Mrs. Lincoln's Sisters

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  “I am not interested in her property now, nor do I desire an inheritance later,” Robert wrote to Ann soon thereafter, his weariness and frustration evident in the strokes of his pen. “She has always been generous to me in the past. I am exceedingly gratified to her for it all, and I shall never hesitate to acknowledge it, but my gratitude will not discharge my duty to her. I will do what I believe is best for her, even, if necessary, against her will.”

  As the year waned and she observed Mary’s antipathy toward him steadily increasing, Ann suspected that anything Robert did short of returning her bonds would be precisely that: an action taken against her will, and to be resisted with all her strength and cunning.

  16

  December 1860–March 1861

  Elizabeth

  A few days before Christmas, at a state convention held at Saint Andrew’s Hall in Charleston, the delegates of South Carolina voted unanimously to secede from the Union.

  Although warnings of secession had appeared with increasing frequency in Southern papers after Abe’s election, many people in the North, including Elizabeth and Ninian, were astounded when South Carolina finally made good on the threat. The stock market roiled, politicians debated to no avail, and citizens North and South wondered with trepidation or fervor which state would be next to secede. Any hopes that South Carolina could swiftly be restored to the Union through negotiation were dashed when its newly appointed leaders declared that the three federal forts within its borders fell within their jurisdiction. While President Buchanan dithered over the appropriate response, perhaps wishing that Abe could replace him immediately and relieve him of the responsibility, the federal officer in charge of one of the forts took action. On the night of December 26, Major Robert Anderson moved his troops from their vulnerable position at Fort Moultrie on the mainland to the more defensible Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor. The next day the South Carolina militia seized Fort Moultrie and Castle Pinckney and demanded Major Anderson’s surrender. Major Anderson declined and resolutely held his post while the South Carolina military settled in for the siege.

  In the midst of unprecedented national turmoil and alarm, Abe remained obliged to continue the work of his fledgling administration, and appointing a cabinet was foremost. He invited his former rivals for the Republican nomination, including Mr. Chase, to meet with him in Springfield, while others, such as Mr. Seward, sent proxies. Much to her chagrin, Mary was not allowed to sit in on their private meetings, but at the dinners and receptions she hosted during their visits she had many opportunities to speak with the potential cabinet secretaries and to weigh their merits. Elizabeth understood why Abe was obliged to consider his former rivals and other prominent party men for these important posts, but she hoped he did not overlook loyal, eminently qualified men closer to home—namely, her own dear Ninian. It would be bad form if Ninian came right out and requested a position, but he could, and did, intimate that he was ready and eager to serve in whatever capacity his brother-in-law deemed fit. Between themselves, Ninian and Elizabeth agreed that attorney general would be a high honor for which his skills and experience well suited him, but postmaster general was also prestigious enough.

  Their anticipation was overshadowed by dire reports from the East. On January 5, the New York Herald reported that a steamship called the Star of the West had set out from New York for Charleston with supplies and troops to relieve Major Anderson at Fort Sumter. Other newspapers confirmed the story, noting where and when the merchant vessel had been spotted as it journeyed south along the coast. “I would feel reassured by President Buchanan’s long overdue action,” said Mary disparagingly, “except that the people of Charleston can get the news from Eastern papers as easily as we do. Surely their military forces will be ready and waiting when the Star of the West arrives. I can imagine all too well what a horror it would be if Americans turned their weapons upon their fellow Americans!”

  Her words proved terribly prescient.

  On January 10, Mary departed for New York—escorted by Clark, who knew the city well and could bring his merchant’s skills to bear—so that she might purchase a wardrobe befitting the wife of the president-elect. After that, they would continue on to Cambridge to visit Robert at Harvard, and then bring him home so that he could accompany the family on the presidential train to Washington the following month. Mary confided to her sisters that along the way she intended to meet with prominent Republicans at levees and dinners, ostensibly so that they could pay their respects, but also so that she could evaluate their loyalty to her husband and raise support for her favorite candidates for his cabinet.

  Elizabeth could not imagine that Abe knew anything about Mary’s plans to go politicking, and she was quite sure he would not approve.

