• • •
On January 6, Ohio congressman James M. Ashley reintroduced the Thirteenth Amendment abolishing slavery throughout the United States, which had already passed the Senate, into the House. On the last day of the month, Father and the other Supreme Court justices attended the final debates before the vote. Dozens of senators, including William, had come to witness the historic moment, as had members of many foreign ministries and Secretaries Seward, Fessenden, and Dennison, representing the cabinet. Kate and Nettie arrived early to claim good seats in the gallery, which for the first time also admitted people of color. The Negro men and women watched the final speeches and heard the vote taken in solemn, breathless quiet, breaking into cheers and joyful weeping when the measure passed. Although three-fourths of the states would have to ratify the amendment before it would become the law of the land, people of color and abolitionists rejoiced, certain that slavery had been dealt a fatal blow.
Father and Kate knew that President Lincoln had appointed him to be chief justice in part because of his certainty that Father would use his exalted position to help secure rights for people of color. Soon after Father ascended to the Supreme Court, Senator Charles Sumner wrote to him on behalf of John Rock, a Negro lawyer from Massachusetts who had long sought to practice before the Supreme Court but had been rejected solely because of his race. Father was well pleased to open the court to people of color, and the day after the Thirteenth Amendment passed the House, he welcomed Senator Sumner to stand before the bench as Mr. Rock’s sponsor. “May it please the court,” Senator Sumner declared, “I move that John S. Rock, a member of the Supreme Court of the State of Massachusetts, be admitted to practice as a member of this court.” While Kate and Nettie looked on proudly, Father summoned Mr. Rock forward to swear the oath that would permit him to practice before the highest court in the land.
A Peace Convention at Hampton Roads in early February resolved nothing despite President Lincoln’s unexpected appearance at the bargaining table, but elsewhere, upon the battlefields and in the halls of government, the first months of the New Year brought about promising developments. In mid-January, the Union navy captured Fort Fisher, which closed the port of Wilmington, North Carolina, and severed supply lines to the Confederacy from abroad. Farther south, General Sherman had moved on from Savannah to Columbia, and on February 17 his forces captured the state capital of South Carolina. The following day, the Confederates surrendered Fort Sumter and evacuated Charleston, and all the while, General Grant was tightening his stranglehold on Petersburg and threatening the Confederate capital of Richmond twenty-five miles to the north.
Kate hardly dared believe it, but a Union victory seemed more certain than ever before. Perhaps, she thought, stroking her swelling abdomen, perhaps her son or daughter would be born into peace—into a nation no longer torn asunder by war and into a home reconciled in love.
The mood in Washington was hopeful and ebullient as the capital prepared for Mr. Lincoln’s second inauguration. In scenes reminiscent of four years before, thousands of visitors flooded the city, citizens eager to enjoy the revelries and politicians determined to promote themselves and their favorite causes. Again the hotels and boardinghouses were packed to overflowing, and at the Willard, ladies and gentlemen alike sat up all night in the crowded parlors because no beds could be found for them.
On the evening before the inauguration, a welcome guest from Boston called on the Chase family, Father’s friend and fellow abolitionist Frederick Douglass. Kate was making some last-minute alterations to the new robe Father would wear when he administered the oath to Mr. Lincoln, but she quickly set aside her pins and needles and shears to welcome the renowned orator and former slave into the parlor, where for the better part of an hour, Father had obediently donned or removed the garment as instructed so Kate could fit it to his imposing form.
“I decided to join the grand procession of citizens from all parts of the country who have come to witness this historic occasion,” Mr. Douglass said as he settled into an armchair and accepted a cup of tea. When Kate and her father exchanged a troubled glance, he smiled knowingly. “Yes, my people have always been excluded from these inaugural celebrations, but when I contemplate how much blood of both white and Negro soldiers has been spilled in our common cause, and lies forever intermingled upon the battlefields, I believe it is not too great an assumption for a colored man to think he might offer his congratulations to the president in the company of white citizens.”
“I hope you aren’t turned away at the door,” said Kate, pursing her lips as she threaded a needle.
“That would be a great outrage,” Father fairly growled.
“I’ve been turned away at doors before and have survived,” Mr. Douglass said easily. “And yet I don’t think I’ll be sent away tomorrow.”
“But if you are,” Father said, “find me and I will get you in.”
“Thank you, but I want to get myself in, on the merits of my own citizenship, not because I am accompanied by the chief justice of the Supreme Court.”
“I was your friend long before I assumed that lofty title,” said Father, “and your friend, first and foremost, I remain.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Mr. Douglass. “I remember well our early antislavery days, when you welcomed me to your home and your table when to do so was a strange thing.”
Kate smiled as she made tiny, even stitches in the hem of the robe. “To Father, it was always a strange thing to consider it strange.” She finished the last stitch and deftly tied an almost-invisible knot. “There. It’s done. Father, will you try this on one more time? You’ve been infinitely patient and if I’ve done this right, I promise to cease plaguing you.”
Obligingly Father stood. “You are no plague, my dear.”
