• • •
On the morning of Abraham Lincoln’s inauguration Kate rose early, a thrill of pride and excitement chasing away her slumbers as surely as the first pale rays of dawn through her windowpane and the tread of many feet on the street below. She washed and dressed quickly, and woke Nettie and urged her to do the same, lingering in the doorway until her sister dragged herself from bed and stumbled drowsily to the washbasin. Father was as she found him every morning—the first of the household to wake, sipping coffee and reading his Bible at the breakfast table—but that morning he was dressed in his finest suit and waistcoat, dignified and handsome. She felt a pang of pride and regret as she observed him. He had been denied the presidency and then the cabinet post that should have been his just reward for his loyalty to the Republican Party, his service to the nation, and his services to Mr. Lincoln in particular, and yet he did not sulk or lament. Instead he remained faithful to
the Lord, devoted to his country, and dedicated to the noble cause of abolition.
When the household gathered for their customary morning scripture reading and prayers, the mood was both more solemn and more joyful than usual. The morning had broken chilly, damp, and overcast, but as the hours elapsed, a gusty, intermittent wind blew away the clouds and stirred up dust on the streets, already jammed with spectators. When Nettie begged to see the preparations for the grand procession, since they would be unable to witness the procession itself, Father agreed that Kate could take her out for a little while.
Even at that early hour, crowds had already begun to line the parade route. Military regiments splendidly attired in dashing uniforms with sashes and sabers drilled in open fields, while brass bands tuned their instruments and rehearsed their stirring melodies. Workers raced to put finishing touches of bunting, flowers, and banners on parade floats; Kate and Nettie’s favorite, a Republican creation betokening the Constitution and the Union, would carry thirty-four young girls dressed in white to represent all thirty-four United States, including those that had seceded. The mood was celebratory, expectant, joyous, but Kate noticed stern-faced soldiers on horseback studying the crowds. And while some bunting-festooned balconies were already full of spectators and most windows were thrown open to offer a better view of the revelry outside, elsewhere other balconies were empty and bare, the windows closed, the curtains drawn tightly shut. Kate imagined Southern sympathizers on the other side, their eyes squeezed shut and fingers jammed in their ears to block out what were to them the offensive sights and sounds of Mr. Lincoln’s triumph.
After an hour or so of strolling about and admiring the patriotic display, Kate and Nettie returned to the Rugby House to dress for their father’s swearing-in ceremony.
At eleven o’clock, Father, Kate, and Nettie departed in a gleaming black barouche for the Capitol. A cheering crowd of well-wishers sent them off, and Kate was pleased to hear a man shout, “Chase for president!” Although Father merely smiled and raised his hand in reply, Kate knew he was pleased as well. Still, it was both too late and too early for that particular refrain.
When they reached the Capitol, they left the barouche and passed through an enclosed temporary walkway constructed of heavy lumber to enter the building, magnificent in glorious marble despite the incomplete dome. They parted at the rotunda, Father to his reserved seat on the floor, Kate and Nettie for the gallery. The Thirty-Sixth Congress was still in session as the sisters found chairs up above, and after exchanging whispered compliments with friends and acquaintances, they settled in to wait, observing the passage of a bill for the relief of Bloomfield College and another for the protection of certain guano discoveries, followed by a reconsideration of a metropolitan gas bill.
Meanwhile, Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Buchanan, the chief justice and associate justices of the Supreme Court, and several foreign ministers had entered the chamber and seated themselves in the front, below the secretary’s desk. Kate felt an elbow nudge her side. “There she is,” Nettie whispered excitedly, and nodded toward the diplomatic gallery, where Mrs. Lincoln, resplendent in an ashes-of-rose sateen gown, had taken her seat among her sons and sisters. She wore an elaborate headdress of flowers and ribbon, and diamonds sparkled from her ears. Her downturned gaze was fixed on her husband, her eyes moist with tears of pride and affection.
