Lincoln paused and shifted his top hat to the other knee. He looked at his friends and said, “Well, with all of this noise and commotion into the wee hours of the night, I hope that when the election comes around, the people of Illinois will be awake on voting day!”
The five rolled out a burst of laughter.
“Bring out the cordials!” Washburne interjected. “Let’s toast to Illinois and to Mr. Lincoln, our nominee for president in the next election!”
The door opened. A stranger entered the lobby. The five looked at him curiously.
“Well, Mr. Lincoln, do I detect a celebration?” the stranger asked.
“And who, sir, do I have the pleasure of addressing?” replied Lincoln calmly.
“Do you remember John Mason Loomis the third? I am he. We had the pleasure of acquaintance here about a year and a half ago. At that time, I informed you that no one would beat Senator Douglas in the senatorial election. My prediction was correct. You lost, Mr. Lincoln… so why the celebration?” Loomis smiled curtly with his nose upright.
There was dead silence in the parlor. No one could believe the audacity of the insult.
With a condescending smirk, Loomis tilted his head, awaiting a response.
After a short pause, Lincoln placed his broad hands on the arms of his chair and slowly rose, all the while staring directly into the eyes of Loomis, who began to fidget, anticipating a fight.
As Lincoln completed the motion, he raised his right hand with his palm up, smiled, and replied to the insult, “Well, Mr. Loomis, would you like to join us in a toast?”
Loomis was shocked and noticeably relieved. He stepped forward.
Lincoln motioned to the waiter attending, who then reached over and poured another glass of brandy for Loomis. The silence in the room was even more deafening.
“Gentlemen, it is written in the good Bible to turn the other cheek. It does not say that we have to toast our enemies, but this I will do should you decide to join us in the toast, Mr. Loomis.”
Loomis nodded and grasped the glass.
Lincoln raised his glass with the others and continued. “And on that note, Mr. Loomis, I would like to share some country wisdom with you.” He smiled, nodded gently to those around him, and continued. “Down in Springfield, where I hail from, the smart folk have said, ‘If you call a tail a leg, how many legs does a dog have?’ Would you say five?…No! The answer is always four! Just because you call a tail a leg… doesn’t make it a leg!”
Lincoln grinned. His voice rose slightly as he lifted his glass, almost touching the chandelier and continued, “So with that, dear sir, I would like to toast your Democratic colleagues for your unabated logic and your misguided politics, which have truly helped the Republican Party in the short run. And in the long run, you Democrats will be running full speed…tail between the legs…where that tail should be…to the rear…as our Republican Party takes center stage as a true and honest voice of the people!”
A resounding burst of laughter filled the room, causing Loomis to step back. He did not raise the brandy to his lips. Instead he slapped the glass back on the attendant’s tray, turned abruptly, and started for the door. Stepping halfway out the entrance, he turned back and laid a parting shot at the five. “Your Republican Party is full of too many Suckers! I will toast you all when Senator Douglas defeats you again!” The door slammed shut behind him with a boom, echoing to the guest rooms upstairs.
Washburne smiled, nodded to his colleagues, and then raised the brandy glass.
“A toast to Mr. Lincoln…our next president!” he said confidently.
Glasses clinked together.
Chapter 9
Tremont House Hotel
Southeast Corner of Lake and Dearborn Streets
Chicago
July 4, 1859
The basement was dark and damp even in July. A dripping noise broke the silence like the slow methodical ticking of a small clock. Elmer awakened from a deep slumber. Wrapped in two wool blankets with his red diary tucked under an arm, he began to sense that the brilliant Lake Michigan morning sun was rising, but rolled uncomfortably to his other side to get just a few more winks before lighting a candle.
As he stared into the darkness, he thought about his men, who were to arrive this day in front of the Tremont House for their first military-drill exhibition. Elmer, because of his prowess with the Rockford City Greys, was recruited and elected as commander by these untested Chicago boys just slightly over two months before. They, too, were arousing from their slumber, having slept in blankets on the floor of the armory just a few blocks away.
