The Day Lincoln Lost

by Charles Rosenberg

  William “Billy” Herndon was Lincoln’s law partner from 1844 until Lincoln’s death in 1865. After Lincoln’s assassination, Herndon interviewed many people who had known Lincoln. With coauthor Jesse Weik, he produced a two-volume biography of Lincoln: Herndon’s Lincoln: The True Story of a Great Life (The History & Personal Recollections of Abraham Lincoln). That work has provided historians with a wealth of information about Lincoln’s life, particularly the period before he came to national prominence.

  John Hay served as Lincoln’s assistant secretary during Lincoln’s presidency. Together with the secretary, John Nicolay, he lived and worked in the White House during Lincoln’s entire term. After Lincoln’s death, he and Nicolay later published, in ten volumes, a massive biography of Lincoln titled Abraham Lincoln, A History. Hay later became Secretary of State under William McKinley and Theodore Roosevelt and served in that position for seven years.

  Harriet Lane was President Buchanan’s niece and the hostess of his White House. She was the first woman to be referred to as the First Lady. Some have compared her style and influence to that of Jackie Kennedy. In later life she became a philanthropist, including founding the Harriet Lane Children’s Health Clinic at Johns Hopkins Medical School, which is still in operation today. The cutter Harriet Lane, the third ship to be named for her, is currently in service with the United States Coast Guard.

  Allan Pinkerton founded the Pinkerton National Detective Agency and sought to protect Lincoln from harm both before and after he was inaugurated. He hired women detectives starting in the 1850s, the most famous of whom was Kate Warne.

  John McClernand was a Democratic congressman from Illinois and later a general in the Union Army.

  William Pennington was the Speaker of the House of Representatives for one term, from 1860 to 1861. Henry Hoffman was the Sergeant of Arms of the House in 1860.

  Frederick Douglass was born in Maryland in 1818. An enslaved man, he escaped to New York City at the age of twenty and eventually settled in Massachusetts and still later, Rochester, New York. A powerful orator, he became one of the most prominent and effective abolitionists in the United States as well as one of the most powerful speakers on a variety of social causes, including women’s suffrage. He wrote three autobiographies. He died in 1895. Cedar Hill, his final home, in Washington, DC, is a National Historic Site.

  Acknowledgments

  I think the typical image of a novelist is someone who sits alone in a small room, writing. And there is some truth in that. But once the writing is done in rough form, it takes a village to make the novel into something good enough for a reader to want to read it.

  The residents of the village for this novel, to all of whom I owe a debt of gratitude, include my terrific agent, Erica Silverman, who encouraged me to write a second alt-history novel (departing once again from my original legal thrillers), and my editor at Hanover Square, Peter Joseph, who acquired the novel and suggested after reading the first draft that Clarence and Annabelle might well have a mutual attraction (despite seeming to dislike each other) and perhaps something might be made of that. So Peter, in addition to his many other good suggestions, thus encouraged me to write my first-ever romance amidst the politics of the 1860 presidential election.

  I must also thank, as well, the entire “crew” at Hanover Square, including Natalie Hallak, Grace Towery, the production staff and the terrific copy editor, Anne-Marie Rutella (who picked up an important factual error that I had somehow missed), and the excellent proofreader, Canaan Chu.

  As with all of my earlier novels, I am indebted to my wife, Sally Anne, who read every chapter as it came hot off the printer and provided an early edit of each that improved the novel immensely. The usual pattern was I’d finish a chapter, she’d read it and make suggestions, I’d grumpily reject them and then return a few hours later to admit that she was right and go on to make most of the changes she had proposed. I must also thank my son Joe, who took time away from his job to read the early drafts and provide extremely insightful advice on both characterization and the overall arc of the story.

  Many others helped with the research. Along those lines, I want to acknowledge, first and foremost, the assistance of Westminster Presbyterian Church of Springfield, Illinois (previously Second Presbyterian), and especially of its pastor, the Reverend Dr. Blythe Denham Kieffer, and its Historian (and Music Director) Dale Rogers and the volunteer archivists, Carol Bloemer and Sue Cull, who assist him, as well as the late Kathie Nenaber, who initiated the archive project and set up the current files. In the summer of 2018, my wife and I spent a wonderful afternoon in the superbly well-kept and organized archives of the church, with Dale guiding us through materials about both the history of the church in the 1850s as well as material regarding the ministry of the Reverend Albert Hale. Dale also located an 1838 letter from Hale, currently archived in the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library, stating the urgent need for an abolitionist lecturer in Illinois. Dale also helped us with his knowledge of the provenance of the original church bell, still in use today as one of three, and mentioned prominently in the novel. A history of the church (along with a sketch of the church as it was circa 1860) can be found here: http://www.wpcspi.org/history-of-westminster.html.