Kate frowned, inhaled deeply, and returned her gaze to the Senate floor, where Mr. Bright of Indiana continued to pontificate about the gas bill, his discourse having become neither more interesting nor, apparently, significantly nearer its conclusion, much to the amusement of his fellow senators and the annoyance of the spectators, who had expected more elevating oratory on such an auspicious day. He rambled on until noon, when he was obliged to cease, for at that hour, the Thirty-Sixth Congress expired and a new era must begin.
An expectant hush fell over the chamber as outgoing vice-president Breckinridge rose and offered a pleasant farewell address to the Senate. “He is a cousin of Mrs. Lincoln’s,” Kate murmured to Nettie after he finished and bowed graciously to generous applause. “Beginning today, he will serve with Father in the Senate.”
Nettie nodded, her eyes fixed on the scene below as Mr. Hannibal Hamlin joined Mr. Breckinridge, who administered his oath of office. Applause and cheers filled the chamber as the new vice-president took the chair and called the Thirty-Seventh Congress to order. The clerk read the proclamation Mr. Buchanan had issued back in February calling for the special session, and thus it was convened.
Kate touched Nettie’s hand, and Nettie nodded, bouncing a trifle in her seat from excitement, understanding that their father’s moment would soon be at hand.
Mr. Breckinridge had not needed to wander far, for he was the first of the newly elected, or in some cases reelected, senators to take the oath of office. Then it was Father’s turn. As was the custom, Senator Benjamin Wade, the other senator from Ohio, escorted Father down the aisle to Vice-President Hamlin, and Father’s voice rang out strong and true as he declared, “I do solemnly swear that I will support the Constitution of the United States.” No one who observed him could doubt that he meant every word of his oath.
Kate watched proudly as Father and Mr. Wade returned to their seats. The other newly elected senators echoed the simple, powerful words of the oath, which perhaps had never carried more meaning than at that moment as the nation stood on the brink of an unfathomable gulf, with seven of their number having already flung themselves over the edge and threatening, with the unbreakable bonds that united them, to pull the rest of them down after.
When the last of the senators had been sworn in, and the hour for their daily meeting had been fixed at one o’clock, the entire company proceeded outside to the eastern portico. Kate had planned on making a swift exit, and she timed it so perfectly that she and Nettie, hand in hand, were able to leave the gallery quickly and claim the places Father had secured for them on one side of the platform that had been erected for the ceremony. Father, she knew, would be seated at the front in a place of honor with Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Buchanan, Supreme Court chief justice Roger Taney, and Senator Edward D. Baker of Oregon, shaded beneath a wooden canopy near a small table where Mr. Lincoln would stand to address the crowd. Roughly thirty thousand people had packed the muddy Capitol grounds to witness the historic occasion, and as they waited eagerly for the new president to appear, they were entertained by the lively music of military bands, so they did not become too restless.
The sky had cleared, the sun shone brightly down upon the crowd, and shortly before one o’clock, Mrs. Lincoln emerged through the central door with her sons, sisters, and several gentlemen. Soon after they seated themselves upon the platform, the portly clerk of the Supreme Court appeared, carrying a Bible in one hand and leading the elderly, frail Supreme Court chief justice Roger Taney with the other.
When Mr. Lincoln appeared upon the platform, with Mr. Buchanan pale, sad, and nervous at his side, deafening cheers greeted him, going on and on nearly u
ntil the entire Senate and other dignitaries had taken their places. Kate and Nettie applauded loudest of all for Father, who took his seat with becoming dignity. Then Senator Baker, a longtime friend of Mr. Lincoln’s, came forward and announced, with profound simplicity, “Fellow citizens, Abraham Lincoln, president of the United States, will now proceed to deliver his inaugural address.”
Mr. Lincoln rose, serene and calm in his manner, and put on his spectacles as he approached the canopy. He removed his hat, and then suddenly halted, looking about with a self-deprecating smile as if he had realized only then he had no place to put it while he took his oath. His former rival, Senator Douglas, promptly came forward and took the hat, which he held on his lap while Mr. Lincoln addressed the crowd.
