Kate was almost too disgusted and disappointed to read on. So Governor Sprague not only knew Mr. Hoyt, but he had become his advocate. Her heart thudded with apprehension as she skimmed the rest of the letter, a self-serving argument for the necessity of cotton to the economy, and the importance of keeping its price down, and the responsibility of the people of the North to support loyal Unionists in the South. “I shall esteem any aid you can give Mr. Hoyt an advantage to our whole people,” Governor Sprague concluded, “as it will also be to those directly interested.”
The governor was certainly included among those, although he neglected to mention exactly how Mr. Hoyt’s scheme might benefit the A. & W. Sprague Company.
“Why, Father, I don’t see why you have not already granted this eloquent and ingenious request,” Kate said, shaking her head in exaggerated amazement. “It is entirely to the country’s benefit, what with Mr. Hoyt intending to spy for the Union while he conducts his business. Business—perhaps I should have said charity, they intend to give so much to the country while profiting so little themselves.”
“Katie—”
“It’s all right, Father.” She managed a tremulous smile. “We wondered if Mr. Hoyt and Governor Sprague were conspiring, and it appears almost certain that they were. How fortunate it is that the truth came out before either of us made any firm commitments to either of them.”
“Yes,” Father said, and he looked both outraged and sad. “How fortunate indeed.”
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
NOVEMBER 1862–MARCH 1863
O
n November 4, discontented voters went to the polls for the midterm elections and made their unhappiness with the Union army’s inaction and the forthcoming Emancipation Proclamation abundantly clear, with disastrous results for the Lincoln administration. Although Republicans held on to a slim majority in the Congress, Peace Democrats, who advocated conciliation with the Confederacy even at the expense of emancipation, won important offices in Illinois, Indiana, New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio.
The following day, President Lincoln, safely clear of the elections, dismissed General McClellan as the commander of the Army of the Potomac. Father, Kate, and countless others rejoiced, but within the Chase household, their celebration was tempered by misgivings about the president’s choice to succeed him—not General Hooker, as they had hoped and recommended, but General Ambrose Burnside, whose loyalty to General McClellan had twice compelled him to reject the command when it was offered to him after the debacles in the Peninsula Campaign and the Second Battle of Bull Run. Though General Burnside had performed adequately well for most of the war, Kate could not forget how the First Rhode Island Regiment had fallen apart under his command at Manassas in the early days.
More than a month later, her concerns proved prescient when General Burnside suffered a terrible defeat when—acting against president Lincoln’s advice—he led one hundred twenty-two thousand troops across the Rappahannock to Fredericksburg, only to discover General Lee had already claimed the high ground and was waiting for him. When the trap was sprung, the Union suffered nearly thirteen thousand casualties, more than twice Lee’s losses, and General Burnside was forced to make a humiliating retreat.
Though Kate imagined President Lincoln must have been thoroughly demoralized by the loss, he nevertheless released a public letter of commendation to the troops, declaring that they possessed “all the qualities of a great army, which will yet give victory to the cause of the country and of popular government.” But the rumblings of discontent continued, echoing loudest in the halls of Congress. On the afternoon of December 16, the Republican senators caucused in the reception room of the Senate, determined to compose a unified response to the ongoing calamity. Unwilling to attack the commander in chief and further imperil the struggling army, they blamed Secretary Seward instead—and Father was at least in part responsible for making him the target of their fury.
For months Father had insisted, in private letters and in all-too-public conversations, that a “malign influence” controlled the president and overruled all the decisions of his cabinet—and it was obvious that he referred to Secretary Seward. Equally clear were Father’s numerous complaints that Mr. Lincoln had failed, time and time again, to consult the cabinet on matters of significant national interest. If the president had heeded Father’s councils instead of Mr. Seward’s, Father implied, the catastrophes facing the nation and the party would have been prevented.
Rumors spread throughout Washington City and in Republican circles beyond the capital that Mr. Seward was responsible for any grievance anyone had with nearly anything President Lincoln had done since taking office—and the Republican caucus was determined to do something about it. The majority voted in favor of a resolution declaring a lack of confidence in the secretary of state and asserting that Mr. Lincoln should remove him from the cabinet.
The meeting was meant to be secret, but Mr. Seward had friends among the Republican senators, and one of them hurried to his home that evening to warn him about what had transpired. Unwilling to force the president into a painful, untenable position, Mr. Seward composed a letter of resignation, which his son and the senator immediately delivered to the White House. The president, though pained and surprised, grieved Mr. Seward by not immediately refusing to accept the resignation.
Father and Kate learned all this in the days that followed, from friends and eager acquaintances who hoped to win their friendship. They learned a few hours ahead of time that the Republican caucus had selected a Committee of Nine to present their resolutions to the president at the White House on the evening of December 18. The next day, although he was perfectly courteous, John Hay seemed none too pleased with Kate and her father when he admitted to her that Mr. Lincoln was greatly upset by the Republican caucus’s machinations, but he had hidden his distress and had granted the Committee of Nine a three-hour audience to air their grievances.
