A Night of Horrors: A Historical Thriller about the 24 Hours of Lincoln's Assassination

by Berry, John C.

  Stanton was a rather short man and in his middle age. His success had not only earned him a modest wealth, it had also gained him a plump belly. He wore round steel rimmed glasses and had a large nose. His nostrils often flared when he became animated and heated in discussion or debate. The man’s hair receded greatly from his forehead and gave him the appearance of being older than he was at just 50 years of age when the war was ending. He wore no mustache, but had a long flowing beard that grew down to the third button of his dress shirt. He had a large shock of gray in the front of his beard that added to the impression that he was older than he was.

  Because of his obsessive work ethic, Stanton was often ill and suffered from exhaustion. As a result, his temper was short and the extraordinary demands of his job did not allow him time to suffer fools. Due to constant weariness and a weakened physical condition brought on by chronic asthma, Stanton was short-tempered and rude with visitors to his office. Senators literally dreaded coming to make a request of him. The man had a combination of admirable and detestable qualities, causing the men and women around him to both love and hate, admire and fear him. His political enemies came to loathe him with a passion not often seen in the human heart. His supporters rallied around him and urged him to continue the good fight. Edwin Stanton was honest, patriotic, good-hearted—even tender hearted to certain individuals. Most of all he had become completely loyal and devoted to Lincoln. At the same time, he was arbitrary, autocratic, imperious, vindictive, and often tyrannical in running the War Department, including his exchanges with the President he admired and served under.

  These qualities of character were becoming more evident in the past weeks, as the concerns of the War Department were turning to dismantling the machine that he had built in the past four years of fighting. Stanton left the War Department shortly after Lincoln, just past 7:00 PM, and drove his carriage to his home several blocks away at Franklin Square. Stanton always looked forward to dinners with his wife Ellen, a beautiful woman, who greatly enjoyed the high social life. Ellen had grown used to her husband’s long hours away from home. Though she supported his earnest desire to serve the nation, she also sorely missed the large income of Stanton’s days as a successful attorney. In serving his country, Stanton had settled on an income that was less than one-fourth of what he made from his lucrative practice.

  “You apparently sent the note to Mrs. Lincoln as we discussed earlier?” He asked as he took his seat at the table.

  “Yes, and I received a pleasant enough reply from her,” Ellen answered. “Did the President say anything to you?” They both set about eating their meal of roasted meat, roasted potatoes, and boiled carrots. The candles and gas jet gave a warm sepia glow to the dining room that stood in marked contrast to the chill closing in with the fog outside.

  “He just left me and had asked for Eckert to escort him to the theater. I would not spare him. I simply will not appear to condone his theater-going in any shape or form. That is why I was perfectly happy for you to decline their invitation to join them” Stanton explained.

  “Well, for you it is political. For me, I cannot abide that woman. In talking with Mrs. Grant last night at dinner, we came to an agreement that neither of us would go if one of us could not make it. When they decided to go to Burlington to see their children, I was determined not to spend the evening in her company,” Ellen Stanton’s voice had an air of defensiveness about it. In declining Mary Lincoln, she was also declining Abraham Lincoln, and that pained her.

  “Yes, Ellen, I know that she can be unpleasant.”

  “Only when she is required to be in the company of other women and her husband at the same. She is actually pleasing company on her own. But after the incident in Richmond, neither Mrs. Grant nor I were of the mood,” she explained. Just a few weeks before, Julia Grant had suggested to her husband to invite President and Mrs. Lincoln down to Army Headquarters at City Point so he could get away from Washington after his inauguration to review the troops. When the President went out to review General Ord’s troops, Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Grant were delayed as the ambulance conveying them was slowed by the mud. When they finally arrived, Lincoln had already begun the review and Mrs. Ord, a young and attractive woman, was riding along behind the President. The First Lady was enraged. When Mrs. Ord rode up to Mary to pay her respects, the First Lady flew into a fury and insulted the General’s wife in front of everyone, including Julia Grant, demanding to know what Mrs. Ord was attempting by riding along behind the President. Later, at the dinner table, Mary proceeded to repeatedly accuse the President of flirting with Mrs. Ord in front of his Generals and their wives. She continued her harping into the night. Julia Grant was mortified and right then she determined to spend as little time in the presence of Mary Lincoln as possible.

  Ellen Stanton had flowing brown hair that she tended to wear in a bun. She was Stanton’s second wife. He had nearly lapsed into insanity in his grief over the death of his beloved Mary a decade earlier. He had insisted on having her buried in her wedding gown. It had been a slow process to work his way out of grief and loneliness. The only way that he’d survived was by devoting himself to his law practice. As in many things for Edwin Stanton, work had proved to be a healing balm. It was only after he met and married Ellen that he had recovered fully from his lingering and debilitating grief. The two were devoted to each other, though Ellen often resented that she was his secondary priority after work.

  After their brief dinner, Stanton departed for the Seward’s house on Lafayette Park close to the Executive Mansion. He pulled his coat close around him as he walked down the front walk and to his carriage.

