The First Lady and the Rebel, page 12
“He is an ingrate, Mr. Lincoln, for refusing it.”
“No, he’s a man of honor. Misguided honor, I must say, but honor.” He sighed. “If he ever changes his mind, trust me, I’ll welcome him back.”
Mary shook her head in disgust. “And no thought to Emily, after I specifically asked him to keep her happiness in mind! She does not care for politics, as you must remember, but I’m sure she would have found the society agreeable here, and it would have been so pleasant to have her nearby. I was so looking forward to taking her to the opera! But she adores Hardin, and I suppose she’ll support him in whatever he does. We Todd women do stand by our husbands.”
“You must admit that’s an admirable trait, Molly.”
Mr. Helm was not her only relation to turn traitor. In due course Mary received a letter from her little sister Elodie in Selma, informing her that she had engaged herself to a Nathaniel Dawson of that city and mentioning, almost as a point of pride, that he had joined the rebel army. (“Confederate” was the term she used, of course.) Mary wrote a stern letter back to her, but she knew Elodie would only dig her heels in further, if she hadn’t already married the man just to make a point.
Elodie had also taken care to let her know that no fewer than three of her brothers—David, Sam, and long-estranged George—had enlisted in the rebel army, the latter as a surgeon. Only Levi, loyal to the Union but too old and ill to be of any use to it, and Alec had stayed out of the fledgling war so far. And how long could she expect her youngest brother to avoid a fight?
Then there was her stepmother. Out of nothing but sheer civility, Mary had invited the woman and Kitty, the sole sister at home, to visit her in Washington, even though she knew a miserable time would be had by all. But Mrs. Todd had refused, saying she was needed by her own children. All of who seemed to be doing just fine on their own, if falling into full-fledged rebellion could be called that.
Mary’s long-awaited trip north proved a welcome distraction from her thoughts. With Lizzie Grimsley as her companion, she traveled to Philadelphia and then New York on a mission to refurbish the White House from top to bottom. And why should she not take the opportunity to make some purchases for herself? It had been some years since the Lincolns had had to scrimp on their purchases, but the lean years of their early marriage had left her wary of spending—until now, when the owners of the grandest stores in the country rushed from their offices to welcome her personally to their retail palaces and to press their choicest wares upon her. As the wife of the President-elect, she had received something of this attention when she had gone to New York before the inaugural journey, but that was nothing as to her situation now.
Lizzie Grimsley followed bemusedly in her wake, occasionally buying a small gift to send home to Springfield, but their main companions on their trip were the reporters, who popped up at every store entrance, no matter how nondescript the party’s equipage or how thick the ladies wore their veils in vain attempts to throw them off their tracks. “I will never get used to having people recording my every move,” Lizzie said as they had their morning coffee in their suite at the Metropolitan Hotel the day after a particularly fruitful shopping trip. “The worst part is, I find myself dressing for the press now, lest they pronounce me dowdy.”
“The papers have been very complimentary to you thus far.”
“That’s the rub; I feel I must keep them that way—even though I know that no one really cares what Lizzie Grimsley from Springfield puts on her back. Not even Mr. Grimsley cared, which is one of the many reasons he is no longer my husband. But if it is that bad for me, how much worse it is for you!”
“I don’t mind it when they’re polite about me,” Mary said. “In fact, I admit I rather like it.”
When they finally returned to Washington, having first gone to Cambridge to visit Bob, she could pronounce the trip an unqualified success. The New York papers had been most approving, and the Executive Mansion had benefitted hugely from her attention. She had ordered a magnificent set of Haviland china to take the place of the mismatched and chipped pieces that now sat on its tables, and indeed, the pattern charmed her so much she thought she might order a second set for her own use, minus the United States arms. Soon new carpets would grace the floor of the public rooms, topped by new chairs and sofas and shielded from the sunlight by new curtains. And Mary had not forgotten those little touches that made a room special, such as vases, or the practical ones, such as new bellpulls.