Mr. Couch, the owner of the Tremont House, had kindly allowed Elmer to sleep in the basement for free so that he could make early preparations for his men, the newly named US Zouave Cadets of Chicago.
A crackling noise and a swift furry shuffle broke the silence. Elmer jumped up like a cat. The blankets twisted around his legs, and his red diary clunked onto the floor. Reaching for the candle beside him, he knocked it over with a clank, causing the scurrying noise to increase. The candle separated from the base and rolled away. Reaching out with both hands, he searched the damp floor around his blankets, and within seconds found the candle and placed it back in the holder. He then struck a match on the rocky floor and relit the wick. Shadows of scurrying rats stretched and then faded into the corners of the room.
Elmer rose to his feet, smiled, shook his head, and coughed twice. His toothache had mostly gone away, and the catarrh, which had caused him to cough incessantly during the cold winter days, seemed to only affect him in the morning now. He coughed deeply again.
Stretching his arms behind his back, he walked over to the small table that had his breakfast waiting for him. For months he had subsisted day and night mostly on crackers and water. A one-pound box, which he had paid eleven cents for the previous day, was in a shredded state from the rats who feasted on the crackers during his sleep. Picking it up, he peeked inside, shook it, and then tipped it toward his open hand. Three crackers dropped out.
Well, those four-legged ones have to eat, too! Thank God they left me a few. Placing the crackers one by one in his mouth, he reached for the tall sturdy glass of water on the table. Glad they weren’t strong enough to knock this over.
He looked back again to the corners of the basement. His nighttime visitors were nowhere to be seen. He caught the reflection of his bright-red diary from the candlelight. Bending over, he picked up his blankets and diary and placed them on the table.
“I will make another entry tonight about our military drill today, dear diary. I don’t expect folks would care to know much about this basement right now,” he said calmly. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He then grabbed his prized little journal and opened it to the very first page. The entry was written on his twenty-second birthday.
April 11, 1859
I do this because it seems very pleasant to be able to look upon our past lives—such a jumble of strange incidents that should I ever become anybody or anything, this will be usefull [sic] as a means of showing how much suffering and temptation a man may undergo and still keep clear of despair and vice.1
Elmer closed the diary and placed it gently on the table. His thoughts drifted to days on the Hudson River and the Rock River where he trapped muskrats to support himself. Now he was the colonel of a great Zouave drill team. He remembered the long walks along the Pecatonica River with Allie and the friends of the wigwam…the Freeport fire… and the proud Rockford City Greys.
A creak from the oak floor in the parlor above snapped him back to the present. Best get ready for my address to the city folk. Best get ready for my men.
On a hook in the corner was a newly fitted and brightly colored Zouave uniform patterned after the famous French soldiers in the Crimean War. Elmer had learned the movements and tactics of these soldiers from his fencing instructor, Dr. Charles A. DeVilliers, also of Chicago, whom he had met in a gymnasium and befriended. The dash and swiftness o
f the Zouave movements impressed Elmer greatly… so greatly that he was already a recognized drill master in Rockford. Today, Independence Day, would be another proving ground to the citizens of Chicago.
Reaching over in the dim light, he grabbed the scarlet-red pantaloons, which were baggy to allow quick and graceful movements during drills. Elmer tucked his pants into his boots and then wrapped yellow gaiters at the top of his boots. His shirt of sky blue was then tucked in his pants and complemented with a collarless navy-blue jacket trimmed with gold braid. Reaching over for the last remaining piece of his elaborate uniform, he grabbed a scarlet French kepi, a small cap with gold and orange decorations, about the size of a small frying pan turned upside down. Elmer placed the cap deftly on his head, cocking the cap slightly to the right. He then grabbed the black chin strap attached to the kepi and pulled it over his chin. He leaned down, picked up his blankets and diary, stood straight at attention for a moment, grabbed the candle holder at the base, and walked up the creaking wooden stairs to the Tremont House parlor.
“Colonel Ellsworth! You look grand this fine day. How was your sleep?”
“Very comfortable, Mr. Couch. I am indebted for your kindness,” Elmer replied with his usual charm.
