ever closer to Richmond. The people of the North realized then that General Grant possessed a very different military mind than they had witnessed thus far in the war.
In the last major battle of the campaign, General Grant surprised General Lee by directing his engineers to construct a pontoon bridge 2,100 feet across the James, stealthily crossing the river, and threatening Petersburg, the most important supply base and railway depot for the entire region, including the Confederate capital of Richmond. If General Grant could capture Petersburg, Richmond would inevitably fall. The Union troops settled in for the siege.
The split within the Republican Party widened throughout the spring. At the end of May, the radical Republican faction convened in Cleveland to select their own candidate for the general election, determined that he should win enough delegates to make Mr. Lincoln’s nomination irrelevant. Styling themselves as the Radical Democracy Party, they were expected to choose General Frémont as their nominee, although rumors floated about that some among them held out hope for General Grant, who could not have made his disinterest in the office more clear. He had enough to do fighting the war, Elizabeth thought, without taking on all the additional fighting that went on in Washington.
Soon after the convention closed, Elizabeth was dressing Mrs. Lincoln for an evening at the opera with Postmaster General Blair and his daughter when Mr. Lincoln entered carrying a newspaper. “Nicolay brought me the Herald, so I can examine the news from Cleveland at my leisure,” he told his wife, his expression nonchalant but his eyes shining with suppressed amusement.
Mrs. Lincoln’s brows drew together. “Didn’t you read the report at the telegraph office yesterday?”
“I did,” he said, settling down on the sofa and stretching out his long legs in front of him, “but Nicolay must have believed I wanted it.”
“Has the news changed?” inquired Mrs. Lincoln, in an ironical tone that implied she knew it had not.
“No, every word is the same. Frémont is their man—the man, anyway, of the four hundred people who showed up for the convention.”
“Was that all?” exclaimed Elizabeth, forgetting herself. “Only four hundred?”
Mr. Lincoln’s mouth quirked in a smile. “That’s right, Madam Elizabeth. A mere four hundred.” Suddenly inspired, he sat upright and reached for the Bible on the wooden stand nearby. “That reminds me,” he said, turning pages. “First Samuel, chapter twenty-two, verse two.” He found the passage, cleared his throat, and began to read the scripture. “‘And every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and every o
ne that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him; and he became a captain over them; and there were with him about four hundred men.’” He replaced the open Bible on the stand. “Four hundred again. An interesting number, it seems to me.”
In this way, Elizabeth discovered that Mr. Lincoln was not terribly concerned about Mr. Frémont being put up against him.
A few days later, at their convention in Baltimore, Republicans loyal to Abraham Lincoln renamed themselves the National Union Party to distinguish themselves from the gentlemen who had met in Cleveland. They also hoped the new name would appeal to War Democrats, with whom they wanted to forge a coalition. Like themselves, the War Democrats were in favor of the war, and they wanted to break away from the antiwar Peace Democrats to support a candidate who reflected their views—but they could not bring themselves to vote for a Republican. A candidate from the new National Union Party, on the other hand, might be tolerable.
In the proceedings, Republicans and War Democrats united to nominate Mr. Lincoln as their candidate. The nomination would have been unopposed but for a delegation of twenty-two radical Republicans from Missouri, who first nominated General Grant before changing their votes so Mr. Lincoln’s nomination would be unanimous. The delegates also established their party platform, which praised the president for his management of the war and called for, among other critical issues, the pursuit of the war until the Confederacy surrendered unconditionally, a constitutional amendment to abolish slavery, assistance for disabled Union veterans, and the construction of a transcontinental railroad.
Next the agenda turned to the selection of a vice president. Previously Mr. Lincoln had expressed his desire not to interfere and to let the convention decide, and once the debate began, he stuck to his resolution. Vice President Hannibal Hamlin wanted to be renominated, but much had changed since the election of 1860, and this time his candidacy stirred up little enthusiasm. Many delegates believed that they should select a War Democrat from a border state to broaden the appeal of the ticket. After some wrangling, they eventually chose Andrew Johnson, the Union military governor of Tennessee, a War Democrat and Southern Unionist who was nominated overwhelmingly on the first ballot.
Later that same month, the assistant secretary of the treasury resigned. Mr. Lincoln made his criteria for selecting a successor quite clear, but Secretary Chase disregarded the president’s wishes. In the ensuing disagreement, Secretary Chase loftily submitted his resignation as a matter of principle, as he had many times before—but this time, the president astounded him by promptly accepting.
Elizabeth expected Mrs. Lincoln to be overjoyed. At last, two things she had greatly desired had come to pass: Mr. Lincoln would be on the ballot in the November presidential election, and Mr. Chase was out of the cabinet. Mrs. Lincoln’s worries should have eased, at least a little, but instead she seemed more agitated and anxious than ever. “What do you think about the election?” she asked Elizabeth one sultry morning at the end of June as she gazed out the open window upon the Potomac.
Elizabeth looked up from her work, fabric on her lap, needle in hand. “I think that Mr. Lincoln will remain in the White House four years longer.”
Mrs. Lincoln turned away from the window, her face a curious mixture of hope and apprehension. “What makes you think so? Somehow I have learned to fear that he will be defeated.”
“Because he has been tried, and has proved faithful to the best interests of the country,” replied Elizabeth. “The people of the North recognize in him an honest man, and they are willing to confide in him, at least until the war has been brought to a close. The Southern people made his election a pretext for rebellion, and now to replace him by someone else, after years of sanguinary war, would look too much like a surrender of the North.”