And what an address it was. In spite of herself, Kate was moved by the simple eloquence of his words, the clarity and compassion of his thought. He attended first to the fears of the Southern people, stating emphatically that he had no intention of interfering with slavery where it existed, and that even though the Fugitive Slave Law was offensive to many, he felt bound by the Constitution to enforce it. Though as an ardent abolitionist Kate was displeased by that position, his next subject almost made her forget her dissatisfaction with the first. Step by logical step, with simple, articulate, evocative phrases, he asserted that despite the claims of certain parties, according to the Constitution and the law, the Union was not and could not be broken. “I shall take care, as the Constitution itself expressly enjoins upon me, that the laws of the Union be faithfully executed in all the States,” he vowed. “Doing this I deem to be only a simple duty on my part, and I shall perform it so far as practicable, unless my rightful masters, the American people, shall withhold the requisite means, or, in some authoritative manner, direct the contrary. I trust this will not be regarded as a menace, but only as the declared purpose of the Union that it will constitutionally defend and maintain itself.” The North and South could not physically separate, he reminded them, and must not spiritually. “We are not enemies, but friends,” he said, with lyrical power that spellbound his listeners. “We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”
All around her, and throughout the grounds of the Capitol, men raised their hats, women waved their handkerchiefs, and everyone roared their approval—but Kate, riveted by the unexpected power of Mr. Lincoln’s words, sat motionless, transfixed. She watched in perfect stillness as Chief Justice Taney made his slow and unsteady way to the little table where Mr. Lincoln stood. There the elderly jurist conducted the ritual as he had six times before, and Mr. Lincoln placed his hand on the Bible, recited the oath of office, bowed, and kissed the holy book.
It was done. A fanfare of brass and a thundering of cannons announced that Abraham Lincoln had become the sixteenth president of the United States.
• • •
Afterward the president and his retinue returned to the White House in an open carriage surrounded by a cavalry escort, cheered along the way by tens of thousands of raucous well-wishers, who filled the sidewalks and clogged the dusty streets. The Lincolns would have little time to rest or to settle into their new home, however; Kate knew that in one of her final acts as Mr. Buchanan’s hostess, Harriet Lane had arranged for an elegant dinner for the president, his wife, and enough friends and relations to make up a party of seventeen.
The Chase family, after finding one another in the crowd, summoned the rented barouche and returned to the Rugby House. From the corner of Fourteenth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, they saw thousands of people milling about in the circular drive in front of the White House, cheering, chanting slogans, and shouting for the president to come out and address them again.
“Let the man rest,” Father muttered as their carriage pulled away. “A heavy burden was just hefted upon his shoulders. Let him balance that before adding to the load.”
Mr. Lincoln might not be permitted to rest, but Kate and her father were determined to. After a simple dinner that Vina, with her impeccable timing and good sense, had ready only minutes after they crossed the threshold, the Chases lingered at the table discussing the events of the day but then parted company to rest before the evening ball. Nettie begged again, halfheartedly, to be allowed to go, knowing she would be refused as she had been before. This time Kate softened the blow by adding, “In four years’ time, you will be old enough, and I see no reason why you should not expect to attend the Inaugural Ball.”
Especially if it was Father’s inauguration they would be celebrating, Kate added silently.
Her mind was too full of memories and sensations to sleep easily in midday, so she lay in bed with the curtains drawn, a handkerchief over her eyes to block out the light, willing herself to rest. Eventually she drifted off, and dreamed of sharpshooters on rooftops and thousands of cheering admirers, stirring up so much dust on Pennsylvania Avenue as they marched to the strains of martial music that she bolted awake, coughing and gasping for breath.
She sat up in bed, sipped some water, and waited for her disorientation to clear. Dusk had fallen, she realized, and it was time to prepare for the ball.