As Kate stretched to lift the robe over his head, she felt a sudden strong twinge in her abdomen, and with an involuntary gasp, she bent forward, clutching her side.
“Katie,” her father exclaimed, alarmed, and Mr. Douglass too was on his feet.
She smiled, waving off the men’s concern. “It’s nothing, just a little kick. I was surprised, not hurt.”
Uncertain, Father asked, “Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
“Nevertheless, please allow me,” said Mr. Douglass, holding out his hands for the robe. Kate gave it to him with her thanks, and as Father stood tall and still, Mr. Douglass placed the robe over his shoulders. Kate made a few adjustments here and there so that it draped better upon him, and then she declared it perfect.
She doubted Mr. Lincoln would look half as well as her father did when they stood upon the platform together the next day.
• • •
That night a terrible storm struck Washington City, and Kate was dragged from sleep by the crash of thunder and the scour of hail upon the roof. Scarcely awake, heart pounding, she propped herself up on her elbows, confused and wondering whether the tumult was a storm or an attack. When the truth dawned, she lay down wearily and hoped the tempest would soon subside and allow her to drift back to sleep. It was not an ominous portent for the president’s second term, she told herself as she rolled carefully onto her side and drew the quilt up to her chin. If a hotel had caught fire somewhere nearby, she might be tempted to consider that an ill omen, but not a mere storm, even if it was the most severe one that had struck the capital in that damp early spring.
The morning dawned gray and drizzly, and a glance out the window revealed that the night’s torrential downpour had turned the streets into thick rivers of mud. Kate hoped the streets would dry somewhat in time for the grand parade for the sake of the fifty thousand citizens who were predicted to gather at the Capitol and the thousands more who would line the parade route. It was expected to be a glorious procession, with soldiers and cavalry and bands, representatives from fire departments, civic organizations, and fraternal lodges from across the North m
arching proudly carrying banners and flags, and much more adding to the spectacle. Kate would not see it, for she, Nettie, and William would accompany Father to the Senate ahead of time, as they had been granted places of honor in the galleries thanks to Father’s important role in the proceedings. When they arrived, Kate learned that Mr. Lincoln had missed the entire procession too, for he had so many bills pending that he had gone to the Capitol early, and was signing them still. Kate imagined Mrs. Lincoln riding in the closed carriage alone, proudly accepting the joyful cheers meant for her husband.
After the Senate adjourned at noon, Kate watched as Mr. Lincoln entered the chamber accompanied by his cabinet, his expression grave and melancholy, his eyes shadowed, his cheeks cavernous. As they took their appointed seats to the left of the rostrum, Father led the other justices into the Senate chamber and to their places opposite the president and his cabinet.
The ceremony began with the traditional valedictory address of the outgoing vice-president, and Mr. Hamlin’s remarks to bid the senators farewell and introduce his successor were appropriately warm, gracious, and brief. Next Mr. Johnson took the rostrum, and he had uttered barely two sentences in a thick, slurred voice before Kate realized that he was either very ill or very drunk. As Mr. Johnson rambled incoherently, red-faced and barely coherent, a murmur of puzzlement stirred the gallery and Kate and Nettie exchanged a look of alarm. Mr. Lincoln bowed his head in what Kate could only imagine was profound embarrassment, enduring the startling harangue in dignified silence and waiting patiently for Mr. Johnson to finish. After an excruciatingly uncomfortable twenty minutes in which the vice-president-elect lauded his humble roots and proclaimed the power of the people, his unfocused gaze fell upon the members of the cabinet, each of whom he addressed in turn, although he forgot several of their names and which offices they occupied. Then, wheeling upon the Supreme Court justices, he reminded them that they derived their power from the people, and fixing a red-rimmed, bloodshot eye upon Father, he declared, “You too got your power from the people, whose creature you are!” Turning back to the audience, he changed subjects abruptly to the nature of the solemn vow he was about to take, but when he paused for breath, Mr. Hamlin quickly took advantage of the momentary lull and administered the oath.
“How dreadful,” Nettie murmured as she and Kate rose and filed from the gallery with the other guests. “The poor man.”
Kate nodded her assent, although she was not sure whether Nettie meant Mr. Johnson, Mr. Lincoln, or Father.
Holding hands so they would not be separated in the crowd, the sisters proceeded to the east front of the Capitol, where they took their seats on the platform with the other honored guests to observe Mr. Lincoln’s oath. An eager audience thousands strong had packed the muddy Capitol grounds beneath overcast skies, and when the president emerged onto the East Portico with Father by his side, a sheet of paper in his hand, the newly completed dome rising in magnificent splendor high above, the people let out a great roar of welcome and gladness. As Mr. Lincoln came forward to offer his speech, the clouds suddenly parted and the sun broke through, and a bright shaft of sunlight shone down upon him like a benediction from heaven.
“How lovely,” Nettie said, sighing. “How perfect.”
“It would be perfect, if Father were taking the oath instead of administering it,” Kate murmured in reply, but Nettie’s gaze was fixed on the portico with such eagerness that Kate wasn’t sure she heard.