“Are you ready for the presentation today? Mayor Haines believes there will be a crowd of twenty thousand folks to see you! Are you nervous?”
“We will do our best, sir. My men have practiced long and hard for this.”
“Well, good luck, Colonel. I am betting on the US Zouave Cadets this grand day!”
Elmer gently nodded his head. His kepi remained firmly tilted in place.
The crowd was thick outside, waiting for the approach of Elmer’s company, and he could hear the excitement outside. Suddenly, single shouts were heard above the hum of the crowd, and a cheer broke out as his colorfully clad company proceeded north on Dearborn Street to the hotel. When they reached the intersection at Lake Street, they turned east on Lake Street and stopped abruptly in perfect formation in front of the Tremont House. With a curt command from a lieutenant, Elmer’s forty-man Zouave Company snapped the butts of their small musketoon rifles to the ground in one motion and then uniformly looked up to the balcony where Abraham Lincoln delivered a grand speech the previous year. The late-morning sun reflected off the shiny barrels of their rifles, causing many of the spectators closest to the men to hold kerchiefs to their eyes. As the Zouaves stood silently like sentries of old, the crowd noise began to subside, broken with an occasional shout or laugh, until it dropped to almost a whisper.
Noticing the silence and considering it his cue, Elmer peeked through the curtains of the parlor window overlooking the street scene and proceeded upstairs, each clunk of his boot steps building his confidence as he rose to the third-floor balcony. As he walked, he stretched his back to ease the ache from sleeping on the basement’s damp, hard floor. Placing both hands over his mouth, he coughed deeply to clear his throat. Touching the brim of his cap to make sure it was smartly placed on his dark-brown curls, his deep hazel eyes gazed through the balcony doors that were opened wide for him.
He stepped out onto the balcony.
The crowd looked immense. It remained silent. His heart began pounding faster as he noticed all eyes upon him. Then a sense of calm and grace came over him. He smiled, nodded, and tipped his hat directly toward a small group of admiring ladies who had summer fans opened, covering their mouths as they whispered to each other.
With a strong and confident voice, Elmer began. “Ladies and gentlemen of Chicago, Mayor Haines, council members, and officers of the Fire Brigade!”
He paused for effect.
“We are gathered today to celebrate the heroic deeds of our colonial forefathers! This great Union would not be here today if not for them.”
He paused again, his silence causing an even more intent anticipation from the crowd. His eyes turned fiery yet tender as he continued.
“Through them and their great sacrifices on the fields of fire and around lonely hearthstones in homesteads across the colonies, fathers, mothers, children, and grandchildren suffered eight long years for the dream of liberty.”
He paused again and spanned the crowd from left to right. He raised his right hand and cocked it at angle, beckoning the crowd to answer.
“Shall we raise a cheer to them now?”
A thunderous roar rolled around the Tremont House, echoing east to Lake Michigan, across the Chicago River, and to the south and west! It continued for two long minutes, the ovation encouraged by Elmer’s slow nods and graceful movements as he stood with shoulders erect, turning to each side of the balcony so every individual within view could enjoy his delivery.
When the crowd noise slowly subsided for Elmer’s next remarks, cries of startled babies could be heard, and the distant barks of dogs punctuated the forming silence.
In a deep and sonorous voice, he continued.
“My grandfather was just a boy of fifteen when he took up a musket and joined the ranks of the Continental army at Saratoga, America’s great first victory in the Revolutionary War. Just a boy. Just a militiaman. And, as we know from the annals of history, like the Greek soldiers of old…a just and dedicated citizen soldier. Like all of our grandfathers and forefathers who built this fine country, we must be prepared to defend our rights and liberties, our firesides, and our altars.” Elmer paused.
The crowd clapped thunderously. Small Betsy Ross flags fluttered in the hands of children as colorful red, white, and blue ribbons in the bonnets of the ladies curled up with gentle bursts of lakeshore breezes. There was silence again.
“The US Zouave Cadets of Chicago militia inherits that proud tradition!” Elmer nodded and then tipped his hat in salute to his command below, who did not react to the cheers of the crowd.
