Wednesday, May 6
Mauer almost tripped over the prone Ward Hill Lamon when he stepped into the corridor. Lamon was asleep face up outside the door to the President’s bedroom. Lamon still wore vest and cravat, and was using his expensive coat as a pillow. A revolver lay at the burly man’s side.
Talk about devotion, thought Mauer.
It was six-thirty in the morning. Mauer had wanted to wake an hour earlier, to be up before the President. Lincoln would certainly already be at work. Mauer should get over to his office. But as long as Lincoln stayed in the Mansion, he was safe enough at this hour with the Bucktails posted at all entrances and throughout the first floor.
Mauer patted Lamon’s shoulder.
Lamon stirred. “Stein?”
“Good morning. I didn’t know you’d be camped here.”
“I’ve done it before. When the threats get especially bad.”
“I think he’s in his office. It’s past six. He must have stepped over you coming out.”
“Don’t think so. There is a private corridor through to his office.”
Mauer ground his teeth. Lamon should have told him that. What else was Lamon not bothering to divulge?
But Mauer held his tongue. He could not afford to antagonize this man. He had half won Lamon’s confidence. He needed to win it all and Lamon’s good will, too.
“Marshal, why don’t you go home, change, get some breakfast? I’ll stick with the President.”
Lamon gratefully departed.
Mauer pushed through double doors into the central corridor. Immediately to his right lay the First Lady’s bedroom. Thankfully the door to her chamber was closed.
Yesterday the little butterball had not been pleased when her husband insisted the strangers stay in the Executive Mansion. To boot in the Prince of Wales room, the state guestroom. Lincoln would not hear of Edwin and Lillian remaining at the Willard.
As Mauer and Chloe were settling in the bizarrely decorated room—Chloe said its purple wallpaper and drapes reminded her of a funeral parlor—they could hear the President and his wife arguing in the hall.
“Mother, they are here to keep me safe.”
“You don’t know them. They could cut your throat in the night.”
“I know they are loyal, Mother. They will stay with us.”
The First Lady had fired several more salvoes, but lost the battle. The war would probably continue.
Mauer pushed through another set of double doors, into the office vestibule. He saw John Nicolay coming out of Lincoln’s office. The President’s secretary carried a sheaf of papers.
“Is he in there?” called Mauer.
“Yes,” said the gaunt man with dark goatee. Nicolay showed Mauer his back as he swept into his adjacent office.
Nicolay probably didn’t like Mauer much more than the First Lady. Nicolay was a highly devoted, highly overworked aide who jealously guarded the disposable time of the President. He detested all interlopers. Another person’s trust for Mauer to win.
Mauer remained in the office vestibule. Here he had excellent vantage of both the central corridor and the stairs to the first floor. He patted the pistol under his frock coat. He also carried a Bowie knife.
William Stoddard, another secretary, arrived around seven. The young, rakish looking man greeted him with a smile. He then hustled into his office, across the corridor from Nicolay. Stoddard was in charge of screening the daily mail. Which would soon be arriving by the sack load.
Mauer was disappointed he would likely not meet the third of the President’s secretaries. Nicolay and Stoddard were capable men, but John Hay was stellar. Hay would become Secretary of State under Teddy Roosevelt. Now Hay was on assignment in South Carolina and would not return to Washington until late June.
Around eight an usher came up to inform the President that breakfast was ready. Lincoln invited Mauer to join him for the meal downstairs in the family dining room.
It was not a pleasant experience. The First Lady scowled through the thankfully quick meal. Mauer could barely get in a bite of his eggs and bacon as the sour faced woman peppered him with questions. Mauer politely answered. The President tried to get her to lay off. Only when Tad came bounding in did the interrogatory stop.
After breakfast it was back up to the office. Lincoln sent Stoddard, or “Stod”, over to the War Department to learn if any news had arrived via telegraph about the battle fifty miles to the south. Stod reported back with nothing new.
For the second day in a row petitioners were not allowed into the Mansion. Lincoln had reluctantly agreed to this, but said it could not continue. He would give Mauer and Lamon till the end of the week to handle this latest assassination threat. He would not be separated from the people.