  Mary and Clark boarded the eastbound train even as newspapers blazed with alarming new reports from South Carolina. The previous day, the Star of the West had sailed into Charleston Harbor and had been fired upon by militia and young military cadets. Struck in the mast but not seriously damaged, the steamer nonetheless had been forced back into the channel and out to the open sea.

  On that same day, far to the south, delegates in Mississippi voted in favor of secession. The next day Florida seceded from the Union, and the next day Alabama followed suit. One after another the Southern states fell, like books carelessly arranged on an unsteady shelf. Former president John Tyler, living in retirement in Richmond, Virginia, published an appeal for a peace conference to make one last great effort to resolve the crisis without bloodshed. In unwitting mockery of Mr. Tyler’s plea, Georgia seceded two days later, and two days after that five senators from Alabama, Florida, and Mississippi rose to offer farewell speeches before resigning their seats in the Senate and departing Washington for their homes in the South.

  The papers somberly described how Senator Jefferson Davis, the last to speak, reiterated his opinion that states had the constitutional right to leave the Union and that his home state of Mississippi had justifiable cause for doing so. Even so, he regretted the conflict that had divided them. “I am sure I feel no hostility toward you, senators from the North,” he said. “I am sure there is not one of you, whatever sharp discussion there may have been between us, to whom I cannot now say, in the presence of my God, I wish you well; and such, I feel, is the feeling of the people whom I represent toward those whom you represent.” Weary from illness and strain, he expressed his hopes that their separate governments would eventually have peaceable relations and offered a personal apology for any pain he might have inflicted upon any other senator in the heat of debate.

  Five days later, Louisiana seceded.

  Mary had returned to Springfield by then, still glowing from her marvelous shopping excursion and the attention she had received in the press, although not all of the coverage was favorable. Even so, when the Todd sisters met in Elizabeth’s parlor to share news of the family, Elizabeth could see that Mary was as anxious as she. Their half-sister Martha had married a doctor and settled in Selma, Alabama; their half-sister Elodie was living with her and intended to remain in the South. Their brother George and two of their half-brothers, Samuel and David, were living in New Orleans. Elizabeth had received one letter from Elodie since secession fever had taken hold of the South, but nothing from their brothers.

  Her brother Levi urged her not to worry. “Our half-brothers have never been avid letter-writers,” he noted. “They’re likely chagrined that they didn’t support Abe in the election, and now that he’s won, they’re keeping quiet so they don’t appear hypocrites. They’ll come around in time, when they see Abe isn’t one to hold a grudge.”

  Elizabeth wanted to believe him, but their half-brothers in the South were not like Levi, who admired Abe and had campaigned for him in Lexington. Recently Levi had even pledged to give up liquor, the better to impress and emulate his brother-in-law, who never drank. Elizabeth fervently hoped Levi would remain sober, for he could be an angry, neglectful drunk, and his marriage had suffered for it.
His voice no longer slurred, and he seemed to have acquired a renewed interest in life, but his hands trembled slightly and his skin had a tinge of jaundice. Perhaps, if his sobriety endured, those telltale signs of a chronic drunkard would fade in time.

  Amid a shifting whirl of emotions—tremendous pride as Abe prepared to ascend to the highest office in the land, anxiety over their splintering nation, happiness for Mary as her childhood dream came true, worry for their loved ones who had apparently thrown in their lot with the secessionist South—Elizabeth and her sisters helped Mary prepare for the journey to the White House. There were trunks to pack, possessions to store, private family papers to burn, arrangements to rent out their home to make, guests to entertain, gifts to acknowledge, countless letters to write. So many well-wishers and office-seekers sought out Abe at home or at his law office that he was obliged to withdraw to a backroom on the third floor of Clark’s dry goods store to write his inaugural address undisturbed. Mary was in her element, shopping and packing and issuing orders with unbridled delight, but whenever she heard of a new threat against her husband, she grew pale and trembling. Tearfully she begged Abe to travel with a bodyguard, but this he was loath to do. He was among friends and family in Springfield, he said, and he emphatically disagreed that his life was in any danger there.