“I hope you don’t think my father instigated this,” said Kate when John’s righteous indignation and unspoken censure became a bit much. They were alone in the best parlor, ostensibly enjoying tea, but the pot had cooled and the plate of cakes had gone untasted while their conversation became more heated.
“Not directly, perhaps,” John acknowledged. “But he had to know that his ongoing criticism would eventually have this effect. He had to know that this movement against Seward would shock and grieve the president.”
“I learned long ago that it is a waste of breath to ask my father to be silent when he feels compelled to point out one’s faults to them.” Through the years she had been the reluctant audience of more of these monologues about herself than she cared to count.
“That’s the problem. He hasn’t pointed out the president’s alleged faults to him, but to everyone else within the sound of his voice and the reach of his pen.” John shook his head, exasperated. “The secretary of the treasury is no common bootblack. Did he really think his words wouldn’t be repeated over and over until they made their way back to the president?”
Greatly displeased, Kate fixed him with a stony look. “My father is a man of exacting ethical standards. He does nothing in secrecy that would disgrace him were it made public.”
John immediately calmed himself. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”
“Then you should say what you mean,” Kate countered, “and perhaps you should say it to my father rather than me.”
“If you think your father should know something that I confide in you,” John said wearily as he rose to go, “you will tell him, as you always do.”
Stung by the implication that she abused his trust, she accompanied him to the door without a word and shut it firmly behind him, heartsick and angry.
Early the next morning, before Father left for the Treasury Department, he received a request to attend a special cabinet meeting at half past ten. When he returned home later th
at day for a hasty supper, he looked rather shaken as he told Kate that Mr. Seward had not been invited to the meeting, because he had been the subject of it—for Mr. Lincoln had presented the entire history of the conflict to his abashed partial cabinet. “We are all—except Seward, of course—to return to the White House this evening to meet with the Committee of Nine,” said Father, agitated. “I argued against it, but when all the others agreed, I had no choice but to acquiesce.”
Kate felt faint, but she steeled herself and kept her voice steady. “What is the worst that could happen at this meeting?”
“All of my complaints about the president, and Mr. Seward, and the functioning of the cabinet—they could all come out into the open.”
“Aren’t your grievances already well-known?”
“Perhaps the substance of them, but not the scope and the sheer volume.”
“I see.” Kate thought in silence for a long moment. “Do you stand by your remarks?”
“The content, yes, but I certainly could have been more circumspect, and followed proper channels.”
“Then if it seems appropriate, you can apologize for that oversight, even while you affirm that your criticism is valid.”
Father heaved a sigh and agreed that there was nothing else to be done.
He left for the White House shortly before seven o’clock. As the hours dragged by, Kate tried to wait up for him, but she kept drifting off to sleep in her chair, and eventually she went upstairs to bed. The sound of the front door woke her about half past one, and she would have met her father in his study except she heard his slow, weary tread upon the staircase and knew he was going straight to his bedchamber.
The next morning, Father was still the first of the family to the breakfast table, his Bible open on the table, his plate untouched, his coffee cooling beside it, his gaze distant. He glanced up when Kate entered and wished him good morning, but her voice trailed off at the sight of his haggard face and shadowed eyes. Before she could ask him how the meeting had gone, he said, “I am going to submit my resignation.”
“Father, no!” she exclaimed, hurrying to his side and taking his hand in both of hers. “What would compel you to cast aside—”
“The talk is that I am responsible for the movement to oust Seward,” he interrupted, his voice dull from exhaustion and defeat. “The senators say I conspired against him because I wish to control the cabinet myself. If Seward goes and I stay, I’ll face the wrath of Seward’s friends, and they are legion. The only way to clear my name is if I offer to join Seward in resigning.” He gave her a wan look. “Naturally, I hope the president will refuse to accept my resignation.”
“As do I,” said Kate fervently. “Are you sure such a drastic step is necessary? Is there no other way?”
Father replied that he had considered every other course and that he was resolved to follow this one, and he rebuffed all her attempts to ply him with alternatives. She convinced him to eat some breakfast to strengthen himself before he set out, but that was the most he would concede.
When Father returned from the White House, Kate’s heart plummeted at the sight of his forlorn, indignant expression. “The president did not refuse your resignation?”
“He did not, but he did not exactly accept it either.” Father sank wearily into a chair and clasped a hand to his brow. “His eyes lit up with delight as he took the page from my hand, and as he read it over, he said, ‘This is all I want. This relieves me. My way is clear; the trouble is ended.’”
Kate supported herself on the back of his chair. “And now you must await his response?”
Father nodded.
“Then you shall have something to eat while you wait.” Blinking back tears, Kate hurried from the room and off to the kitchen, taking slow, even breaths to calm herself. They could be hours away from the end of all their ambitions. Tomorrow at that time, they could be packing cartons for the move back to Columbus—for Father would not want to remain at the scene of his embarrassment, and where else would they go?
The hours passed slowly, but President Lincoln’s reply came before supper, in a letter addressed to both him and Mr. Seward:
Executive Mansion, Washington.