  I also want to acknowledge the resources of three institutions and thank them for the materials they make available: (1) The Abraham Lincoln Library and Museum in Springfield, Illinois. The museum is one of the best historical museums focused on a particular individual or historical period that I have ever been to (it is well worth a trip to Springfield just to see it). http://lincolnlibraryandmuseum.com/ (2) The American Antiquarian Society in Worcester, Massachusetts, which has a substantial collection of Abby Kelley Foster materials, including a large trove of her letters, many of which it has made available to read online, for the benefit of historians, researchers and general readers. Reading some of those letters was very helpful because it gave me a good sense of Abby’s intensity, especially her letters from the period when she was feuding with William Lloyd Garrison. Thomas Knoles, the Curator of Manuscripts at the Society, was especially helpful. https://www.americanantiquarian.org/ (3) The New Jersey Historical Society in Newark, New Jersey, and particularly James Amemasor and Greg Guderian, who helped me find information there about William Pennington. https://jerseyhistory.org/

  And I must thank my trusty beta readers and consultants, who have, as always, via their comments and suggestions and general support, made the novel much, much better than it would otherwise have been. They include Daniel Wershow (including for the great research assistance he provided on several arcane matters of legal history), Melanie Chancellor, Dale Franklin and Barbara Wong, Marty Beech, Roger Chittum, Deanna Wilcox and John Shelonko, Linda and John Brown, Gayle Simon, Clint Epps, Carolyn Denham, Mark Morris and Francoise Queval, Prucia Buscell, Mi Ahn, Tom Stromberg, Hwa Kho and Ping Lee, Annye Camara, Elizabeth Friedman, Don Warner, Brinton Rowdybush, Mike Haines, Tom Reiber, Stan Goldman, Jeff Davison, Elaine Jarvik, Mary Lane Leslie and Tyson Butler. And a big thank you is due to Diana Wright for the design and support of my website and social media accounts.

  Last but not least, I am grateful for the availability of Wikipedia. Although at times flawed in various ways (like all such sources), it is a great resource for starting research—it is often both deep and wide in its coverage—including its end-of-entry footnotes, which sometimes make reference to obscure books and articles that would otherwise be difficult or more time-consuming to find. My thanks to the Wikimedia Foundation, which supports it, and to the many volunteers who do the work that make it possible.

  Of course, any errors or infelicities in the novel are solely my own.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Trial and Execution of the Traitor George Washington by Charles Rosenberg.

  The Trial and Execution

  of the Traitor George Washington

  by Charles Rosenberg

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  The almost seven-week voyage westbound across the North Atlantic had not gone well. Black had been seasick on and off since the day the sloop-of-war HMS Peregrine had sailed out of Portsmouth. Some weeks, when the wind and waves had been relatively calm, he’d been fine. But each time the weather roughened he’d had to rush for the bucket all over again. Some cruel sailor had even painted his name on it. It had all seemed to amuse the crew, and they had snickered openly in front of him. If he’d been able to wear his uniform, with rank and campaign medals on display, they would never have dared. But on this voyage, as testified to by the name splashed on the bucket, he was travelling as “Mr. Smith.” He was billeted as a civilian supposedly being transported to New York at the request of the Admiralty, for reasons not revealed to the crew or the more junior officers. And so they treated him with disdain, as if he were a clerk in a counting house.

  Even the ship’s captain, Charles Ingram, had seemed at least mildly amused by his discomfort, despite Ingram having assured him that the sea was rather calm for the North Atlantic in late fall. The Captain, of course, was aware not only of his true name—Jeremiah Black—but also of his rank, and where he was actually going to be put ashore. He had not been entrusted, however, with the true nature of Black’s assignment. Once or twice, in the guise of seeming to commiserate with him about his seasickness, the Captain had tried to worm out of him the purpose of his mission. Black had steadfastly refused to be drawn in or to share his orders.

  Those orders had been handed to Black by none other than the First Minister of Great Britain, Lord North himself, in a small meeting room on the second floor of 10 Downing Street. There, after reading them, Black had been made to understand that, aside from North and the military aide who briefed him on the more detailed plans as North stood by, only two other people in all of England were privy to them. North had named only one—the First Lord of the Admiralty. Black had gained the distinct impression, perhaps erroneously, that the second person who’d been told of the plan was the man whose large portrait hung on the wall—George III, King by the Grace of God, of England, Scotland and Wales, and, more recently, of Ireland, too.

