Mrs. Lincoln's Rival

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  At the end of November, Kate alleviated her sister’s homesickness somewhat by visiting her at Brook Hall, and a month later, the school holidays began and Nettie came happily home. Despite the gloom of wartime, the Chase family enjoyed a merry Christmas—with the possible exception of four hours on Christmas Day, when Father was summoned to the White House for an extraordinary cabinet meeting to discuss the Trent Affair.

  In early November, a Union warship, acting without orders from Washington, had intercepted the British mail steamer Trent after it ran the blockade of Havana. Boarding the ship, Union sailors arrested two of its passengers, the former United States senators turned rebels James M. Mason and John Slidell, who were en route to Great Britain and France to petition for formal recognition of the Confederate government. After they were courteously escorted off the ship, Mr. Mason and Mr. Slidell were imprisoned at Fort Warren in Boston, and the Trent was allowed to resume its journey. At the time, Father had told Kate that his only regret was that the Union captain had not seized the Trent too.

  Although the people of the North, desperate for good news, rejoiced to see the Confederate agents thwarted, the British were outraged by the affront to their declared neutrality. For weeks, furious diplomatic exchanges had flown back and forth across the Atlantic, with British minister to Washington Lord Lyons striving tirelessly to mediate between them and President Lincoln, and his cabinet gravely concerned that the incident would escalate into a war the Union simply could not afford. On December 19, the British government declared that the arrests were an affront to their national honor, which could be restored only if Mr. Mason and Mr. Slidell were released to British protection and if the United States offered a formal apology for its aggression. If the United States did not comply, Lord Lyons and his entire delegation were ordered to return to Great Britain.

  When Lord Lyons brought the official dispatch to Mr. Seward, he generously agreed to leave it for the secretary of state and president to read and consider before he presented it to them formally. Mr. Seward immediately sequestered himself at home to draft a reply that would allow the United States to release the prisoners, and thereby avoid war, without upsetting their own citizenry, who would not bear the humiliation of meekly submitting to British demands. On Christmas Day, the cabinet met at the White House at ten o’clock so Mr. Seward could present his complicated argument for why releasing the Confederate agents would actually follow established American legal precedent, allowing them to acquiesce to the British demands without shame. For four hours they debated, and when they adjourned at two o’clock, Mr. Lincoln said that Mr. Seward should continue drafting his reply explaining why the prisoners should be released, and in the meantime, he would prepare arguments to the contrary. The cabinet would reconvene the next day to compare their separate cases and try to reach accord.

  Throughout the holidays, the mansion on the corner of Sixth and E streets had been full of guests, cherished family and friends, many of whom had traveled all the way from Ohio. Kate had kept everyone merrily entertained during Father’s absence Christmas morning, but as soon as he came home, she propelled him off to his study so he could tell her what Mr. Seward had proposed and what had been decided. “The prospect of returning the prisoners is gall and wormwood to me,” Father declared after he had told her everything. “Rather than consent to the liberation of these men, I would sacrifice everything I possess.”

  “Father, you of all people know that we can’t afford two wars.”

  “Of course we can’t, but Great Britain doesn’t want war any more than we do. If we call their bluff, they will not attack us.”

  “Can we be certain of that?”

  “We’ve received confidential assurances from respected officials in London that if the present dispute is resolved amicably, Great Britain will not interfere further in our American conflict. That suggests to me that they are not eager for war.”

  “By not interfering further,” Kate queried, “do they mean that they will not recognize the Confederacy?”

  Father spread his hands and sighed. “That’s how I understand it.”

  “Then this dispute must be resolved amicably,” Kate said, “even if that means appeasing the British at the expense of our pride. At this moment, nothing could help the Union cause more than avoiding a new war with Great Britain and keeping them out of our current one.”

  Father mulled over her words, and nodded. “Of course you’re right, but I resent the necessity of releasing the men, and it’s disingenuous of the British to pontificate about their neutrality while advocating for two would-be rebel diplomats.”

  “You make a fair point, but I don’t see any other way.” Kate sighed, sat down beside him on the sofa, and rested her head on his shoulder. “Perhaps inspiration will strike Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Seward while they sleep tonight, and they’ll contrive some other, more tolerable option you and I haven’t thought of.”