  The day was swiftly approaching when the Lincolns and their entourage would leave Springfield for Washington. Mary’s sisters assured her that even if Abe did not see to his own safety, his campaign manager, Judge David Davis, and Mr. Norman Judd, who had been placed in charge of Abe’s security for the trip, would make any necessary arrangements. Mary frowned a little at the mention of the judge. When Abe had stopped listening out of courtesy whenever Mary suggested certain gentlemen for various cabinet posts, she had written to Judge Davis to persuade him of their merits, hoping he would present her recommendations as his own. Thus far it did not appear that the judge had interceded on her behalf.

  In the first week of February, their half-sister Margaret, now Mrs. Charles Kellogg, traveled to Springfield from Cincinnati so that she might join them for the journey to Washington; a day later Martha arrived from Selma. Elizabeth was delighted to see them both, but Martha’s presence brought a particular sense of relief, for she had imagined secession as a violent earthquake tearing an impassible rift between Union states and those that had seceded, as if Alabama had been torn from the map. Elizabeth hoped the nascent rebellion would be put down quickly, before it could complicate travel between North and South, preventing the sisters from moving freely between their households as they pleased.

  Now the Todd sisters who had reunited in Springfield were preparing for another journey, and on February 5 they helped Mary host a grand farewell celebration at her home. Family, friends, political supporters, and a few members of the press were invited to visit between seven o’clock and midnight to make a parting call on the president-elect and his wife. Hundreds were expected, but thousands came. Abe himself received the guests as they entered and introduced themselves, then passed them on to be introduced to Mary, who awaited them in the parlor. Elizabeth thought she looked absolutely radiant in her rich white moiré antique silk gown with a full train and a small French lace collar. Her lovely neck and shoulders were adorned by a string of pearls, exquisite in their simplicity, and her rich chestnut hair was elegantly coiled and dressed with a slender floral vine. Her eyes sparkled and her smile beamed as if she felt nothing but joy and anticipation for the years to come, and in that perfect moment, with her sisters basking in her happiness and the toast of Springfield at her home to pay their respects, perhaps she did.

  At half past seven on the morning of February 11, Abe and his entourage of advisers, secretaries, and friends boarded the Inaugural Express, a special train that would carry him on a roundabout, twelve-day journey from Springfield to Washington. In fact, he would not travel on one train but on several bearing that title in turn, for the varying rail gages along the route would oblige the party to change trains several times. The Inaugural Express, the first of its name, was an exquisitely wrought, modern marvel of gleaming brass and iron, with a powerful engine and a towering funnel stack puffing steam into the air. Directly behind it was the baggage car, and last of all came a yellow passenger carriage festively draped with bunting and flags, its wooden trim varnished until it gleamed. The Inaugural Express would stop at numerous cities along the way so that Abe could thank his supporters, receive their accolades, participate in various civic ceremonies, and make speeches promoting national unity.

  Elizabeth was thrilled to be included in Mary’s entourage, along with her daughters, Julia and Lizzy; her sisters Frances, Margaret, and Martha; and their cousin Lizzie Grimsley. Owing to the inconvenient early hour, Mary, Willie, and Tad and her ladies would not depart on the train with Abe and his gentlemen—an entourage that included Robert, William, Levi, and several other friends and advisers—but would join them the next day at their first stop, in Indianapolis.

  That was why, as the hour of Abe’s departure approached, Mary, Elizabeth, and Frances were not aboard the Inaugural Express but rather standing on the platform of the Great Western Depot. Well bundled up against the cold amid the bustle and excitement of the exultant crowd, the Todd sisters awaited Abe’s parting speech, which was sure to be a poignant moment even though they would see him again very soon.

  The crowd quieted as their president-elect emerged onto the rear deck of the railcar. “My friends, no one not in my situation can appreciate my feeling of sadness at this parting,” Abe began, his voice carrying over the gathering. “To this place, and the kindness of these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my children have been born, and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when, or whether ever, I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington.”