Her fatigue and lingering disappointment fell away as she washed and dressed and sat perfectly still as Vina arranged her hair, all unhappiness replaced by a familiar anticipation and vitality. It was not vanity to acknowledge to herself that she was at her best on such occasions, when the stage was ideally set for her to wield her beauty, grace, intelligence, and wit to charm the elite and powerful to her father’s advantage. She knew she looked resplendent in her white satin décolleté gown with puffed sleeves and an overskirt of cherry silk adorned with white satin roses. She wore matching flowers in her headpiece, a simple, elegant crown, and when she studied herself in the looking glass, her skin glowed and her hazel eyes were bright with excitement and pleasure.
The Union Ball would commence at ten o’clock, and Father, with his customary dislike of tardiness, made certain their carriage would arrive shortly thereafter. A large hall spacious enough to accommodate three thousand guests had been constructed on Judiciary Square especially for the occasion. Dubbed the “White Muslin Palace of Aladdin,” the ballroom was actually a temporary yellow pine wood–frame and canvas structure, divided into rooms for dancing and for supper, and dependent on the adjacent City Hall for dressing rooms—ladies in the Common Council chamber and gentlemen in the courtroom. Within, the palace was beautifully decorated with red and white muslin drapings and colorful shields bearing the arms of the United States, brilliantly illuminated by gaslight chandeliers.
Upon her arrival, Kate gracefully entered the inaugural palace on her father’s strong arm, aware of the many heads that turned their way, the admiring looks, the excited whispers. Many handsome gentlemen, some whom she had met before, others who quickly arranged the appropriate introductions, engaged her for dances. The ladies were dressed in their finest gowns and jewels, the gentlemen were at their most gallant and courteous, and as they mingled and chatted and laughed and recounted the events of the day, they glanced often to the entrance, awaiting the arrival of the new president and his retinue. It was not strictly proper for the dancing to begin without them, but as the minutes ticked away and they still had not appeared, some impatient youths persuaded the band to begin.
Kate danced the first set, a quadrille, with Lord Lyons, the British ambassador who had once courted Miss Harriet Lane despite being a year older than Father. A much younger gentleman partnered her for the lancers that followed, and Father claimed her for the Strauss waltz that came next, after which a handsome, amusing captain whirled her about in a lively polka. Being then not engaged, having sensibly planned for a rest, she accepted t
he captain’s escort to a chair, where she caught her breath and chatted pleasantly with other ladies who were sitting out the second quadrille.
She had not been resting long when her companions’ conversation trailed off at a gentleman’s approach. Kate glanced up—and her heart thudded when her gaze met a pair of dark, compelling eyes within a familiar handsome countenance.
“Good evening, Miss Chase,” Governor Sprague greeted her, and to her companions, said, “Good evening, ladies.”
The other ladies bowed in acknowledgment, and a few offered him winning smiles, but his gaze, warm and amused, was fixed upon Kate. “Miss Chase, I see that you are not at present engaged, and I wondered if I might have the pleasure of this dance.”
“Thank you, Governor,” Kate replied smoothly, although her heart was pounding with a strange, annoying anxiety, “but I have danced every set so far and I am much in need of a rest. Besides, the quadrille has already begun and we’ll upset the pattern if we fling ourselves into it now.”
He accepted the rejection with a smile and a gracious nod, and as she deliberately turned back to her companions, she saw a few of them exchange knowing glances while others straightened in their seats becomingly, perhaps hoping that the Boy Governor would invite them instead.
“After you have rested, then,” Governor Sprague suggested, with no indication that he had sensed a rebuff. “I would enjoy any dance in your company, so when are you next not engaged?”
Kate knew already, but she glanced at her dance card anyway. “I am not engaged for the next dance,” she admitted. A lady could not politely refuse a gentleman unless she already had a partner or sincerely needed to rest, and no one would believe that the vivacious Miss Chase needed to sit out two dances in a row.
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