Mrs. Lincoln's Rival

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  Around midnight, Father returned home, utterly exhausted. “McDowell verified the loss,” he said. “The army is in full retreat, and now our only hope is that they will reach safety before they are slaughtered. Immediate reinforcements have been called to defend Washington.”

  Kate took a deep, shaky breath. “Are the rebels in pursuit? Do you expect them to try to invade the city?”

  “They should try to press their advantage,” said Father shortly. “It is what I would do.” Then he caught himself. “Katie, dear, don’t worry. No harm will come to you and your sister.”

  He could not possibly know that for certain, but Kate nodded to show him she trusted him and was unafraid.

  They all went off to bed, but Kate tossed and turned, drifting in and out of sleep. In the gray dawn, she awoke to the rumbling of heavy wagons on the street below. An apprehensive impulse compelled her to go to the window, where beneath a dark and murky sky, long carriages were passing in the midst of a heavy rain. Suddenly, with a rush of sickening dread, she recognized the ambulances she and Nettie had watched crossing Long Bridge only days before.

  Quickly she washed and dressed. Although she had tried to be quiet, she inadvertently woke Nettie, who stumbled out of bed and went to the window, where she was quickly shocked into full wakefulness. “Sister, come see.”

  Kate hurried to her side, and together the sisters watched in stunned amazement as carriages and wagons and horses carried stricken, terrified men and women past as quickly as their tired horses could go. It took Kate a moment to recognize them as the same cheerful, excited spectators who had so enthusiastically set out for the hills above Centreville to observe the battlefield the previous day. Soon thereafter soldiers began to straggle down the street in front of the Chase residence, their expressions stunned and haggard, their uniforms torn and disheveled, their ranks diminished. Too famished and exhausted to press on, many of the soldiers dropped their kits in doorways, on sidewalks, on empty lots, and lay down to sleep where they were.

  Before the family sat down to a hasty breakfast, Father, his eyes shadowed and red as if he had not slept, instructed Addie, the cook, to prepare gallons of strong, hot coffee to serve to the woeful, stunned soldiers from a basement door of the kitchen that opened out upon the street. When the coffee ran out, Addie made more, and throughout the day, Kate, Nettie, Vina, and Mrs. Vaudry poured coffee and murmured encouragement, and glad enough the ragged soldiers seemed to receive both.

  More wounded came in from the battlefield too, brought into the city by the wagonload. When word went out that there were not enough beds for all the soldiers who needed them, nor enough bandages, nurses, food, or hospitals for that matter, Father offered to accommodate as many of the wounded as their house could hold. Soon one of the long black carriages stopped at their front door to discharge a battered and bloodied soldier, and after that, more suffering men were brought into the house until nearly a dozen filled the beds and sofas, groaning and coughing and calling deliriously for mothers and sweethearts.

  Kate and Bishop McIlvaine flew into action, nursing the men and tending their wounds, while Nettie, who had refused to be sent to her room away from the horrible sights and sounds and odors, hurried from room to room with a pitcher of cool water and a cup, which she bravely offered to the men who were able to accept. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed whenever she came to the front parlor, where a soldier, a boy no more than twenty, swore profusely from the pain, almost without pausing to take a breath.

  For hours the people of Washington waited in dread for the Confederate army to press their advantage and take the city, but the invasion never came. Many also waited anxiously for word from loved ones who had been engaged in the battle or had gone to watch it. Kate had heard nothing of William, but worrisome rumors claimed that the Rhode Island regiments had been in the thick of the fight, until they had broken ranks after General Johnston brought nine thousand fresh Confederate troops to reinforce General Beauregard. Rebel cavalry and infantry had swept from the forests and crashed down upon the Union columns, which had broken apart and fallen into an uncontrolled retreat. Many prisoners had been taken, but William, who despite his uniform and title held no commission, would not be protected by the usual rules of war.

  All that day and the next Kate waited pensively as she tended the wounded soldiers left in her care, looked after Nettie, and, whenever she had a moment to herself, skimmed the disheartening reports in the press and carefully examined the casualty lists. Finally, shortly after breakfast on Wednesday morning, William appeared on their doorstep.

  “I should have sent my card two days ago,” he said to Kate by way of greeting. “After I promised not to neglect you—”

  “That’s quite all right,” said Kate quickly, too relieved to care about the delay. “I’m very glad to see that you’re alive and unharmed—very, very glad.”

  She invited him in, introduced him to Bishop McIlvaine, and sent word to the kitchen for coffee and biscuits and preserves to be brought out, in case William had not had breakfast. He devoured the food as if he had not eaten for weeks, but in a distracted, impatient fashion as if his thoughts were elsewhere and he wanted to rush off and join them. “I was in charge of a battery of artillery,” he began without preamble. “One of our guns was the first cannon discharged at the enemy’s line of battle of the war. I furnished the first ammunition myself.”

  “I’m sure that will long serve as a point of honor for your men,” Kate said.

  “Honor,” he said bitterly. “If they ever had any.”

  Kate was shocked. The Rhode Island regiments were William’s pride and joy. She had never heard him disparage them before.