  “Don’t forget that the serenaders will be coming,” she reminded him as he climbed into the carriage. Though it was a short ride to the Seward’s, it seemed longer as Stanton continued to slow the horse in order to make sure he had his bearings in the fog. Once he arrived and walked into the warmth of the house, he realized that the entire Seward family was staying in the three story mansion as well as out-of-town guests. There were clumps of people sitting and talking, reading, or milling about. Fanny Seward, the Secretary’s lovely daughter, greeted Stanton and escorted him up the steps to the second floor and into the room at the top of the steps.

  William Seward was propped up on pillows and had his eyes closed when Stanton entered. The Secretary of State had been thrown from a carriage a number of days earlier when the horse had bolted after the driver had stepped down and Seward and his daughter were taken on a hair-raising ride through the streets of Washington. When the horse showed no signs of slowing and the carriage was sliding around the turns, Seward decided to take matters into his own hands. He attempted to climb from the back of the carriage to the front in order to grab the reins and pull the horse up. As he did so, the carriage flew around a turn and the Secretary was thrown from the carriage. His jaw was severely broken and he badly bruised his shoulder and ribs. In order to repair his jaw, his doctor had strapped a wire frame around his head with thick leather straps to hold his jaw into place. Each time Stanton had come to see his colleague, he had to take the frame in all over again. It was so foreign to see this bright and intelligent man, a leader of the country, prostrate and injured with a strange contraption strapped to his head.

  It was near impossible for Seward to speak, and Stanton knew that visitors sapped his strength. Seward murmured “Mars” through his closed jaw when he opened his eyes and saw Stanton. That was Lincoln’s nickname for his War Secretary.

  “Hello, William, I see that you are resting. I don’t want to disturb you, but I wanted to check on your progress,” Stanton said and sat down by the bed in a chair that Fanny offered him. Though he tried to speak softly, Stanton’s naturally deep bass carried throughout the house. Seward looked over Stanton’s shoulder at his daughter, who was standing behind the War Secretary, and gave the slightest nod of his head.

  “Father is doing better each day, Mr. Stanton,” she said for her father. “The doctor comes ea
ch day and comments on how well he looks and how quickly he is recovering. Father, of course, requests to be removed from this ‘harness’ as he calls it, but Doctor Verdi has told him he should simply be grateful to be alive much less to feel constrained by the frame.” She beamed down at her father in apparent pride.

  “We are all pleased with the progress,” Stanton said, shifting in his seat to look up at the bright and beautiful daughter of his friend. He turned back to William Seward. “You should have seen our ol’ chief today, William. I’m sure that Frederick has already told you what a wonderful Cabinet meeting we held today. But the chief was in fine form. His hair was combed and arranged, his coat was brushed, his collar was clean, and his tie was in place! I haven’t seen him so magnificently cheerful,” he paused to think of a time when Lincoln had been so happy, “well, ever!” Stanton and Fanny laughed and Seward smiled and chuckled as best he could. Then he winced in pain.

  “Oh, William, I am sorry to have pained you,” Stanton said reaching out. Fanny stepped between the War Secretary and her father and arranged his pillows underneath him.

  “Father ate solid food for the first time today since the accident. Surprisingly enough, the effort of chewing and the discomfort from that has drained him from the new energy he was gaining,” she said to Stanton while removing a pillow or two so that her father could lay back farther and repose more comfortably. She turned and smiled at Stanton, politely signaling that his visit should draw to a close. Stanton smiled in return and looked past the daughter to the father.

  “So, Seward,” suddenly turning to business, “have you had a chance to consider the proposal that I’ve laid out at the request of the President? We had a good discussion today and I think most have come to agree with it. Welles, of course, had some points of dissension that I will incorporate, but I welcome your thoughts on them.” Seward slowly licked his lips and peered at Stanton from half-closed eyes. He took a deep breath as he considered his response. The vague sounds of trumpets and trombones playing martial music drifted through the windows as a parade celebrating the end of the war passed down Fifteenth Street behind Seward’s house. Suddenly, Stanton jumped to his feet clutching his hat and snatched his coat up off the bureau where Fanny had laid it.

  “I’m sorry, but I must leave at once! The serenaders are coming from the War Department and I mustn’t miss them! They are expecting me to speak and I don’t want to disappoint them after all of their excellent work these many weeks and months. Good night, William. Miss Fanny, thank you and bless you for your care of your father. Get him well so he can come back to us soon. The nation needs him.” Stanton had stopped long enough to say these heart-felt words directly to Fanny Seward and then he dashed out the bedroom door and down the steps to the front door and his carriage. He consulted his pocket watch and saw that it was just after 9:00 PM. He knew that he had missed them as they were expected at 9:00. He rode the carriage quickly back to his house and came inside calling to his wife.

  “Ellen, have I missed them? Have they come?”

  “No, dear, come sit with me by the fire and relax,” she answered. He hung his coat and hat by the front door and made his way to the sitting room where his wife was sitting by the fire, holding a fan open next to her cheek to block the flames from overheating her face. Ellen greeted him with a smile and held her hand out to him. He walked across the room and squeezed it warmly, kissing the top of her head. He took up a book and sat down next to her.