  Father uttered a short, dry laugh. “That would be a Christmas miracle indeed.”

  They rejoined their guests, and later, restored by a delicious Christmas feast and the company and laughter of loved ones, Father appeared less haggard and plagued by worry. Even so, after everyone went off to bed and the house grew dark and still, Kate thought she heard Father pacing in his bedchamber, and she imagined him brooding.

  The family and guests were at breakfast the next morning when Mr. Seward showed up unexpectedly at the door. Father invited him in to dine with them, but Mr. Seward accepted only a cup of coffee and asked if he could read to Father the revised draft of his dispatch. Father readily agreed, and having finished his breakfast, he escorted the secretary of state to his study. Although she had not been invited to accompany them, Kate quickly excused herself from the table and hurried after, and when she shut the study door behind them, the two men gave no indication whatsoever that her presence was unexpected or unwanted.

  Mr. Seward read the document aloud, all twenty-six pages of it. Although the legal argument seemed somewhat convoluted to Kate, Father listened intently, nodding from time to time. “I think it is well done,” he said when Mr. Seward had finished. “And I think you are right.”

  Looking greatly relieved, Mr. Seward thanked him, offered his regards to Kate, and departed with assurances that he would see Father soon at the White House. “His reply offers no apology,” Kate pointed out when they were alone.

  “Yes. The British won’t like that, but our people will, including the president and his cabinet.”

  Sure enough, when the president and his cabinet met later that day, all admitted to regretting the necessity of releasing the prisoners, but they were satisfied that no apology would be rendered. The dispatch was unanimously approved, and Father returned home soon thereafter, smiling and humming a Bach Christmas cantata.

  In the days to come, the British would accept the decision and the people of the North would meet the fragile accord with relief, not outrage. The crisis averted, the Chase family resumed their holiday observances with thankful hearts. Kate’s only disappointment was that William did not visit. He had said that he would try, but on the day before he had been expected, Kate had received a letter expressing his regrets instead. She tried not to dwell upon his absence, and indeed she was never truly lonely, surrounded as she was by affectionate friends, aunts, uncles, and cousins. She understood that the demands of William’s offices, both official in Providence and unofficial in the field of war, left him little time for travel.

  On New Year’s Day, Father escorted Kate and Nettie to a grand reception at the White House. The cabinet, the diplomatic corps, the Supreme Court, and military officers arrived at eleven o’clock, but after them, the public were invited to pour through the receiving line and pay their respects to the president and his wife.

  It was an unusually beautiful day, the sky clear and bright, the air soft and balmy, more reminiscent of May than January. The grounds of the Executive Man
sion were already packed when the Chases arrived, but they managed to squeeze their way inside, offer New Year’s greetings to Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln, and make their way outside again before the crush of people swelled to even greater proportions.

  “I can only imagine how many hands Mr. Lincoln will shake today,” Nettie remarked when they reached the front portico. The unseasonable temperate breeze offered a welcome respite from the packed, overheated public chambers of the mansion. Although the rooms had become uncomfortable after the public had poured in, Kate had to admit that Mrs. Lincoln had refurbished them magnificently. Gone were the tattered drapes and worn furniture, the stained carpets and ripped wallpaper. Now exquisite Parisian paper adorned the walls, gleaming new china graced the tables, and fine, lush rugs felt soft and restful underfoot. The refurbished Executive Mansion was as tastefully and elegantly appointed as any home or public edifice Kate had every visited, as befit a glorious nation. She was proud and pleased to think of the fine impression it would make upon visiting foreign dignitaries—but she wished that she had been the First Lady to arrange it.

  The Chases had just climbed into the carriage and were setting out for home when Father suddenly bolted upright in his seat and began patting his greatcoat, and then searching all of his pockets with increasing alarm.

  “What’s wrong?” Kate asked.

  His brow furrowed in utter disbelief. “My pocket was picked at the reception.”

  “What?” she cried. “Are you certain?”

  “I’ve checked every pocket, and my purse is gone.”

