Mrs. Lincoln's Rival

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  It was little wonder that Mrs. Lincoln despised her, Kate considered, with a hint of annoyed exasperation. She had not sought a rivalry with Mrs. Lincoln, but from the moment Mrs. Lincoln had made it her ambition to put Kate in her place, their roles had been cast, their course set. Now Kate would never defer to Mrs. Lincoln, never acknowledge her as her social superior. Kate did not have the White House—at least, not yet—but she did have her pride. In lieu of the title First Lady, for the moment she would accept Belle of Washington—and let Mrs. Lincoln try to claim that for herself if she could.

  • • •

  One sultry Monday afternoon near the end of June, Kate sought a breath of fresh air in the cool shade of the garden with a cup of apple cider still cold from the cellar and the morning papers, which she had been unable to read at breakfast because her father had been entertaining guests. Seated gracefully on a quilt spread on the grass, she was perusing the “Local Matters” column of the Daily National Intelligencer when the name of a particular state caught her eye, and she eagerly skipped ahead to see if it contained a particular name.

  THE SECOND RHODE ISLAND REGIMENT, accompanied by the Providence Marine Artillery with a full battery of six pieces (James’s rifled cannon), arrived here Saturday morning. They bring with them upwards of one hundred horses and eighteen wagons, including ambulances, besides tents and conveniences of every kind. They are thus ready to take the field at any moment. Their uniform is neat and comfortable. The coat of blue is loose fitting, and the pantaloons of gray, with a narrow stripe; hats resembling the army pattern are worn by all. They have gone to their encampment north of the city. Governor Sprague and a portion of his staff, including Cols. Goddard and Gardner, accompanied the regiment.

  Kate set the newspaper down on her lap, stunned. Governor Sprague had returned to Washington. Not only had he failed to write to tell her he was coming, he had not called on her even once in the three days since his arrival.

  She was tempted to ride out to the Rhode Island encampment with the usual gifts for the troops, then feign mild surprise and unmistakable disinterest when she happened to cross paths with the governor. Or perhaps instead she should send one of the servants out with a basket of delicacies from her garden, with a note welcoming the governor back to the capital and congratulating him on organizing another regiment so quickly that he had not had time to inform his friends of his impending arrival.

  But, no, that would not do either. She would not pursue him. She shouldn’t even want him. He was ten years older than she, although admittedly that wasn’t an insurmountable obstacle. His lack of education, however understandable, would render their conversations dull over time, although it hadn’t yet. His use of tobacco and whiskey troubled her, and her father, who eschewed both, thought less of him for indulging. She had no intention of leaving Washington City for Rhode Island, not before seeing her father in the White House and serving as his First Lady there. The longer she sat, with the edges of the newspaper curling limply in the humid air and her cup of cider becoming a tepid bath for gnats and wasps, the more reasons she could name for why she and the Boy Governor of Rhode Island would be a bad match.

  But she wanted him even so, and it hurt that he apparently did not want her.

  “And that is the best reason of all to dismiss him from my thoughts,” she declared to the flowers and the birds and the buzzing insects. She lifted her chin, poured her cider onto the grass, set the cup on the quilt, and resumed her study of the news of the day, determined to find some interesting, useful item to mention to Father at supper that evening.

  • • •

  From John Hay, Kate learned that President Lincoln was spending the stiflingly hot summer days drafting the report he would deliver to Congress when it assembled for the special session on July 4. Kate was in the gallery on Friday, July 5, when John Nicolay brought the president’s message to the Senate chamber, where the clerk read it aloud. The address began with a summary of the secession crisis and the effort to relieve Fort Sumter, which had been thwarted before it truly began by the assault from the South Carolina militia at Charleston. No choice had been left to Mr. Lincoln but to invoke the war powers of the government, he claimed, so as to resist the force arrayed for the nation’s destruction with forces committed to its preservation. It had been necessary to call for troops, and also to suspend the writ of habeas corpus, a privilege that had been exercised sparingly and always in accordance with the provisions established by the Constitution. “It is now recommended that you give the legal means for making this contest a short and a decisive one,” the president had declared, “that you place at the control of the government, for the work, at least four hundred thousand men, and four hundred millions of dollars.”

  As the proposal met with irrepressible applause, Kate drew in a sharp breath, knowing that if Congress did approve such an enormous sum, it would be up to her father to find it.

  The president went on to make a convincing case for why the money and men were utterly essential to the survival of the nation and its liberties, and also to argue why the Constitution did not allow any state to withdraw from the Union without the consent of the Union and the other states. “This is essentially a People’s contest,” the president asserted. “On the side of the Union, it is a struggle for maintaining in the world, that form, and substance of government, whose leading object is, to elevate the condition of men—to lift artificial weights from all shoulders—to clear the path of laudable pursuit for all—to afford all, an unfettered start, and a fair chance, in the race of life.”