The President was holding a cabinet meeting at ten. It had been postponed from its usual time yesterday due to the President huddling most of the day with Mauer.
As cabinet members arrived one by one, Mauer watched with hidden amazement. Seward, Bates, Chase, Welles, Blair and Usher popped from the briefing photos into flesh. Only the ornery Secretary of War did not show.
Mauer had met Edwin Stanton yesterday. Both Phillip Mauer and the briefing told of a churlish soul, and they were right.
Lincoln had taken Mauer over to the War Department on the matter of guarding Grant and Sherman. Stanton greeted Mauer with suspicion and hostility that made Lamon’s demeanor appear gracious. It had required all of Mauer’s will to remain civil.
Stanton had tabled the telegram sent by Mauer. Lincoln was not pleased to hear that, but Stanton protested the Department daily received such warnings. Only plots deemed serious were investigated. This “Stein” person had no standing with the military or with Pinkerton’s agency, and Stanton assumed he was just another crank.
Fortunately Mauer’s telegram to the Army of the Tennessee had not been tabled. Its provost marshal promptly assigned a company of infantry to protection of each general.
Lincoln quietly but firmly informed Stanton that Stein had standing now. Give him every cooperation. The fire in Stanton’s eyes abated—somewhat.
Stanton merely smoldered when Mauer requested additional protection. Generals Thomas and Sheridan, also with the Army of Tennessee, were going to prove vital to the Union effort. If Naylor couldn’t get close to the primary targets, she could well settle for going after these two.
Lincoln granted the request. Then the President wryly noted that Stein did not ask protection for any commander in the Army of the Potomac. Aside from Antietam, its generals had lost every battle. And Lincoln knew like Mauer that Antietam was really a draw.
Chloe appeared while the cabinet meeting was underway. She apologized profusely for sleeping so long. Not to worry, Mauer told her, you needed it. She said he did too.
He asked her to spend the day at the Willard Hotel, showing pictures of Naylor and Price to everyone she could. People arrived daily from all over the country. Someone may have seen them somewhere.
Earlier he had sent Lamon out with duplicate pictures to check other hotels, the train depot, and watering holes. He had also asked Lamon to bring Lafayette Baker in on the search. Baker and his bully boys did the Administration’s dirty work.
By the time the cabinet meeting ended, shortly before one, Mauer was starving. He was even willing to endure another meal in the presence of Mrs. Lincoln. But the President wanted to go right away to the War Department. To check the latest telegrams.
Mauer hesitated. This afternoon Lincoln was to get word of the defeat at Chancellorsville. He would receive it while in the Mansion. He would then depart for Hooker’s headquarters on the Rappahannock.
At Camp David Darnell and Canon had repeatedly stressed that Mauer and Chloe were to disturb history as little as possible. “Unintended consequences” was their warning mantra.
But Mauer had already disturbed history. The massive increase in security, the thwarting of petition
ers, the changed cabinet meeting, these were unavoidable. And Lincoln wasn’t steaming down the Potomac later today.
Lincoln asked if anything were the matter.
“No, sir,” said Mauer. It would do both he and Lincoln good to stretch their legs.
They went out through a ground floor exit onto the South Lawn. Mauer ordered eight of the score Bucktails standing guard on the backside of the Mansion to accompany them.
Lincoln pursed his lips, but that was too bad. This man who almost seemed to court a potshot was going to be wrapped in security at all times. At least while Edwin Stein was in town.
They turned and walked past flower gardens and a big greenhouse, situated where the West Wing would later stand. Then down a curving brick pathway under shade trees, with four soldiers in front and four in back. All rifles were at port arms. Mauer had his revolver out as his eyes swept every bush and tree trunk.
Lincoln, with his long stride, almost climbed the backs of the soldiers in front. Mauer half jogged to keep up with the giant. The troupe rapidly closed on the War Department, a two story brick building which lay a half block west of the Mansion.
The building looked like it housed forty rooms or so. Fine for the miniscule army of the United States prior to 1861, Mauer thought, but hopelessly inadequate now to serve as nerve center for the vast Union forces. Which no doubt contributed to the uneven performance of those forces to date.
The President led Mauer into the east entrance of the building. The two men climbed stairs to the second floor. Mauer immediately heard a raised voice, a voice unmistakably belonging to Stanton. Someone was getting chewed out in the Secretary’s corner office.