  Kate steeled herself. “How much did it carry?”

  “Sixty dollars in gold.”

  Nettie gasped. “Should we go back and look for it?”

  “It would be no use. The thief will be long gone by now.” Father shook his head. “I cannot believe it. I was robbed in the White House.”

  He had been robbed of the White House, Kate thought, although she refrained from saying so aloud. They had both been betrayed out of what should have been theirs, and every visit made her feel the sting of disappointment anew.

  At home, Father summoned the authorities and reported the theft, although he had little hope that the money would be restored to him. The Chases had no time to mourn the loss, however, for they were hosting their own New Year’s Day reception, which promised to be a far more enjoyable occasion than the unexpectedly expensive visit to the White House had been.

  Later that afternoon, Father and Kate received guests in their grand, spacious drawing room, with the kind assistance of Mrs. McDowell, the general’s wife. The most brilliant and distinguished military officers, diplomats, elected officials, men of business, and their ladies were in attendance, the gentlemen elegant in their uniforms or formal suits, the ladies beautiful in their fine gowns. Kate was sure to make all and sundry feel welcome and merry, but she paid special attention to Lord Lyons, to help ease the lingering tensions between their two nations, and to thank him for his fair and frank negotiations with his American counterparts.

  “Pax esto perpetua,” Father greeted him when he arrived, a smile softening the formality of his bow.

  Lord Lyons inclined his head in return. “I hope that my conduct will ever be that of a peacemaker.”

  “I am certain it will,” said Kate, smiling warmly, taking his arm, and offering to show him a particular rare volume in her father’s library that she had mentioned to him the last time they had met. He went with her gladly, and as they conversed, she deliberately kept the mood light and pleasant, with no mention of the Trent Affair, which both of their countries undoubtedly hoped the other would soon forgive and forget.

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  JANUARY–FEBRUARY 1862

  O

  n the second day of the New Year, the Chase family marked the occasion with a more intimate gathering than those they had previously enjoyed during the holidays—a delicious turkey feast with their houseguests and a few dear friends, including General McDowell, Mrs. McDowell, and Massachusetts senator Charles Sumner. Father and Kate saw Senator Sumner the following evening too, for all had been invited to attend a lecture at the Smithsonian Institution offered by Horace Greeley, the editor of the New York Tribune and arguably the most prominent abolitionist orator in the nation.

  More than a thousand people filled the auditorium to hear the bald, bespectacled abolitionist speak, and while Kate found a seat in the house, Father was escorted to a chair on the stage behind Mr. Greeley’s podium alongside Mr. Lincoln and ten congressmen. Kate wondered who had arranged for the twelve to be seated onstage, which was probably intended as an honor but strongly implied that they endorsed Mr. Greeley’s positions. Perhaps most of the men did, but as Mr. Greeley launched into his fiery oration, Kate understood well that the president certainly did not. Mr. Lincoln sat stoically as Mr. Greeley declared that General Frémont had been absolutely correct to attempt to grant freedom to the slaves of Confederates in Missouri, and every time he mentioned the general’s name, certain factions in the crowd shouted and jeered at President Lincoln. At one point, Mr. Greeley fixed his gaze squarely on the president and proclaimed that the war’s sole purpose should be the demise of slavery. Most of the audience cheered and applauded in agreement, but Mr. Lincoln merely sat straight in his chair, silent and patient, his expression impassive. Kate marveled at how well he endured it, and although she did feel some sympathy for him, she reminded herself that he could have spared himself the embarrassment if he had been a stronger advocate for emancipation.

  The following day, most of the Chases’ friends and family departed, and soon Nettie reluctantly did as well, for her school holidays had come to a close. She left for Brook Hall escorted by her cousin Ralston Skinner, but midway through the journey she fell terribly ill with scarlet fever. Father was as frantic as Kate had ever seen him, for he had lost his firstborn child to an epidemic of the same terrible disease the year Kate was born—Kate was, in fact, the namesake of this poor, lost, much-beloved little girl, as well as the woman who had died giving birth to her.