  They were stirring words about a noble ideal, but Kate wished she could ask the president to explain precisely whom he meant by “men” and “all.” Did he include the millions of enslaved persons in the rebellious South and the tenuously held border states? Would he lift his metaphoric burdens from the bent, encumbered shoulders of the people who were forced to carry all-too-real burdens? Kate leaned forward in her chair, listening intently, but not only did the address conclude without clarifying that particular matter, the president also failed to mention slavery at all, except once in passing, when he referred to “the States commonly called Slave states.”

  Kate was thoroughly disappointed and indignant. “If a foreigner newly arrived on our shores with little foreknowledge of our country read that address,” she complained to her father afterward, “he would have absolutely no idea that the South wages war upon the government in order to preserve slavery, although every single American—man, woman, and innocent child—knows that to be the cause.”

  “This is Seward’s influence, I’m certain,” her father replied. “The president listens overmuch to his cautions and criticisms instead of trusting in the strength of his own popularity with the people.” Then he sighed, and reluctantly added, “But perhaps he took the wiser, more prudent path on this occasion by not emphasizing slavery.”

  “Father,” protested Kate, “you can’t mean that. You’re the most ardent and devoted abolitionist in his cabinet.”

  “A title I bear proudly, but nevertheless, it is perhaps better to leave the sword of emancipation in the sheath at this time. The majority of the Northern people, as well as the Congress, seem to prefer to consider the purpose of the war to be the preservation of the Union rather than the elimination of slavery.”

  Kate shook her head, exasperated. “I fail to see how we can accomplish one without the other.”

  “It may very well be that we cannot.” Father smiled, a little worriedly, and took her hand. “I agree with the president that we must take care not to lose support in the North or to drive any more states from the Union, but make no mistake, daughter. If the issue is distinctly presented—death to the American Republic or death to slavery—slavery must die.”

  Although Kate’s opinion of the address remained decidedly lukewarm, Congress was evidently persuaded, for they responded to the president’s call for more money and troops with
swift resolve. Instead of the four hundred thousand men Mr. Lincoln had requested, they ordered half a million men recruited, and authorized the appropriation of even more funds than he had sought. The House and Senate also passed a joint resolution legalizing several measures the president had taken to defend the Union while Congress was at recess—calling up three-month troops, instituting blockades—but they did not approve his suspension of habeas corpus, a rare point on which Republicans and Democrats agreed.

  Nettie was astounded by the immense sum Congress had granted for the war effort. One morning over breakfast, she speculated about all the many things that money could buy if it did not have to go to rifles and cannons and food for the troops. Kate hid a smile as Nettie chattered on, for she suspected that her younger sister imagined railcars full of bags of gold coins being delivered to General Scott’s headquarters. “That’s a lot of money,” Nettie eventually concluded, breaking a crust off her toast for emphasis.

  “That’s an understatement,” said Father dryly. “The question remains, where is it all to come from?”

  “From the vault at the Treasury Building?” Nettie suggested helpfully. “From the bank?”

  “Exactly, Nettie, from the bank.” Father folded his napkin, pushed back his chair, and rose. “It may require some arm twisting of bankers, but I will contrive to get money from the banks and into the nation’s vault.”

  He departed then for his offices at the Treasury Building, and after he was gone, his daughters fell silent as they lingered at the table.

  Eventually Nettie said, “It’s Father who has to figure out how to pay for everything.”

  “That’s right,” said Kate. “Without Father, the bills wouldn’t be paid. That would mean no soldiers, no army, no guns, no cannons, no tents or uniforms or provisions.”

  “Do you suppose the people understand that Father is just as important as General Scott when it comes to fighting the war,” Nettie wondered, “maybe even as important as President Lincoln?”

  For a moment Kate could only stare at her younger sister, surprised by her unexpected, precocious insight. “The wiser ones surely do,” she replied. “As for the rest, we must do all we can to enlighten them by November of eighteen sixty-four.”

  • • •

  As the sultry July days passed, the loyal citizens of the North clamored ever more insistently for the army to take firm and decisive action against the rebels. The battle cry “Forward to Richmond!” echoed in newspapers and speeches throughout the Union, but except for a few minor expeditions and skirmishes, the army commanders seemed content to drill and parade and amass greater numbers rather than confront the enemy. Giving voice to the people’s impatience, Senator Lyman Trumbull of Illinois introduced a measure demanding the “immediate movement of the troops, and the occupation of Richmond before the 20th July,” the date the Confederate Congress intended to reconvene in their new capital city. With more than fifty thousand Union soldiers in Washington, the fear of invasion from the South had greatly diminished, and when the residents of the Northern capital observed the great numbers of smartly uniformed and outfitted soldiers camped in public buildings and filling their streets and parks and taverns, most Washingtonians could not understand why they were not being sent out into the field immediately. The consensus was that time was of the essence, that it was crucial to get the war over with as soon as possible, before the three-month men’s enlistments expired and they went home.