Kate supposed she was not alone in expecting a great deal from the president’s address, but his brief speech surpassed even her elevated expectations. It was a brief, simple, and profoundly beautiful address, clear and poignant and warm, full of forgiveness and reconciliation. The president spoke of the war, and how slavery was the undeniable cause of it, and how four years earlier everyone, North and South alike, had wanted to avoid war, but one side would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. He spoke of their shared belief in the Lord, and how peculiar it was that each side prayed to the same God and invoked His aid against the other. “It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces,” he noted, “but let us judge not that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered; that of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes.”
The president went on to suggest that God had sent them the terrible war as punishment for the offense of slavery, and that the war could be a mighty scourge to rid them of it. People North and South alike hoped, and fervently prayed, that the war would swiftly pass away, but if God willed that it should continue “until all the wealth piled by the bond-man’s two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash, shall be paid by another drawn with the sword,” they must accept that the Lord’s judgment was true and righteous.
In closing Mr. Lincoln displayed the extraordinary magnanimity and forgiveness that had at first astonished, and later had come to deeply impress Kate. “With malice toward none,” he urged his listeners, “with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.”
Her throat constricting with emotion, Kate watched as Mr. Lincoln turned to Father, who stepped forward and beckoned for the clerk to hand him an open Bible. Father set it on a stand, and Mr. Lincoln placed his right hand upon it, and Father solemnly administered the oath of office. Then the president bent and kissed the holy book, and as the multitudes roared their approval, an artillery salute boomed and the Marine Band played a stirring tune—but Kate barely heard it, for her ears and heart and thoughts were full of President Lincoln’s powerful oration.
She did not think Father could have done any better.
After acknowledging with courteous bows the ardent cheers and thunderous applause of the people, Mr. Lincoln left the portico for the lower entrance, where a carriage waited to carry him in joyful procession back to the White House. As the crowd dispersed, William was nowhere to be seen, but Nettie and Kate spotted Father easily thanks to his imposing stature. Working their way to him was more difficult, even though people who recognized them quickly gave way, and those who didn’t kindly stepped aside when they noticed Kate’s delicate condition. They arrived to find him talking earnestly with two other justices and a senator, and Kate noticed that he still held the Bible, closed upon a scarlet ribbon, which she supposed marked the place where Mr. Lincoln had kissed the pages. Kate and Nettie chatted with other ladies on the platform while they waited for Father to finish his conversation, and just as he did, William appeared, laughing heartily, his arms flung over the shoulders of a senator and a congressman, their faces as merry and flushed as his. They had evidently slipped off to the Capitol commissary immediately after the ceremony in order to toast President Lincoln’s second term in their own fashion.
Kate turned away before her husband saw the disgust and anger in her eyes.
The Chases and Spragues, like most of the Washington elite, did not attend the public reception at the White House that evening, for they found little appeal in the thought of standing in line for hours with six thousand eager citizens to shake the president’s hand and exchange a few brief pleasantries, not when they knew they would be able to pay their respects more pleasantly at the Inaugural Ball two evenings later. Instead they returned home, where Father promptly went to his study to write a letter, which he asked Kate to read. “I intend to send this to Mrs. Lincoln,” he said, handing her the paper, “along with the Bible the president used to take his oath.”
Washington, March 4, 1865
My dear Mrs. Lincoln,
I hope the Sacred Book will be to you an acceptable souvenir of a memorable day; and I most earnestly pray Him, by whose Inspiration it was given, that the beautiful sunshine which just at the time the oath was taken dispersed the clouds that had previously darkened the sky may prove an auspicious omen of the dispersion of the clouds of war and the restoration of the clear sunlight of prosperous peace under the wise and just administration of him who took it.
Yours very truly,
S. P. Chase
Kate was mildly surprised to discover that Father had apparently come to believe in omens, but she supposed he could have meant it merely as a rhetorical device. “It’s a lovely gesture,” she told him sincerely. “I hope she’ll appreciate it.”
Father smiled agreeably, but Kate knew Mrs. Lincoln hated her father, and she could more easily imagine the First Lady shelving the Bible in some dark, dusty corner of the White House attic than cherishing the memento and the spirit in which it was given.
At ten o’clock on Monday evening, Kate, Father, William, and Nettie arrived at the Patent Office for the grand Inaugural Ball. Nettie looked delightfully sweet and pretty in her ashes-of-rose satin trimmed in white lace, but Kate felt enormous and bloated and cumbersome in her lavender moire antique, even though William assured her that she looked as beautiful as ever. Nettie promptly agreed, although she added the unfortunate qualifier, “almost as pretty.”
The marble hall appropriated for dancing was about two hundred and eighty feet long and about a quarter that in width, with blue-and-white marble floors, an elaborately frescoed ceiling, and walls tastefully appointed with emblems, banners, and devices among which the Stars and Stripes and flags of various army corps were prominently featured. At the north end of the room, sofas and chairs furnished in blue and gold were arranged on a dais for the comfort of the president and his family. A fine brass band occupied a gallery at the east end, ready to provide music for the promenade, while in the center on the south side, a splendid string ensemble would furnish music for the dance.
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