  Kate immediately hurried off to her ailing sister’s bedside, departing on the evening train with her father’s good friend, the wealthy Philadelphia banker Jay Cooke. Under a doctor’s care, and with the tender, watchful ministrations of Kate and Mr. and Mrs. Cooke, Nettie made a fine and steady recovery, but not before Kate fell ill with a less severe case of the same fearsome disease. Within a fortnight both sisters recuperated enough to move on from Philadelphia, Nettie to school and Kate home to Washington, but it was an anxious time for them all, especially for Father, who was so fearful for their lives that in a sense he suffered more than they.

  Because of her time away from the capital, Kate missed much of the upheaval that rocked the president’s cabinet that January. President Lincoln had become so frustrated with corruption and malfeasance in the Department of War that he finally ousted Secretary Cameron. When the scandal-ridden general received Mr. Lincoln’s terse letter of dismissal, he wept, declared it a personal degradation, and called on Father that evening after dinner to enlist his help. With the aid of Secretary Seward, Father persuaded Mr. Lincoln to withdraw the brusque letter in lieu of a cordial note indicating that General Cameron had requested to be released from his duties. Kate had always rather liked the general and was sorry to see him go, but of course she was sorrier still that he had engaged in the unethical behavior that had led to his removal.

  Like Father, Kate was delighted with Mr. Lincoln’s choice to succeed General Cameron as secretary of war: Edwin Stanton, a lawyer from Cincinnati, a fellow staunch abolitionist, and a longtime intimate friend of Father’s. The sudden announcement of General Cameron’s resignation and Mr. Stanton’s appointment took most of the cabinet by surprise, but on the whole they found the arrangement satisfactory, as did the Senate, which promptly confirmed the nomination.

  President Lincoln had also become increasingly
impatient with his young, arrogant general in chief, who had assembled and trained a powerful army and yet still insisted he dared not lead them into the field because his forces were overwhelmingly outnumbered by the Confederacy’s. To Kate, General McClellan sometimes seemed like a fastidious housewife who labored for years to stitch a masterpiece quilt, only to hide it away in a trunk for safekeeping rather than use it. The quilt remained unstained, unworn, and unfaded, but the bedchamber was not as lovely as it could have been and its occupants shivered from the cold.

  The president’s urgent calls for forward movement upon the rebels did little to prod General McClellan away from his headquarters on Fifteenth Street, where he had arranged for a telegraph office to be established and had ordered that every message from the field had to pass through him. He seemed even more loath to depart his residence on H Street, where he hosted sumptuous dinners every evening for nearly two dozen guests, many of whom were members of the Southern-born and sympathetic elite. Most people of the North chafed at General McClellan’s interminable, inexplicable delays, but Kate’s father had another cause for concern: The Treasury was nearly bankrupt from the enormous expense of providing for hundreds of thousands of stationary soldiers, but Father could not replenish the coffers because the army’s lack of forward progress had rendered bankers and the public too disgruntled to offer the immobile government any more of their hard-earned money.

  Since late December, General McClellan had been bedridden from typhoid, but the newly formed Congressional Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War suspected that he was feigning illness to justify his inaction. Soon after Kate had left to join Nettie in Philadelphia, the committee met with President Lincoln and his cabinet to vehemently denounce the general and to urge the president to take greater control of the army. Perhaps because his ofttimes rival, Ohio senator Benjamin Wade, led the committee, Father vigorously defended the embattled general. Four days later, after attempting to visit General McClellan but being turned away, President Lincoln summoned Father, most of the other cabinet members, and two generals to a “Council of War” at the White House, where they discussed the problems facing the administration and began devising a strategy for an advance upon the Confederates. The Council of War met again the following day, and the cabinet in special session the next. General McClellan must have realized that the planning of the war was going to go on with or without him, for he experienced a miraculous recovery and was able to attend a council of generals the president convened on January 13. Whether General McClellan would finally commence the forward movement the president and the public so desired remained to be seen, but President Lincoln apparently wanted to permit no room for misunderstanding. Shortly after Kate returned to Washington, he issued General War Order No. 1, which named February 22 as “the day for a general movement of the Land and Naval forces of the United States against the insurgent forces.”