  Kate knew, but could divulge to no one, that President Lincoln and his cabinet had already approved a plan to move on the rebels within weeks, if not days. At first General Scott had resisted, for he believed his army, though well dressed and determined, was unprepared for a major offensive. President Lincoln prevailed upon him, noting that if the army did not advance soon, the morale of both the troops and the people of the North would suffer. European heads of state might interpret their inertia as reluctance or a lack of resolve, and perhaps decide to recognize the Confederacy.

  Eventually General Scott acquiesced to the wishes of the president and his cabinet, and he approved the plan General Irvin McDowell had devised to engage Confederate general P. G. T. Beauregard’s forces at Manassas, a town about thirty miles southwest of Washington City. General McDowell—a graduate of the United States Military Academy, a veteran of the Mexican War, and a fellow Ohioan who looked upon Father as a mentor—intended to take thirty thousand troops to Manassas, where he would outflank and overrun General Beauregard’s forces, roughly twenty thousand strong. In the meantime, Union general Robert Patterson would engage General Joseph Johnston’s nine thousand rebels at Winchester, Virginia, to prevent them from reinforcing General Beauregard. Father told Kate that the plan was intelligent and ought to succeed. The only question was when and how it would be undertaken.

  Not long after President Lincoln’s address was read in the Senate, Kate and Nettie were invited to accompany Secretary of War Simon Cameron, adjutant general of the army Lorenzo Thomas, their wives and daughters, and several friends and assistants on an excursion to Fort Monroe at Hampton Roads, Virginia, where the James and York rivers emptied into Chesapeake Bay. The purpose for the trip was to assess the fort’s preparedness to act as a base for an offensive campaign, but Secretary Cameron decided it could also serve as a sightseeing trip. While Norfolk, just across the water, had fallen to the Confederates when Virginia seceded, Fort Monroe had always remained under Union control, so the trip along the Chesapeake would be perfectly safe. Kate and Nettie exchanged a skeptical look at that pronouncement, but they did not mention their confrontation with the privateer the previous May lest they compel Secretary Cameron to revoke his invitation.

  It was a thoroughly enjoyable and at times exciting outing, with the preparations for war both thrilling and ominous. A grand review was held in their honor at the fortress, and later in the day, the party reviewed the troops at Newport News and Camp Hamilton as well. Kate and Nettie were especially pleased to pay their compliments to General Butler, whom they had come to regard, along with Major Anderson, as their own special protector. Kate also took note of the “contrabands” working at the fort, former slaves who had escaped to Union lines and had been hired to work for the army.

  Their employment at Fort Monroe, like most of General Butler’s unauthorized schemes, was not without controversy. In May, three fugitive slaves had come to the fort after escaping from a Confederate battery they had been ordered by their master to help construct. When their master demanded that they be returned, General Butler had refused, arguing that the Fugitive Slave Law did not oblige him to return the runaways because their labors had supported Confederate troops and they had fled a state in rebellion. Instead General Butler declared the three fugitives “contraband of war” and paid them to work for the Union instead, an offer he had extended ever since to other slaves who managed to reach Fort Monroe. Kate had been curious to see how his policy worked in practice, since Father believed colored men ought to be allowed to enlist in the army, not only as laborers but as soldiers. She knew he would be eager to hear her observations.

  When she and Nettie returned home at the end of a long, fascinating day, they found Father in the garden, but he was not alone. “Governor Sprague,” Nettie cried out, hurrying down the cobblestone path to the shade of the trees where the men sat talking earnestly. At the sound of Nettie’s voice, they glanced her way, spotted the sisters, and rose from their chairs to welcome them. While Nettie darted ahead eagerly, Kate followed behind at a more leisurely, deliberately indifferent pace.

  “Why, Governor Sprague,” she said when she reached them, offering him her hand. “I do seem to recall reading that you had returned to the capital.”

  He smiled disarmingly. “Yes, about two weeks ago.”

  “I see.” Kate nodded politely, but inside she was seething. To acknowledge that he had been back a fortnight without calling on her, as if there were no reason why she should have
expected to hear from him sooner, without even the slightest hint of an apology—did he think his company so desirable that she would tolerate the slight without taking affront?

  “I did call earlier,” he said, still smiling away as if he noticed nothing amiss. “You were out.”

  “Did you indeed?” said Kate, concealing her surprise. Vina would have told her, surely. “When was this?”

  “Earlier this morning.”

  “Ah.” At least a week too late to redeem him. “Well, I’m sure you and Father have a lot of catching up to do. Nettie, should we go inside?”

  “I think I’ll stay.” Nettie seated herself on a stone bench in a rather good imitation of her sister’s grace.

  Kate felt betrayed, but she knew that was unreasonable, so she smiled warmly and said, “As for myself, I have letters to write, so if you’ll please excuse me—” She nodded to each of them, the governor last of all, and turned back toward the house.

  She was nearly halfway there when she heard quick footsteps on the path behind her. “Miss Chase, if you please.”

  Muffling a sigh, Kate turned and fixed the governor with a vaguely inquisitive smile. “Is there something you need? More refreshments, perhaps?”