Lincoln smiled wryly. “Mars is holding forth.”
Mauer followed Lincoln two doors down.
“The cipher room,” Lincoln said as he opened the door.
Mauer knew about the cipher room. It was Lincoln’s refuge. In the quiet confines of this room he could get away from the politicians and petitioners who were squeezing blood from him each day. Lincoln probably spent as much waking time here as he did at the Mansion.
“Well? Any word from Hooker?” Lincoln asked the three men in the office. Their heads had jerked up at the President’s arrival.
“No, sir,” said a man rising from his desk.
“Major Eckert, meet Edwin Stein. Edwin is on special duty for me. He is to be given every assistance.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mauer and the Major—dressed elegantly in civilian clothes and completely free of facial hair—shook hands. Eckert was head of the telegraph office.
“You boys carry on,” said Lincoln as he opened a drawer in one of the desks. Lincoln put on spectacles and began reading decoded telegrams.
Eckert and the other two men went back to work. Mauer eyed the Major’s desk, situated between the two office windows. It was at that desk last summer Lincoln wrote his first draft of the Emancipation Proclamation. The desk should have been preserved as a shine, thought Mauer.
A door to the right was partly open, and Mauer could hear the clattering of telegraph keys and sounders. He wondered how soon the telegram from Hooker would arrive. His pocket watch said one-thirty.
Time crawled. Telegraph operators brought in messages for decoding, but none were from Hooker and his Army of the Potomac. Lincoln brightened at good news from the Army of the Tennessee. Grant was advancing steadily on Jackson, the capital of Mississippi.
After Lincoln finished the day’s dispatches, he strolled to the window behind Eckert. Eckert offered to give up his desk.
“No, no. Just watching some of your lieutenants. Edwin, come take a look.”
Mauer joined the President. He looked out the window, searching the lawn and the Avenue beyond for sign of young officers. Then Lincoln pointed to the windowsill. Mauer saw several spiders crawling over a big web attached to the sill and the front portico.
He didn’t know what to say. He guessed the President was eager for any distraction from his crushing burdens.
Around three the telegram from Hooker came in. Lincoln hovered over the shoulder of the cipher operator named Tinker as the message was decoded.
Mauer knew what the message conveyed. Hooker, with much of his huge army still unengaged, had last night cut and run. Mauer also knew that Lee planned to launch a suicidal assault this morning. Pickett’s Charge would have occurred two months early. Hooker had doubly screwed up.
Lincoln groaned. Then he settled his long frame into a chair. His knees came up into his chest as he sat with scruffy top hat in hands.
“What will the country say?” the President cried. “What will the country say?”
Mauer was disconcerted to hear Lincoln’s voice, which could pipe and squeak, really shrill. But he was relieved to hear Lincoln mouth the same words of despair as recorded. He had not changed history that much.
“Get the Secretary,” Eckert told Tinker.
Nobody said much until Stanton stormed into the room. The stubby man with the shovel beard and no mustache—which looked weird—approached Lincoln with bloodshot eyes. It must have been a long, worrisome wait for the Secretary also.
Stanton ordered everybody out save Mauer and the President, then shut the door.
“It looks like Hooker lost his nerve,” said Stanton.
Lincoln said nothing. His big head was staring at the floor.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand it myself. There is no excuse for his pulling back across the river.”
“God must be against us.”
“No, Mr. President. Just better commanders. I believe we should relieve Hooker immediately.”
Lincoln wearily stood. “Perhaps. Let us hope at least his casualties are low.”
Stanton glowered. “There are rumors the XI Corps was routed. By Jackson. One thing you can be damned sure of, Hooker will try to dress this up.”
“I will go see him straight away.”
“Sir, you can’t,” said Mauer.
The President had indeed taken a steamship this afternoon, down the Potomac, around the Northern Neck and up the Rappahannock to Falmouth.
But that was in a world without Naylor and Price lurking. To wait until May 6th may have been Naylor’s plan all along. Expert shot Aaron could ambush Lincoln somewhere along that hard to protect route. Or she would alert the Confederates and let them do the work instead.