  “Now this is nice. This is something we can look forward to isn’t it? Quiet nights together by the fire, reading and talking?” Stanton watched the flames flicker and flash in the fireplace. A log shifted and fell in the grate sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Stanton thought about the trees blossoming, the weather changing to warm days and blue skies and the new growth that comes with the spring. It was a perfect time of year for the war to come to a close: springtime.

  With the end of the war many cares would be lifted and the nation would have the chance to come together and grow. Stanton knew that Lincoln would take a forgiving approach towards the South and her leaders in an effort to heal the wounds of the war, but Stanton wanted those who had served in elected and appointed positions in the U. S. Government before the war to pay a price. They, of all men in the South, should be punished for raising their hand and attacking the very country they had sworn to protect and serve. It was a betrayal beyond forgiveness for the War Secretary.

  As Stanton watched the fire burn, he reflected on a conversation he’d had with the President just a few days before. He had gone to Lincoln and proffered his letter of resignation. Stanton had told Lincoln that he’d done his duty and now was a good time to make a change and bring a man in to dismantle the army and manage the South. Lincoln had not accepted it, though, telling Stanton that the nation needed him now more than ever. Then he had patted Stanton on the back and said, “Mars, I need you.” It was a rare moment for the President to voice his feelings to Stanton. That one statement had made his decision. Stanton had crumpled the paper and tossed it into Lincoln’s fireplace and they both laughed as it burned up in the flames.

  “I believe they are here, Eddie,” Ellen said to Stanton rising from the couch. They both grabbed a shawl and pulled it around them and stood on the front stoop, listening as a small crowd of men from the War Department, along with their wives, stood with candles in hand and sang in honor of the Secretary of War. They began with Dixie Land, which Lincoln had recently said the Union had justly won the right to re-appropriate into the Union. Then they transitioned to We are Coming, Father Abr’am, and ended with Battle Cry of Freedom.

  “Thank you, one and all for this stirring music! What lovely voices you have! If I didn’t talk so much myself at the Department, I might have noticed that each of you can sing so well.” The crowd responded with laughter, smiling at the Secretary.

  “It has come to my attention that I am referred to as Mars due to the fact that I am the highest administrator for the War in the land. That is a task that I—and each of you—would far rather to have never taken up. I would have much preferred to have gone on practicing law and to have never had the need to accept the appointment from our great leader as the Secretary of War.” There was more applause and cheering at the mention of the President.

  “But the war came, and we each have done the duty that we were called to. And in doing our duty and serving in some small part our great Republic, the war has now been won! Now, we must…” Stanton stood smiling as his oration was interrupted by sustained cheering and hurrahs that the war was over at last. He put his arm around Ellen and gently hugged her to his side.

  “Now, we must exert the same energy, the same effort, the same will that we put towards prosecuting the war into establishing and sustaining a just peace. As President Lincoln has said, we must care for the widow and the orphan; we must care for the injured soldiers coming home; we must even care that the South is reestablished and sustained in a manner that does not make her harbor hate in her heart for those who only fought her to maintain this great nation. I thank you for your sacrifice and your willingness to work as hard and as long as you do. And I call on all those within the sound of my voice to commit themselves and their finest efforts to securing the peace for which we have all worked so long and so hard to secure. May God bless the families of the men who fell on the battlefields. May God bring a full end to the fighting. May God bless each of you. Thank you. Thank you.” He smiled and waved at them. The crowd burst into applause.

  “Three cheers for Mr. Stanton! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” They cried out in unison. Ellen turned and beamed at her husband, so proud and so glad for him to receive the adulation he deserved for the endless nights he spent toiling away to build and sustain the great Union Army. He wrapped his other arm around her in a hug and looked down at the people who were throwing their arms in the air and calling his name. The Stantons stood holding each other while the crowd walked away, singing The Battle Hymn of the Republi
c and breaking into cheers between verses.

  “Well, my love, that was well deserved and you spoke eloquently.” She said to her smiling husband.

  “Thank you, Ellie. It is very gratifying, I must admit,” he answered. They hung their shawls on a hat stand next to the door as they came back inside and they looked at the clock standing in the foyer.

  “Well, seeing as it is after 10:00, I think I will just head on up to bed,” Stanton said.

  “You go ahead and I’ll be up shortly. I want to read a little bit more by the fire,” Ellen answered and went back to the sitting room. Stanton made his way up to his bedroom and began his bedtime ritual. He was a man of habits and slowly worked his way through the process of carefully taking off, brushing, and hanging his coat, vest, and pants. Unlike many men, he cared about how his beard appeared and carefully combed it out before getting into bed. He had started doing this after it had become so tangled that it had to be cut away like a rat’s nest. Ever since, he took the time to comb through his beard to keep it organized and straight. He untied his tie and removed his collar, then hung up his shirt.

  For the first time in many months, Stanton’s mind wasn’t fixated on the war or even on reconstruction. Rather, he was thinking about the approaching day when he would be able to resign; he and Ellen could move to New York City and he could reestablish his law practice. With the recognition and success he had created as the Secretary of War, he was sure to return to the satisfaction of a national presence on the legal stage, arguing before the Supreme Court and representing the best and brightest in the nation.