There was much more to be done, of course. And if only Mr. Lincoln would let her refurbish his office! But so far he had stood firm, so it would most likely resemble the magpie’s nest that his Springfield office had been.
Mr. Lincoln greeted her warmly at the White House and even allowed her to tell him about her purchases, although he was far more interested in hearing about Bob. He was distracted, however, because Virginia was set to ratify its decision to secede, and he and his Cabinet had determined that once that event took place, he would send Union troops to seize the city of Alexandria, just across the river from Washington. Among them would be the Lincolns’ friend Elmer Ellsworth, who in April had hastened to New York to raise a force of Zouaves, which had been dubbed the Fire Zouaves since most were New York City firemen. Already they had had the delight of putting out a fire in Washington when the building next to the Willard Hotel had been ablaze, threatening its venerable neighbor.
Although Colonel Ellsworth and his men were camped some distance from the White House—on a hill near the city’s insane asylum, which had produced its fair share of jokes—the colonel often rode over to the mansion to chat with President Lincoln and the boys and to see his friends from Springfield, Mr. Hay and Mr. Nicolay—and to pick up letters from his fiancée, who sent them in Mr. Nicolay’s care.
As everyone in the Lincoln family was fond of the colonel, he had as much liberty within the Executive Mansion as did Willie and Tad—except that Colonel Ellsworth, unlike the boys, did not barge into the middle of Cabinet meetings and demand that the President give him his undivided attention. So Mary was not surprised when on May 22, the eve of the ratification vote, Colonel Ellsworth knocked on the door of the Blue Room. “Good evening, Mrs. Lincoln,” he said. “I wanted to welcome you back from your trip.”
“I am glad you came, because in my hurry leaving the city, I did not congratulate you and your men for putting out that fire. It would have been devastating to lose the Willard.”
“The boys had a grand time putting it out. They’ve been a little restless here. Not enough to do.” He grinned. “But they’ll soon have plenty of excitement.”
Mary was glad Bob was not there to see Colonel Ellsworth looking so sunburned and fit. When she had visited Bob, he had alluded, worrisomely, to leaving college and joining the army, as so many other young men were doing since the fall of Fort Sumter. But Mary saw no need for that just yet—if ever. And here was Colonel Ellsworth looking like a recruiting poster! Pushing that thought from her mind, she smiled at the young man. “I see you have a letter. From Miss Spafford, I presume?”
“Yes, Mrs. Lincoln, and a long-awaited one.”
“You must tell Miss Spafford to write more faithfully. Why, my little sister Kitty would be happy enough to take her place, you can tell her.”
“I didn’t do anything to make her think… Did I, Mrs. Lincoln?”
He looked so guilt-stricken that Mary hastened to say, “No, no, I was merely jesting. Kitty has no interest in any particular young man that I know of, although I know she did admire your drilling, as did other ladies. But in any case, she is down South at the moment and likely to be attracted by some secessionist as my sister Elodie has been.”
Colonel Ellsworth looked simultaneously relieved at not having captured Kitty’s heart and disgusted at the thought that a rebel might steal it. He gave her a little bow. “I must be going, ma’am. The men will be wondering where I’ve got to.”
Mary smiled again, knowing that Colonel Ellsworth’s devotion to his b’hoys, as they were nicknamed, was as complete as those brawny men’s devotion to their colonel. “Good night, Colonel. If I do not see you before you take Alexandria, please know my prayers are with you.”
* * *
On the morning of May 24, President Lincoln came to the breakfast table with the news that in the middle of the night, eight troops of men had left Washington for Alexandria, some by boat, some by bridge. He was hopeful that the city would be taken without a fight, as many of its citizens, recognizing the city’s vulnerable position, had already fled, and most important, the militia was gone as well.