The Secretary erupted. “You don’t tell the President what to do!”
“It’s all right, Stanton.” Lincoln turned to Mauer. “You advise against it?”
“Yes, sir.” He whispered in Lincoln’s ear. “They know you are coming.”
Lincoln nodded. “I’ll have Hooker come here.”
“Fighting Joe” Hooker would have been summoned anyway, but Mauer kept quiet. Stanton continued to glare.
The President sighed. “Stanton, order the general to be at the Mansion within a week.”
“Replace him at that time, sir. With Couch or Reynolds.”
Lincoln turned to Mauer. “Edwin?”
Mauer had been over that yesterday with the President. About offering advice.
“Let’s talk later, sir.”
Lincoln put on his top hat. “Very well.”
In hall, Lincoln forced a smile.
“We’ll get through this, boys,” he told Eckert and the cipher operators.
“There’s still Grant,” said Eckert. “If he takes Vicksburg, this battle won’t matter.”
“Yes,” said the President. Then he and Mauer left. The soldiers outside reformed their cocoon about the chief executive.
Halfway to the Mansion the President abruptly turned right. The stooping figure strode between redbuds in full pink glory and dogwoods past bloom. He stopped at a towering, densely leafed, smooth trunked tree festooned with clumps of white flowers. Mauer couldn’t recall its name. Horse chestnut, Lincoln informed him.
“Sit with me,
Edwin.” Lincoln gestured to the soldiers. “Give us some space, boys.”
The eight Bucktails spread in a wide circle.
As Jack settled on the soft grass, his pants moistened. The ground was still damp from the heavy rain of last night. Rain that let Hooker “escape” across the Rappahannock undetected.
“You knew it would be a defeat,” said the President. He spoke without rancor.
“Yes, sir.”
“The country will take this very hard.”
“It will, sir.”
Lincoln laughed softly. “You are not giving me encouragement.”
“I can’t give you anything, sir. Except to keep you alive.”
“So I must decide on my own whether to keep Hooker. Yes, I think he deserves to go. But often a man fails at a new task. Hooker has much promise. Look how he pulled the army together after Fredericksburg. That was a first rate job.”
“It was, sir.”
“Tell me this, Edwin, do we win in the end?”
“Sir, you can draw nothing from my presence. You must—absolutely must—make every decision as if we had never come. I know that is difficult, but you have the wisdom and will.”
“These days not many say I have wisdom.”
The iconic face looked despondently at him. The face of the legend who had saved the United States. That craggy countenance, though eroded, still displayed vigor. By war’s end he would look like an old man.
“Well,” said the President, “I am glad you want Grant to live. I take it he gets us Vicksburg.”
“You can assume nothing.”
A chuckle. “It’s a good view from here, isn’t it?”
“Sir?”
“The view over to Bobby Lee’s house.”
Mauer had not noticed. They faced the Potomac, and rising on the other side indeed stood Arlington House, Robert E. Lee’s mansion. At the heart of what would soon become the nation’s resting place for so many of its heroes.
“That’s the general we wanted. I should have spoken to him myself.”
“Lee?” Mauer hated Lee. Lee was an even worse traitor than his father.
“He would have ended this war in a week.”
“You can’t dwell on that, sir.”
“I suppose. I can dwell on we better not lose another battle to him. Another such loss will be the rebs’ Saratoga. It will bring foreign intervention for sure.”
Lincoln spoke accurately. After the terrible defeat at Fredericksburg last December, both Britain and France bordered on recognizing the Confederacy. Only the close Union victory at Stones River in January stayed their hand.
He ached to tell this great, harried man about the two decisive victories shortly to come. Gettysburg and Vicksburg would seal the South’s fate. And in November the man would deliver the noblest address in history.
If Mauer could keep him alive.
“Sir, all I can tell you is to persevere.”
The gray eyes in the deep, dark rimmed sockets brightened a little as he patted Mauer’s knee. The hand that patted was huge. As were the feet splaying on the emerald grass.
“I reckoned that, Edwin. Your very presence must mean I am needed for victory. So victory we will have. But I fear—alas, I know—it will be dearly bought.”
The President returned his gaze to the home of the general that had gotten away.
Day Nine Page 5