  “When the battle commenced, the men were detached and separated. Some of the men stood firm, but others”—he shook his head, frowning—“others were confused.”

  “How close were you to the enemy?”

  “Only half a pistol shot distance away. Men were struck and died where they fell. Horses too. I continued to supply ammunition from horseback, and did my utmost to give confidence to the line. The bullets were so thick and close that my loose blouse bears their holes.”

  “My goodness, Governor!” Kate exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart, which thumped almost painfully.

  “The Union lines held, but it was a grueling struggle, and the men seemed disinclined to charge.” He stood suddenly and paced the length of the dining room, pausing to glance out the window before fixing her with a look that seemed almost defiant. “The men will remember when I rode in front of them, the only officer they could see, and struck their muskets to a level with the enemy. And I shall never forget the blast of enthusiasm with which these twelve hundred men received me. Then, Kate, then we were ripe for a charge. I led.” He fell silent, and grief swept over his face. “My horse was shot.”

  “No!” Kate cried out. “Not your white stallion. Not that magnificent creature.”

  William nodded. “He perished, and there was nothing I could do to comfort him as he died. I took off his saddle in front of the line—and the men fell back, without orders to do so.”

  So the rumors were true. “Perhaps in the confusion—”

  William cut her off with a quick gesture. “No. They did not misunderstand me. Their courage deserted them, and they deserted me.” He barked out a laugh, short and bitter. “The officers led the way.”

  “Oh, William,” she said. “That’s inexcusable. It’s reprehensible.”

  “It was utter chaos,” he continued. “Wagons carrying men and arms toward the battle were blocked by ammunition carts in full retreat. The heat, the dust, the uproar—all defy description. Men were running past me, their faces streaming perspiration, and many must have lost or discarded their weapons in flight, for they carried none.” He inhaled deeply and let out a long, slow breath as if barely containing his rage. “They told me their three months’ enlistmen
ts had expired, and that they were determined to go home. And so they did.”

  Kate had been too preoccupied with the wounded soldiers in her care to ride out to the Rhode Island encampment above the city, not even to seek news of William. “They went home to their camp,” she asked, “or home to Rhode Island?”

  “The latter, to my everlasting shame, and theirs. They didn’t even pause long enough to answer the call for reinforcements to protect the capital. Thus the regiment was led off by the so-called million-dollar men who would not stay to fight, but the artillery remained and I with it.” He shook his head, his jaw clenched in anger. “If Burnside’s men had held, they would have carried the day, but instead, they neglected to guard the rear of the army.”

  They were not the only regiment to fail in that regard, Kate knew.

  “I remained on the field,” said William, weariness overtaking the anger in his voice. “As twilight fell, I wrapped myself up in my greatcoat and fell asleep, awaiting reinforcements.”

  “Alone and undefended? What if a rebel had come by and shot you?”

  “Then I’d be dead, and I’d be spared the embarrassment of my regiment’s cowardice,” he snapped, but he immediately amended his words. “My apologies. It is wrong to mock death when so many men lost their lives today, and it is always wrong to speak harshly to you.”

  “I understand,” she replied, regarding him with fond amusement. “You’ve had a very difficult day, so I’ve resolved to be more forgiving than usual.”

  He managed a wan smile. “You are an angel.”

  “Yes, so I’ve been told.”

  He frowned briefly as if wondering who might have told her that, but then his thoughts turned back to his own story. “When I woke, it was about two o’clock in the morning, the field was dark and quiet, and I was alone. I mounted a horse I found wandering without its rider, jumped the fences, and made for Washington. Along the way I passed a trail of disgrace—the ground strewn with abandoned coats, blankets, firelocks, cooking tins, caps, belts, bayonets—the detritus of cowardly flight.”

  Kate could only shake her head in sympathy. She was not convinced that it was fair to label all the men who had retreated cowards, but it was not the time for that debate.

  “I reported at once to President Lincoln, finding him awake in his office, as I had expected. I prevailed upon him to send forward new troops to stop the disorder, but he refused.”

  From what Father had told Kate of General Scott’s and Secretary Cameron’s reports, Mr. Lincoln had made the only reasonable decision, but again she kept her own counsel. “What will you do now?” she asked instead.

  “Now?” He shrugged and shook his head. “Gather up whatever stragglers from the Rhode Island regiments I can. Organize them into a company if enough remain, a squadron if that is all I have enough for. I’ll return home and recruit more troops.”

  “How soon?”

  He glanced her way, and his chagrin told her he had not considered how that news might grieve her. “I have not decided,” he said. “But I will return, with braver men than before.”

  “I have every confidence that you will,” she told him, but her heart sank a little all the same.

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  AUGUST 1861–JANUARY 1862

  I

  n the aftermath of the shocking defeat at Bull Run, Washingtonians nursed the wounded and mourned their dead and wondered how the terrible reversal had come about. The press took to calling the Union’s disorderly retreat from the battlefield “the Great Skedaddle,” bringing shame upon the federal soldiers and heartening their enemies throughout the South. The longer the people’s bewilderment remained unsatisfied, the hotter their anger burned, until the newspapers demanded answers in ever more belligerent tones and recruiting offices overflowed with angry volunteers eager for revenge.