“And whatever tends to induce a military spirit among the people and render them capable of standing erect against a world in arms, that is surely patriotic, that is surely beneficial to the nation!”
Teenage girls glanced admiringly at the cadets and appeared to swoon.
“My fellow comrades-in-arms—” He continued as he directed his gaze over the cross rail of the balcony and reached out to them with both arms extended. “We are gathered here on Independence Day to demonstrate the Zouave military drill. You are trained for this day! You have practiced over the last ten weeks every day except the Lord’s day for four long and strenuous hours…and to heavy your burden to build your skill…with twenty-five-pound knapsacks on your backs!”
The crowd clapped with appreciation. Those closest to the cadets turned directly toward them and nodded, but the cadets kept their chins up and steady as they looked at their colonel. He continued.
“Soldiers, you have excelled and become masters of the military drill…But your greatest achievement is your daily devotion to our Golden Resolutions, which have made you strong in body and resolute in character!”
Elmer paused again. The crowd was silent. He continued with his strong, direct tone that with each point rose in intensity yet was calm, deliberate, and with great strength and reach.
“We are bound by our Golden Resolutions: We will not drink! We will not smoke! We will not gamble!”
He paused as he gazed at the throng of citizens on Lake Street.
“And we will not wear our uniforms in any place that would disgrace the honor of the US Zouave Cadets of Chicago!”
As Elmer hit the final point, the cheering again reverberated through the streets and alleys and rolled like a wave to those in the distance at Lakeshore Park. Those citizens at the park wondered what Elmer had said. They could not see the colorful cadets as the distance was a quarter mile away, but soon they would see them in their full grandeur.
As the crowd noise built to a crescendo, the flags continued to flutter like in a red, white, and blue blur. Elmer tipped his hat to the excitement in front of him, turned on his heels with back erect, and disappeared from the balcony. As he turned, the Light Guard eightee
n-member military band struck up “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” The crowd continued to roar in appreciation.
Within minutes the door of the Tremont House swung open, and Elmer reappeared in full splendor. Smiling and shaking hands with those close by, he gradually made it to the side of his forty-man Zouave contingent and stood in position to direct his command. When the band had finished, the crowd fell silent again.
“US Zouave Cadets of Chicago!” Elmer ordered, “We now represent with honor this great city on the prairie. Give them our cheer and stand ready for drill!”
The forty were positioned to the right of Elmer, faced in rows of eight and five lines deep. Most of them, like Elmer, were slightly shy of medium height. They were muscular with chiseled arms, legs, torsos, and countenances from the long hours of preparation.
At the moment, Elmer smartly pulled his sword from its black leather sheath. Holding the sword hilt at chest level, he began a slow movement, swinging the tip of the sword to the twelve o’clock position. When the tip hit twelve, he quickly snapped the sword upward to chin level with the tip of the sword now two feet over his red kepi cap.
Immediately, a deep guttural cheer from the forty rebounded off the front of the Tremont House as they shouted with pride, doffing their caps and raising them up and down with each shout!
“Hi…Hi…Hi!”
“One—Two—Three—Four—Five—Six—Seven!”
“Tig-a-r…Zouave!”
The Chicagoans were stunned by the shouts, and the cadets then began their first movements with Elmer’s crystal-clear commands directing them into action.
The eight rows of five broke quickly and symmetrically apart into ten distinct groups of four, each Zouave facing outward. Muskets swirled like batons and dropped back to their side. With the command of “Fix bayonets!” forty bayonets were pulled and snapped to the muzzles with the greatest precision with rapidity. Elmer’s next command caused the deadly weapons to be pressed outward at a forty-five-degree angle, causing the tip of the bayonet to be only inches away from the faces of the closest admirers. The ten squares of four moved in step eastwardly down Lake Street like a deadly animal. The crowd gasped as the Zouaves marched with the thump of their boots. Police barked their own commands to the crowd, methodically clearing hundreds of people in the path of the forty. They pushed hard to clear the way. The Zouaves suddenly stopped when Elmer shouted, “Company halt!”
FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story Page 7