Hoping to hear good news soon, Mary spent a pleasant enough morning with her plans for the refurbishment of the Executive Mansion. She was pondering over some swatches of fabric with Lizzie Grimsley when President Lincoln, who hardly ever entered the private rooms of the house this time of day, slowly walked in. Mary’s surprise at his entrance gave way to alarm when she saw that that there were tears on his face. “Why, what is it?”
“Bad. Very bad. Colonel Ellsworth was killed this morning.”
“You mean there was resistance after all?”
“No. None at all.” Her husband wiped his eyes. “They had taken the town without incident and were walking through the streets when Ellsworth saw the Marshall House Hotel flying the rebel flag. You’ve heard the boys talk about that confounded flag; you can see it from the roof here plain as day through a spyglass. Anyway, Ellsworth, who was getting ready to secure the telegraph office, decided that it could wait a little while, and instead he took a small group of men and entered the hotel, then headed up to the roof and took the flag. As he came downstairs with the flag—crowing a bit, I suspect—the owner of the hotel, a rascal named James Jackson, stepped out of the shadows and shot Ellsworth straight through the heart. Just as he fell, the boy below him grabbed his rifle and shot Jackson in the face, then bayoneted him to make sure he was finished off. So there we have it, two men dead.”
“Oh, Mr. Lincoln!”
“It was a foolish act, I know. The damned flag could have waited. He should have secured the place first. But how can I blame him for showing such spirit? They told me that elsewhere in the town when the Stars and Stripes was raised that there were cheers. That would have gratified our poor boy. It certainly gives me some comfort.”
Lizzie had been listening to this in silent horror. “He was all his parents had, was he not?”
“Yes. His brother died not all that long ago. They are in poor health, and he was their main support. I will have to do something for them.”
“Where is he now?” Mary asked.
“The Navy Yard. I have ordered that he lie in state here tomorrow before being taken to his parents in New York.”
“Please, let me go see him.”
The President nodded. “I’ll meet you there later.”
When Mary arrived at the Navy Yard, Senator Ira Harris, newly elected from New York, offered to bring the soldier who had killed Jackson to meet her. Hesitantly she agreed, and in a few moments a sandy-haired young man known as Frank Brownell, barely past boyhood and as small as Colonel Ellsworth, stood before her, toying nervously with his bloodstained suspenders as he told her the same story that the President had, but with a New York honk. As others gathered around him, he grew more animated. “The blasted flag was so big that the colonel could hardly carry it down those narrow stairs,” he said, spreading his hands wide. “So he was fiddling with that, and not paying attention, when this filthy rebel steps into our path. He fired just as I saw he had a rifle. Poor Ellsworth fell down the stairs dead, just as I shot the son of a bitch who shot him. Then I ran my bayonet straight through his guts.”
“Oh my,” Mary said as Mr. Brownell demonstrated as best he could his bayoneting of Jackson.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Brownell said meekly. “Not language for ladies, I know. I got carried away thinking about it.”
“It is quite all right, Mr. Brownell, and I am glad your aim was so good. I am sure the President will see to it that you are well rewarded.”
Not long afterward, the President arrived, and the two of them went inside the engine room where their young friend lay on a table, bundled in a red blanket and with the Union flag draped over his breast. Mary had seen her mother and her young son in death and had gazed into any number of caskets at funerals, but never had she seen the corpse of someone who had died violently. But Colonel Ellsworth’s face, when President Lincoln gently uncovered it, was placid; only his disordered hair showed anything amiss. Instinctively, Mary reached out to smooth his dark curls and recoiled when her hand struck an area matted with blood. His or his killer’s, God only knew. She hung her head and sobbed.
President Lincoln carefully replaced the blanket, paced around, and then uncovered the colonel’s face once more. “My boy! My boy! Was it necessary that this sacrifice should be made?” He wiped his eyes, then straightened. “I hate to leave him alone here.”
“We’ll be with him all night, President Lincoln,” called Corporal Brownell. “Some of us guarding the place, some of us sitting here.”
“Yes, of course,” the President said. He touched Colonel Ellsworth gently on the cheek, then turned to Corporal Brownell. “Tell me everything that happened,” he commanded. “I want to hear it from you in particular.”