  As he continued to speak, Elizabeth stole a glance at Mary and felt a pang of sympathy at the sadness and uncertainty she saw clouding her sister’s expression. To be the wife of the president was all Mary had ever wanted, and yet almost daily, horrid, threatening letters and reports of assassination plots arrived at their door. Abe tried to shield her from the worst of it, and yet she knew.

  Elizabeth reached out and took her sister’s hand, and when Mary gave a start and turned to her, Elizabeth offered an encouraging smile. Mary seemed to take heart, and when Abe finished his remarks, she smiled with genuine happiness and clapped her small, gloved hands as enthusiastically as the rest of the cheering crowd.

  When Mary, her two younger sons, and her other companions joined the president-elect’s party in Indianapolis the next day, they boarded an even more opulent train. Like the first Inaugural Express, it was an impressive work of modern engineering, draped with flags and bunting. The engine’s smokestack was embossed with thirty-four white stars—one for each state in the Union, regardless of any declarations of secession—and lithographic portraits of Abe’s presidential predecessors lined its sides. Aboard this gleaming, powerful wonder, they traveled on to Cincinnati, where a marching band welcomed them to the city and a full day of speeches, appearances, and events awaited. After spending the night in Cincinnati, the president’s party continued on the next morning to Columbus, making frequent stops along the way so that Abe could address the cheering, flag-waving crowds eagerly awaiting him. That evening in Columbus, there were more speeches, a party at the home of Governor William Dennison, and a military ball, at which Mary danced and chatted and charmed everyone she met late into the night.

  So it continued, day after long, wondrous day, from Columbus on to Pittsburgh and through Pennsylvania to Buffalo. Although Elizabeth was enchanted by the unfamiliar scenery and the joyful celebrations at small towns along the route—and took great delight in watching her daughters reveling in the experience—eventually she began to find the routine grueling. She knew Mary did too. At some stops, Mary would stand in a receiving line at a
reception, smiling and shaking hands for hours; on other occasions, she complained of headache and remained in her train carriage to rest on the sofa with her eyes closed and the curtains drawn against the thin winter sunlight. In Ashtabula, Ohio, when she failed to appear on the railcar deck at her husband’s side, the crowd called for her until Abe smiled good-naturedly and held up his hands to quiet them. “I should hardly hope to induce her to appear,” he said, “as I have always found it very difficult to make her do what she did not want to.” The crowd roared with laughter, and even Elizabeth found herself smiling at the little joke made at her sister’s expense.

  The Todd sisters knew that the Inaugural Express had taken such a long, circuitous route through several cities and towns not only to allow Abe to greet as many supporters along the way as possible but also to thwart anyone who might wish to do him harm. When Mary learned that the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore Railroad had hired the Pinkerton National Detective Agency to investigate a plot to vandalize railroad property during their stop in Baltimore, Elizabeth concealed her own nervousness as she and the other ladies comforted Mary.

  “Detective Allan Pinkerton knows about the threat,” the eminently rational Frances noted. “Every guard, police officer, and agent will be prepared and alert for any sign of danger.”

  “I’ll still feel better once we pass through that city,” said Mary tremulously, wringing her hands, cheeks flushed with worry. “Maryland is still in the Union—for now—but it is a slave state, and Baltimore has been particularly hostile to my husband.”

  “All will be well,” Elizabeth said soothingly, hoping she spoke truth. “What could go wrong, with so many gallant protectors surrounding us?”

  On February 21, the president-elect’s party left New York City, aboard the most luxuriously appointed train yet, and made several stops in New Jersey before arriving in Philadelphia to a tremendous welcome of cheering crowds, brass bands, and artillery salvos. Later, Abe addressed a vast throng from the balcony of their hotel, then withdrew to a private room to enjoy a quiet dinner with the family before receiving well-wishers at a public reception in the hotel’s drawing room. After nightfall, the city celebrated Abe’s election with a glorious pyrotechnics display, the grand finale of which presented a red, white, and blue wall of fire surrounding the phrase, written in illuminated silver letters, “Welcome, Abraham Lincoln. The Whole Union.”