  He had also been given to understand that his promotion to the rank of full colonel was temporary, done so that he would outrank Captain Ingram during the voyage. Ingram, although captain of the ship, was only a navy commander by rank, the army equivalent of a lieutenant colonel. Should Black fail in his mission, he would be busted back to major, posthumously if necessary. Should he succeed, much glory and a general’s star awaited him. Or so he allowed himself to imagine.

  As the meeting was coming to an end, North had shown him a copy of Captain Ingram’s orders. Ingram was to deliver him to a deserted beach well north of Philadelphia, not far south of where the Raritan River met the sea. The drop-off was to be done, if possible, on one of ten nights in mid-to late November between the hours of midnight and 4:00 a.m. If at all possible, he was to be put ashore on a night when the beach was not bright with moonlight. Should the ship fail to make landfall by one of those ten nights, Ingram was to take the ship into New York for reprovisioning. Then sail it back to England, with Mr. Smith still on board.

  If good fortune prevailed, and the ship was able to land him on the beach on one of the ten appointed nights, Captain Ingram was to wait no more than eight days for Black to return to the same beach. If he failed to make it back on time, he was to be abandoned to his fate.

  Black had asked why the rescue attempt was to be limited to only eight nights. North had looked away, and his aide, instead of answering Black’s question in detail, had said only, “Longer too much risks your discovery. But in any case, if you fail, no one in the United Kingdom will ever acknowledge that you were on an official mission, and if discovered you will be labelled a rogue officer attempting unsanctioned heroics.”

  After that, standing there before Lord North, he had read through his orders once more and asked, “Minister, will Captain Ingram know what I hope to be carrying on my return?”

  “No, he will not. Are there any other questions, Colonel?”

  “I have two, my Lord.”

  “I am listening.”

  “First, I am deeply honoured to be entrusted with this mission, but—”

  North interrupted. “You want to know why we are sending you when the loyal colonists have already planned your mission in such detail? Why can’t they do it themselves?”

  “With all respect, Minister, the question is more, what do you hope I can add to what already seems a well-planned mission?”

  North walked over to a window, clasped his hands behind his back and looked out, seeming to focus on something in the far distance. His face looked puffy and worn. It was perhaps not surprising. The “American war,” as it was often called, had not proved the easy victory originally predicted. Instead, it had dragged on for more than four years, with France giving more and more aid to the rebellion.

  After a moment, North turned back to face him. “You are being sent as the embodiment of the King’s justice. The Loyalists over there—” he waved an arm towards the windows, as if to send his hand flying across the Atlantic “—are no doubt good men, but we do not wish this supreme traitor taken by—” he paused, searching for the words “—a ragtag group with no formal authority. Whereas you, an officer in His Majesty’s service, dressed in the scarlet of a British uniform, will carry out a lawful arrest.”

  “I see,” Black said, but the Prime Minister was not done.

  “That arrest, carried out in the very heart of the rebellion, will tell all that, whatever the grievances of the colonists, King and Parliament are still sovereign in the colonies. Sovereign!”

  North was breathing hard and becoming red in the face. Black decided not to pursue it further. “Thank you, my Lord,” he said. “I think I understand.” Although in reality, he did not.

  “You said you had two questions, Colonel.”

  “If I apprehend him, but for whatever reason cannot return him here, what are my orders?”

  North stared at him. “Your orders are to sail there, capture him and return him here. That is all.”

  He thought of pressing the issue, but North had already walked back to a green-felt table laden with documents and begun to examine them. “You are dismissed, Colonel,” he said, without turning around. “My aide will show you out.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.”

  Black and the aide had almost reached the door when North once again turned towards them and said, “God speed you on your way, young man.”

  Young? He didn’t feel all that young. Black had undertaken his first secret mission for the army when he was but twenty years old, and it had felt like an adventure. Now, at age thirty-three, the idea of travelling three thousand miles across an ocean to a land he’d never been to before, seizing a commanding general from the middle of his own troops and returning him to London, alive, seemed not so much an adventure as a likely death sentence. At least for him. Perhaps for both of them.

  Copyright © 2018 by Charles Rosenberg

  ISBN-13: 9781488055799

  The Day Lincoln Lost

  Copyright © 2020 by Charles Rosenberg

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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