* * *
The next day, a funeral service was held for Colonel Ellsworth in the East Room, after which a funeral procession wended its way from the Executive Mansion to the railway depot. Mary, riding in a carriage alongside her husband and members of the Cabinet, watched as the hearse was loaded onto the car, laden with black crepe, that would take the remains home to New York.
No one, not even the President, had the heart to attend to business when they finally returned to the White House. The President shut himself in his office, the boys moped in their room, and the President’s secretaries, who had been friends with Ellsworth, smoked their cigars in gloomy silence. Mary sewed for a while until she saw her mail, received that morning but forgotten until now. She sorted through the letters. Already there was a bill or two from her New York trip. A letter from her sister Elizabeth, another from a friend in Springfield. A letter from her sister Kitty, who was in Selma with Mrs. Todd visiting Martha and Elodie. Curious to hear the news about Elodie’s ill-advised engagement to that rebel officer, she picked up the letter and read, after some moaning from Kitty about the dullness of Selma and complaints about the beastly hot weather, I hear Col. Ellsworth is in Wash. Do tell him hello for me and wish him well even if he is a Yankee.
Mary stared at the letter. Then, she reached for pen and paper, intending to break the sad news to Kitty by letter.
Suddenly, she pulled back her hand. Kitty would hear about the news in the paper, if she had not already. As a rebel, she had forfeited her right to any other notice.
* * *
In the weeks after poor Colonel Ellsworth’s death, more and more soldiers filed into Washington, and Mary saw less and less of her husband, who when not meeting with his Cabinet was studying maps of the South. The best she could do was to coax him out for an afternoon carriage ride, and then only on the pretense that she required company.
Still, as spring gave way to summer, Mary found that she was enjoying Washington, war or no war, husband or no husband. On Saturday afternoons, the Marine Band played on the south lawn of the White House, which often had the effect of luring the President out on the porch, where he would stare wistfully at the flocks of gaily dressed young women picnicking on the lawn as “The Soldiers’ Chorus” from Faust played in the background. Then, too, the Executive Mansion was looking more civilized each day, thanks to her refurbishing, and it was now a pleasure to seat herself in its rooms.
But the President had been busy in his own sphere as well, and on July 16, Washingtonians lined the streets and cheered as General McDowell and thirty-five thousand troops marched out of the capitol, destined for nearby Manassas, Virginia, the site of an important railroad junction which they planned to snatch from Confederate hands, then push on and capture Richmond, which after Virginia’s secession had supplanted Montgomery as the rebel capital. Standing on the White House lawn, Mary waved a handkerchief in one hand and held a parasol in the other, for the July day was blistering hot and humid. She could not help but notice that the men were marching gamely but not in a particularly orderly manner. President Lincoln had acknowledged their greenness, but had said, reasonably enough, that the Confederate troops were just as green.
Telegrams kept the President informed of the troops’ progress, and the reporters who had followed the soldiers to the field performed that service for the public. As the days passed, no one in Washington, whether a senator, an office boy, or a washerwoman, found it possible to concentrate on his or her work. Was the war about to end? Or was it just beginning?
On the morning of July 21, Congressmen and their families, the ladies bedecked in airy summer gowns and freshly trimmed bonnets, the men dapper in white suits and straw hats, headed out to Virginia in their carriages, prepared to picnic and watch what finally promised to be a battle. “You’re not going with those gawkers, are you?” Mr. Lincoln asked when he heard.
“Certainly not. Such things are not my idea of entertainment.” And what if one of her brothers or brothers-in-law had somehow found his way to Manassas? It did not bear thinking about, traitors or not. “I will go to church instead. Will you join me?”
The President hesitated, then grabbed his hat. “Not the day to shirk, I suppose.”
She had never succeeded in figuring out exactly what her husband’s religious beliefs were, although on the whole, she had decided he was a believer.