December 20, 1862.
Hon. William H. Seward, &
Hon. Salmon P. Chase.
Gentlemen: You have respectively tendered me your resignations, as Secretary of State, and Secretary of the Treasury of the United States. I am apprised of the circumstances which may render this course personally desirable to each of you; but, after most anxious consideration, my deliberate judgment is, that the public interest does not admit of it. I therefore have to request that you will resume the duties of your Departments respectively.
Your Obt. Servt.
A. LINCOLN.
“He does not say he wants to retain me,” Father observed after reading the letter aloud. “He says he has to, for the public interest.”
“But he has refused your resignation,” Kate pointed out happily. “That is the important thing.”
“Yes, and now I must decide whether to accept. I think I shall not.”
Kate stared at him, her relief swiftly fading. “Why?”
“If you had seen the sheer gratification on his face when I handed him my letter, you would not need to ask.”
“He was gratified that you provided him with a way out of his conundrum without losing either of his most important cabinet members, that’s all.”
Father grudgingly allowed that she could be right, but he desired to think the matter over nonetheless. Kate felt as if she were holding her breath while she waited for him to make up his mind, fearful that if she said too much to push him in one direction, he would obstinately choose the other. Later that day, he told her that he had written to the president declining to remain in the cabinet, but then he received a note from Mr. Seward announcing his intention to heed the president’s wishes and stay—and knowing that, Father did not see how he could do otherwise. He informed Mr. Lincoln that his desire to resign had not changed, but he would submit to the needs of his country and his president and return to the Treasury Department.
Mr. Seward was clearly pleased with the outcome, and, by nature a congenial, resilient man, he seemed to hope that he and Father could put the conflict behind them and cooperate for the good of the Union. As a sign of his willing friendship, he invited the Chases to join his family for supper on Christmas Eve, but the anxiety and strain of the weeks of discord had taken their toll on Father’s health, and he was too ill to accept the invitation. He sent a gracious note instead, begging Mr. Seward’s indulgence for his unwilling absence and explaining that he was too unwell to venture upon his hospitality.
Soon Nettie’s school holidays began. Kate traveled to New York to bring her home, and after a brief delay there while Kate recovered from a bad chest cold, the sisters returned to Washington, where Nettie’s cheerful, loving presence eased the tension and worry that had afflicted the household for far too long. Kate celebrated Christmas with a heart more relieved than merry, for she felt that they had narrowly escaped disaster, and she feared that the next time Father heedlessly sailed too close to the treacherous shore, they might not be able to steer the ship to safe waters before they wrecked upon the rocks.
• • •
On December 30, President Lincoln distributed to the members of his cabinet copies of the Emancipation Proclamation, which he intended to sign into law two days thereafter. At ten o’clock the next morning, the cabinet convened so the secretaries could advise the president on any final revisions. Mr. Seward and Mr. Welles suggested a few minor changes, but Father wanted to drastically revise the section that stipulated where slaves would be declared free, arguing that entire states should be included, with no piecemeal regions or sections omitted. He also submitted a complete draft of an alternative Emancipation Proclamation he had written himself, but whe
n the president seemed disinclined to accept it, Father urged him to at the very least adopt his closing sentence, which he thought struck the proper reverential tone: “And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice warranted by the Constitution, and an act of duty demanded by the circumstances of the country, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind, and the gracious favor of Almighty God.” The president agreed that it was quite a good conclusion, and with a few minor alterations, he added it to his own draft.
The morning of New Year’s Day dawned beautiful and sunny. At eleven o’clock, Father escorted Kate, Nettie, a friend of Nettie’s from school, and Father’s youngest sister, Mrs. Helen Chase Walbridge, to the traditional reception at the White House. Mrs. Lincoln had not yet emerged from mourning, but she had dutifully resumed her role as hostess for the event. Pale and forlorn in a black bonnet and an exquisite dress of rich black velvet, she stood at her husband’s side in the Blue Room to receive their visitors. The most illustrious guests—cabinet officers and their ladies, members of the Supreme Court, foreign dignitaries, and others—arrived at eleven o’clock, offered their respects to President and Mrs. Lincoln, wished one another a Happy New Year, and discussed the Emancipation Proclamation, which apparently the president had not yet signed.
Kate would have searched out John Hay, but he found her first, and she scarcely remembered to wish him a Happy New Year before she queried him about the rumors. “The Tycoon hasn’t signed the proclamation yet, but he will,” John assured her. He looked especially handsome that morning, in a new suit and haircut, although he seemed a bit tired. The bedchamber he shared with John Nicolay was on the second floor of the White House, directly across the waiting room from the president’s office, and whenever Mr. Lincoln could not sleep, which was often, he would wander into their room in his nightclothes and slippers, find himself a seat, and read aloud passages from interesting books or regale them with his own stories. Kate would have been displeased to have her sleep regularly interrupted by an insomniac employer, but John enjoyed the president’s companionship too much to feel the inconvenience.
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