Mrs. Lincoln looked as if she wanted very much to believe her. “So you believe Mr. Lincoln is likely to be reelected?”
“Mr. Lincoln is certain to be reelected,” said Elizabeth emphatically. “He represents a principle, and to maintain this principle the loyal people of the loyal states will vote for him, even if he had no merits to commend him.”
Mrs. Lincoln pondered this for a long moment in silence. “Your view is a plausible one, Elizabeth, and your confidence gives me new hope.” Her expression suddenly clouded over with worry again, belying her words. “If he should be defeated, I do not know what would become of us all. To me, to him, there is more at stake in this election than he dreams of.”
Elizabeth studied her, wary and wondering. “What do you mean, Mrs. Lincoln?”
Mrs. Lincoln hesitated, took a deep breath, and said, all in a rush, “I have contracted large debts, of which he knows nothing, and which he will be unable to pay if he is defeated.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. She had suspected as much for ages. Steeling herself, she asked, as perhaps she should have asked months before, “What are your debts?”
Mrs. Lincoln began to pace in front of the open window, wringing her hands. “They consist chiefly of store bills. I owe altogether about twenty-seven thousand dollars, the principal portion at Stewart’s, in New York.”
Elizabeth dropped her threaded needle and fell back against her chair. It was a shockingly enormous sum, more than Mr. Lincoln’s entire annual salary.
“You understand, Elizabeth, that Mr. Lincoln has but little idea of the expense of a woman’s wardrobe. He glances at my rich dresses, and is happy in the belief that the few hundred dollars that I obtain from him supply all my wants.” She stopped pacing and threw Elizabeth a beseeching look. “I must dress in costly materials. The people scrutinize every article that I wear with critical curiosity. The very fact of having grown up in the West subjects me to more searching observation. To keep up appearances, I must have money—more than Mr. Lincoln can spare for me. He is too honest to make a penny outside of his salary; consequently I had, and still have, no alternative but to run in debt.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, Elizabeth tried to sort out Mrs. Lincoln’s rationalizations. “And Mr. Lincoln does not even suspect how much you owe?”
“God, no!” she exclaimed. “And I would not have him suspect. If he knew that his wife was involved to the extent that she is, the knowledge would drive him mad. He is so sincere and straightforward himself that he is shocked by the duplicity of others. He does not know a thing about any debts—and I value his happiness, not to speak of my own, too much to allow him to know anything. This is what troubles me so much. If he is reelected, I can keep him in ignorance of my affairs, but if he is defeated, then the bills will be sent in, and he will know all.”
A hysterical sob escaped her then, and Elizabeth was compelled to assure her that Mr. Lincoln would be reelected, of course he would. She was also tempted to warn her that Mr. Lincoln’s reelection would only delay the inevitable, but the First Lady was already in such a dreadful state that Elizabeth couldn’t bear to make matters worse with more harsh truths. Instead she murmured words of comfort and platitudes about frugality that she resignedly expected Mrs. Lincoln to ignore.
The subject resurfaced from time to time throughout those oppressive summer days, for anxiety seized Mrs. Lincoln with every bill that arrived in the mail or political setback that caused President Lincoln’s popularity to sag. Sometimes Mrs. Lincoln feared that her husband’s enemies would discover the particulars about her debts and use them against him in the campaign. Whenever this thought occurred to her, she became almost wild with agitation and fear.
Sometimes too she seized upon a way out of her troubles that seemed, to Elizabeth, a vain hope. “The Republican politicians must pay my debts,” she would declare. “Hundreds of them are getting immensely rich off the patronage of my husband, and it is but fair that they should help me out of my embarrassment. I will make a demand of them, and when I tell them the facts they cannot refuse to advance whatever money I require.”
Elizabeth thought that they certainly could refuse, and very likely would, and that all Mrs. Lincoln would
accomplish with this scheme would be to place herself in the way of malicious gossip yet again. She gently discouraged her from confessing her debts to anyone but her husband and her trusted sisters, but she could not compel Mrs. Lincoln to heed her counsel—on this, or on practicing frugality, or on any other matter. What frustrated Elizabeth most was that all the while the First Lady fretted about her debts, she continued to spend, buying shawls and gloves and expensive trinkets she did not really need. The pleasure of buying pretty things seemed to help her forget her misery for a brief moment, but all the while, she was really only making matters worse.
Never in her life had Elizabeth known a more peculiarly constituted woman.
In the first week of July, General Sherman was making little headway in his offensive maneuvers upon Atlanta, and in the Shenandoah Valley, Confederate lieutenant general Jubal Early halted the Union major general David Hunter’s thrust south and then turned his rebel army north toward the Potomac. Most Northerners assumed this was yet another summer raid and paid it little attention, but General Early’s Army of the Valley kept advancing, skirting Harpers Ferry to cross the Potomac at Shepherdstown and moving on into Maryland. State officials in New York and Pennsylvania were worried enough to call out more than twenty-four thousand militia to provide defense, but most people of Washington City had such confidence in General Grant that they could not believe the rumors that their city might soon be in danger.
General Early captured Hagerstown and then Frederick, demanding cash, clothing, food, and other necessary supplies from the citizens. Rebel soldiers fanned out into the countryside, claiming cattle and horses and harvesting at will from local orchards. This seemed to prove that they were indeed on a simple plundering expedition, especially since the War Department released no information to the contrary.
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