  Although Mr. Lincoln maintained a calm, stoic front for the public, Father observed that he was in fact quite melancholy. Newspapers throughout the North castigated him for his army’s embarrassing performance, but rather than firing back acerbic retorts, the president listened patiently and attentively to their criticisms, and more important, to reports from the field explaining what had gone wrong. He sequestered himself with his cabinet and his most trusted generals, using the bitter lessons learned to shape a new military strategy and to ensure that the Union never again experienced such a debacle.

  Soon President Lincoln issued orders for the troops to be “constantly drilled, disciplined, and instructed,” so that the confusion and disorder of the battlefield never again led to widespread panic. When he learned that the three-month men had initiated the retreat, he proposed to discharge any of them who did not wish to commit to a lengthier term of service. He ordered blockades set up before the Confederacy could make the most of their victory by strengthening ties with opportunistic, professedly neutral European nations. Last, he sent a telegram to General George McClellan, presently serving in western Virginia, with orders to report to Washington and take command of the Army of the Potomac. Although General McDowell and his wife were dear friends of the Chases, and they were sorry to see General McDowell replaced, Mr. Lincoln’s choice nevertheless gratified Father’s pride, for General McClellan was another fellow Ohioan whom he had recommended to the president.

  Kate observed that Mr. Lincoln also wisely endeavored to regain the confidence of his army and his people. He visited regiments—often with Mr. Seward by his side, Father noted sourly—and raised the soldiers’ spirits with encouraging, inspiring speeches, marked by his characteristic humor. He pledged to provide the troops with everything they needed and encouraged them to appeal to him directly if they were wronged. As the summer passed, the Northern press again turned in the president’s favor, commending his firm resolve and applauding a renewed patriotism throughout the Union, which was most readily apparent in the thousands of volunteers who signed up for three-year enlistments.

  Pride and confidence and favorable public opinion could be restored, Kate knew, but the people of the North would never regain their certainty that the war would be swiftly and easily won. The stunning defeat at Bull Run had dispelled those vain illusions forever.

  • • •

  The first days of August were oppressively hot and humid, with no relief on the horizon. After hosting a state dinner for Prince Napoléon III—to which Father, but not Kate, was invited—Mrs. Lincoln took her sons Willie and Tad and her cousin Mrs. Grimsley on a vacation to Manhattan and upstate New York. They were among many residents of Washington to flee the torrid, muggy weather for the cool breezes of the North, and in their absence, the social whirlwind of the capital subsided.

  William was among the exodus, although he left for Rhode Island for entirely different reasons. When he arrived home, he was given a hero’s welcome, and in a letter to Kate he confided that the people’s joy and pride compelled him to remain silent about the Rhode Island regiments’ dismal performance at the Battle of Bull Run. “It is not because I wish to preserve their reputations,” he admitted, “but because if the truth were made known, it would hurt recruitment efforts.”

  That was the last thing Kate wanted, because the sooner William recruited a new regiment, the sooner he could return to Washington. On their last day together, they had gone sailing on the Potomac, and in the privacy of the boat she had allowed him liberties she had never granted another man, and could not quite believe she had granted him. She longed to feel his touch again, and yet she knew that it was perhaps best that she could not. She came dangerously close to allowing desire to overcome reason whenever she was alone with him, and she knew enough about men to understand that the more a lady consented to, the more would be expected. She would be ruined if she permitted too much.

  Not everyone fled Washington in the heat of August. Soldiers, opportunists, politicians, aspiring nurses, newspaper correspondents, and ambitious folk of all kinds
continued to make their way to the capital. Some came to settle and stay, at least for the duration of the war; others were merely visiting, and among these, many were eager to see Father. A seat at the table at one of Father’s breakfast parties was highly coveted, for in addition to a better meal than one could find at a crowded hotel or boardinghouse, guests would enjoy Kate’s enchanting company and an almost private audience with the secretary of the treasury. One guest, Mr. John Garrett, the president of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad and a longtime acquaintance of Father’s, appreciated their hospitality so much that afterward he sent both the Chase family and the Lincolns a consignment of live terrapin to grace their dinner tables.

  Nettie shrieked when Father pried open the crate with a crowbar and they discovered the reptiles within, some crawling over one another, others hiding within their shells. “I would rather Mr. Garrett had sent us a puppy,” she said, summoning up her courage and peering into the crate. “But I suppose I’ll get used to them.”

  Father let out a rare laugh, but Kate only smiled as she said, “Nettie, darling, these aren’t meant to be pets. We’re expected to eat them.”

  “What?”

  “They’re considered quite a delicacy here in the East.”

  “Come, now, daughter,” said Father. “You know people eat turtles. You’ve eaten turtle soup on several occasions.”

  “I didn’t know they were these kind of turtles.”

  “What kind of turtles did you think they were?” Kate asked, laughing. “The kind that grow on turtle trees?”

  “No, but”—Nettie winced as she watched the terrapin crawling awkwardly around the bottom of the crate, some trying to scale the wooden wall and topple over the edge to freedom—“in soup they don’t have legs and shells and faces.”